Liu Jia

Kathern was forced out of her sister's home by her abusive brother-in-law, who violently demanded she pay half the rent or get out. To protect her sister from his rage, Kathern agreed to a six-month paper marriage with a stranger—an old woman's grandson, Bronson—in exchange for a simple apartment. But her new husband treated her like a scheming gold digger from the very first second. He showed up to City Hall in a cheap suit, shoved a brutal prenup in her face, and dumped her in a completely empty, dust-filled apartment. "Just don't cause any trouble," he warned coldly, before leaving her alone. When Kathern politely texted him to ask if he was coming home for dinner, he immediately blocked her number. Kathern was furious and baffled. She didn't want a dime of his money, nor did she care about his boring middle-management job. She had only agreed to this marriage for a place to sleep, yet this arrogant man treated her like absolute garbage. Refusing to swallow the insult, Kathern immediately dialed his grandmother to expose his behavior. She was going to build her own independent life, completely unaware that her "cheap corporate loser" of a husband was actually the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Vaughan empire.

I died alone in the medical wing giving birth to our son. "Tell her to calm down and stop the theatrics." Those were the last words my mate, the Alpha, said about me while I bled out. Instead of passing on, my soul was tethered to the packhouse. I was forced to watch my best friend Seraphina seamlessly step into my life, taking my baby and my husband before my body was even cold. To secure her place, she planted my blood-soaked birthing blanket in the woods to frame me for faking my own kidnapping. Ryker swallowed her lies completely. He refused to send a search party, telling the entire pack my disappearance was just a pathetic plea for attention and money. As a helpless ghost, I watched Seraphina brainwash my one-year-old son into calling her his mother and teach him to joyfully trample my beloved garden. "Bad mommy ran away. Don't love Kaelen." Hearing my own child parrot those venomous words was a dagger to my soul. Whenever anyone questioned my absence, Ryker fiercely defended her, dismissing the desperate warnings of my loyal friends and his own elders. The man I loved and died for treated my memory like a malicious joke, grateful for an excuse to replace me while living with my murderer. But when Seraphina's mask finally slipped, and the horrifying truth of my death crashed down on him, it was far too late. Seeing him crumble in agonizing regret brought me no comfort. I no longer wanted his love or his desperate apologies. Now, I only wanted his absolute ruin.

"You were just the incubator, Alex. Iliana is their real mother." With those words, Alpha Gavyn erased six years of my life. I had raised his twins, sat up with them through fevers, and loved them as my own while he waited for his "true mate" to return. But the moment Iliana came back, I became nothing more than a nuisance. The betrayal didn't stop there. My children, the ones who used to cling to my leg, looked at me with pure disgust. "Ew," my daughter sneered. "Daddy says you're just a hairless weakling. Don't touch me!" She shoved me down the stairs. Gavyn didn't help me up. He stepped over my bleeding body to comfort Iliana because the smell of my blood "bothered" her. He forced me to dive into a poisoned lake to retrieve a necklace Iliana threw away, just to humiliate me. And when kidnappers held us both at gunpoint on a cliff, asking him to save one, he didn't hesitate. "I choose Iliana," he said, turning his back on me. "You were just a substitute." As I fell into the abyss, waiting for death, I felt a snap inside my chest. Gavyn thought he was killing a latent human. He had no idea that the fall would shatter the seal on my soul. Mid-air, my bones didn't break—they reshaped. A blinding white light exploded from my skin. The Alpha didn't just discard a nanny. He just unleashed the legendary White Wolf.

For three years, I hid my identity as a top scientist and heiress, pretending to be a simple graduate student. All to secretly develop a cure for my husband Graham's fatal genetic disease. Then, in his sleep, he whispered another woman's name-Keeley. I soon discovered she was his ex-girlfriend and, horrifyingly, my doppelgänger. He brought her into our home, siding with her as she attacked me, causing a fall that made me lose our unborn child. He showed no remorse. Instead, he publicly humiliated me, accused me of faking the pregnancy, and filed for an annulment to marry her. The man I sacrificed my career, my fortune, and my identity for saw me as nothing more than a convenient substitute. He destroyed my life, all for a cheap copy of me. He thought he had broken me. But he forgot who I really am. Now, as the true head of the Morton Institute, I'm ready to reclaim my name. At the global press conference for his cure, I will expose every last one of their lies.

