How Does Southie End?

Five years of loyalty earned Summer Hart nothing but betrayal. She gave up her dreams to become the perfect wife, helping her husband, Mattias, build his empire from nothing. In return, she was humiliated by his family, ignored by the man she loved, and forced to watch another woman slowly take her place. The final blow comes when she catches Mattias in bed with his so-called best friend, Nora—the woman everyone believes is the heiress to one of the world's most powerful families. Summer signs the divorce papers without looking back. To Mattias, she's just another ordinary woman he'll easily replace. He's about to make the biggest mistake of his life. When the city's most feared billionaire, Harden Blackwood, unexpectedly offers her a marriage contract, Summer accepts. What begins as a cold business deal soon becomes an alliance built on trust, dangerous attraction, and a shared enemy. But the deeper Harden investigates Summer's past, the more impossible it becomes to believe she's the helpless woman everyone thinks she is. She has a secret powerful enough to shake the business world. And someone has spent years making sure that secret never comes to light. Now the woman they betrayed is coming back stronger than ever. Mattias wants a second chance. Nora will do anything to destroy her. Powerful enemies are closing in. And when the truth is finally revealed... Everyone who underestimated Summer Hart will regret it. Because this time, the good girl isn't coming back.

Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside. But not with me. Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his." And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber. I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future. From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother. So I let her go. Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean. Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end. I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

After five years of marrying into the Loween City in place of my sister, the Gambling King finally passed away. My son and my ex-husband—at long last—gave me permission to fake my death and return to them. But they laid down three conditions. First: kneel before Vivian Gray, apologize for framing her all those years ago, and surrender my place as Mrs. Hartwell. Second: work as a live-in maid for my own son for five years, and never show up at his school in my former identity as the reigning queen of the nightlife scene—lest I embarrass him. Third: drink an abortifacient to destroy my fertility forever, as recompense for the infertility I once caused Vivian. "My lady, you've endured five whole years just to earn your freedom—how dare they humiliate you like this?" My maid's eyes were red, burning with indignation on my behalf. But I just tipped my head back and swallowed the death-faking pill, letting the servants toss my "corpse" into the overgrown brambles beyond the city limits. Then, from the mud and weeds, I crawled back to the Hartwell mansion—one knee at a time. Day one, I knelt as ordered and signed over custody of my son without a fight. Day three, I locked myself in the storage closet and stopped showing up at school to pick my son up like I used to. I also stopped pestering him to call me "Mom." Even when Vivian—knowing full well I'm terrified of the dark—deliberately trapped me in the basement, I bore it in silence. By the time my ex-husband Nathan Hartwell saw me again, I was barely hanging on. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face as he carried me out of that basement. But my son just sneered. "It's just another stunt to win our sympathy." When he caught the tears welling in Vivian's eyes, Nathan coldly dropped me to the ground. "Always scheming against Vivian with your dirty tricks—aren't you tired of it?" Right then, the system chimed in my ear: [Please proceed to the "disposable ex-wife death node" to complete the story line and return to your original world.] I let out a quiet laugh. "Not tired at all." And with that, I turned and dove straight into the swimming pool beside me.

The day I was awarded the highest service medal, I got a call that my grandfather had died. My superiors approved emergency leave, and I rushed straight back to the family estate without stopping. The moment I reached the hillside cemetery behind the house, what I saw snapped something inside me. Our family burial ground had been completely leveled. My parents' graves had been dug open. Their urns had been turned into flower pot bases, with dark-red roses planted right on top of them. My grandfather's coffin had been split apart. His body was left exposed in the dirt, already starting to rot. And my younger brother, Jerry Horton, who was on the autism spectrum, was being ordered around like a laborer by my husband's assistant, Digby Wolfe, hauling construction materials back and forth. I lost it. I grabbed Digby and slammed him into the ground with a hard shoulder throw. "You touched my family's graves and made my brother do manual labor. Are you trying to get buried here with them?" Digby coughed up blood as he struggled to his feet, sneering at me. "This was Mr. Gray's decision. He said your family plot is in a good location, with plenty of space. It's perfect for building a golf course for the future Mrs. Gray. In Joule, Mr. Gray is the law." His tone was icy. "And who do you think you are?" I swallowed my rage and called Marshall Gray. "I hear you run Joule," I said. "Well, I'm about to change that."

For over thirty years, my wife Janet faked being broke—for her flimsy ex. When our son Asher landed in the hospital, I begged and borrowed from everyone I knew. Still came up fifty bucks short. Janet? Said she was tapped out. So my mom sold off her own meds to cover the bill—never told me. She died without treatment. I handled my mom's funeral alone. When I went to pick up Asher from the hospital, I found a stash of Janet's old shopping receipts. Custom suits. Million-dollar watches. A damn private jet. I grabbed them and stormed off to confront her. Asher cut me off. "Dad, Mr. Sackett's sick. Mom's just helping him out. Why are you freaking out?" I stared at the kid who only lived because my mom died. It felt like something cracked inside me. Janet barely looked up. "Connor's educated. He deserves the finer things. Unlike you—crying over fifty bucks like some househusband. See? I didn't give you the money, and Asher's fine." Fine. If that's how they see it, I'm done with this family.

I'm going to die. In the eyes of the underworld, I was a sinner. My death would be a final, cursed dishonor. But even with the Ricci family in ruins, I was still the noble Principessa. The Ricci pride in my blood would not allow my body to fall into the hands of a rival Family. Humiliation. Desecration. Photographs flaunted for all to see. I didn't much care if my body became a trophy to celebrate their victory. But if the world knew the last of the Ricci bloodline had become a plaything for our enemies, it would be a disgrace to the entire Family. After weighing my options, I dragged my broken body to the turf of my ex-boyfriend, the man I'd left seven years ago, now the Don of the Falcone family. "After I die, I need you to handle my body." He was silent for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh. "Of course. I'll sink you in the Hudson River with a tombstone tied to your feet, engraved with the name of your filthy family."