How Do Authors Write Knaves With Redeeming Arcs?

Betrayed. Abandoned. And Avenged with Triumph. When I married Damian Carter, I believed in forever. In loyalty. In love that withstands time, success, and hardship. I was the woman who stood beside him when he was nothing, who helped him build his empire, who sacrificed everything so he could become the man he always wanted to be. And when he finally got there—when he was rich, powerful, untouchable—he threw me away like last night’s mistake. He didn’t just cheat. He rewrote our story, twisting the truth until I was nothing more than a pathetic, useless wife clinging to his fortune. The world believed him. My own family doubted me. I lost everything. But they were all wrong about me. I didn’t break. I didn’t shatter. I rebuilt. With the help of a man who saw me for who I really was, I built my own empire. I exposed Damian’s secrets, stripped away his power, and took back everything they said I never could. And when he came crawling back, whispering apologies, asking for another chance—his voice trembling with regret—I simply smiled. Because I wasn’t that woman anymore. And more than that, I had finally found a man who never needed to lose me to understand my worth.

Dahlia Bernard gave Desmond Sterlings everything, love, loyalty, and a crown he never earned. She picked him from the slums, built him into a CEO, and handed him the keys to her empire. Love blinded her. Desmond repaid her by betraying her, stealing her company, sleeping with multiple women, and getting her own sister pregnant. A community dick, that's all he ever was. Now, Dahlia isn’t just broken. She’s angry. With Ronan Knight, Drawlwood's ruthless billionaire by her side, Dahlia is ready to reclaim everything that was once hers. And this time… mercy is off the table. ********** I was flung aside, my grip on Roselle slipping as I crashed into someone's arms, Ronan Knight. "Hold in your rage, Dahlia," Ronan's voice was calm. "There are better ways to make them pay. Don’t destroy yourself trying to hurt them. That's not how revenge works." I glanced down at my reddened knuckles. Tears blurring my vision. "Then tell me, Ronan… how do I hurt them?" I choked on my tears. "By becoming untouchable," he said softly. "Become more powerful, more successful. A version of Dahlia they could never break. And then… you make them kneel." He leaned in, a wicked promise in his eyes. "I'll help you rise again, Dahlia. And when you do… they'll beg at your feet."

In my last life, my brother Leo—the heir to the Moretti crime family—stripped our estate bare of every last soldier, all for a Vegas jaunt. All because his new flame, Scarlett, had a jones for the high-roller tables. The Volkovs—our rivals, the very ones Leo had just pissed off—saw their opening and stormed our gates. My mother, Sofia, took a bullet meant for me. Died protecting me. I blew up Leo’s phone, my pleas turning to screams. He didn't answer. He waltzed back in after the shooting stopped, bringing our men home, but far too late for it to matter. Then, the news from Vegas. Scarlett was gone. A suicide note left behind. In it, she painted me as the monster. The one who’d leaked our weaknesses to the Volkovs. The one who'd orchestrated a fake kidnapping and torture plot, all to drive her to despair and lure Leo home. A perfect, tragic lie. Leo read the letter calmly. Then he burned the letter and told me, "Forget it. It's handled." Father tore into Leo for abandoning his post, for leaving his family to die. And me? I was named the new Consigliere. But after the celebration, Leo cornered me in the wine cellar. His face was a mask of cold fury as he pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead. "This is for family traitors," he hissed, his voice pure venom. "The throne is my birthright, not some backstabbing bitch's prize!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Right in the middle of the fire and the blood. This time, I shoved my mother behind me, dragging her toward the panic room. And the bastards who were too blind to believe me? They’ll regret it.

Bad news: I'm dead. Good news: I transmigrated into a novel. Bad news: I end up in a peasant woman's womb, and I'm about to be born as a fake heir. Good news: My little sister, claiming that it's better to be safe than sorry because the novel's main character shares my name, has forced me to read this novel cover to cover. I already know that once the real heir, Isaac Reed, comes home, he'll use our parents' guilt toward him to set me up. He'll frame me at a family acknowledgment banquet, making it look like I've taken liberties with the family's precious only daughter, Kiana Reed. My adoptive parents will be so furious that they'll disown me and kick me out of the house. In the end, I'll die miserably in an alley on a rainy night. So, the year I turn five, I empty out my savings to hire a young beggar to show up at our door, claiming he's the real heir. When I'm eight, the second beggar enters the stage. When I'm ten, the third one arrives. By the time I'm 15, the manor is packed with eight so-called real heirs. These people in ancient times don't know that their supposedly reliable methods of testing kinship can be tampered with. All they know is that all eight boys seem to share blood ties with my adoptive parents, the Marquis and Marchioness of Eterna. I play it off as a miracle from the heavens. Then, when I'm 16, the real heir returns.

I had been in a contract marriage with an incubus CEO for three years, in name only. The day I asked for a divorce, he agreed without emotion. But then floating comments suddenly flashed above his head. "That psycho. He already had the basement chains and little toys custom-made to the villainess' measurements, and he is still pretending to be a gentleman." "Girl, the second you sign, the next time you wake up, you are going to be way too close to the man you hate." "Here we go. The captivity arc is finally starting. This hate-love setup is insane. His true incubus form apparently has barbs too. The villainess did every bad thing in the book, so that blank stare is what she deserves..." "Girl, you are so stupid. If you had shown the second male lead even the tiniest bit of kindness these past few years, this lovesick lunatic would have dropped to his knees and worshipped you like a dog. Then he would not have twisted himself into this hate-filled monster..." My hand trembled around the pen. I looked at the expressionless man in front of me. "Actually... maybe we should not get divorced yet."

The dagger goes in before she understands her consort is the one holding it. ——— My consort is the one holding the blade. I fall into the Forbidden Zone with his voice in my ear — *You were never going to be the queen this kingdom needed, Rose is everything you are not* — and every stroke downward the Hollow drinks my color, my voice, my breath. As I sink through the dark I understand, in a rising tide of memory I can no longer outrun, what I refused to see: my cousin Rose has been his lover for three years. My uncle Rick has been my father's killer for seven months. I hit the Hollow's floor among the skeletons of seven women who came before me. I should die there. A black pearl pulses in the dark and asks me one question. I say yes. What rises from the Forbidden Zone is not the princess they pushed. My scales burn blood-red shot through with molten gold and piercing teal, edged in obsidian. My voice shatters coral when I choose. I can drain a merfolk's power until their scales grey to driftwood, and I can shift any being between human and merfolk form. But the pearl hungers. Black veins creep across my chest with every life I take. And the throne I want back? It was never the prize. It was the trap. ——— Will Irene become the villainess her kingdom fears? Or will she remember the girl they buried long enough to choose what kind of queen to be? And the older sister who has been waiting two hundred years to use her — what happens when Irene decides the family she was born into is not the one worth dying for?