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.

For three years, I believed him. Ethan, the "bankrupt entrepreneur," the man I worked three jobs for, pouring every penny into his supposed debt. He promised me the world, a future. Then, at a high-end charity auction, I saw him. Not in worn-out jeans, but a tailored suit, buying a million-dollar necklace for Sophia Thorne, a famous socialite he called his fiancée. My world shattered. A news headline confirmed it: "Tech Heir Ethan Miller Celebrates Fiancée Sophia Thorne' s Birthday with Million-Dollar Gift." His three-year 'hiatus' was a lie. I was a placeholder, an "experiment" he kept to warm his bed while he waited for his "real love." The humiliation was a physical ache, deepened by Sophia and his family' s cruel dismissal. He called me a "charity case," they laughed at my expense, all while he showed me a kindness he never truly felt. He pretended concern for my injuries, offering cheap flowers, but for Sophia, he was a raging lion. The man who let a customer grab my arm told me to "just be nice, we need the tips," but for her, he was a hero. What kind of man makes you believe in true love, only to reveal you were nothing but a convenient lie? How could I have been so blind? The hate formed a cold, hard resolve in the wreckage of my heart. He didn't just break my heart; he stole three years of my life. He made a fool of me. And now, I would make him pay.

For seven years, I lived under the illusion of being loved, enduring the Hayes family' s casual neglect and Daniel' s cold indifference, believing my childhood crush would eventually return my devotion. Then, one night, I saw the truth-Daniel, my fiancé, clutching a silk scarf and whispering his hidden desire for Olivia, his adoptive sister. My seven years of love turned to dust in that instant. Olivia Hayes, the golden child for whom I was merely a placeholder, returned home and immediately orchestrated a public spectacle. She faked an injury, bleeding from a self-inflicted wound, and screamed that I had attacked her, turning the family' s welcome party into a chaotic scene. My adoptive mother, Martha, without a second' s hesitation, slapped me across the face, while Daniel' s eyes were filled with pure disgust. Alone and terrified, I was pursued by aggressive dogs-a cruel, calculated act, as the Hayes family knew my pathological fear. I screamed for help, but Daniel, my adoptive parents, drove away into the darkness, leaving me to fall unconscious, only to wake up alone in a hospital with Olivia' s fake concern and my family' s dismissive voices echoing through the walls. Back home, my last remaining sanctuary, my art studio, was gone, replaced by a dance studio for Olivia. My life' s work, a competition piece, was maliciously destroyed. When I tried to confront Olivia, Daniel violently shoved me, and my adoptive father' s hand connected with my face, leaving me bleeding and broken, my heart shattered into fragments. I had given them everything-my pride, my art, my very being-only to be betrayed and dismissed. How could they be so blind, so cruel, so utterly devoid of love for their real daughter? Why did I have to fight for everything, while Olivia effortlessly received their adoration? With nothing left to lose, I definitively chose to walk away and embrace a new life, a new beginning with Michael Blackwood, the man who had silently loved me all along.

The security guard at the Grand Orion Hotel stopped me cold, demanding an invitation I didn' t have. My simple suit and comfortable shoes screamed that I didn' t belong, and his dismissive glance confirmed it. Then came the grating voice I knew too well: Brendan Riley, my former supervisor, flanked by his snickering sycophant, Kevin Miller. They oozed smug superiority, relishing the sight of me, the unemployed junior marketing assistant he' d unjustly fired a month ago, standing humiliated at the hotel entrance. They mocked me, suggesting I was lost on the way to a soup kitchen, openly laughing at my pathetic attempts to get in. As if that wasn' t enough, Chloe Davis, an old team member I once thought I connected with, surfaced, her pity and disgust palpable as she advised me to simply go home. They had no idea. They saw a jobless loser, a charity case. What they couldn' t fathom was that I owned the very building they were so desperately trying to get into. The air grew thick with their mocking, each jab a reminder of their shallow worldview. But their confidence was built on a crumbling foundation, and I knew the truth was about to detonate their carefully constructed reality. Because sometimes, the quietest person in the room is the one holding all the cards.

