Adam Carter: Rebuilding a Life

The stifling heat of my dorm room was the first sign. It clung to me like a wet blanket, a stark contrast to the cool relief of the hallway. Then came the sharp voice, Olivia' s, followed by the others, demanding I turn off the AC I' d just turned on. "Turn that off." "Yeah, turn it off. It' s freezing." They seemed unaffected, even as I sweltered. Then came the electricity bill: an exorbitant $485.62, more than double last month, which they insisted I pay, all of it. "What' s the matter, Chloe? Can' t afford it? I thought your family was rich." It was a blatant lie, a twisted mockery of my efforts to be fair, to be liked. The feeling of pure injustice burned within me. What had I done to deserve this escalating torment? "You're our personal ATM, Chloe. And we're not done making withdrawals." They weren't just taking my money; they were stripping away my dignity, piece by piece. My phone-my only lifeline-was next, then a brutal beating, culminating in my terrifying imprisonment in a dark, foul-smelling closet. My own father, Mr. Thompson, the university trustee, was just outside. He heard the fabricated lies, the slander about my character, and believed them, leaving me in that dark place, thinking he' d abandoned me. His quiet departure, the click of the door, felt like the end. But a final, desperate sound, a frantic phone call from my best friend Jessica, pierced through the despair, and then the thundering demand of my father' s voice, now raw with panic: "Open this door!" My fight for survival was just beginning.

"Lily, you should do it," Tiffany Hayes purred, her eyes fixed on me in the art academy' s lounge. As the scholarship student, managing our class' s two-million-dollar art fund seemed like a twisted honor, a responsibility the elite kids conveniently dodged. Three years later, at our graduation exhibition-the night my life' s work was finally displayed-my childhood friend, Mark Miller, seized the microphone. "Our class art fund has been mismanaged," he announced, his gaze piercing me. "One point eight million dollars is missing." The dreams I had meticulously built shattered. Every eye in the buzzing gallery turned to me, judging, accusing. Tiffany, Mark' s girlfriend, stood by his side, her feigned sympathy a cold knife twisting inside me. They stripped me bare, painting me a thief, a public spectacle. "I have records of everything," I insisted. "Every dollar is accounted for!" But the projection screen behind him flashed a balance of $1,250.34, sealing my fate. "Just tell us what you did with the money," Tiffany cooed, trying to lure out a confession. "We were friends." Friends? Their betrayal burned hotter than any accusation. They had done this. Set me up. Framed me. The rage and humiliation were suffocating, but a cold resolve began to crystallize within me. They thought they had broken me, but they had just ignited a fire. I walked out of the gallery that night, not in defeat, but with a fierce determination. I would find the truth. I would expose them. And they would pay.

The smell of smoke and burning wood woke me, my heart pounding. It was the same fire, the one that had consumed everything in my first life. But this time, Kaelen was alive, his silver eyes narrowed, not in concern for me, but in a frantic search for Lyra. He accused me of setting the blaze, demanding I save her with my own lifeblood, forcing the agonizing transfusion while she smirked, thriving on my pain and his blind devotion. How could he believe her lies, even as I sacrificed everything, again and again, for the very life he now blamed me for saving? Then, the memory hit me: Kaelen, dying in my past life, his last breath a bitter regret not for Lyra, but for me. This second chance wasn't just about saving him from fire, but from himself, from the painful, world-shattering regret that had haunted his dying eyes.

The antiseptic smell stung my nose, and a dull ache pulsed behind my eyes as I woke up in a hospital bed. A sharp voice cut through the quiet: "She\'s awake. After all that drama, she finally decides to wake up." It was my adoptive mother, Helen, with my father, David, and then Liam, my husband, walked in. They weren\'t there for me; they were worried sick about Scarlett, my stepsister, who lay pale and fragile just a few rooms away. "You almost died trying to get Liam\'s attention again, " Helen sneered. "Are you happy now?" Liam, meanwhile, looked at me with chilling indifference before grabbing my arm and dragging me to donate blood for Scarlett. The nurses whispered about my supposed obsession, but their words meant nothing; the pain, the desperation, it was all gone. My amnesia had wiped the slate clean, and for the first time, I saw the truth: I was a burden, a wife Liam didn\'t want, an obligation they resented. And for the first time, I felt clarity, not sorrow. I picked up my phone, found a number, and then said, "I want a divorce. And I want to sever all ties with my adoptive parents, the Hayes family."

My relationship with Liam was a twenty-year slow burn, a homecoming everyone called perfect and meant to be. Then, scrolling through my phone one Tuesday night, an anonymous post on a local gossip forum shattered that illusion. It was a gushing narrative from a girl named Olivia, detailing secret meetings and gifts from a business school charmer-the same limited-edition sneakers I' d seen Liam coveting, the ones he told me were sold out. Beneath it, a comment read, "He even lied to his clingy childhood friend 'girlfriend' that they were sold out just so he could surprise me. He says he\'s only with her because his parents like her." Clingy childhood friend. The words felt like a punch, blurring my vision. My heart raced as I dialed Liam, his warm greeting a stark contrast to the betrayal I' d uncovered. He lied about the sneakers, easily, poorly, confirming my worst fears. His flimsy denial crumbled when I confronted him with Olivia' s account, his "nervous edge" a stark contrast to my unwavering fury. My best friend Maya' s warning echoed: "I don\'t trust him, Chloe. The way he was looking at her... it wasn\'t friendly." How stupid I felt for defending him. Then, the final blow: Olivia' s public profile, a cascade of photos-his hand in hers, his familiar smile reserved for her, captioned "My one and only. Soon the whole world will know." Posted just an hour ago. The heartbreak was physical, but beneath it, a cold, sharp anger stirred. This wasn't a misunderstanding; it was a cruel, deliberate deception. I hung up, no more lies needed, meeting my own clear gaze in the dark phone screen. I was no longer just a heartbroken girl; I was a girl who had been played for a fool, and I would not let him get away with it.

