LARA MORRISON

I stood in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown, waiting to seal the merger of the century between the Singleton and English families. Everything was perfect, fragile, and obscenely expensive. But minutes before the ceremony, my brother burst into the bridal suite looking like he’d seen a ghost. He handed me a crumpled note from Jeffery, the man I was supposed to marry. "I can’t do it," the note read. "I’m choosing love." Jeffery had fled to Paris with another woman, leaving me to face two thousand guests and a family legacy that would plummet forty percent by Monday morning. Harrison Singleton, the family patriarch, didn't offer sympathy; he offered a cold ultimatum. The wedding would happen, with or without Jeffery. He stepped aside to reveal Declan Singleton, the "Wolf of Wall Street" who had spent the last year ruthlessly stripping my father’s companies for parts. To save my family from bankruptcy, I had to walk down the aisle and marry the man I hated most. At the altar, Declan didn’t just say "I do"; he claimed me with a kiss so possessive it felt like a sentencing. The humiliation was physical, a knife twisting in my gut as the world watched the "hostile takeover" of my life. I was a spoil of war, traded to a predator who believed in leverage over love. Then, Jeffery called, weeping about his mistake and begging to come back. I looked at the massive, perfectly-sized diamond Declan had already prepared for me and realized this wasn't a coincidence. I wiped away my tears and straightened my emerald silk. If I had to live in a cage, I was going to make sure I had the sharpest teeth. "Let's go to war," I whispered to my new husband.

I was bleeding out in the dark, bound to a chair, when I heard my husband tell another woman he would burn the world down for her. Dante Moretti didn't know I was on the other side of the paper-thin wall. He didn't know that ten years ago, I was the girl who saved his life in a frozen cave, not his mistress, Sofia. Sofia had stolen my story, and now she was stealing my life. When I tried to leave him, Dante chained me in his dungeon and whipped me until I passed out, claiming he was "disciplining" his wife. When Sofia used steel cello strings to slice my fingers open, destroying my ability to ever play again, he looked the other way. He even chose to save her over me when we fell into the freezing ocean, leaving me to drown because "Sofia is my soul." That night, I finally stopped fighting for a man who didn't exist. I called my brother, the Don of New York. "The alliance is over," I whispered into the phone. "Take me home." It took Dante three months to uncover the truth. To see the medical records proving I was the one who dragged him from that cave. He burned his own boat to trap us on an island, begging for a second chance. "I can fix this," he pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he touched my scarred, ruined hands. I looked at him, then at the man standing behind him with a rifle—the man who actually loved me. "You can't fix a shattered vase, Dante," I said. Then I watched my new protector pull the trigger.

For fifteen years, I buried my dream of motherhood because my husband, Bennett, swore he carried a tragic genetic defect. "If we have children, they will suffer," he had cried on our bathroom floor. I believed him. I made him my religion. But at a charity gala, everything shattered. He introduced his twenty-two-year-old mistress as his "little sister," only to announce moments later that she was pregnant with his heir. He never had a genetic defect. He just didn't want a child with me. The humiliation didn't stop there. He moved her into our home. He took my grandmother’s emerald necklace, reset the stone, and fastened it around her neck in front of our friends. When I tried to leave quietly, he sneered that I was jealous and toxic. He was confident he could break me, planning to manipulate me into eventually helping raise his mistress's baby. He didn't know two things. First, his mistress was faking the pregnancy to trap him. Second, I wasn't going to stay to watch the fallout. While he rushed her to the hospital for a staged emergency, blaming me for her "pain," I quietly boarded a private jet to Paris. I deleted my number. I destroyed my SIM card. I reclaimed my maiden name. By the time Bennett realized his "heir" was a lie and his wife was gone, I was already starting a new life where he didn't exist.

My phone buzzed on the counter of the vet clinic, a harsh sound, demanding my attention from a complicated case. It was Mark, my husband, sharp and impatient. "Chloe, drop whatever you' re doing. I need you." He needed his backup drive, for the biggest night of his career, a speech about 'sacrifice' and 'unwavering support', to impress his investors. I, his vet-tech wife, was racing home to fetch it, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. When I arrived, he was radiant on stage, spouting platitudes about family while I clutched the hard drive in the shadows, my stomach twisting. My phone vibrated: Dr. Reed, our son Leo' s specialist. "Chloe, the new treatment protocol is our best option, but we need to start immediately. The hospital requires a significant deposit." It was an unimaginable sum. I looked through the glass at Mark, laughing with investors, the hard drive forgotten. Leo and I were not in his world. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The long, slow burn of resentment ignited into cold, clear purpose. I wasn't going to wait for him. I wasn't going to ask him. I drove directly to sell my father' s classic Mustang – my most prized possession – for the cash. Returning home, a bright orange notice was slapped on our front door: NOTICE OF FORECLOSURE. My key wouldn' t work. My credit card was declined. I called Mark, his voice laced with fury. "Where the hell did you go? You embarrassed me, Chloe!" "The house, Mark," I whispered, trembling. "There' s a foreclosure notice. My keys don' t work." "I mortgaged it. Months ago. The startup needed a cash infusion," he sneered. "It' s gone, Chloe. My last-ditch funding failed because I was too damn distracted by all this drama with Leo. Your drama." Rain plastering my hair to my face, I sank to my knees. "We' re done," he said. "I told the bank to change the locks. You can get your things tomorrow." He hung up. Just then, Leo, pale and frail, opened the door. "Mommy? Why is Daddy yelling? Are we leaving our house?" His simple words cut through my shock. I pulled him close, whispering, "What if it was just you and me from now on? A new life. Would that be okay?" He nodded, trusting. That was all I needed.

