Sutton Moul

I walked in on my husband caressing his pregnant mistress' s belly. In my own home. But the real betrayal wasn't his affair. It was when he, his mother, and even my own parents declared my pregnancy a "complication" that needed to be erased for a multi-billion-dollar merger. They locked me in my penthouse and dragged me to a clinic. My own mother and father sold me out for a check, signing off on the procedure to get rid of my baby. "It's time to cleanse the bloodline," my mother-in-law said as they held me down. As the needle went into my arm, I felt my child, the one I'd prayed for, being stolen from me. They didn't just break my heart; they murdered my baby. But they didn't know who I really was. Rescued by my true family-the powerful Pittmans-I learned I wasn't a discarded wife. I was a kidnapped heiress. And now, I will use every bit of my power to make them pay for the child they took from me.

My fiancé, Bentley Wise, heir to a New York real estate empire, promised we'd marry in 99 days. But after he saved a socialite, Frida Tanner, from a landslide, he spent those days repaying her "kindness," abandoning me at every turn. When Frida, driving distracted, killed my mother in a car crash, Bentley defended her at the funeral. "It was an accident, Adelle. You're causing a scene." He shielded my mother's killer, pushed me to the ground, and chose her over our ten years of love. Lying on the floor of the chapel, I watched him comfort the woman who destroyed my life. I knew then that our love was dead. I exposed their crimes online and fled to Paris to start over. But just as I found new love and a new life, Bentley appeared, begging for a second chance. "I'm so sorry, Adelle. Please, just come back to me." I refused, telling him I was with someone else. That night, Frida's mother, seeking revenge, had me kidnapped and left for dead. Bentley sacrificed himself to save me, taking the blows meant for me. As he lay bleeding, he pleaded, "Give me another chance. I'll do anything." I looked at the man who had destroyed me, then saved me, and said, "I have a new life now, Bentley. A life you have no part in."

"Look at the reflection in the window, sweetie," the TikTok sleuth messaged me. That one notification unraveled my entire life. My fiancé, Ashton, wasn't on a business trip. He was with Angela. And Alfie, the seven-year-old "little brother" I' d been raising and financing for two years? He was actually their son. I was just the ATM covering their bills while Ashton bought Angela a diamond ring with my money. When I tried to expose them, Angela played her trump card. She gave Alfie an angora rabbit, knowing he had a deadly allergy, just to frame me for attempted murder. "You poisoned him because you're jealous!" she shrieked in the crowded ER. Ashton looked at me with pure hatred. "You're a monster, Kaylynn." They thought they had me cornered. They didn't know I' d installed hidden cameras in the house three days ago. Or that I had the DNA test proving Alfie wasn't even Ashton's biological son. I wiped my tears and smiled at the police officer. "I have a video I think you need to see."

I discovered I was pregnant with my boyfriend of five years, empire heir Cash Robinson, in the same clinic where I learned his fiancée was also pregnant with his child. His family' s response was to have me thrown to their guard dogs. As they mauled me, I heard Cash walk away, believing the lie that I had taken their money and left. But they made one mistake: I survived. And with the help of his best friend, I' m coming back to burn their entire world to the ground.

My fiancé Franklin and I had been together for ten years. I was standing at the altar in the chapel I designed myself, waiting to marry the man who had been my entire world since high school. But when our wedding planner, Hayley, who was officiating, looked at him and asked, "Franklin Frye, will you marry me?" he didn't laugh. He looked at her with a love I hadn't seen in years and said, "I do." He left me standing alone at the altar. His excuse? Hayley, the other woman, was supposedly dying of a brain tumor. He then forced me to donate my rare blood type to save her, had my beloved cat put down to appease her cruel whims, and even left me to drown, swimming right past me to pull her from the water first. The last time he left me to die, I was suffocating on the kitchen floor, going into anaphylactic shock from the peanuts Hayley had deliberately put in my food. He chose to rush her to the hospital for a fake seizure instead of saving my life. I finally understood. He didn't just betray me; he was willing to kill me for her. As I lay recovering in the hospital, alone, my father called with an insane proposal: a marriage of convenience to Arden Harvey, a reclusive and powerful tech CEO. My heart was a dead, hollow thing. Love was a lie. So when he asked if a change of groom was in order, I heard myself say, "Yes. I'll marry him."

For three years, I poured my soul into Innovate, building Brittany' s startup from the ground up as her lead engineer and live-in boyfriend. I fixed her code, her leaky faucet, and every problem in her life, while she paid me a pittance, treating me like a glorified handyman. But at her success party, watching her beam at her ex-boyfriend Dylan, unveiled as the new "visionary," something inside me snapped. Then came the ultimate insult: demotion to Dylan' s assistant, his snakeskin boots propped on MY desk, MY awards tossed in a dusty box. The years of exploitation culminated in a single, burning question: how could someone I gave everything to treat me with such utter contempt? No more. I handed her my resignation, a meticulously itemized invoice for eighty-seven thousand dollars of unpaid work, and played a recording of her own words. "Forty-eight hours, Brittany," I said, pocketing my phone. "The clock is ticking." That night, I walked out of her apartment for good, the trash bag holding her memories of me thudding satisfyingly down the chute. This wasn' t just an exit; it was a declaration of war.

