He'll

Kourtney was out of options. To save herself and get her inheritance, she did something crazy—she kidnapped Travis Forger. Now, she stood in front of him, holding a marriage contract, her last hope. “If you marry me, I can get my inheritance. After that, we’ll let you go,” she told him, her voice shaking. But Travis didn’t panic. He stayed calm. “And what do I get from this?” he said. “I already have a fiancée. I love her." Those words broke Kourtney’s heart. She already knew about Kim, but hearing him say it hurt more than she expected. “You’re my hostage!” she snapped. “You have to do what I say!” Travis looked at her, no anger—just disappointment. “This isn’t love, Kourtney. This is just fear.” Her hands dropped to her sides. She felt small, helpless, and humiliated. But deep inside, something darker began to grow. As she turned away, her eyes filled with tears, and one dangerous thought crossed her mind: If Travis won’t marry her by choice… Then maybe he won’t have a choice at all.

For four years, I worked three jobs to support my husband, Edward Godfrey, while he chased his PhD and battled ALS. And somehow, in all that time, I'd never stepped foot on his campus. Not because I didn't want to. Every time I brought it up, he had some excuse ready. When graduation came, I asked to go to his hooding ceremony. He shut it down fast. "It's just a formality. A bunch of lab nerds. You'd be bored. Once I bring the diploma home, we'll have a candlelight dinner." I didn't argue. Just helped him straighten his doctoral gown. But I couldn't hide how excited I was. So I dressed up. And secretly followed him. Onstage, Edward stood beside his wheelchair, voice thick with emotion. "I want to thank my wife. She stood with me in the lab, even while pregnant, helping me grind out countless precious data points." I froze. My hand pressed against my flat stomach. Cold crept down my spine. For four years, I'd busted myself raw to support his PhD. I went from the girl everyone on campus admired to a fish seller, reeking like seafood every day. Worked so hard I miscarried twice. So who exactly was this "wife" he was thanking?

The men of his Pack never live past thirty. Only a union with my bloodline can break the curse. But on the day of our mating ceremony, he tore up our bond in front of everyone— just for his precious lover. In front of the entire Pack, he looked at me with nothing but disgust. “Elara, you’re nothing but a parasite. Your kind has been using black magic to deceive my Pack for generations. That ends with me.” His lover clung to his arm and laughed softly. “Why are you still standing here? Get out.” “With my knowledge, I can keep him alive far beyond thirty.” I looked at him. At the life-force already collapsing beneath his skin. A quiet laugh slipped from my throat. Fine. On his thirtieth birthday— we’ll see who’s right. Very soon.

For five years, I was married to the heir of the Romano family, Italy's biggest crime family. Every night, he'd hold me and whisper, "Just give me an heir, and I'll give him the entire Romano empire." But I never got pregnant, and the Don's disappointment in me grew with every passing month. Until I found out my husband had been secretly swapping my folic acid for birth control pills. I was still reeling from the fury when I saw a post from his ex-girlfriend: an ultrasound photo. Her caption was sweet and smug: “Ten weeks along. Vincent said he can’t wait to meet the baby.” Seeing the flood of congratulations, my mind was made up. I found the contact info for my ex-boyfriend—the one who’d spent the last five years trying to get me back. I sent him a single text. 【Give me one month. Then I’m coming with you.】

You’ll divorce me… because she asked you to?” Sereia Fontaine never believed love was fair she always knew it was cruel and pain filled but what she didn’t know was that on the night she thought she was celebrating her marriage, she would be handed divorce papers,by the man she loved dearly simply because her sister said so. The woman her husband truly loves has returned and she wants her place back. Sereia has always been the one who waits. She loved a man who never chose her, lived in a home that never felt like hers, and spent years convincing herself that love meant endurance. When the past resurfaces, Sereia’s world collapses fast. Words are twisted. Loyalty turns fragile. Cast out with nothing but shame and sadness. Sereia is forced to face a life of struggle but New York is full of dangerous men, broken promises, and second chances that don’t come without a cost. And some lies don’t stay buried… even when they should.

