All works

For two years, I played the obedient wife to a star hockey player, even shelving my own scientific research to protect his devoted family man brand. Then, a text message led me to a luxury cabin in the freezing rain, where I saw my husband half-naked on a sofa with my best friend of ten years. Through the glass, I heard them mocking my pathetic salary, laughing about how he only kept me around to balance the books for his charity foundation. When I called him right outside the window, he smoothly lied about being in bed at the team hotel. "Goodnight, sweetheart. Coach kept us on the ice late." He kissed her right on the mouth as he spoke those words to me. My heart shattered, realizing my entire marriage was a carefully crafted lie and my best friend was a parasite using me for clout. I couldn't understand how they could take me for such a fool, humiliating me for years while expecting to walk away clean. But I wasn't alone in the dark. The man who brought me there was her husband—a supposedly broke, benched player who was secretly the billionaire owner of my husband's entire sports franchise. "Now, how do you want to hit back?" he whispered in the shadows. I wiped my tears, put on a backless crimson couture gown, and walked straight into the league's most exclusive VIP gala to tear my husband's fake life apart.

Haley woke in a galaxy of werecreatures as a princess-until the real one returned. The crown cast her onto a deserted planet, saddled with eight disabled, low-ranked mates. Some demanded freedom; others schemed or had volatile esper powers. Sick of it all, she ended their bonds. More mates were coming anyway. Only then did those arrogant males kneel. "I'll reclaim your palace." "Use me, Domina. I can do even the impossible." "I'm your loyal pup. Only you matter." "My fortune and I are yours." Haley only shrugged. "You begged for this."

As a kept woman—a trophy wife—I had reached the height every woman supposedly desired: married to a billionaire and pregnant with his child. That was until his first love returned. My husband brought her child home and ordered me to get an abortion the next morning. "A newborn will take your attention away and ruin Jaxon's adjustment," he said in a businesslike tone, casually handing me a twenty-million-dollar compensation agreement and the deed to a Manhattan penthouse. He expected me to quietly dispose of my own flesh and blood. I glanced down at the appointment slip, then looked up and said, "Okay." He froze, waiting for me to cry, to beg. I refused. The day I married into the Potts family, I understood the rule: a trophy wife only cares about money, not love. He makes an offer, I comply. Tears aren't in the contract. Soon after, he paraded his first love around our home, playing the flawless family man while treating me like a disposable ghost. He truly believed I was just a spineless, decorative wife who would willingly butcher her own child to satisfy his twisted savior complex. I watched him reserve all his tenderness for that mother and son, not even bothering to pretend anymore. I didn't want to stay in this house for another second. I handed him a forged abortion record, took the money, signed the divorce papers, and flew to Boston to attend Harvard Law School and gave birth to my daughter there alone. He thought he was dealing with a nuisance, completely unaware that from the abortion slip to the divorce agreement, every single step was a trap I had set for him.

Ivy Sinclair has lost everything-her job, her apartment, and, most importantly, her baby. Five months ago, broke and homeless, she left her newborn son on the billionaire's doorstep, attaching a note with the name of his father. Now she has an opportunity to get close to her child and change things. Alexander Vanderbilt hires her as a nanny to care for his son, Milo. Ivy takes the job and moves into the mansion to be close to her son. The billionaire's fiancée, Vanessa Hartwell, is claiming Milo and plans to marry Alexander, but his cold attitude toward her is unforgivable. Ivy hides her identity, but can she continue living under the same roof with the man from her past and the woman who stole her son?

One day I started coughing blood. At the hospital they told me I had cancer, It felt almost like a relief. No more of my mother-in-law's endless berating about grandchildren, no more of her telling me I had ruined her son's life. I thought I might finally die in peace. Then I got tired of the hospital and went home. I found my two favorite people in the world, my husband and my childhood best friend, the woman I called sister together, calmly planning what they would do after I was gone. Rage hit me so hard I confronted them, screaming that I would call the police. My best friend answered by driving a knife into my chest. I died watching my husband hold her and comfort her while life drained out of me. When I opened my eyes again, I was fifteen years in the past. I'm not making the same mistakes this time. I'm going to destroy them both starting by marrying my husband's impotent uncle.

The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below. I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty. Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first. I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated. Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child? I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.

