Wu Li

For five years, I paid for his art, his life, and his striking resemblance to a ghost. Karson Willis was my carefully curated substitute, a warm body to fill the space left by the man I' d lost. Then, my world shattered. My adoptive family found their biological daughter, and my inheritance vanished overnight. I was cut off, exiled. That' s when I overheard him laughing. "She's broke," he scoffed. "What's the point? She was useful, but that's over now." He called our five years a "convenience" and mocked the wedding board I' d secretly made. At a company dinner, he kissed another woman in front of everyone, then left me stranded when I fell ill, accusing me of being cruel. He even brought her into my home, letting her wear my clothes. I endured it all, a cold clarity settling over me. So when he finally got down on one knee, ring in hand, begging for a second chance, I didn't even hesitate. "I never loved you," I said, pulling my hand away. "You were just a placeholder."

I was the secret lover of billionaire Brooks Fields, a living substitute for the woman he truly loved, Candice. My rare heart condition, the very thing that made me fragile, was the only miracle that could save her. But one night, her jealousy turned deadly. She shoved me into the icy Hudson River, then staged her own fall, screaming for help. When the rescue crew yelled they could only save one of us from the churning water, Brooks didn't hesitate. "Her," he roared, pointing a shaking finger at Candice. "Get Candice first." He watched me go under, choosing to save the woman he adored while leaving me to die. The man who had once saved me from the streets had just condemned me to a watery grave without a second glance. But I survived. And as I recovered alone in a hospital, I finalized my plan. I would donate the unique tissue from my heart to save his precious Candice. In return, I would fake my own death and finally buy my freedom.

Adriana Cotton lived a life of perfect order, a flawless extension of her husband Gifford Stanton' s brand. Her dresses were tailored, her posture straight, her smile measured. She was the epitome of a Stanton wife. But on her birthday, she found him at a food truck, silk tie loosened, peeling a hot dog for a young woman giggling across from him. It was Jovita Griffith, the daughter of their former housekeeper, whose education Gifford had been funding for years under the guise of charity. Adriana' s carefully constructed composure shattered. She confronted them, only to be met with Gifford' s dismissive excuses and Jovita' s feigned innocence. She posted a scathing selfie, but Gifford, blind to the truth, accused her of being overly emotional and announced Jovita would be staying with them. Later that night, she returned home to find her surprise birthday party in full swing, hosted by Jovita, who was wearing Adriana' s vintage Chanel dress. Jovita, smug and victorious, whispered venomous words, claiming Gifford found Adriana "cold in bed. Like a fish." The insult, a brutal blow, pushed Adriana past her breaking point. Her hand flew up, connecting with Jovita' s cheek, the slap echoing through the silent room. Gifford, enraged, cradled Jovita, glaring at Adriana as if she were a monster. He roared, "Have you lost your mind?" He accused her of humiliating him, of being out of control, and ordered her banished to the countryside. Adriana, however, was done playing by his rules. She called Alexzander Wilson, her childhood friend, who arrived by helicopter to whisk her away. "Not anymore," she told Gifford, her voice clear and strong. "We are not a family." She threw divorce papers in his face, leaving him and Jovita to their chaos.

Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day. But a cold feeling spread through my chest as I stood outside the bathroom door of my fiancé, Liam Harrison, the man I' d known since foster care. Inside, I heard his desperate moan: "Ashley..." Ashley Peterson. My high school tormentor. The one who called him a "freak" and poured scalding coffee on him. My heart shattered as he moaned her name again, pure pleasure. His phone buzzed, the name Ashley Peterson lit up the screen. He answered, his voice instantly soft, almost pleading. "You better be. Don' t think for a second that just because you' re marrying that pathetic little charity case, you can forget about me," she spat. He lied about checking work email, grabbed his keys, and left. I followed. He drove not to his office, but to an expensive bakery. I watched as he bought her a ridiculous cake. He' d hired her as his personal assistant, saying it was revenge. But I' d found his old journals. They weren't about revenge. They were filled with her name, detailing a twisted obsession. At the bakery, Ashley took the cake. "It' s my birthday tomorrow, Liam. I have a wish. Ditch the wedding. Don' t marry her." He stiffened, but she purred, "You don't love her. You love me." I watched as he slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded. My heart turned to ice. I cancelled the wedding, packed my bags, and started the process to move to Europe. But Ashley wasn't done. She showed up at my home, treating our staff like servants. "This is my house now." The confrontation escalated, and she deliberately threw scalding soup on me. "Now you have a scar to match your pathetic life." Liam walked in, and she shrieked, "She attacked me!" He didn' t even look at my burns. He cradled her. "Chloe, what the hell is wrong with you?" Even with witnesses, he chose to believe her. He carried her out to the hospital, leaving me behind-alone, shattered, and betrayed. He tried to buy my forgiveness with designer gifts, but I saw him for what he was: a weak man controlled by toxic obsession. Then, at a charity gala, Ashley, desperate, bid a ridiculous amount on a bracelet. Liam publicly rejected her, and she flew into a rage, smashing the bracelet and fleeing. He followed her into the garden. I watched as he gently comforted her for losing a childhood memento. She gave him a deep, demanding kiss, and he returned it passionately. The world tilted. It wasn' t just sick obsession. It was love. I finally understood my place. He loved me like a sister he was indebted to, like a pet he felt responsible for. But he desired Ashley. Her cruelty was affection, my devotion a burden. I was the safe harbor, she the storm. I didn' t want his pity, his candy, his hollow promises. I wanted to be free. The morning of the wedding, I abandoned my dress, shattered my phone, and threw away my ring. I was finally, truly, gone.

The official notification arrived on a Monday morning: Chloe Davis, my son David's fiancée, was confirmed dead in a car accident. I dropped the document in the trash without a change in expression, because I already knew. I had lived this life once before. And in that life, I had died. In my first life, Chloe's death destroyed David. My adopted son, Mark, along with Chloe's sisters, Olivia and Sophia, exploited his grief with ruthless precision. They drugged him, siphoned off his inheritance, and bled my company dry. When I finally saw the truth, it was too late. I confronted them, but they came for me that night. Mark, the boy I raised, ended my life with a tire iron. Then, darkness. And then, light. I woke up three months before my own murder, given a second chance. The doting father was dead, replaced by a man forged in betrayal. This time, I wouldn't just protect my son; I would dismantle their schemes piece by piece. When Chloe's fake death notice arrived, I felt only cold resolve. The game had just begun. And this time, I knew all the rules.

For six years, I was the loyal, grateful boyfriend, constantly working to keep Nicole, the "it girl" every guy wanted, by my side. I tolerated her college ex, Ryan, a trust-fund musician who always lingered, a constant source of anxiety and a recurring fight. Tonight, at a packed Super Bowl party, the simmering tension exploded. As I watched from across the room, Ryan, his arm draped casually over her, leaned in and kissed her-a deep, dramatic, movie-style kiss-right in front of everyone. The room fell silent. Every single person turned to stare at me, their faces a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity, waiting for my usual explosion. But the expected rage, the desperate plea, the furious fight? None of it came. I felt nothing but a strange, hollow calm. How could the woman I' d spent six years trying to keep, the love that defined my adult life, betray me so openly without a flicker of remorse? How could I have been so utterly blind? Instead of screaming, I raised my beer bottle in a mock toast, a deadpan smile on my face. "Encore!" My love for her, which had fueled my world for so long, had just died. The tank was finally, completely empty. Now, it was time to reclaim my life.