I loved Ethan Scott for a decade, dreaming of being his wife, his partner, and the mother of his children. On our wedding night, when he whispered about starting a family, my heart soared. I believed he finally loved me back. Weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant with twins, and my joy was boundless. But that joy shattered when I secretly overheard Ethan, his mistress, and his friends boasting about drugging and violating me as part of a cruel, six-figure bet. My life twisted into a nightmare of public humiliation as Ethan paraded me around, forcing a paternity test for all five men involved in his sick game. I was judged, abandoned, and then falsely accused, leading Ethan to shove me so hard I lost my twin babies. He didn't ask if I was okay, only complained about the bloodstains on the rug. I had lost everything: my babies, my dignity, and the man I loved had become a monster. But as I lay bleeding, a cold, hard clarity settled inside me. The game had just begun for them, but for me, it was time to play a different one. I called my brother, the ruthless lawyer, ready to bury everyone who stood in my way.

My boyfriend, Caleb, was my family, my everything, for nearly two decades. He worked as a security guard for a spoiled tech heiress, Gabrielle, but our Fourth of July plans were finally just for us. Then a frantic call from his client shattered everything. Suddenly, we were on a deserted road, fireworks popping in the distance, when a "carjacking" erupted. As masked men attacked, Caleb didn't hesitate. He sprinted past me, sacrificing my safety to shield Gabrielle, whispering, "If anything happens to you, I can't live with myself." His words, and the knife searing my side, were a shock that cut deeper than any blade. I bled out on the asphalt, while Caleb fussed over Gabrielle's minor scratch. I woke up in a hospital, alone, only to hear nurses describe Caleb as the "devoted guard" who hadn't left Gabrielle's side. He eventually appeared, reeking of her perfume, offering pathetic excuses and blaming me for being "in the wrong place at the wrong time." Just then, Gabrielle, pristine and smug, was wheeled in. "We both had our panic buttons," she purred, "We were going to see who he'd save." She confirmed the carjacking was a setup, a twisted bet I never knew I was in. My world imploded. How could the man I loved, my family, orchestrate such a cruel betrayal, then abandon me for a sick game? He chose her, leaving me broken. But I wouldn't stay broken. This was just the beginning of my reckoning.

It was my wedding night in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, the air thick with the hum of my guitar and the sweet promise of a new life with Jennifer. Everyone called me a prodigy, especially when I poured my essence into the "Soul Chord," a gift that felt like pure magic flowing through my fingers. Then, the juke joint doors burst open, and a biker gang stormed in, dragging me off stage. They held me down, and their leader, with a ball-peen hammer, systematically crushed the bones in my left hand, the one that played my Soul Chord. Through a haze of blinding pain, I saw Jennifer, shielding Caleb, watching without a word, her eyes cold and distant. Later, in the clinic, drugged but awake, I heard their whispers: Jennifer, Sabrina, and Caleb. They had planned it all, drugged me, orchestrated the attack to steal my music for Caleb' s album. My deepest secret, a dormant Soul Chord in my right hand, was brought up. And then, Jennifer quietly, methodically, severed the tendons in my right wrist, destroying my last hope, my last chance to play. They framed me as a violent gang affiliate, spread lies, and announced Jennifer and Caleb' s engagement, built on my ruin. My own adopted mother, Sabrina, then ordered my legs broken, leaving me a helpless, shattered mess. Thrown into a swamp to die, betrayed by everyone I loved, a cold rage ignited in me. They destroyed my body, my spirit, my life, but they made one fatal mistake: they left me breathing. Now, all that pain, all that fury, has become something more. And I' m coming back for every single one of them.

My phone screen lit up, not with a text, but a stark, black-and-white pop-up. "Ethan' s SAT scores: 1580. Stanford bound with Tiffany. You' re the 'just in case' girl." Just moments earlier, my childhood crush Ethan, whose father my own dad died saving, feigned despair over "disastrous" SAT scores. He'd gently coerced me, the valedictorian, to give up my dream school for State College, all for "us." These mysterious pop-ups, visible only to me, had always been unsettlingly, terrifyingly right. This one revealed his calculated deception: he'd aced his SATs and was going to Stanford with his new girlfriend, Tiffany. My heart turned to ice. I was his backup plan, a discarded pawn. The betrayal escalated at his lavish graduation party where he publicly humiliated me, painting my sacrifice as my idea. Then, with Tiffany's cruel suggestion, he trapped and locked me in a dark utility closet. The final blow: he brazenly showed my ailing mom a faked State acceptance letter, causing her to suffer a heart attack. As I sat by her hospital bed, watching her struggle for breath, a cold rage ignited. How could the boy whose family owed us everything be capable of such cruel manipulation? My dad died for his. Why was I his pawn? What were these pop-ups? But in that sterile room, watching his continued charade, something inside me snapped. I slapped him, hard. No longer a confused victim, I saw him for what he was: a manipulative abuser. This wasn't the end of my story. This was the beginning of my fight to reclaim it.

