Doing The Right Thing When No One Is Watching

In a city where secrets breathe beneath cobblestone streets, 17-year-old Elara Moon finds a sealed letter with her name written in blood. The next morning, her parents vanish without a trace. Hunted by a faceless cult, stalked by shadows that whisper her name, Elara is thrust into a hidden world of ancient pacts and forbidden magic. Every answer she uncovers leads to more danger—and the terrifying truth that she is the final key to awakening a god long buried beneath the earth. But to survive, Elara must choose: unlock the power written in her blood... or burn with the rest of the world.

When my ex-husband, Hanson Rowse, got remarried, I jumped into the ocean with our ten-year-old daughter, Tess Rowse, in my arms. The police called Hanson and my parents. The wedding reception was cut short, and they all rushed over. My soul hung in the air above it all, watching as Tess was pulled from the water. The sight of her hit like a blade to the chest. At the hospital, my parents looked at her with nothing but cold indifference. My brother, Edward Wells, didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. "You're just like your mother! Always causing trouble and pulling cheap stunts like this just to get attention." Hanson's fists clenched. He scanned the area, and when he couldn't see me anywhere, anger spilled into his eyes. "Where's Melody? She picked my wedding day to pull this stunt, and now she won't even show her face? If she really wanted to die, why leave behind this burden?" At his words, Tess suddenly moved. She stumbled toward the window, climbed up, and before anyone could react, she jumped. The room went dead silent for a heartbeat. Then, the screaming started. What they didn't know was this: the first thing Tess and I learned at that reform school was obedience.

When my mom texted me, urging me to go home for a blind date, Charles had just finished with me. His warm breath brushed against the back of my ear, sending a tingling sensation straight to my heart. He wiped away the traces on my skin with gentle care, but when he spoke, his voice was chillingly indifferent. "Since Mrs. Shaw is pushing you, you should head back soon." I thought he was jealous, and a surge of sweetness filled my heart. I quickly grabbed his wrist, telling him my feelings. "Charles, I want to stay with you. I'm not going anywhere!" He froze for a moment, then let out a derisive laugh. One by one, he pried my fingers off. "You didn't actually think I was jealous, did you?" Tucking my damp, messy hair behind my ear, he remained as gentle as ever, but his words were almost cruel. "Rose is pure and innocent. I couldn't bring myself to touch her before marriage, so I used you to satisfy my needs. However, now, our engagement is set. She'll soon be my rightful wife. You're no longer needed."

She was just the receptionist, or so he thought. When ruthless billionaire Damian marries the quiet girl his grandfather picked from obscurity, he never imagines she’s the heiress to one of the wealthiest families in the country. What starts as a business transaction turns into heartbreak, betrayal, and a shocking revelation that changes everything. When Emmah walks back into his life in diamonds and power, Damian realizes he didn’t just lose his wife,l he lost the woman who was always two steps ahead. Now he wants her back. But some scars run too deep… and some secrets are too painful to forgive.

The day I began working, I found out that the boyfriend I’d picked up off the street was actually a rich young man from the capital’s elite circle. His fiancée sneered at me, “You’re nothing but a bit of fun for us when we’re bored.” “You didn’t really think you were some kind of heroine here to save him, did you?” I was humiliated, my lips trembling. I couldn’t forgive myself—how could I have spent half of my father’s lifesaving money to help him? I even dropped out of school, working three jobs every day, foolishly treating him as the second most important person in my life. Later, my father passed away, leaving me all alone, so I left that city. But who would have thought that the young rich man who had toyed with me would go mad, searching for me all over the world for the next five years?

The Moretti Family's Thanksgiving party was in full swing downstairs—crystal clinks, fake laughs, classic mafia gloss. Meanwhile, I was curled up in a servant's room on the third floor. Jackson Moretti's wife. Legally, anyway. My hands were ice. I gripped the ultrasound report like it could anchor me. Three heartbeats. Strong, steady. It was supposed to be a surprise—his big Thanksgiving gift. To the outside world, Jackson was a polished Stanford grad, running a top-tier consulting firm in San Francisco. But behind the scenes? He ran the Moretti empire—cold, calculated, pulling strings in the West Coast's darkest corners. Three years of marriage and we barely spoke, but I still clung to the hope that maybe... maybe there was something real left. Then I heard him downstairs. "You really not letting your wife come down?" "Isabella?" He laughed. "She'd kill the vibe." Another voice chimed in. "Lina's back, right? Wild you married her twin. Which one do you actually like?" Jackson didn't miss a beat. "Isabella's just a stand-in. Quiet. Predictable. I could tell her to drop dead and she'd say 'okay.'" "So when are you ditching her?" "Dunno. She thinks she matters. I'm just playing her." I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sob. A minute later, I was heading downstairs, numb. I brushed my fingers over my belly. "Sorry, babies," I whispered. Triplets. His. He thought I was blind. Weak. Stuck. What he didn't know? A quiet woman, once she snaps—she can burn it all down.

