Good Morning Auntie

Brandon Smith is a handsome billionaire and single father of two. She hired Chris Mariah Sigua to be his bride to grant the wish of his children to have a mother who will cook a meal, take good care of them, and have a big, happy family. Chris Mariah Sigua, the breadwinner of her family, works as a kindergarten teacher in the morning and as a housekeeper at night. She accepted Mr. Smith's offer to save her father's life. She won't mind if she suddenly becomes a billionaire's bride if it means her father will survive and her family in the Philippines will have a comfortable life. But the question is, would their marriage work if there was no love between them, just pure business? Will they be able to learn to love each other after they marry, or will they divorce?

“I need a bride,” Drayce said, eyes burning into hers. “And the moment I saw you, I knew—I’d burn the world just to make you mine.” Noong mamatay ang mga magulang ni Zseya ay naiwan siya sa pangangalaga ng kaniyang Auntie Isadora. They treated her like a maid, at tinanggap niya ’yon ng walang angal. Ngunit nang dahil sa isang pangyayari ay pinalayas siya ng kaniyang Auntie Isadora, at itinakwil siya ng kaniyang Lolo Delfin sa pamilyang Arguelles. Sa labis na hirap at sakit, mas pinili na lamang niyang umalis — she didn’t expect to meet the man who’s gonna change her life. Drayce Zamora is a multi-billionaire. A man sculpted by power, precision, and pain. Born into wealth but shaped by loss. His father died under scandal. His mother abandoned the limelight. Drayce rebuilt the Zamora legacy from ashes, swearing he would never be weak again. He owns half the city, but no one owns him. Love? That’s a distraction. Until he met her — Zseya Arguelles. Inalok niya si Zseya na tumira sa mansion niya, pag-aaralin, at handa niya itong protektahan mula sa pamilyang umabandona, kapalit ng pagpapakasal nito sa kaniya. Tatanggapin kaya ni Zseya ang alok ng binata o mas pipiliin niyang tumayo sa sarili niyang mga paa kahit alam niyang mahihirapan siya? Eh, paano kung no choice na siya dahil Boss niya rin ito? Naku, mukhang wala na talaga siyang kawala!

I drag my suitcase out of the airport and walk straight into a massive billboard. "Welcome back, Jennifer Palmer, the great love of Ivan Olsen's life." The entire Internet praises him for having waited faithfully for ten years. A star-struck reporter shoves a microphone in my face and asks, "Ms. Palmer, are you moved that Mr. Olsen has remained celibate for you all this time?" I blink in confusion at her question. "Who's Ivan?"

In eight years together, my boyfriend—Shayne Raffield—blocked me eighty-eight times. This time? Because I missed his call. At my best friend's birthday party. Usually, I'd panic-order a gift, then stand outside his office, head down, ready to beg. But today? I blocked him first. The Chat Feed popped up, loud as ever: [Nooo, Ley-Bae, don't block Shay-Shay! He's just got abandonment issues. Comfort him!] [Shay's heart = shattered; Eyes = red. Ley, go! One pout and he's yours again!] Then Shayne called. Didn't say a word. Just breathed for ten seconds and hung up. The Chat Feed freaked out. [AHHHH SHAY LOVES LEY SO MUCH HE JUST SUCKS AT SAYING IT. THIS COWARD'S GONNA LOSE HIS GIRL.]

I sacrificed my legs to marry my cousin’s boyfriend, but they replaced me with a different bride on the wedding day!

One day, I received a call from the property management. They politely advised me that even if it was a wedding, there was no need to make such a ruckus all night long, disturbing the neighbors. They said they were caught in the middle, and it was hard for them to deal with it. I replied, "You must be mistaken. I don't even have a boyfriend, so how could I be getting married?" Since I refused to admit it, the property management sent me a video from the community's security cameras. In the video, the hallway was decorated with lights and flowers, and guests were coming and going. A large group of people were escorting the bride into the new home. And the groom was none other than my ex-boyfriend, who I had broken up with two and a half years ago!

As soon as my husband sat at the dining table, he couldn't stop himself from talking. The humiliations of my school days had become his favorite entertainment, served up to his drinking buddies like appetizers. "Back then, she got her clothes torn off in the bathroom, beaten so badly she crawled on the ground like a dog, too terrified to make a sound. If it weren’t for my kindness—" That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him I wanted a divorce. He laughed it off, utterly unbothered. "Seriously? It’s just a joke! That was ages ago. You’re way too uptight—it’s just for a laugh, right?" For a laugh? Was I the only one with a past? Did he think he was untouchable? Maybe I should tell a few embarrassing stories about his precious childhood sweetheart. Fine. If it’s all about “fun,” I hoped his sweetheart found it equally hilarious when her turn came.

To save my husband, I drank until my stomach bled. Despite making it to the hospital, no one would treat me—all because he, a prominent surgeon, forbade anyone from attending to his own wife. In a previous life, he had saved me, a deed that fate cruelly repaid: the same day he saved me, his beloved, Lily Evans, tragically died during surgery. Consumed by regret, he lamented, "If I hadn't saved you, she might still be alive." On my birthday, in a twisted celebration, he intoxicated both me and our daughter. In a horrifying turn, he used his surgical skills to ruthlessly stab us both. As I lay bleeding, I begged for our daughter's life, pleading with him to spare her, his biological child. He coldly justified his brutality by claiming that being tied to me caused him to miss his chance with his true love. Fueled by a desperate need to protect my daughter, I fought him ferociously. He inflicted thirty-eight merciless wounds on me before turning his murderous intent towards our child. As I faced death, my last sight was of him, his decision clear as he once again chose his lost love over his living family.

When my wife brought her lover home for the fifth time, I decided enough was enough. I said nothing, not a word of complaint or protest. Instead, I superglued the windows shut and locked the bedroom door from the outside. From the bedroom came the muffled sounds of her little escapade, breathless and feverish, carrying through the walls like a shameful melody no one asked to hear. Calmly, I sat in the living room, picked up the phone, and called my mother-in-law. "Jessie," I said, putting on my best tone of urgency, "it's bad—real bad! Your daughter's locked herself in the bedroom and says she's gonna end it all!"

My husband, James Lincoln, disappeared in an accident, and my in-laws wasted no time filing to have him legally declared deceased. At the funeral, a woman, Xena Xander, suddenly showed up with a young boy, both crying hysterically. The boy, Charlie Lincoln, screamed at the top of his lungs, calling my husband “Daddy.” My ten-year-old daughter, Mia Lincoln, charged at him, shouting, “Shut up! That’s my dad!” Pretending to break it up, my in-laws instead shoved Mia to the ground. She collapsed and passed out on the spot. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame yourself for not giving us a grandson! This family can’t die out without an heir!” Xena smirked at me with blatant provocation. Behind her, Charlie spat in my direction and sneered, “You’re just a worthless tramp nobody cares about.” I didn’t lose my temper. Instead, I laughed. “If you want the status and the inheritance so badly, you can have them. But don’t come crying to me when you regret it.” Two weeks later, Xena showed up at my doorstep, covered in blood, banging on the door and screaming. And then, I got a phone call that felt like a nightmare come to life. But I couldn’t have cared less. By then, I was already enjoying a peaceful vacation overseas.