Natala O'neal

To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears. After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms. "You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive. Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it. When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her? All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss. When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply. "Call her Aunt."

Scarlett Hayes had it all: a thriving career, a beautiful home, and a husband she adored. Their world was a picture of perfect bliss. Then, a whisper shattered it all. Her husband, Mark, was sleeping with a young intern. Instead of a messy confrontation, Scarlett handled it with quiet precision, believing it a minor hiccup. But Mark and his mistress, Lily, saw her restraint as weakness, unleashing a cruel cascade of betrayals that systematically dismantled her life. Her family' s art gallery, a cherished legacy, faced bankruptcy, driving her proud father to suicide. Creditors hounded her mother to her death. Her brilliant younger brother was critically injured in a hit-and-run, leaving him in a coma. Grief consumed her, manifesting as a mysterious illness that wasted her away. On her deathbed, Mark' s venomous confession echoed Lily' s taunts: "This is your karma. You deserve this." But then, Scarlett' s eyes snapped open. She wasn't dying. She was standing in Mark's home office, alive and whole, hearing their conspiring voices. He had called her boring. He had destroyed her family. He had watched her die and called it karma. Rage burned away the last vestiges of love. This marriage was over. She was reborn, and every tear she shed in her past life would be repaid.

I left my old-money New England family, who thought my last name opened every door, to find something real. I found it in a new city, working a simple coffee shop job, and falling head-over-heels for a struggling musician named Ethan. He sang me love songs, and I poured my whole heart into him, convinced he was my escape, my true home. Then one night, at a crowded warehouse party, I overheard him. "The Aston Martin DB5 is practically mine," he laughed to his friends. "Did she really fall for the struggling musician bit? So naive it hurt." My world shattered. This "Ethan" was Ace Sterling, heir to a tech fortune, and I was just a bet, a "lost puppy" to him. My family, who had warned me, hung up when I called, leaving me utterly alone. Fired from my job, facing eviction, I even slept on a park bench, actively sabotaged by a smug cousin. Every door slammed shut, my life spiraling out of control. The humiliation was a burning sickness, but a cold anger started to replace the pain. He hadn't even flinched when I threw the vintage guitar pick – something I' d saved for weeks to buy for his dreams – at his face. He just watched me break. Years later, he found me serving drinks at a high-society gala, and condescendingly offered me a "discreet arrangement" to make me "comfortable" again. He thought I was still that broken girl, easy to buy and silence. He had no idea what he had just started. That night, Ava Monroe, the naive girl, vanished. Because a new Ava, one forged from the ashes of betrayal and humiliation, was about to rise, and she was coming for him.

Ethan Henderson, a ruthless hedge fund magnate, had a power-player marriage to A-list actress Olivia Hayes, carefully shielded from public scrutiny. For five years, their life was a meticulously managed ascent. On his birthday, a notification popped up: a young actor he'd backed, Liam Walker, posted a suspiciously intimate photo with Olivia, calling her his "light." This seemingly harmless admiration was a direct challenge to Ethan's boundaries. Olivia dismissed his concerns, leading to public attacks against him as "controlling." When Ethan used his power to cut Liam' s film role, Olivia publicly retaliated, then privately flaunted her closeness with Liam. The final, humiliating blow came on a film set when she, fueled by paranoia, threw scalding coffee in his face in front of the crew. It wasn't about the coffee; it was a profound, public betrayal and a total disregard for their marriage-a consistent, calculated campaign of disrespect. How could she defend this kid while assaulting her husband? Ethan's response was brutal and immediate: divorce papers. He then revealed Sophia, the eager new actress he was mentoring, was pregnant with his child. When Liam tried one last taunt, Ethan met him with a devastating punch. Years later, Ethan' s new family flourishes, leaving Olivia to eternally regret the empire she willingly shattered.

Olivia Holloway was once NYC’s golden girl, an architect married to the powerful Ethan Cartwright. Our penthouse offered glittering city views, a testament to the life I’d built—or rather, the life I’d put my own dreams on hold for. We were the epitome of success. Then the Hamptons retreat happened. Ethan was found with a junior analyst, Chloe Vance. His smooth, too-smooth explanation about being drugged dissolved months later when Chloe reappeared, pregnant, claiming the baby was his. It was a slap in the face. His mother, Eleanor, insisted I accept the situation for the “Cartwright heir.” My grandmother's cherished sapphire heirloom was casually given to Chloe. Ethan left me to drown after a yacht accident, prioritizing Chloe, then demanded I, injured, donate blood to her. Each betrayal was a fresh wound, yet he expected me to act as if nothing happened. The public humiliation was unending, climaxing when Chloe accused me of harming her at a charity gala, and Eleanor physically slapped me. My entire life, identity, and very humanity had been consumed by their schemes. How could the man I loved destroy me so thoroughly, yet remain so oblivious to my suffering? In that moment, something inside me shattered irrevocably, but it also awakened. I smashed Eleanor’s treasured porcelain heirloom, signaling a definitive end to their control. I filed for divorce, packed a bag, and disappeared, ready to reclaim my life, my freedom, and rediscover Olivia Holloway.

On the day of my daughter's one-month birthday party, Justine trembled as she held the baby, insisting on bestowing a "Longevity Aura." Before I could stop her, a few puffs of foul air had already been blown onto the baby's face. The crying erupted instantly. I frowned, hurriedly snatching the child back into my arms to comfort her. However, all the relatives present criticized me for not appreciating the gesture. Feeling wronged, I vented about the incident online, and among the hundreds of comments, one stood out: "Was the old lady psychic when she was young?"

The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting. "Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes." Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind. I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack. Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba. How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow? When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE. "Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me."

