Who Was Shakespeare'S Sonnets Written For?

If you knew how your life would end, would you do something differently? Bruno didn't believe in fate, prophecies, or anything related to the future until that late afternoon when he and his friends were approached by a gypsy. He was completely skeptical until the gypsy sealed his fate: He would get married by the age of 24, have four children, become rich, but not by doing what he loves, nor through gambling. His father would pass away at 60 years old, two years younger than him. His destiny was linked to a young woman with brown hair, and all of this would happen only when Bruno met this woman. He promised himself never to fall in love with any woman with brown hair... And that remained true until he met Helena.

As the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family, I returned to my biological parents, only to watch their company collapse. Overwhelmed by massive debts, my dad jumped to his death. My brother was left crippled by vengeful creditors. My mother, unraveled, would one moment tear at my hair, cursing my existence, and the next, cling to me, sobbing and vowing to cherish me. To save them, I shredded my college acceptance letter and took every job I could find. When my brother's condition worsened, I auctioned off my virginity to fund his surgery. But when I arrived at the hospital with the money, I overheard their conversation. "Kathy works day and night to earn money. I don't think she is after our fortune," said my mom. "She dropped out of college and ruined her future for us. Maybe we should stop this." My brother, supposedly half-paralyzed, stood by the window in a crisp suit. He shrugged. "She chose to skip college and work like that. What's it got to do with us?" My "dead" father broke his silence. "We need to be careful. People like her are like leeches. Once they latch on, you can't shake them off. Let's keep watching." I listened quietly, tossing the pendant they had given me into the trash. I had repaid the debt of my birth, and now, we were done.

In the eighth year of our secret office marriage, Marvin lit up every LED screen in Ocean City, just to make his little assistant smile. Amidst the well-wishes from everyone, the assistant cheerfully handed out gifts to the entire office. I casually tossed my gift into the trash. The assistant immediately ran to Marvin's office, tears streaming down her face, to report me. Moments later, Marvin, furious, suspended me from my position. As I walked out of the company building, Marvin's voice echoed from the loudspeakers on the top floor. "Celebrating Wendy's successful completion of her work, the gift is ready!" Wendy—was the assistant's name. As I watched the crowd rush past me, I calmly cut all ties with Marvin. This hidden marriage had come to an end.

I was the side character, the one destined to be neglected, forgotten, and never chosen. In the novel’s story, I was merely a background existence—the woman fated to marry the male lead, yet never once receive his love. The wife who shared his name but never his attention. Salvatore Mancini. The perfect male lead. Cold, powerful, and admired by everyone. Except me. Because in this story, his heart already belonged to someone else. When I first realized I had transmigrated into this novel, I thought I could change my fate. I tried to avoid the original scenes, tried to step away from the plot. But every time I tried to change something…I returned to the same place. The same moment, the same outcome. As if the unseen author of this story was reminding me again and again: You are only a puppet, and puppets don’t decide their roles. So I stopped resisting. If the story wanted me to be the neglected wife, then I would simply live quietly and let the plot run its course. That was my plan. Until one night, when I finally looked at the man and said casually— “Tell me something, Mr. Mancini. Aren’t you supposed to be my husband?” His cold eyes narrowed slightly, but I simply leaned back and smiled. “Then fulfill your role properly. Let’s see… what kind of man the great Salvatore Mancini is.” For the first time since our marriage he actually looked at me, not through me. At me. I didn’t know what changed after that, but from that night onward. Even when he looked at me with clear irritation. Salvatore Mancini began appearing around me more and more. Which left me with a very unsettling thought. The plot…It didn’t change, right?

Livia has always lived as a mistake. Her mother was accused of being a homewrecker, the woman who destroyed another family. Since childhood, Livia grew up in the luxurious Robert mansion not as a daughter, but as a disgrace everyone wished would disappear. Insults. Violence. Humiliation. They had always been part of her life. But everything truly shattered on the night of her stepsister’s engagement. She was found in a hotel room with Adrian De Luca—the powerful heir to one of the most influential families in the city… and Clarie’s fiancé. No one believed her explanation. To save the family’s reputation, Livia was forced to marry the man who hated her the most. To Adrian, Livia was nothing but a cunning woman who had trapped him. To her family, she was merely a tool to cover up their scandal. With her body covered in wounds and blood staining her trembling hands, Livia signed the marriage contract that would bind her to the man determined to destroy her life. A marriage born from hatred. A vow written in blood. But when the truth finally comes to light… The woman he once despised may no longer wish to belong to him.

VOWS WRITTEN IN SILENCE “I told myself she was a distraction. I was wrong. She’s the only thing that matters.” Raiyan Al Mansoor built an empire on iron-clad discipline and cold restraint. He believed love was a hollow ache—until a chaotic spill at Heathrow brought him face-to-face with Zoya Roseanne Fayez. She was a glitch in his perfect system. A girl with a sharp mouth, steady eyes, and a silence that felt like a challenge. Raiyan walked away telling himself it was nothing. He lied. When she reappeared at his family gala, laughing like she’d always belonged there, the quiet in Raiyan’s soul turned dangerous. He didn't just agree to this "strategic" marriage; he ensured it. He closed the distance before she could even see him coming. But Zoya is a riddle he can’t solve. She moves like a secret and speaks like a poem. She thinks she’s in control, choosing where to stand and who to trust. She has no idea she’s a hidden heiress to a fortune that has shadows moving in the desert—or that she’s already been marked by enemies she doesn't know she has. Zoya is an enigma wrapped in silk and defiance. And Raiyan? He’s a man losing his mind trying to protect a woman who doesn't think she needs a savior. The vows are written. The silence is loaded. And the most dangerous part isn’t the threat outside... it’s the moment Raiyan stops pretending he can ever let her go.