Pike

I lost my leg saving my husband, Kingsley. My ballet career was over, but my dying mother had secured a perfect heart transplant for my sister, Julia. We had hope. Then Kingsley gave her heart away. He and his mistress traded it for a business deal. Julia died. When I confronted him at the hospital, he shoved me against a wall. The fall didn't just shatter my world; it caused me to miscarry the baby I never knew I was carrying. In a single night, he took my sister and my child. As I lay bleeding on the floor, I looked at the man I once sacrificed everything for and made a promise. "You will regret this for the rest of your life." I divorced him and disappeared. A year and a half later, he found me, a broken man begging for forgiveness. I looked him in the eye and gave him my final answer. "There are no second chances for murder."

For three years, I was Dante Moretti's secret. I was the Underboss's property, the cure for a violent curse that plagued him. He promised that if he wasn't married by his twenty-fifth birthday, I would be his bride. But on the eve of that birthday, he ended our arrangement. He brought home another woman, Sienna, and introduced me as "the help." Sienna, with feigned innocence, knocked a precious memento from my hand, shattering it. When I confronted her, Dante slapped me twice in public, the humiliation searing my soul. Later, I discovered Sienna had framed me for kidnapping her, a lie Dante readily believed. To force a confession, he had my mother tied in a sack and thrown into the freezing lake to drown. He left her there to die. That was the moment the girl who loved him died, too. I saved my mother, and we fled the country, seeking refuge with my childhood friend, Julian. I thought I had escaped. But then Dante appeared in Australia, begging for forgiveness. I rejected him, choosing a future with Julian. I thought it was over. Until a car, driven by a vengeful Sienna, barreled towards us. The last thing I saw was Dante throwing himself in front of me, taking the full impact.

The doctors gave me three years to live. I used every last bit of my strength to marry Cedric Moon, the man I loved. On our wedding night, he abandoned me for another woman. He brought her into our home, forcing me to serve her. He made me apologize for crimes I didn't commit. His family despised me, but they adored her. Then came the staged kidnapping. To save her, Cedric traded me—his pregnant wife—to the man holding a knife. As the blade pressed against my throat, I heard my husband's voice yell at the police. "Shoot!"

Nathan Cross, the infamous underworld boss, married Jane Rivers on the day her family's wealth collapsed. He had harbored a secret love for her for a decade. After their marriage, he treated her like royalty. Jane believed she had found the right man, until their fifth year together. She discovered she was pregnant, but Nathan, who had always cherished her, demanded she terminate the pregnancy. She overheard him speaking with a friend and learned that Nathan had betrayed her with another woman, and for the woman, he forced Jane to get rid of their child. Worse, she learned he had engineered her family's downfall, driving her parents to their deaths. Out of no choice, Jane contacted Nathan's sworn enemy abroad and faked her death to escape. After she was gone, Nathan wept, pleading for her return. But it was too late. The pain he inflicted would be repaid a hundredfold.

The moment I told Jake Reynolds we were over, he didn't believe me. He just laughed like I was joking. We had been together for five years, living in his penthouse with my mom. I never thought our life would change. It all started when his ex-girlfriend, Brittany Davis, showed up. He asked me to cook for them, but I couldn't. My mom was in the hospital, fighting terminal cancer, and I was with her. That was my first mistake. Three days later, my mom's health insurance, which was under Jake's company plan and kept her pain manageable, was canceled. I begged him, called him repeatedly, left desperate voicemails, but he blocked my number. He never answered. Two weeks later, my mom died; she spent her last days in agony because she couldn't get her medication. The day after her funeral, I saw a picture of Jake and Brittany on a yacht in the Caribbean, arm-in-arm, smiling. The caption read, "An escape with my one and only." I went to his penthouse, the place I once called home, to tell him it was over. He sneered, "I was just teaching you a lesson. You can't just say no to me." I told him simply, "You killed my mother." He knew exactly what he was doing when he cut her off. He did it because I wouldn' t cook a meal for his ex-girlfriend. A life for a dinner. This made no sense. I returned to his penthouse to retrieve my mother' s last painting. Jake and Brittany were there. When I asked for the painting, he told me to get Brittany a glass of water. Then, she deliberately ruined my five years of artwork, my sketchbook. He then took my mother' s sunflower painting, the one she painted with shaking hands, and snapped it over his knee. The crack of the wood echoed like a gunshot. He threw the pieces at my feet. But in that moment, something shifted. I started to laugh, realizing he had nothing left to take from me.

