A Story About A Story

With mixed feelings, Jillian Moore goes to the casting of the new season of "The Super Model" to investigate the case of a missing girl behind the scenes. Before she knows it, she stumbles into a turbulent whirlpool of glamour, ambition and shady dealings. When, to make matters worse, she falls in love and has to shimmy from one lie to the next, her life seems to come completely apart at the seams ...

Susan Miller, my father's caretaker, often complains that the supplements keep running out. The wild kingroots that are worth 500 thousand dollars are completely used up even though Susan has only made soup with them twice in a row. As I filter through the medicinal residue with a frown on my face, Susan sinks down to her knees and begins slapping herself. "They must have melted in the soup because of my lack of attention! Please dock my pay, Ms. Lawson, but please don't fire me!" But that night, I come across a post uploaded by Susan's son, Roman Cox, on Instagram. "Hi everyone! Today, I'm challenging myself to eat two wild kingroots in one go!" When I see Roman picking up a familiar-lookng giftbox, I feel my temper flaring instantly. Then, I order a packet of potent aphrodisiacs meant for animals on the spot. It turns out that Roman intends to chug down my prized Romanee-Conti in the next episode of his stream. Well then, I'll let him have his feel of drinking something else!

A week after my engagement, I was delivered an unusual engagement gift. My phone chimed. I glanced down and saw a push notification from a social app. [Fell in love with a female livestreamer right before my engagement. I feel guilty toward my older girlfriend who's about to become my fiancée—how should I deal with this?] The user ID was "SimonLovesClaire." The profile picture showed a melancholy side view of a man wrapped in a gray scarf. I recognized him instantly. It was my fiancé, Simon Aldrich. That limited-edition scarf was the birthday gift I had given him last year.

I'm severely allergic to many things, so my husband buys a separate villa for me. It's supposed to be sort of a nursing home. When my future daughter-in-law learns about this, she thinks my son is cheating on her. She breaks my bones to vent her anger. When she finds out I'm her future mother-in-law, she caresses her belly and looks at me smugly. "I'm already pregnant with Shawn's child. Think about whether you want this child to make it into this world." What she doesn't know is that the Ziegler family's fortune belongs to me and that Shawn Ziegler is only my adoptive son.

They tried to take everything from her: her sanity, her pride, and her daughter. Cast out into a storm by her own husband, Avery Reed was branded a disgrace simply for giving birth to a daughter. Her enemies called her unstable and labeled her child a failure, and for a moment, she almost believed them. Until he arrived. Ashton Knight wasn't just a man from her past; he was a billionaire who could buy and burn his enemies' worlds to the ground. He offered her protection within his fortress of luxury, promising to turn her tears into ammunition and her wounds into strength. Her enemies thought they were fighting a broken woman, but they had no idea that behind her now stood a king, ready to burn their entire dynasty to ash. As she takes refuge in his dangerous embrace, Avery must wonder... does she only want justice, or does she want his heart as well?

Landon Mikaelson knew he made a terrible mistake when he let his wife out the door and out of his life permanently. It was supposed to be an arranged marriage between the both of them. A deal to act like a married couple for a year and a half but circumstances began to pave way for mutual feelings he didn't want. So he divorced her and let her go which turned his life around for the worse but something takes him to her door and making him plead for a second chance,a secret kept by her that changed their lives forever. What is it??. Well find out yourself.

On our anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, purchased a painting as a gift for me with my secondary credit card. When I got home, I went to my study to retrieve an urgent court document. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear the flirtatious voice of my assistant, Julie Summers, mingled with my husband’s low murmurs. “James, your wife is just a money-printing machine. What does she know about art? She could never appreciate you like I do.” James sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, “Claire is too perfect—so perfect it’s suffocating. Not like you, full of life and warmth.” Just then, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, called James. He put her on speakerphone. “James, you need to move faster. While Claire still trusts you, turn all her client contacts into yours. That Julie girl seems promising. She’s much easier to control than that iron-fisted career wife of yours.” I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the pair of shameless lovers in the study and the wretched woman on the phone, and immediately drafted a divorce agreement. At the same time, I forwarded asset-protection filings for all my holdings to my legal team. “I’ll see you all in court, parasites.”