To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears. After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms. "You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive. Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it. When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her? All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss. When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply. "Call her Aunt."

The freezing rain lashed against my face as I clung to the iron gates of the Hendrix estate, begging for a chance to prove I didn't kill my best friend. I had come here for mercy, but the man I had secretly loved for years had a different plan. He didn't want to hear my truth; he wanted to see me broken. As the sun rose, the estate manager delivered the final blow. He shoved Emery’s phone into my face, showing a forged text message that framed me for her death, then turned his back as the gates slammed shut. My own family didn't offer a lifeline, either. When the police came for me, my parents didn't fight for my innocence; they chose to disown me to save their bank accounts from Alfredo’s wrath. I was thrown into Rikers Island, stripped of my dignity, and subjected to years of calculated, brutal torture paid for by the man who once held my heart. How could the person I loved turn my life into a private slaughterhouse based on a lie? After three years of hell, I walked out of those prison gates with nothing but a scarred body and a hollow soul. The woman who loved Alfredo Hendrix died in that cell. Now, I’m back in the city where it all began, and I’m done hiding.

Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box. She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her. The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death. "This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm. Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer. How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her. Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind. "Poison! She's trying to kill me!" Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist.

For two years, Kailey lived as the invisible wife of billionaire Jack Velasquez, treated like a ghost in a mansion that felt like a beautiful cage. When Jack finally grew tired of her, he didn't even show up to say goodbye. He sent his cold-faced butler to hand her the divorce papers, kicking her out like trash. The entire East Coast high society mocked her, laughing at the "gold digger" who got dumped. Jack expected her to cling to his wealth, assuming she would eagerly take the fifty million dollar alimony. But shortly after the divorce, Jack's precious ward was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Desperate, Jack ordered his men to turn over every rock in the world to find "The Surgeon"—a legendary, untraceable medical genius. He had no idea that the mythical savior he was frantically searching for was the quiet, forgettable ex-wife he had just thrown away. When Jack finally stood before her in the hospital, he didn't apologize. Instead, he threatened to destroy her career if she failed the surgery, arrogantly calling her a greedy opportunist. "I will take your license, your reputation, and your precious new center, and I will burn them to the ground." Kailey didn't shed a single tear. She had already signed away his fifty million without taking a cent. She simply picked up her old surgical tools, put on her pristine white coat, and forced the arrogant billionaire to fund a nine-figure neuroscience center just to get her to the operating table.

For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties. But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom. Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot. Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years. "You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic." My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support. They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets. I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life. But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree. Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate. When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block.

I secured the lifeline investment for my fiancé's company and went to his office to surprise him. Instead, I caught Preston sleeping with his top actress—the woman he publicly claimed as his stepsister. Through the cracked door, I heard him call me his "scarred, ugly bitch shield" to hide their sickening affair. I didn't cry. I hacked the live broadcast of the Star Awards and played their sex tape to two thousand people. But that night, drunk and reeling from the agonizing nerve pain in my facial scar, I stumbled into the wrong hotel penthouse. I was pinned down by a drugged billionaire, Josephus Hodges. The next morning, he left me a million-dollar check and a Plan B pill. When he later tracked me down to offer a cold, calculated fake marriage just to absorb Preston's ruined empire, I threw the contract at his chest and told him to go to hell. But when I got home and looked in the mirror, the chronic, burning torture in my scar was completely gone. His touch during that terrifying night had somehow cured the agony that had ruined my life. I had just declared war on the only man on earth who could heal me. Just then, my ruined ex-fiancé called, begging me to save him with a PR press conference. "I'll do it, but I control the venue." I booked it at Josephus's heavily guarded hotel. I was going to slaughter my ex on live television, and force the apex predator to look at me again.

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

To punish my cheating ex, I slept with his stepbrother. Best decision of my life? Or the worst mistake I never saw coming? My fiancé Christopher had been caught with his pants down-again. This time, I wasn't going to cry. One wild night with Lance Laurent-Christopher's estranged stepbrother, the heir to the Laurent empire, and the most dangerous billionaire in Los Angeles-was supposed to be my revenge. One night became two. Three. A dozen. Every time Christopher cheated, I'd moan louder in Lance's bed. An eye for an eye. A betrayal for a betrayal. When the dust settled and Christopher came crawling back, tears and pleas dripping from his lips, I felt nothing but cold satisfaction. "Too late," I smiled. "I don't recycle trash." But turning my back on Christopher was easy. Turning back on Lance Laurent? He's never a man you use for revenge. He's the devil you sign a contract with. "Thinking about him while you're underneath me?" His grip on my jaw was brutal, his hips relentless. "You started this fire. But I decide when it burns out." Some men you can't walk away from. Some debts you never stop paying. And the devil in my bed expects me to stay.

Chloe Bishop was the city's golden girl-the "First Lady" of high society. Wealthy, breathtakingly beautiful, and deeply in love, she was the envy of everyone. When Liam was a broken outcast who had lost everything, Chloe was the one who reached out, pulling him from the wreckage of his life. She gave him her heart, her family's status, and six devoted years. But on the morning of their lavish, multi-million dollar wedding, the dream shatters. Instead of an "I do," Liam leaves her at the altar, delivering a cold confession that pierces like a knife: "The one I've always loved is Sara Jay." Overnight, the city's golden girl becomes its biggest laughingstock. Betrayed by her fiancé and haunted by a dark secret involving her father, Charles, Chloe is expected to crumble. But as the world waits for her to beg for his return, Chloe wipes her tears and offers a chilling smile. "I know he'll come back crawling eventually," she whispers, stripping off her silk veil. "But this time, I'm done waiting. It's time for the world to see what happens when a 'perfect' woman stops being nice." He broke her heart. Now, she's going to break his empire.