Brand Partnerships

I live in my own world since I was young. Or should I say I closed the door from everyone. My family's brand was music, and I hate it. I became a girl who kept everything to herself and never voice out her opinion. Why would I? It's just a waste of breath, they will never listen to her anyway. Until I met a friend who opened my closed heart and let me know that living with someone was happier. My friend, my best friend, Layla. She becomes my light in my dark world. Everything she does, right or wrong, when she cried or laugh, I will always stay by her side. Yes, I'm a loyal friend. So I tried to help a certain good man that really loved her and could make her happier. But turns out I fell to that man. Hard. Head first. I kept it to myself not until I found out that my friend was in love with another man. Oh, how happy I am. But the problem is, this man clung hardly to my best friend. Oh, what will I gonna do? Should I seduce him? However another problem kept popping. This threats... Who made them? **** This is a story of second female lead of a certain love story being in love with the second male lead. It is not only romance, but also with a hint of a thrill.

Fresh out of college, Clara Stewart asked me to take on a $500,000 mortgage for her. When I refused, she turned around and bought an $800,000 villa in full, for another guy. Holding up the property deed, she told me: "Jayden, the truth is, I'm actually rich. I've been pretending to be poor to test you. Unfortunately, you failed. I'm disappointed in you. Let's break up." I simply smiled and walked away without a second thought. The irony? I'm the son of the richest man in the country. I was pretending to be broke, too. Fast forward four years, we met again at the National Wealth Summit. Clara had just barely made it into the top 50 on the list, clinging to the arm of Henry Brown as they entered. She spotted me in simple clothes with no visible brand, holding a child in one arm and the keys to a Porsche Cayenne in the other. Thinking I was someone's driver, she sneered: "Jayden, you really went all out just to see me again? Let's be real, you're just a driver now, and I'm on the wealth list. We live in completely different worlds. Don't waste your time fantasizing." I did not bother replying. Honestly, I was only there because my billionaire dad insisted. I had finally cleared a day to spend with my son and now I had to waste it on that.

There's this thing that my mom keeps repeating to me. "I love my children equally. I will always treat you and Brielle the same." It's true that I get everything my sister, Brielle Montgomery, has since we were children. If Brielle has a new backpack, I do too. If Brielle goes for piano lessons, I'll be given the opportunity to attend the same lessons. When I go home for the holidays, my mom digs out two beautiful shopping bags sporting luxury brand logos. With a smile on her face, she hands them to us. "I specifically went to the store to buy you nice coats. Both of you get a coat each. I'll have you know that coats with wool linings are worth thousands of dollars. I don't even have the heart to wear one of these coats. I only bought these coats for you two." As I gaze at the expensive-looking coat, I feel warmth surging into my heart. But when I try on the coat, I feel a weird, scratchy sensation coming from my armpits. After flipping the coat inside out, I notice a few strands of long, dry hair tightly entangled among the seams. I even smell a faint trace of mold mixed with a strong hint of rot that can't be covered up by the cheap fragrance on the coat.

I wasn’t even pregnant, yet I ended up popping abortion pills like they were candy. It was all because in my past life, the moment my widowed sister-in-law got pregnant, every single side effect of her pregnancy became mine. She strutted around happily with her big belly, consuming spicy tamales, while I was rushed to the hospital for violent nausea and stomach pain; she showed off her flawless skin in crop tops every day, while my stomach broke out in hideous stretch marks. When I told my husband what was happening, he just shoved me away impatiently. “Enough with the jealousy! My brother’s dead, and she’s carrying his only child. Of course, I should look out for her. Do you really have to put on such an act?” After that, my sister-in-law went even further. She kept testing her limits during pregnancy and even ate a mango she was allergic to. And me? I went into anaphylactic shock, landed in the hospital, and nearly died. Doctors couldn’t explain it. They just brushed it off, saying I was overly jealous and it was all psychological. Later, my sister-in-law tried to brand herself as a “hot single mom”. She went live, belly and all, to show off her weight-loss workouts. She jumped around for three straight hours. And me? My uterus literally gave out, and I hemorrhaged to death. When I opened my eyes again, it was the exact day she first announced her pregnancy.

On my way to work, I came across a livestream from an influencer who posted about her relationship, tagged at my company’s location. She was talking about her office romance with the CEO of a major corporation. But wasn’t the CEO of her company my husband? I clicked on her profile and saw that it was full of wedding-prep posts. The man never showed his face, but his build looked almost exactly like my husband’s. So I left a comment in the livestream: “I heard the CEO of Gibson Corporation has been married for a long time. So what does that make you...?” The streamer muted me, then instantly burst into tears. “The internet isn’t lawless. If you keep spreading rumors and calling me a mistress, I’m calling the police.” Her fans immediately swarmed me. “You’re probably the other woman yourself. That’s why your mind went there.” “I checked her profile. She’s some woman in her thirties. She’s obviously jealous because the streamer is young, pretty, and has a rich, powerful boyfriend who dotes on her.” “The account’s brand new. She’s obviously just a troll.” I tried to say more, only to realize I had already been kicked out of the livestream, and my account had been reported until I couldn’t even log back in. I stared at the proof of our marriage in the drawer for a long moment. Then I raised my hand and smacked my sleeping husband awake. “Exactly how many wives are you planning to have?”