"The Rossi family doesn't need a Don. We just need a Donna." As the only heiress of the Rossi family, this was the law that I had set when I received the Browning pistol—a pistol that resembles the ultimate authority in the Rossi family—from my Papa when he was on his deathbed. But three years ago, the police relentlessly investigated the money laundering business that my fiance, Lorenzo Moretti, was in charge of. If that business were to get exposed, the Rossi family's hundred-year-old legacy would be ruined. In order to protect my family's legacy and to allow Lorenzo to continue legalizing my family's businesses, I decided to become the scapegoat for all the crimes. On the rainy night of my arrest, I personally handed the pistol over to Lorenzo. "Protect my family for me before my return." This gave Lorenzo legitimate authority to run my family. He used the pistol to purge my subordinates and take over the family business. He even broke my law by announcing to the public that he'd become the next Don soon. An invitation with golden borders is soon leaked from the family's inner circle. Lorenzo's and another woman's names are printed on the cover. During a visit, my private lawyer says mockingly, "If you don't get out of prison now, the Rossi family might take on another man's last name for real." I just sneer in response. After that, I get bailed out of jail in advance and return home to celebrate Lorenzo's "funeral". But no matter how many times I scan my iris at the biometric scanner in the estate, the result always comes out wrong. A young woman, who's toying with the pistol, opens the door at that moment. The contempt and disdain in her eyes are plain to see. "Where the hell did a crazy woman like you come from? You came to the wrong place. This is my private turf, you know."

After returning home from a flight, I realize that my bottle of hair conditioner has run out in the bathroom. The thing is, my husband, Carlos Zappa, doesn't use hair conditioner at all. Seeing Carlos through the frosted glass, I decide to probe him for answers. "Did any guests stay over lately? Or have you started doing hair care?" Carlos flips through the documents, which are stamped with the Zappa family crest, impatiently at my questions. "Maybe a maid accidentally toppled the bottle over when she was cleaning the bathroom. Also, why are you annoying me with such minuscule matters?" When I put on the bathrobe, I feel a ticklish sensation coming from the collar. As soon as I look down, I notice a strand of dried yellow hair being entangled in the collar. The moment the steam dissipates, I see two pairs of intertwining handprints on the bathroom's glass door. I never thought that my home would grow this popular during my one-week trip away from home. I've been married to Carlos for three years, and yet this is my first time finding out that he's actually this wild in bed. So, I secretly text my father, the Don of the Carozza family. "Dad, Carlos has cheated on me. Does the bet we made three years ago still count?"

My husband, Luca, had a childhood sweetheart named Sophia. Years ago, during a brutal gang shootout, Sophia shielded him from the worst of the bloodshed, and since then, she had suffered from severe PTSD. Because of that, Luca would push aside family business every year and fly to our estate on a secluded island off the coast of Sicily to spend three months “helping her recover.” “Victoria, she lost her mind because of me,” he told me. “I’m responsible for her. I hope you can be magnanimous.” So, I nodded. And eventually, I got used to the fact that every year, my husband would disappear for three months to fulfill what he called a moral obligation. That was until the day I flew in without warning to inspect the family’s money-laundering network on that island and saw him. In the town square, under the bright Mediterranean sun, Luca was standing there with a five-year-old boy by his side. “Papa, how long do we have to hide on this island?” the child asked. “I want to go to New York. I want to see the Empire State Building.” Luca laughed gently and scooped him up in his arms. With his other hand, he held Sophia’s. “Antonio, be good,” he said affectionately. “Papa’s position is… complicated. When you turn eighteen and pass the family’s initiation ceremony, I’ll kill that woman and her dead old man. Then, I’ll take you back to New York to inherit the entire Corleone family.” I stood in the shadows, unseen. Slowly, I lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around me as their voices drifted over, the conversation getting more vicious as it went. Sophia leaned into his chest, her tone sweet and coy. “Luca, I’ve been with you for seven years without a name or a title. How much longer are our son and I supposed to live like ghosts?” Luca sighed. “I don’t have a choice. The old man in the Corleone family is still alive. I married Victoria just to get her territory. Don’t worry. I’ve been adding something to her milk every day. She’ll never get pregnant in this lifetime. My family bloodline will only continue through you.” The last thread of reason in my mind snapped. In the six years of marriage we shared, I had been infertile. I’d taken countless hormone injections to stimulate ovulation. I’d knelt in church and prayed more times than I could count. Yet, all along, the devil poisoning me was my own husband. The initial shock faded quickly into rage. I crushed out my cigarette and pulled out my phone. Then, I dialed my uncle, the family’s clean-up man. “Uncle Rocco,” I said calmly, “Luca betrayed me. He betrayed the family. Order a coffin in the finest black walnut for me, and make it large, large enough to fit a family of three.”