My car broke down in a torrential downpour, so I called my husband of seven years for help. He hung up on me. But minutes later, his childhood sweetheart, Alona, pulled up, slapped herself in the face, and called his private line crying that I had attacked her. Dominic arrived in his Bentley almost immediately. He didn't even look at my shivering, soaked body. Instead, he wrapped his jacket around Alona, tossed a corporate card at me to call a cab, and drove away. Through the car window, I saw our six-year-old son glaring at me. "Mom, stop making a scene! Auntie Alona is not feeling well." Later that night at the family dinner, his brother intentionally drove through a puddle to drench me in mud, and his mother forced me to wear a maid's uniform to the table. The family matriarch then ordered me to kneel on the cold marble floor, demanding I produce a second heir. For seven years, I thought my devotion could warm his cold heart. I didn't know everyone in his circle mocked me for trapping him with a pregnancy, or that I was just a convenient shield to protect his true love from his ruthless grandmother. I didn't cry, and I didn't argue. I simply stood up from the cold floor and sent him a text message. "Dominic, let's get a divorce." The next morning, I blocked every number in the Reeves family and called my lawyer.

She was supposed to be a one night transaction in the form of stripper-paid entertainment. He was supposed to be the devil the girls whispered about behind the curtains. Sable Zhen walked into that hotel suite with one goal. To survive the night, clear her debt, and disappear into a different life, a fresh start. She did not plan to feel anything, and she definitely did not plan for him. Alaric Evander Leighton is the kind of man cities are built around. He does not break his rules, he does not feel things he cannot contain, he does not contact women himself, he does not skip background checks, and he most definitely does not think about the same face two days in a row. Until the girl with the stage name-Parisol. When Sable walks through the doors of Leighton Biotech on Monday morning and finds herself face to face with the man she spent the night whimpering under, the world she has carefully constructed begins to fracture at the edges. He is her boss. She is his assistant. And between them sits an attraction neither of them can afford. But the secrets do not stop there. A tattoo behind her ear. Two criminal syndicates and a past that reaches further back than either of them knows and connects them in ways that have nothing to do with one night in a dark hotel room. Something was set in motion long before they met. And it is only just beginning to surface.

For three years, I swallowed a bitter pill daily, suppressing my royal white wolf bloodline for a normal life as the Alpha's Luna. That morning, my husband Santino coldly announced a crucial announcement, then entered our grand hall with another woman, declaring, "Alessia, she will be living here from now on." She was pregnant, he announced, carrying our late Beta's child-yet her neck was unmarked. My scoff met his furious Alpha dominance, threatening my title, forcing my bow as he settled her into the suite next to ours. Her sickening scent soon permeated my private study. Later, I found him intimately grooming her in the kitchen-a sacred act for mates-while he snarled mental insults, branding my jealousy pathetic. Watching his hands violate our vows, a slow, cruel smirk pulled at my lips. My three-year marriage was officially over. I had already paused my royal trust fund's capital, then severed our mind link with a chilling declaration: "Don't touch me with the hands that just touched her."

I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family's social standing. During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me. I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn't care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst. She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side. "Men get angry," she told me coldly. "It's your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house." I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip. My heart went completely dead. So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn't hesitate. I walked back into my parents' house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table. "I won't be apologizing to Preston. I got married today."

I pulled the perfectly baked Beef Wellington from the oven, its rich scent filling our Manhattan penthouse. For five years, I’d crafted this perfect life, but tonight, I’d discover my entire existence was a cruel, silent lie. The man I loved had built it all on betrayal. Preparing our anniversary dinner, I reflected on five years of building a flawless home for Blake, a dream I’d never known. Searching for a pen, I found a hidden compartment in Blake’s desk containing a cheap black USB drive—a significant secret for a man who despised anything less than perfect. His MacBook unlocked with his birthday, not ours. The USB, after a near-data-wipe, revealed "The Archives": hundreds of photos of Blake with his college girlfriend, Isabelle, passionate love letters, and a wardrobe chosen to mirror hers. My name yielded "0 results found," while millions were wired to Isabelle. I was a meticulously funded stand-in, a ghost he dressed up to play house. My non-existence in his world and his financial betrayal ignited a cold, burning rage. Blake returned, dismissive, offering a delayed anniversary gift. I confronted him; he ripped the USB, snapped it, and stated, "Nothing changes, as long as you know your place." My obedience shattered: "I want a divorce," I declared, then destroyed dinner and packed my own bag.

Everything changed when his Ex-girlfriend returned..... Larisa Bennett thought the news of her pregnancy would improve her relationship with her husband, Ryan Kingsley. However, before she could tell him the pleasant news, his ex-girlfriend, Ivy Williams, reappeared and turned her life upside down. It was like she was starting from zero all over again. Ryan suddenly became distant and detached, his attention now focused on the woman he always loved. Larisa was hit with the reality that Ryan would never love her. She was the third wheel in her own marriage and she was tired. Resorting to the only thing that would set her free, she asked for a divorce but surprisingly, Ryan refused, not wanting to let her go but his actions told a different story. His ex-girlfriend always came first. In a shocking turn of events, everything turned south when Larisa found herself kidnapped at the same time as Ivy. Ryan is faced with a difficult choice. He can only save one. Will he choose to save his wife or ex-girlfriend? What are the consequences of his choice? If he chooses to save Ivy, will he regret it and will it be too late?