Eight months pregnant, I cradled my swollen belly, anticipating the miracle baby conceived after years of grueling IVF treatments and countless tear-soaked nights. But the scent of barbecue smoke suddenly morphed into burning truth when I overheard my husband Mark' s chilling confession from the patio. He' d feigned my infertility, using me as a mere vessel to carry his mistress Jessica' s child, planning to discard me once his "perfect" blueprint was complete. My world shattered as I understood: my baby was Jessica' s, my love a lie, my body a grotesque incubator in his twisted scheme. That night, Mark drugged me, then, with Jessica and his friends, they violated my unconscious form, gleefully filming my humiliation and sharing it online. As I hemorrhaged and lost the pregnancy, they casually dismissed my pleas, leaving me bleeding and broken, just another inconvenient piece of furniture in their sick game. The dehumanizing assault, the profound betrayal, and the agonizing loss of the child that had only ever been a pawn, ignited a cold, clear rage inside me. How could the man who promised me a family inflict such calculated, monstrous cruelty, turning my deepest desires into instruments of my degradation? Lying naked, covered in my own blood, as their mockery echoed, I realized they hadn' t just broken me; they had inadvertently forged me into an unyielding weapon. They thought they had stripped me of everything, but they had just given me a very specific, unbreakable purpose: to systematically dismantle their lives, piece by excruciating piece.

My family's beloved Majestic movie theater was facing foreclosure, a legacy crumbling after my father's passing. I, Amelia Hayes, an aspiring screenwriter, had one desperate shot: get my script noticed. Then, a powerful Hollywood producer, Marcus Thorne, offered a lifeline: "Be my companion, and your theater is saved." I fell for his charm, mistaking grand gestures for genuine affection. But his A-list ex-fiancée, Victoria Sinclair, reappeared, instantly making it clear I was nothing but a temporary distraction, a pawn in Marcus’s desperate game to win Victoria back. Victoria orchestrated cruel tests, and Marcus consistently chose her, culminating in him publicly abandoning me at a gala. She moved into his home, humiliating me, then framed me for an attack, leading Marcus to lock me in his wine cellar without question. Later, at a public university event, he looked straight at me and coldly denied knowing me. The humiliation, the betrayal, the objectification—how could I have been so foolish, so disposable? Every "affectionate" moment had been a calculated lie, designed to make Victoria jealous. The man I thought I loved had used me, broken me, then discarded me. Enough was enough. I wouldn't be his pawn any longer. I sent him a final, defiant message, severed all ties, and left for Paris, determined to reclaim my dignity, heal my heart, and write my own story, far from the gilded cage of Hollywood.

Only when Yena was about to lose her life did she learned her sister's true color and the fact that the one she truly loved was that arrogant man, who died with her. Her life took another round and she had already learned the lesson from her previous life. This time, she would try her best to love the man better, who always took her in the first place no matter what. He was hers and nobody could take him away from her.

"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!"

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.

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."

It was our fifth anniversary, and I sat alone in a Michelin-starred restaurant, staring at a diamond ring that felt more like an anchor than a promise. I kept telling myself Caleb was just busy, rationalizing the sharp, spasmodic pain in my stomach as mere nerves rather than my body's final warning. But when I went to his penthouse to surprise him, I found the double doors ajar. Through the gap, I watched my fiancé devouring Beatrice Blackwood on the sofa-the woman who had the family backing and confidence I supposedly lacked. He wasn't working; he was celebrating our anniversary by replacing me. The fallout was a calculated humiliation. The tabloids branded me a "pathetic orphan," and my Uncle Richard didn't care about the betrayal. He slammed his hand on his desk, claiming I was having another "psychotic episode" and accusing me of paranoia. He threatened to pull the plug on my mother's life support unless I went to the Hamptons to beg Caleb for forgiveness. My family even tried to force me onto heavy antipsychotics to keep me quiet for the sake of a corporate merger. I was being sold to a man who hated me by the very people who were supposed to protect me. I didn't understand why they wanted me broken, or why a mysterious stranger in an elevator had suddenly paid my mother's astronomical medical bills in full. Everything changed at a dinner where my uncle tried to trade me to a predator for a real estate deal. I didn't cry; I shattered a wine bottle and held the jagged glass to the man's throat. That's when Julian Blackwood, the most feared man on Wall Street, walked in and seized the house, the debt, and me. "I take my contracts seriously, Vanessa," he whispered, pulling me into his armored car as my family was thrown onto the street. I had escaped my uncle's cage, but as I looked into Julian's storm-gray eyes, I realized I had just traded a common bully for a beautiful, deadly king.

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."

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?