When Was I Read This Book Originally Published?

The story revolves around Blythe who after participating in a competition falls in love with his room partner Andrew because of which she soon ends up proposing him which shocks Andrew but he takes some time in order to process her proposal but unfortunately ends up declining her proposal due to which she is broken but real shock comes on her way when she comes to know that there is no one with the name of Andrew in the competition which makes her set on a journey to find Andrew , so will she be able to find him ?, Will she be able to prove that he really exists ?, And many other questions will form crux of the story and will surely keep its readers at the edge of their seats as it is a never witness love story which is amalgamated with almost every kind of emotions a human have and most most importantly don't miss the climax as it is going to blow mind if it's readers for sure

I was Claire Vitale, the lost daughter they forgot, the bride my lover betrayed—and the dying girl they failed to notice. For five long years, I lived like a stranger in my own home. The Vitale mansion was a beautiful prison, where every kind word hid a lie, every promise was false, and even Lawrence, the man I was supposed to marry, cared more for Vanessa than for me. None of them saw how my body weakened each day, how the pain grew sharper. They were too busy watching their precious Vanessa. Vanessa—the perfect adopted daughter, was the girl my parents loved more than me. She came into our family when I was lost, and when I returned, I found my place already taken—by her. Just as the illness was quietly taking my future. Now she was gone, and they all pointed fingers at me, convinced I was behind her disappearance. The machine they strapped to my head would pull memories straight from my mind. "Where is she?" my father roared. My mother sobbed in the corner. Lawrence, my fiancé, stood silent—his accusing eyes louder than any shout. But I knew the truth would shock them—how Vanessa hurt me, how she faked accidents, how she made sure no one ever believed me. The machine would show them everything. As the machine began its work, I trembled—from fear and exhaustion. After all these years of being unheard, would they finally see?

The contract marriage between the CEO and the Mafia brings a unique story where the CEO has an illicit lover and the Mafia has a mental disorder because her fiancee died. Has a sad story, and thousands of mysteries to be solved. Will both of them be able to reach their respective goals and then end the ridiculous relationship? Or slowly love comes over time and makes them reluctant to part? Read more here... This world is a game, if you are not good at playing then you are being played. When playing we need confidence, if we are not good at convincing and impressing people with our intelligence. Confuse them with your stupidity, so they feel they have won.

I was the biological daughter of the Stone Family. With my gossip-tracking system, I played the part of a meek, obedient girl on the surface, but underneath, I would strike hard when it counted. What I didn't realize was that someone could hear my every thought. "Even if you're our biological sister, Alicia is the only one we truly acknowledge. You need to understand your place," said my brothers. 'I must've broken a deal with the devil in a past life to end up in the Stone Family this time,' I figured. My brothers stopped dead in their tracks. "Alice is obedient, sensible, and loves everyone in this family. Don't stir up drama by trying to compete for attention." I couldn't help but think, 'Well, she's sensible enough to ruin everyone's lives and loves you all to the point of making me nauseous.' The brothers looked dumbfounded.

I had been married to Derek for six years, and we had a three-year-old son. He was poor, earning only $2,000 a month, but I had no complaints; I took care of everything at home for him. After getting dinner on the table for the whole family, I finally had a minute to check my phone. A video popped up on my feed: a twenty-two-year-old girl from a rural area whose hands, roughened by years of hard labor, looked like they belonged to a sixty-two-year-old woman. I looked down at my own hands, just as worn and scarred, and stared at them blankly before tapping into the comments. I expected people to feel bad for her. However, to my surprise, the comments section was flooded with a single sentiment: "Why would anyone marry a penniless loser?" One of the top-liked comments came from a couple; in their photo, they were pictured holding hands—fingers tightly intertwined—with the girl sporting a massive diamond ring. The accompanying caption read: "A man who truly loves you would never bear to let you suffer." I felt a pang of envy. Given the choice, who wouldn't want a glamorous life? As I was about to close the app, I accidentally tapped on the couple's photo, enlarging it. In the background, previously too blurry to make out, was a face I recognized. It looked exactly like my husband, Derek Sterling. I froze, and almost against my will, I tapped into the account's profile. Post after post of lavish photos of them together flooded my screen. And then I saw him clearly. The scar above his brow, the one he got when a shelf fell on him while protecting me, was still plainly visible. It was my husband. It was Derek.

I went abroad for three years to build a lab and save my husband's company from collapse. After endless struggles, I finally cracked the technical problems and developed the core technology. When I returned home with that breakthrough, I saw the airport video board plastered with the same impossible headline—my husband was getting married. I felt a hot, furious ache and took a taxi straight to the venue. … A woman who had cared for our household for years blocked me at the gate and sneered. "Who do you think you are, showing up at the Stone family's wedding? Get out of here, or I'll get security to throw you out." For a moment, I stood rooted, but then the bride appeared, walking out of the villa in a wedding gown. It was the woman Adrian Stone had once told me was dead—his first love, Evelyn Sutton. She wore my wedding ring on her finger and looked at me with pure contempt. "You want to make a scene at my wedding?" she said. "If you do, you're really asking for trouble. My husband, Adrian, won't hesitate to take care of you." I folded my arms and let out a cold laugh. "Adrian's getting married? Funny, I don't recall getting an invitation."