The Rossi mafia family followed an ancestral rule. Before marriage, the heir received one chance each year to draw lots. Drawing a fortunate lot meant he could choose his own spouse and avoid an arranged marriage. Dante Rossi drew an unfortunate lot for five consecutive years, and I, who had been dating him for seven years, never managed to marry him. This year marked the sixth year. I overheard his conversation with Marco Valentino, the Underboss. "Mr. Rossi, you drew a fortunate lot again." Dante's voice carried an unprecedented coldness. "Same as always, switch it to an unfortunate lot." Marco hesitated, then tried to persuade him. "Mr. Rossi, you've switched it for five years straight. Aren't you worried Celia will leave? Celia's the most beautiful woman in Nopales. Half the men in the city are chasing her." Dante said with absolute certainty, "She won't. Celia loves me too much. She won't marry anyone else. "Years ago, Livia's father died saving me. His dying wish was for me to stay by her side for five years. After this year ends, I'll give Celia a grand wedding as compensation." My last shred of hope died after I heard those words. Dante probably did not know that the Rossi family had one final ancestral rule. If the heir failed to draw a fortunate lot six times, he would lose the right to choose his own marriage. Moreover, I would soon be marrying someone else.

"You were never her, Aria. You were just... there." Jason's words echo in my head as I stand in the back of the church, watching him mourn another woman on her sister's wedding day. Isabelle. The perfect dead girlfriend. The ghost I've been competing with for three years. I thought I could be enough. I thought love could grow where grief once lived. But when I find the evidence, when I see the hotel receipts, the text messages, the photos of Jason with Isabelle's sister Violet, I realize the truth. I was never the love story. I was the intermission. What I don't know yet is that nothing about my marriage was real. Not Jason's cruelty. Not Violet's affair. Not the stranger's rescue. They've all been playing a game, and I'm the prize they're willing to destroy each other for. When the truth comes out, when I discover why Isabelle really died and who's been pulling the strings, I'll have to decide: Do I let them destroy me, or do I burn their whole world down?

Saphira is a beautiful woman with long, light blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, only 25 years old. She is simple and shy, but she is strong and decisive when it comes to work. A harassment situation at her company leads her to move from a small town in Texas to New York. She takes her little savings and CV and tries to get a job. Christopher is the CEO of a large advertising company. When Saphira starts working for him, he maintains his professionalism and detachment, but he can't help but appreciate the girl's beauty. He is always jumping from woman to woman, and his playboy fame is well known, so when he confesses his interest in her on a business trip, Saphira doesn't take him seriously and sets the professional barrier between them very high. Her coldness towards him stirs up the feeling that is born in his chest even more, but Saphira doesn't allow any approach, despite Christopher sometimes seeing in her eyes that the feeling is reciprocal. What would he have to do to conquer the girl who looked like "the girl next door" he's been looking for all his life? And why doesn't Saphira want to give him a chance? What dark secret keeps her away?

My boyfriend, Jacob Torrance, claimed he hated being touched. Five years together, and all I got were stiff hand-holds and the rare side-hug. Even in bed, he kept his distance. I figured he was just emotionally shut off. Then he dropped this: he wanted a kid—with his mentor's daughter. "Take it as a sperm donation," he said. "Dr. Lynn asked me before he died. Wendy's got no one else." I smiled. "You don't have to explain. I support you." When you're over someone, there's no point fighting about what's right or wrong.

I go to the boutique my son has invested in to pick up the gown I've ordered for a banquet. Just as I'm about to leave, the manager, Wendy Reed, stops me and says that I still owe them money. She pulls out the bill. I look down at it and see that the boutique is charging me 300 thousand dollars for their creativity, 500 thousand dollars for fabric therapy, and one million dollars for their chief designer's mental wellness. On top of other expenses, the price totals up to two million dollars. I laugh incredulously and send a message to my secretary. "Withdraw our funding from my son's company and this boutique!"