For three years, I kept my relationship with Grayson a secret to protect his tech career, playing the role of his strict, single coworker. But I opened our company internal software today to find hundreds of colleagues enthusiastically betting on when he would propose to my best friend, Kloe. I screenshotted it and sent it to Grayson, asking for an explanation. His reply was dismissive: "Just office banter. Can you not be such a prude about it? It's embarrassing." Instead of shutting the rumors down, Grayson basked in the attention. "Jealousy is a career killer, Blair," my coworkers sneered, plastering my desk with sticky notes. I had paid half his mortgage and sacrificed my youth for his success, only to be thrown away for twenty minutes of cheap office applause. I stared at the word "embarrassing," my nails digging into my palm to keep the tears from falling. I took a deep breath and peeled the mocking sticky notes off my desk one by one, tucking them into my bag—they wanted to see me break, but I was going to walk out of this with my head held high. I signed my transfer papers to Denver, dialed the best defamation lawyer in Seattle, and prepared to tear down their perfect facade.

I saved a poisoned, blind man in a dark hotel room, only to be forced by my abusive adoptive family into an arranged marriage the very next day to pay off their massive debts. The ruthless, crippled billionaire I was sold to turned out to be the exact same man I had saved the night before. To protect my grandfather's land, I had to hide my true identity as a top-tier neurosurgeon and hacker. I wore cheap clothes and played the role of a pathetic, stuttering country girl. He was thoroughly disgusted by my fake persona, treating me like trash and ordering me out of his sight. Worse, he was obsessively tearing the city apart to hunt down the "mysterious woman" from that night, holding my lost St. Christopher medal as a deadly bounty. "Find the owner of this medal, whatever it takes." I was trapped in his penthouse, enduring his cruel insults while dodging his paranoid grasp every time he caught a familiar scent on my skin. But the real shock came when I hacked his private servers. His blindness wasn't permanent. His own trusted medical team was deliberately feeding him a false diagnosis to keep him disabled and vulnerable. Why was someone trying to destroy him from the inside? I decided not to run. Instead, I locked my guest room door, booted up my encrypted laptop, and began synthesizing the cure to restore my tyrant husband's vision right under his nose.

Katy Riddle was Hollywood’s untouchable "Ice Queen" and the secret wife of Oscar-winning Best Actor, Arther Knowles. To the world, they were distant. But in the shadows, she ran his most obsessive fan account under the alias 'Chi-Chi'. Her perfect double life shattered when a leaked Gala video went viral. The footage destroyed her cold persona, showing her staring at Arther with raw, starving adoration. But the real nightmare was the final frame. The camera zoomed in, exposing a frayed, black braided string bracelet hidden beneath her diamonds. Five years ago, as a nobody, she had dropped that exact handmade token at Arther's feet in a chaotic airport crowd. "Take it down! I refuse to look like a desperate groupie!" Katy screamed at her agent. She threw millions to aggressively scrub the video from the internet, terrified her husband would discover her pathetic secret and ruin their marriage of equals. Thinking she was safe, she wore a heavy disguise and sneaked into his exclusive fan meet. But when Arther walked on stage, her heart stopped. Tucked discreetly beneath his shirt, resting against his chest, was that exact same cheap black bracelet. Why was the Best Actor wearing a crazy fan's trash? Before she could process the shock, Arther's dark eyes bypassed the screaming crowd and locked directly onto her masked face. A slow, dangerously possessive smile spread across his lips, proving he already knew exactly who she was.

"I, Verila Crawford, hereby reject you, Alpha Marcus, as my mate. The bond we share has grown fragile. I wish us both happiness." For twenty years, Verila Crawford was the wolfless girl. Her pack mocked her. Her parents ignored her. Her sister, Selene, made every day of her life a humiliation. Then the Moon Goddess gave her a fated mate, Alpha Marcus Hale, the most powerful wolf in Ironclaw. For the first time, someone chose her. For two months, Verila believed she was finally loved. Until she found him in bed with her own sister. She rejected him with a steady voice and dry eyes, and she walked out of the pack that same night. But Verila didn't know two things. She was already carrying Marcus's twins. And her wolf was never missing. She was sealed, because Verila is the last white wolf, and her power is greater than any Alpha's. Now, in a foreign land and under a false name, her wolf is finally waking up. Marcus will soon realize what he threw away. He will search for her, beg for her, and break himself to get her back. But some bonds, once broken, can never be mended. It is too late, Alpha Marcus.