Three years ago, I was Ava, an AI research star on the cusp of changing the world, deeply in love with my fiancé, Mark, my partner in every sense. Then, a rival company framed me for corporate espionage, and the man I loved, my legal advisor, stood in court and testified against me, his calm words sealing my fate. Released from prison, I found Mark a Silicon Valley titan, his empire built on my stolen research, the very work he now claimed as his own, his sister Clara whispering venom to ensure my continued subservience. He declared he' d take care of me, only to trap me in a luxurious apartment, subtly sabotaging every attempt I made at independence, crushing my professional and personal life. Why would the man who loved me do this? Why would he actively destroy me, then pretend to be my savior? His actions were a twisted perversion of love, a calculated move to break my spirit and control my ambition, reducing me to a shell of who I once was. Just as despair threatened to consume me, a surprising offer from Liam, Mark's fiercest rival, ignited a flicker of hope, forcing me to decide: crumble under Mark's crushing control, or rise from the ashes to fight for my stolen identity and reclaim my future.

The table was set for our fifth wedding anniversary, with his favorite meal and a carefully wrapped gift, but my phone buzzed with a text that erased it all: "Something came up at work. Can\'t make it." Just that. No apology, no explanation. A familiar hollowness spread through me, deepened by the sight of his briefcase, unlatched by the door, a thick manila envelope peeking out. What I found inside shattered everything: pre-signed divorce papers, dated three months ago, detailing a "dissolution of marriage." My husband, Mark, had been planning to discard me. The betrayal hit me with a physical force, a wave of nausea. Five years of my life, put on hold for him, for our home, only to be thrown away like yesterday' s news. Then it all clicked – the distance, the late nights, the sudden reappearance of Emily, his "first love." She wasn' t just back in town; she was back in his life. I remembered the company dinner, the way he' d ignored me, the way Emily had purred, "Some things are just meant to be, aren\'t they?" He hadn' t just neglected me; he had actively replaced me. I had been a fool, lying to myself, pretending not to see the obvious cracks in our marriage. The humiliation, sharp and painful, burned through me. He wanted out? Fine. He could have it. But he wouldn' t be the one to end this on his terms. I stood up, walked to his briefcase, and meticulously placed the divorce papers exactly as I' d found them. Then, I went upstairs, to the room we' d shared for five years, and began to pack. He wouldn' t be the one to discard me. I was leaving him.

The crystal chandeliers glittered over the ballroom, a cold parody of joy as I stood in the shadows, a forgotten daughter at my father' s company anniversary. Then, the announcement shattered my carefully constructed composure: my stepsister, Clara, was engaged to Julian Croft, the only man who had ever shown me kindness in this suffocating life. His averted gaze, her cruel, triumphant smile directly at me-it was a public execution of my last fragile hope, a final, devastating blow after years of being blamed, dismissed, and having my mother' s legacy sold off for a symbolic dollar. How could the man I loved stand by while she destroyed me, just like my father had ignored my mother' s pain and my own cries for years? What twisted game was this, where their happiness was built on my ruin? Cut off and cast out, a mysterious stranger offered me a terrifying choice: remain a victim, or begin a war for justice, for my mother' s honor, and for myself.

I was pregnant, happily married to Julian Vance, a successful tech mogul. I believed we had the picturesque life, our future unfolding perfectly before us. Then, the words hit me like a physical blow, broadcast live from our building lobby. Julian, my loving husband, announced on TV that Liv Cartwright's child was his, shamefully implying our unborn baby was the byproduct of a violent robbery. My world shattered. Julian callously dismissed my heartbreak, choosing to sacrifice me and our child for Liv' s supposed vulnerability. Liv moved into our penthouse, systematically turning my existence into a living hell, her manipulations and humiliations an unending torment. He blindly believed every one of her lies, even when she physically assaulted me and then twisted the narrative, leaving me injured and abandoned. Drowning in an abyss of disgrace, I secretly ended my pregnancy. How could he be so utterly blind? How could the man I loved betray me so profoundly, abandoning our sacred bond for a calculating, deceitful woman? The searing injustice festered, transforming my grief into a cold, burning rage. But I wouldn't allow myself to be a silent casualty. He thought he could escape the wreckage he created? I would ensure he paid for every single lie, starting with an unforgettable delivery at his precious Liv' s lavish baby shower. It was time for him to face the truth.