The sweet scent of birthday cake filled my car, a promise of a happy surprise for my son, Finn, at his coding bootcamp. My cheerful mood shattered the moment the lead instructor, Ms. Albright, coldly informed me I wasn' t on his authorized visitor list. Then another mother, dressed in designer clothes, cruelly whispered that I was likely "some woman" trying to con families for their money. Humiliation burned as security guards appeared, their presence turning a simple misunderstanding into a menacing accusation of attempted abduction. Ms. Albright' s contempt chilled me to the bone when, after I showed her a photo of Finn and me, she flatly declared, "That is not the Finn who attends this bootcamp. That is a different boy." Desperation clawed at me; I knew my Finn was here, yet they were trying to throw me out. I broke free and ran, bursting into a classroom full of teenagers, my eyes scanning for my son. Instead, a blond boy in the front row looked up, startled, and then said, "Mom?"-but he wasn't looking at me. Then, facing me directly, he declared, "Who are you? I don't know her! My dad is Mark Peterson." This wasn' t just a mistake; it was a twisted, deliberate lie. A wave of nausea and fury crashed over me as Ashley Daniels, the "other mother," slapped me across the face and sneered, "Mark mentioned you might show up. The obsessed ex-wife." My reality crumbled as Mark, my husband, joined in, confirming her story and labeling me a "psychotic break," threatening to keep Finn from me forever. But the fear burned away, leaving a cold, sharp resolve. I pulled out our marriage certificate, proving his bigamy, and then delivered the final blow: Mark Peterson was no tech CEO; he was a 'kept man,' living off my family's trust fund. Just as his carefully constructed façade shattered, my real son, Finn, emerged from the hallway, his confused gaze the ultimate indictment of his father's deceit. Amidst the chaos of Mark and Ashley' s public implosion, I held Finn close, whispered, "I am divorcing you," and vowed to reclaim everything. This wasn' t an ending-it was my defiant beginning.

The last thing I remembered was the crushing weight of hooves, the taste of dirt, and the finality of death. Then, I opened my eyes to a room bathed in red, the scent of cheap incense thick in the air-my wedding chamber, thirty years in the past. This was Autumn Frost and Shen Huaiyu' s wedding night, a life I had already lived and barely survived. Memories flooded back: a lifetime of unrequited love for my cold, disdainful husband, bullied and humiliated by his cousin Jasmine, culminating in my lonely death on the street. I was young again, but the innocence was gone. This wasn't a second chance at love; it was a torturous replay. My "husband," drunk and arrogant, sneered accusations instead of gentle words. He spoke of Jasmine, his voice softening for her, while treating me with open contempt. The next morning, his message through a servant - "Don' t cause any trouble" - was a fresh stab of rejection. My biggest regret from my first life was neglecting my mother while obsessing over him. I vowed that this time, she would be my priority. To secure our future, I planned to take the imperial examination, a dream sabotaged by Jasmine and my own blindness in the past. But Shen Huaiyu, ever controlling, forced me to visit my mother with him, a public display of his dominion. Then, the fire. Just like in my first life. He ordered me to stay put, dismissively assuring me of my safety, while Jasmine watched with a triumphant smirk. I was trapped, my mother in danger. Later, he appeared at my side, holding a perfectly forged exam pass. My foolish heart dared to hope, only for him to expose me to utter public humiliation at the examination hall. The pass was a fake. The ensuing riot injured my mother, confirming my deepest fears: he cared nothing for me, and worse, he was a danger to her. All the pain, the betrayal, the humiliation of two lifetimes culminated in one cold, hard decision: "I want a divorce." He refused, thinking I was hysterical, but I had made up my mind. I would find a way out, even if it cost me everything.