My life as the "Montana Wildcat" was all about rebellion against the stuffy East Coast elite. But when an old blackmail threat jeopardized my Senator father's career, I was forced into a desperate solution: a fake engagement to Sterling Prescott IV, the blue-blood heir who personified everything I ran from. My plan was simple: unleash enough chaos to scare off the Prescotts and annul the whole charade. Instead, his formidable grandmother imprisoned me in their lavish estate for a forced "refinement," and strangely, Sterling became my unexpected confidante and ally, stealing midnight burgers and listening to my wild tales. Just as our fake relationship started feeling disturbingly real, my world shattered. Suddenly, the FBI stormed our home, planting fake evidence on my laptop that implicated my father in a national security scandal, destroying his career overnight. The final blow came with paparazzi photos showing Sterling, seemingly abandoning me, arm-in-arm with Blair Vanderbilt, the daughter of my father' s bitter rival. The man I'd grudgingly begun to trust, who had broken through all my walls, had seemingly betrayed me when I needed him most, leaving me heartbroken and politically ruined, a pariah. Then, at my father's televised Senate hearing, where his career was moments from collapse, Sterling walked in. He carried a briefcase and a recording that would not only clear my father's name but expose the true architect of our downfall, turning everything I thought I knew on its head.

My eyes snapped open. Sunlight streamed through familiar curtains in what was undeniably my childhood bedroom on a military base. But a stark, chilling truth hit me: I died. I vividly remembered fire, twisted metal, and then a profound, cold darkness. My father, General Miller, walked in, his voice deep and reassuring. "Sarah, you're awake. We need to talk about your future." He began to speak of Captain Mark Olsen, the perfect, ambitious officer everyone expected me to choose. The name was a bitter taste. Because in my first life, I married Mark. Then came the devastating news: killed in action. The grief consumed me. I stopped living, leading to my own tragic car accident months later. My world ended. But it wasn't true. As a lingering spirit, I watched my world shatter while his continued. Mark, alive and vibrant, laughing with Tiffany Evans, his arm around her. They had faked his death, eloped, and built a long, happy life together, completely discarding the woman who died for him. The rage, the profound betrayal, morphed from a cold fire to a precise, icy shard in my chest. Why did I endure such suffering, such a cruel end, while they basked in their deceitful bliss? The injustice was unbearable. But this was it. My second chance. A precious, impossible gift. This time, there would be no Mark Olsen. This time, I' d choose differently. This time, my life wouldn' t end in ashes.

My brother Leo's medical bills were a crushing weight, pulling us both into a financial black hole. Then, a lifeline: a contract, presented by a lawyer with a voice dry as old parchment. My mission for the next year: transform the Kincaid children, Oliver and Chloe, into "presentable" figures for their prestigious annual gala. The payment was astronomical, the only hope I had to save Leo. I signed, ready to become the stern governess, Sarah Hayes. Stepping into the marble-floored entryway of the Long Island mansion, I faced two miniature tyrants. Oliver, thirteen, oozed practiced apathy, while Chloe, ten, clutched a tablet displaying designer logos. "Another one? How long you gonna last, lady?" Oliver sneered, followed by Chloe's contemptuous, "Do you even know who I am?" Their father, perpetually attached to his phone, was nowhere to be found, leaving me to face their immediate, blatant rebellion alone. My first command was simple: hand over the skateboard and the tablet. This unleashed an explosion of outrage. "This is child abuse!" Oliver shrieked, threatening to call his wealthy, absent father. Chloe's wail was operatic, as if I’d declared her streaks and followers dead. The contract had warned of testing, but the sheer entitlement was a shock, making every small step feel like a war. How was I supposed to achieve "significant improvement" when their every instinct was to resist and undermine me? The Kincaid money, critical for Leo's surgery and recovery, felt like a constant mockery against their spoiled lives. The weight of my brother's future pressed down, reminding me that I absolutely could not fail, no matter how impossible the task seemed. My quiet thought, "Managing these two? How hard can it be?" now echoed like the most foolish words ever spoken. I held out my hand, unflinching, for the skateboard and tablet. Their resistance was part of the job description, a challenge I had to overcome for Leo. This was my new regime, unyielding, strict, and it had just begun. My personal philosophy was simple: family first.

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

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.

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

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.

I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting." When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home. Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name. He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal. I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing. As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life.

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.

My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.

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.

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.