My daughter, Emily, lay brutally assaulted in a hospital bed, clinging to life. But the real nightmare began when my wife, Jessica, cold and unfeeling, told me the police found Emily' s blood on my jacket. The Assistant District Attorney I married betrayed me instantly, letting the police drag me away while she watched. She froze my assets, publicly shamed me, and twisted our shared love for Emily' s art into proof of my depravity. Driving home, a dashcam recording exposed her chilling plot with her ex-lover, Ethan: they orchestrated Emily' s attack to frame me, seize my brewery, and coldly deemed Emily's suffering a "small price." Even worse, I learned Jessica had been feeding him information for years, believing his lies that I had wronged her, making her a willing participant in the scheme to destroy me. How could the woman I loved, Emily's mother, be such a monster? The betrayal was a physical blow, choking me, drowning me in a profound sense of injustice and utter powerlessness. But after Ethan and Jessica left me for dead, a hospital call pierced the darkness: Emily was awake. And she had named her attacker.

Eleanor Hayes, my godmother, sat across from me in her familiar study, presenting glossy portfolios for my future. "It's time you thought seriously about settling down," she said, gentle yet firm. My heart slammed against my ribs, a desperate drum. This conversation. This room. I knew it. A cold dread, sharp as a winter blade, pierced through me, an echo from a life already lived. Isabelle Vance. Her beautiful, cruel face flashed, bringing with it the suffocating memories of my first existence. "You were never good enough for me, Ethan," she' d hissed, her eyes like ice, a final cut. That bitter, public divorce, her humiliating betrayal with Julian Croft. Then, the shouting, the chaotic confrontation, and her spoiled child' s reckless prank. The fall. Darkness. A chilling plunge into an ornamental lake, drowning amidst the detached laughter of society. My own death, undeniably real, my last breath choked with bitter regret and public ridicule. Now, I was back. Years earlier. At this exact, pivotal moment that began my first life' s spiral into ruin. I could feel the ghost of that past betrayal, the hollowness of a future wasted, screaming at me. I had been a fool, desperate for acceptance from the wrong woman. But this time, a second chance pulsed with terrifying clarity. This time, I would defy expectations. This time, I would choose my own destiny, no matter how unconventional.

My 5-year-old son, Leo, watched helplessly as I slowly withered away from endless bone marrow donations. My wife, Victoria, dismissed my agonizing decline, blinded by her childhood flame Julian Vance's manufactured illness and charisma. Leo frantically pleaded for help, but Victoria, consumed by Julian, ignored his desperate cries, even after he reported me coughing up blood. Instead, she pushed him violently, leaving him injured and alone amidst Julian's cruel laughter. After my death, Leo tried to fulfill my last wish, only for Julian to mockingly destroy my favorite donuts and viciously slash my son’s lip, forcing him to call him "Father." My spirit, helpless, watched as Leo collapsed, unconscious and bleeding, onto my lifeless body, utterly abandoned. How could a mother be so utterly deaf to her child's pleas, so complicit in such monstrous cruelty? The injustice was a burning void, a father's agony witnessing his son's betrayal. Found near death, Leo was rushed to the hospital, where Julian later crept in to silence him with a pillow. But a spectral surge of pure, desperate paternal rage—my rage—slammed Julian away, alerting security and shattering the monstrous facade. The truth about his fake illness and vengeful plot would finally unravel, setting the stage for a dramatic reckoning and Leo’s long fight for justice and redemption.

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."

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!"

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

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

After two years of marriage, Kristian dropped a bombshell. "She's back. Let's get divorced. Name your price." Freya didn't argue. She just smiled and made her demands. "I want your most expensive supercar." "Okay." "The villa on the outskirts." "Sure." "And half of the billions we made together." Kristian froze. "Come again?" He thought she was ordinary-but Freya was the genius behind their fortune. And now that she'd gone, he'd do anything to win her back.

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

Two years of marriage left Brinley questioning everything, her supposed happiness revealed as nothing but sham. Abandoning her past for Colin, she discovered only betrayal and a counterfeit wedding. Accepting his heart would stay frozen, she called her estranged father, agreeing to the match he proposed. Laughter followed her, with whispers of Colin's power to toss her aside. Yet, she reinvented herself-legendary racer, casino mastermind, and acclaimed designer. When Colin tried to reclaim her, another man pulled Brinley close. "She's already carrying my child. You can't move on?"