Tonight was everything: my final interview for the American Achievement Scholarship, my gateway to an Ivy League. As I refined my presentation, my stepsister, Jessica Vance, entered, that sweet, insincere smile on her face. "Nervous, Sarah?" she asked, offering a steaming mug of "herbal tea." Naively, I drank it. The next thing I knew, I woke disoriented in a cheap motel, my laptop displaying a plagiarized presentation. Moments later, stern school security and committee members burst in, accusing me of fraud. Publicly shamed, disqualified, my father disowned me, swayed by Jessica' s mother. My boyfriend, Mark Olsen, offered false comfort, trapping me with an unplanned pregnancy. While my peers thrived, I was stuck, my dreams shattered, my spirit ground into dust over five miserable years. One night, I overheard Mark and Jessica: the tea, the motel, the plagiarism-all a "perfect" setup for her to win. Their cold, calculated betrayal shattered me. The injustice was soul-crushing. Broken, I stumbled out, only to die in a blinding crash. Then, a sharp gasp. My eyes flew open. I was in my bed. The door creaked open. Jessica walked in, holding a steaming mug. "Nervous, Sarah?" she asked, that fake-sweet smile identical. "I made you some herbal tea." But this time, I knew. This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would fight back.

For nearly a decade, I walked through life as Mrs. Hamilton, wife to the charming and successful Ethan. Our perfect marriage was more than a facade; it was my very existence, bound by a secret Soul Pact that determined whether I lived or died. Then, seven days before my designated survival deadline, Ethan casually dropped a bombshell: he needed a temporary divorce for his latest fling, a demanding young intern named Chloe. He offered me designer bags and an unlimited credit card, oblivious that he was asking me to sign my own death warrant, effectively sealing my fate. Chloe, triumphant and venomous, reveled in my humiliation from my very own penthouse, mocking me as "old news" while lounging in my favorite spots. Ethan, valuing his mistress's fleeting whims over my life, eagerly discarded our shared history and sent me away. The chilling countdown from the Soul Pact System inside me confirmed my imminent end-a meticulously "staged accident" awaited. How could someone mistake my life for a casual game, oblivious that his "temporary break" was my permanent end? My heart ached with the profound loneliness of carrying this fatal secret alone, a cruel irony after years of quiet endurance. I died in a fiery crash, right on schedule. But then, a cold, digital voice whispered, "System error. Collect 100 Regret Points from Ethan to be reborn." Now, an unseen spectator, my very existence hinges on the depth of his sorrow.

My own father, David, drowned me in the cold Caribbean, tying the anchor chain to my ankles himself, his voice devoid of emotion as he declared it was "for Chloe," my adopted sister, blaming me for her demise. But instead of death, I gasped awake, not underwater, but on our luxury yacht, the *Serenity*, hours before the terrifying pirate attack I'd already endured, realizing I was trapped reliving my darkest nightmare. My frantic warnings dismissed, my father abandoned us *again*, taking all able-bodied security and crew for a dolphin chase with Chloe, only to explicitly tell my terrified mother on the phone that I was "shark bait *again*," a chilling confirmation that he remembered my original death and was willing to let it happen once more. The injustice was soul-crushing: while my brother, Mike, bravely sacrificed his arm fighting the invading pirates, even our closest ally, Uncle Ben, initially sided with David and Chloe, believing their manipulative lies about my supposed "jealous drama." However, the grotesque discovery of Mike's severed limb in the open ocean finally shattered Uncle Ben's blind faith, transforming him into an unlikely ally and igniting within me an unyielding resolve to uncover the shocking truth: my "sweet" adopted sister, Chloe, was the actual orchestrator of every horrific betrayal, and I would make sure she paid for every single one of our recurring nightmares.

In other people's eyes, Amy was nothing more than a spoiled heiress. Everyone thought that she could have anything in the world as long as she called for it. Who would've thought that underneath the branded clothing was a lonely woman in search of comfort? That is, until Walter waltzed into her life. She thought that everything could finally fall into place until it all came crashing apart once again. As Amy ran away in despair, he could only stare at her retreating figure as he found himself crumbling in the own mess he had made. It seemed that there would be no winners in this game of love.

Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire. I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper. I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he'd dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family's land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock. I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim. "If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned. So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months. Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I've suspended Hugh's executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I'm just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout. But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back.

Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town. They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done." Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me." As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world. When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?"

For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse. Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée. She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm. "Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital." As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire. I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit. "I'm done with you." The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies.