After my husband, Trevor Penn, abuses me for the 98th time just to stand up for Callista Whitcombe, I've completely given up on him. That's when I accept his best friend, Maddox Harlow's confession. After spending the night with Maddox, he agrees to help me fake my death. That way, I'll be able to use a brand new identity to marry him overseas. I've taken the fake-death drug Maddox has given to me, only to wake up in a coffin earlier than expected. I can't move a single muscle in my body. But that's when I overhear Maddox's conversation with another person outside the coffin. "Mr. Harlow, you convinced Trevor to abuse Judith before pretending to save her from her abusive life. Now that you've obtained her full-fledged trust, why did you still arrange for her to be buried after faking her death?" "Only by doing this will the Whitcombes trust that Judith is truly dead. That way, Callie's position as the heiress will be unshakable. No one will ever bring up the fact that she's an illegitimate child ever again." The other person sounds hesitant. "Won't it be too long if we only dig the coffin out one week from now, after you've held the wedding with Callista?" "The fake-death drug's effects can last for five days. I've already had someone put enough water, food, and oxygen tanks in the coffin. There's no way Judith will die."

Over the Fourth of July weekend, I took my boyfriend's sister to his flashy new influencer hub. Fresh off brain surgery, Benedetta Griffin needed a break from her recovery, and I hoped the trip would lift her spirits. In the hub, a streamer was hawking a face cream like a carnival barker. "Listen, fam! The boss lady is slashing prices. Get this $3,800 cream for just $398 today!" Benedetta tugged my sleeve. "That cream is bad news." She'd interned at the FDA last summer and could spot a scam from a mile away. "It's packed with steroids. Long-term use will ruin your skin." Driven by her sense of justice, she marched up to the streamer. "You can't sell this unlicensed junk. The steroids exceed legal limits. Pull it from the shelves." Morgan Lamb froze, but then her fake smile twisted into a scowl. "Who the hell are you to trash my product?" Benedetta didn't back down. "You're scamming people, and you know it." Morgan planted her hands on her hips. "I'm the boss lady here. How dare you slander my brand? Nobody leaves until you cough up $500,000 for damages." "Boss lady?" My stomach churned. My boyfriend's sudden venture into the streaming industry now made sense. He was sinking money into this hub to bankroll his lover. I fumbled for my phone to call him, but Morgan was faster. "Babe, get to the hub. Two haters crashed the party, trying to tank our business."

He's sugar. She's spice. Together, they will never work. She has done the impossible. Working for the country's most difficult boss for seven years. Rosaline Carter's work life is fueled by her love for spicy food, a fat paycheck, and dreams of sending her brother to Harvard. She's sworn off love completely. Until that fateful monday morning. "I need a fiancée, Miss Carter. And I need one who at least knows my favourite brand of coffee." A contract marriage to her boss, the impossible and difficult Alaric Sylvester? Rosaline never even saw him as a man to begin with. But for five billion dollars? She would propose to Mr Ice king and plan the wedding alone. Alaric Sylvester hates his assistant. With her sensible shoes, horn rimmed glasses, and perfectly polite way of speaking, she never fails to get on his nerves. She's the last person he wants for a wife, or even a romantic figure. Yet she's the best option. No one knows his schedule by heart, or his love for sweets. It's just three years. And he'll never see her again. With his inheritance on the line, the board of directors hounding him for being too antisocial, and rumours starting to stir...he will do anything to save his reputation. Including marrying his cold hearted assistant. And with her hatred for sweets, he's sure he'll never like her. It's only a marriage agreement. The terms were simple. But simple doesn't always equal easy. And the human heart is a traitorous beast.

Brandon Montgomery's life is like a triangle. It revolves around work, himself, and then ways to have fun. He’s careful enough not to have anything to do with any woman because of the sour taste of love his runaway bride, Lizzy made him go through. He decides to get a break from everything by moving into a new city. Unfortunately for him, his new neighbor, Angeline “Angie” Mathers keeps getting on his nerves leaving him at a crossroads, where he has to choose between letting go of his rigid lifestyle and embracing the new experience of love or sticking with his normal life. “Trust” for Brandon isn’t just a word he is not accustomed to but one he has no interest in when it comes to the topic of women and love in general. Angeline Mathers, who everyone calls Angie is the fun loving, cheerful and sweet girl everyone in her part of Finland loves. She hasn’t had her best of luck with love too, but she’s always open to adventure and a chance for romance once again. When she sets her eyes on Brand it isn’t love at first sight, and the two don’t like each other in any way. But there is always a thin line between hate and love. And once Angie and Brandon cross that line there’s no going back. Misunderstandings will ensue, wills will clash and both Brandon and Angie would be torn between choosing each other or dwelling in their past. It seems like an easy task. But can Brandon bring himself to care for another woman again? especially one he has to trust?

Ich war im neunten Monat schwanger. Ein ehemaliger Mitarbeiter, der meinen Mann hasste, weil dieser ihn ersetzt hatte, schleppte mich auf das Dach und stich Dutzende Male auf mich ein. Mein Mann, der Chef des Rettungsteams, mobilisierte unterdessen alle seine Leute, um seine depressive Jugendliebe aufzuhalten, die ihre Mietwohnung in Brand setzen wollte. Ich bat ihn nicht um Hilfe. Im letzten Leben hatte ich ihn angefleht, da hatte er sie zurückgelassen, um mich zu retten. Unser Baby und ich überlebten. Sie jedoch kam in den Flammen um, nachdem sie die Wohnung angezündet hatte. Er machte mir äußerlich keine Vorwürfe und buchte sogar einen Privatkreißsaal für mich. Doch genau an meinem Entbindungstag fesselte er mich. Stach auf mich ein. Auf unser Baby. Immer wieder! „Das war alles abgekartet mit ihm, stimmt’s?“, brüllte er. „Diese Messerstiche waren doch nicht schwer! Du wärst bestimmt nicht gestorben!“ „Wenn du Messerstiche so liebst – dann krieg sie jetzt!“ Als ich die Augen aufschlug, war ich zurückgewesen. Zurück auf diesem Dach, als Geisel. Diesmal war mein Entschluss gefasst: Ich würde ihn lassen, damit er sie retten konnte.