My life revolved around AuraStream, the tech company I co-founded with my wife, Olivia, where I was the quiet force behind the scenes. Our shared tradition: Olivia, the CEO, would dedicate the prestigious Innovator's Chalice to me, acknowledging our joint vision, every single year. But this year, the gala lights felt cold as she announced the award was for "fresh perspective," for Noah Evans, a junior marketing intern. My gut twisted as Noah immediately plastered photos of Olivia, the chalice, and himself across Instagram, celebrating "my CEO' s belief in my vision." The public humiliation escalated as Olivia showered Noah with a luxury company car for organizing pizza lunches, promoted him to "Special Projects Coordinator" over qualified veterans, and dismissed my team' s concerns about his incompetence. I watched, baffled, as she defended him and told me to "get my people in line" when he actively stole our ideas. The ultimate betrayal struck on the launch day of our flagship platform, Phoenix, when Olivia skipped out, claiming a "crucial partner meeting." Instead, I saw Noah' s Instagram post: poolside at a luxury resort, clinking champagne flutes with Olivia, who was conspicuously wearing the custom white gold watch I' d given her – the one with our entwined initials. How could she so openly flaunt her favoritism, her affair, and our shattered trust, using a symbol of our marriage to mock me? As the pieces clicked into place, a cold, unyielding resolve settled deep within me. She broke it all, and now, it was my turn to show her the true meaning of consequences.

I was Sarah Miller, a senior marketing manager, fiercely independent, building a life I was proud of. My husband, Mark, constantly praised my strength, publicly toasting "To Sarah, the most incredible woman!" I poured everything-my salary, my energy-into our home, our son Leo, and his expensive private school, believing I was crafting our shared future on my terms. But at the annual charity gala, my company card-used for "shared" household expenses because Mark' s were always mysteriously maxed out-was humiliatingly declined. Not once, but twice. A small, apologetic frown from the attendant confirmed the impossible: "I'm sorry, Ms. Miller, it's declined." Red-faced, I called Mark. "That five bucks in there is for my coffee," he sneered about the account holding my six-figure salary. Later, I discovered his Venmo: thousands transferred to a "Tiffany Evans." "Rent Support." "Shopping Spree." "Car Down Payment - BMW." His so-called "niece." Her Instagram, however, tagged "My amazing man" and flaunted new designer bags and a shiny BMW: #BestBoyfriend. My world shattered. Was my entire self-made independence just a facade, meticulously used to fund his secret life with another woman? The betrayal felt like a lead weight in my chest. That crushing realization was the final straw. So, when my chauvinistic boss brazenly took credit for my latest multi-million-dollar campaign, something snapped. "Actually, Chad," I declared, my voice steady, "that' s my campaign. I quit." Then, the words of liberation: "My dad' s monthly allowance to me in college was more than your annual salary." The time for Sarah Miller, the naive workhorse, was over. The time for Sarah Harrison had begun.

Everyone knew Ava Chen was just keeping Dr. Julian Vance' s spot warm. He, a brilliant Columbia astrophysicist; I, a New York financial analyst. We were dating, but his great love, my former best friend Chloe, was merely on fellowship, her return an unspoken ticking clock. The clock exploded the day Julian stood me up at City Hall for our marriage license. An Instagram story appeared instead: Julian, smiling, at Chloe' s surprise welcome-back party. My heart didn' t just break; it fractured into a dull, final ache. I shredded the marriage application. Later, Chloe brought a drunken Julian to my apartment, his subtle taunts confirming my place. He then whispered it: "Chloe." The ultimate affront. His cold, indifferent "Take the pill" solidified our transactional reality. I was a placeholder. My deep love unrequited, our relationship a cruel joke of neglect and manipulation. Why did I cling to a love that never truly saw me? But my tears turned to cold fury. I canceled wedding leave, applied for a senior analyst role in London. I would shed the "placeholder" and forge a fierce new beginning, on my own terms.

At the wedding venue, my bride suddenly learned that her first love was terminally ill. Without hesitation, she decided to call off the wedding, leaving me to pick up the pieces alone. I begged her to finish the ceremony first, but she frowned and said, "Jase, he's dying. What are you even comparing?" Eventually, as she wished, I stopped comparing everything. I became a business tycoon, and a divorce agreement landed in front of her. But she panicked.

"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!"

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."

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."

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.

For three years, Cathryn and her husband Liam lived in a sexless marriage. She believed Liam buried himself in work for their future. But on the day her mother died, she learned the truth: he had been cheating with her stepsister since their wedding night. She dropped every hope and filed for divorce. Sneers followed-she'd crawl back, they said. Instead, they saw Liam on his knees in the rain. When a reporter asked about a reunion, she shrugged. "He has no self-respect, just clings to people who don't love him." A powerful tycoon wrapped an arm around her. "Anyone coveting my wife answers to me."

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?"

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?