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress. After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay. She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family. Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon. When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you."

I stood in the darkest corner of the Pierre Hotel’s ballroom, my cheap polyester dress itching against my skin while my wristband buzzed with a DARPA Priority Red alert. In front of the city’s elite, my fiancé Bryce Calloway took the stage, not to toast our future, but to publicly end our engagement and announce he was with my sister, Chloe. The room turned on me instantly, a hundred pairs of eyes pinning me down with pity and disgust as they physically backed away like I was contagious. When I returned home, my mother shattered a crystal vase at my feet, screaming that I was a humiliation and a "dropout" who didn't deserve a cent of the family fortune. Chloe and Bryce mocked me, laughing when I told them I had a mission with the National Security Agency, convinced I was either a pathological liar or a low-level criminal. They watched in horror as a black, unmarked military helicopter descended on our backyard to extract me, yet they still chose to believe I was being arrested for drug trafficking. They saw a pathetic girl who couldn't even parallel park, never realizing I was Dr. Nova Vance, the lead physicist behind the world's first successful fusion reactor. To secure funding for my research and gain a "fortress" of a name, I signed a thirty-day marriage contract with the arrogant billionaire Roman Knight. He treats me like a fraud, convinced I’m a gold-digger who failed out of college, while I quietly run global energy simulations from his guest bedroom. He has no idea that the "loser" he’s forced to live with is the same anonymous grandmaster who has been ruthlessly crushing him in online strategy games for months. "The contract is active," I told him, looking past his expensive suit. "But don't expect me to be your maid."

For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist. The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite." When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome. I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out. But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy. I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake.

I was hemorrhaging severely on the operating table, risking my life to deliver the billionaire Carlisle heir. Through the unsealed door, I heard my husband Axel's cold, mechanical voice giving a ruthless order to the panicked doctors. "Prioritize the heir. Above all else." The ice spread through my veins as he reduced my entire existence to a mere vessel. After I barely survived the emergency delivery, his mother marched into my room, telling me I should be on my knees thanking God they kept me alive long enough to fulfill my only purpose. His sister barged in just to scream at me, calling me a manipulative gold-digger. And Axel? He didn't ask about my pain. He simply stared at me like a CEO evaluating a damaged asset, eventually kidnapping me from the hospital and threatening to use his Wall Street power to ensure I would never see my newborn son again. I had secretly loved this man for years, swallowing my pride and enduring his toxic family's abuse, only to realize that in my most vulnerable moment, my life meant absolutely nothing to him. Why did I ever think I could melt his icy heart? My heart simply stopped breaking and turned to solid stone. I bypassed his billions, called a top-tier litigator, and handed Axel a zero-alimony divorce agreement, waiving every single cent of his fortune just to make a clean break.

For five years, Jodi was the perfect, compliant secret lover to billionaire CEO Armand Taylor. Then, she woke up to a cold email and a seven-figure wire transfer. Armand was marrying European royalty. The money was a severance package to quietly warehouse her out of sight. Refusing to be his dirty secret, Jodi invoked her contract's termination clause to leave for good. But Armand wouldn't let her go easily. He forced her to personally train her vicious new replacement, Selah. Selah immediately tampered with a crucial financial file, framing Jodi for sabotaging Taylor Corp's multi-billion-dollar tech acquisition. Without a second thought, Armand took the new girl's side. He cornered Jodi in the boardroom, his eyes dead and cold. "You have three days to fix this. If you fail, I will personally see to it that you go to prison for corporate fraud." He froze her bank accounts and stripped away her dignity, ready to destroy her life over a blatant lie. He thought she was just a weak, discarded toy who would break under his threats. What Armand didn't know was the terrifying secret Jodi had just discovered hidden at the bottom of her bathroom trash can. Three positive pregnancy tests. If the ruthless billionaire found out she was carrying his heir, he would never let her escape. Wiping her tears, Jodi slipped into a severe black silk gown and crashed an exclusive Hamptons gala to intercept the tech CEO herself. This time, she wasn't playing the obedient lover. She was going to clear her name and burn Armand's empire to the ground.