The sterile white walls of Liam's penthouse, a gilded cage masquerading as my studio, stifled me. Every painting, every breath, belonged to him. Then, a cold, glowing message appeared in my vision: `[Muse System Activated. Main Task: Sever the parasitic relationship with Liam.]` My secret guide had arrived. Its first sub-quest: `[Facilitate the marriage between Liam and his childhood sweetheart, Scarlett.]` This was my way out. I became the perfect, pliant artist, orchestrating his reunion with the sophisticated art critic he truly desired. I endured her disdain, even painting her tributes to feed his obsession. The night of the Art Gala, I felt unwell, my head spinning from stress. As I steadied myself by an ice sculpture, Scarlett deliberately bumped me. I stumbled, and a piece of the sculpture crashed down, narrowly missing her. She screamed, accusing me of jealousy, of trying to hurt her. Liam, his rage burning, pulled her into his arms, completely ignoring me. `"Chloe! What the hell did you do?"` he snarled. The crowd's murmurs turned into accusations, judging me the crazy, jealous mistress. A familiar cramping seized my stomach, and I doubled over in searing pain. Blood trickled down my leg, a dark stain on my light dress. I was having a miscarriage, a life I didn't even know I carried. Liam dragged me to his car, ` "Can' t you go one night without making a scene?" ` he hissed, before abandoning me in the parking lot to return to Scarlett. The system confirmed my loss: `[Pregnancy terminated due to physical trauma.]` I realized then: this wasn't just neglect. It was calculated cruelty, a test from Scarlett to see how far he'd go for her. And he had passed. His utter indifference, his willingness to sacrifice me, ignited a cold fury. I would still get them together. But this time, it wouldn' t be for his happiness. It would be for my ultimate, painful freedom.

Noelle was the long-lost daughter everyone had been searched for, yet the family brushed her off and fawned over her stand-in. Tired of scorn, she walked away and married a man whose influence could shake the country. Dance phenom, street-race champ, virtuoso composer, master restorer-each secret triumph hit the headlines, and her family's smug smiles cracked. Father charged back from abroad, mother wept for a hug, and five brothers knelt in the rain begging. Beneath the jeweled night sky, her husband pulled her close, his voice a velvet promise. "They're not worth it. Come on, let's just go home."

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

She was a world-renowned divine doctor, the CEO of a publicly traded company, the most formidable female mercenary, and a top-tier tech genius. Marissa, a titan with a plethora of secret identities, had hidden her true stature to marry a seemingly impoverished young man. However, on the eve of their wedding, her fiance, who was actually the lost heir to a wealthy dynasty, called off the engagement and subjected her to degradation and mockery. Upon the revelation of her concealed identities, her ex-fiance was left stunned and desperately pleaded for her forgiveness. Standing protectively before Marissa, an incredibly influential and fearsome magnate declared, "This is my wife. Who would dare try to claim her?"

Her fiance and her best friend worked together and set her up. She lost everything and died in the street. However, she was reborn. The moment she opened her eyes, her husband was trying to strangle her. Luckily, she survived that. She signed the divorce agreement without hesitation and was ready for her miserable life. To her surprise, her mother in this life left her a great deal of money. She turned the tables and avenged herself. Everything went well in her career and love when her ex-husband came to her.

For as long as Emily can remember, she has wanted to overcome her shyness and explore her sexuality. Still, everything changes when she receives an invitation to visit one of the town's most prestigious BDSM clubs, DESIRE'S DEN. On the day she chose to peruse the club, she noticed three men, all dressed in suits, standing on the upper level, near the railing. Despite her limited vision, she persisted in fixating on them. Their towering statues belied the toned bodies concealed by their sharply tailored suits-or so she could tell. The hair of two of them was short and dark, and the third had light brown-possibly blond-hair that reached the shoulders. The dark, crimson background incised their figures, exuding an air of mystery and strength. They stood in stark contrast to the unfiltered, primal energy that pulsed through the club. Shocked by the desires these men aroused in her, she was disappointed to learn that they were masters seeking a slave to divide and conquer. She couldn't afford the fee, and she also realized that they were outside her league. Emily hurriedly left the club, feeling disappointed and depressed, unaware that she had also caught the group's attention. A world of wicked pleasure, three handsome men. Over the years, they have lived a life of decadence, their lavish lair serving as a stage for their most sinister desires. But despite the unending parade of willing subjects, one woman sticks out. A mysterious stranger with white porcelain skin and a killer body, a slave, a name with no address, the first lady to attract their eye and they will go to any length to obtain her no matter the consequences.

"Mr. Evans, please maintain some dignity. Don't forget I'm your brother's wife!" Having caught her husband and best friend together in the bed, Elena wanted nothing more than to exact revenge on the people she once called family. She refused to be a pitiful divorcee and vowed to make everyone who had once looked down on her beg for forgiveness. And to start with her newfound freedom, Elena indulges in a one-night stand with a stranger. However, what was meant to be a fleeting escape turns into a nightmare when she learns that the stranger is none other than her husband's older brother! Would Elena be free from the shackles of her marriage? Or would the mysterious stranger make her life a living hell since he seemed to have a personal vendetta against his family? [The story is 18+ and involves mature content.]