The last time I wore this wedding dress, my fiancé ran out on me. Twenty minutes before our wedding, Preston Vance got a phone call. His first love, Bri, had fallen at skating practice and broken her leg. "I have to go," he said. "Make up an excuse." In my last life, I begged him to stay. I cried until my throat bled. He left anyway. Three years later, my adopted sister framed me, and my own family threw me out into a Chicago blizzard. I called Preston with frozen fingers. I heard Bri giggling before he hung up. My mother left me a voicemail: "Die in the street, Wren. Just don't bleed on my carpets." So I died. Then I opened my eyes in my wedding dress, on the same morning, twenty minutes before the ceremony. This time, I didn't beg. I let him go. My sister told me to go apologize to the guests. I slapped her hand away. My mother told me to say the wedding was off, and that it was all my fault. "The wedding is not being postponed," I said. "I'm going to get a new groom." There was only one man in that cathedral Preston was afraid of. His uncle. Rhett Kincaid. Captain of the Chicago Wardens. The most feared man in the NHL. In my last life, he was the one who covered my frozen body with his own coat and buried me when my family wouldn't. "If you sign this, there's no backing out," he told me. "Ever." "I have nothing left to lose." Ten minutes later, every screen in the cathedral changed from PRESTON & WREN to RHETT & WREN. Six hundred guests watched him slide the Vance family ring onto my finger and kiss me in front of every camera in Chicago. Now my family wants me to divorce him and crawl back. Preston just saw the photo. And my new husband just told me: "Tear the house down if you want. No matter what mess you make, I will bury it."

For three years, seven-year-old Finley worshipped her adopted older brother, Hartley. He was her ultimate protector, the genius puppet master who taught her to rule her elite prep school. But the illusion of his love shattered completely in the school cafeteria. When a bully violently yanked Finley's hair, her primal rage took over. Instead of waiting for Hartley's calculated rescue, she fought back, tackling the boy and leaving herself covered in his blood and ketchup. When Hartley finally intervened, he didn't check if she was hurt. Seeing his pristine, carefully controlled possession acting like a feral creature terrified him. His absolute authority over her was slipping. In front of three hundred staring students, Hartley pointed a shaking finger at her torn clothes. "Look at what you're doing! How dare you let yourself become this messy? You are out of control, and I will not allow you to act like some wild, feral creature!" The words hit Finley with the physical force of a sledgehammer. The boy who wiped her tears and fed her candy wasn't a loving brother. He was a dictator, a warden who only cared about keeping his favorite toy perfectly on her strings. The public betrayal was absolute. Why did her safety have to come at the cost of her total submission? A broken sob tore from her throat as she violently slapped his reaching hand away. The blind worship was dead. As Finley turned and sprinted out of the cafeteria, the war to cut her strings officially began.

I Waited Three Hours in Line for Them; They Couldn't Wait Three Minutes for Me In a hundred-and-four-degree heat, I stood in line for three hours just because my boyfriend's new coworker Kenzie wanted reservations for the observation deck. Sweat glued my shirt to my back; my lips cracked from dehydration. When I finally inched up to the window, I texted the group chat: "Almost done." No one replied. I turned around—the parking lot was empty. The sun beat straight down as I stared at the blank chat window, waiting. Then my boyfriend Easton texted: "You took too long. Kenzie doesn't feel like going anymore. We're resting at the gas station convenience store three miles out. Walk over yourself." My own brother didn't stop them. Neither did my childhood friend. In thin canvas shoes, I walked the whole three miles, my heels bleeding until the white canvas soaked dark red. The next day, ignoring my injuries, they insisted on a mountain hike. That night I ran a 103.5-degree fever and begged for help in the group chat. My brother replied: "Take some Tylenol. We're all asleep." My boyfriend twisted the knife: "Stop texting. You'll wake Kenzie." That second, I woke up. I had already accepted the full scholarship from Imperial College London—the offer I'd been sitting on for six months. There was nothing left to decide. At 5:30 in the morning, I threw those blood-soaked canvas shoes into the metal trash can, called a taxi, and headed straight for the airport. At the departure gate, I dialed Easton, my voice calm without a trace of a tremble: "We're done."

My husband, Colton, the Wall Street mogul, slid annulment papers across the table, coldly discarding me and our unborn child. He thought he was getting rid of a useless wife, but he was actually throwing away the secret architect of his entire empire. Now, I'm ready to make him pay for every insult, every lie, and every single secret I've kept. For three years, eight months pregnant, I secretly saved Colton's ten-billion-dollar company from collapse, enduring a cold, transactional marriage. One night, he shattered that illusion, serving annulment papers and callously discarding me and our unborn child. I signed, leaving luxury behind. Exposing his butler's fraud, I escaped. Colton later found his wedding ring gone and, on his desk, my SEC compliance fixes—proof I was his hidden genius. Blindsided, he realized he’d destroyed his own empire. His mother then called, gloating. The injustice ignited a fierce resolve within me. The next morning, I launched Kidd Legal Consulting. I'd use forty-seven folders of Farmer Capital's un-patched loopholes to force a fair settlement, securing my daughter's future.