On the day my daughter is discharged from the hospital after recovering from the flu, I run into my ex-husband, Zachary Levine, whom I have been divorced from for seven years. He is there to pick up his wife, who has just given birth. He looks a little surprised as his gaze moves up and down to take in my clothes, which is still stained from my child's vomit. I had no time to change out of it earlier. "Long time no see. How have you been lately?" he asks. I smile and say I am doing fine. As we are about to part, he grabs my arm. "Alyssa, our son misses you a lot. If you are having any difficulties, don't push yourself. The passcode for the house in the north of the city is still your birthday. You can go there anytime." I politely decline, and he lets out a sigh. "After all these years, you are still as stubborn as you were back then. Don't hate me." I smile but say nothing. There needs to be love for there to be hate. But now, he is just a stranger to me.

I was diagnosed with stomach cancer and needed a total gastrectomy. My husband, who was hailed as a rising star in the medical field, personally performed the surgery on me. However, after the operation, my health only worsened. He told me that the cancer had spread too quickly, and there was no hope left. It was not until I accidentally came across a hidden medical report and a massive insurance policy that I learned the truth—I never had stomach cancer. Not only had he removed my stomach, but he had also taken my uterus. Desperate, I confronted him, asking why he did that to me. He held his mistress in his arms, looking at me with disgust as he said, "If your father weren't the director, do you think I would've married you? You're not even worthy of being in the same room as Mabel. After one more surgery to remove your stomach, I'll be promoted to chief physician. "Didn't you claim to love me so much? I'm just using your body to help me and Mabel get ahead... I'm doing you a favor." Then, he and his mistress threw me off the building, making it look like a suicide. When I opened my eyes again, I had gone back to the day of my stomach surgery.

Jeremy Hansen throws a divorce agreement at Joanna Thompson on the day she finds out she's pregnant with twins. He also gives her 300 million dollars as their breakup fee. Why? Because his true love is back in the country! Joanna doesn't kick a fuss or throw a tantrum. She takes the money and moves out of their marital home without argument. She doesn't expect Jeremy to be so cruel, though—he wants her to abort the children. Why should she listen to him? "You're not going to abort them, huh?" Jeremy sneers. "Do you think we won't have to go through with the divorce if you're still pregnant with my children?" Joanna sneers back at him. A few days later, she accidentally miscarries. After being discharged from the hospital, she and Jeremy finalize the divorce. Three years later, the paparazzi capture Joanna on a street abroad while holding onto a pair of adorable boy-girl twins. Jeremy stares at the photo as his eyes slowly redden. Then, he flies abroad at top speed to stand in Joanna and the twins' way. "You've played me for three years, Joanna! It's high time that you stop with this tantrum." She takes off her sunglasses and raises a nonchalant eyebrow. "Sorry, but who are you?"

The contractions were ripping me in two. My vision was going dark. My husband, Don Vittorio, the man who ruled Chicago, squeezed my hand. His dark eyes burned with love. "Just a little longer, mia cara. You'll meet our baby soon." Sweat poured down my face. I still found the strength to smile for him. Then a nurse walked in. She held a syringe. I thought it was to stop the pain. But Vittorio’s hand fell away. He took a single step back. The needle sank into my arm. I heard Vittorio’s voice. It was cold steel. "Dose her carefully. She holds on until midnight. Not a minute sooner. Not until after Ornella delivers." And then I knew. He thought I married him for the money. He was stopping my labor. All for a sick Falcone family rule: the first son born is the next heir. Pain tore through me. I reached for him. Tears streamed down my face. I begged him to stop. He bit his lip. His voice was pure ice. "My brother is dead. Ornella carries his only heir. You will do as you are told. You and your child will not steal his birthright." The drug hit my veins. The violent squeeze in my belly, like some invisible hand, just… stopped.