Hikiko San

Evelyn Monroe is a 27 year old kindergarten teacher who absolutely loves kids. Things change when Evelyn's twin brother - Everett suggest she becomes his best friend (Cassian James)’s daughter's nanny for a month that was going to be very busy for him. As far as Everett is concerned, it's good as she’s between jobs since she’s planning to move states soon. There is only one problem. Evelyn and Cassian can’t stand each other. They’ve never been able to. She finds him insufferable, and he thinks she’s annoying. Everett convinces them that they haven’t seen each other in 6 years, and they’re adults now. He’s sure the childish bad blood is a thing of the past. He’s wrong. The two still can’t stand each other. They’re at each other’s throats the moment they meet again. The only thing that’s changed is… well… they can’t keep their hands off each other. As it turns out, anger is great passion fuel. Everything is fine, and Evelyn is even beginning to like Cassian. She stays an extra two weeks even, when Cassian can’t finish up work in time. His little girl Amelia is an absolute sweetheart as well. Everything is fine until Evelyn can’t find her period. She’s pregnant, and it’s Cassian’s. She asks Cassian if he wants another child and he says no, which is why he got a vasectomy. Evelyn says nothing about the child, and leaves for her fresh start as previously planned. A whole year passes like this until Cassian is visiting San Francisco for business and decides to drop in on her, hoping to rekindle their flame. He finds her with a baby, and realizes quite quickly that it’s his.

I was the person Henry Johnson, the head of the San Nello mafia, loved more than anyone else. He loved me with absolute devotion. During our three years of marriage, he spoiled me endlessly and treated me like a princess. Yet this same man, who claimed to love me so deeply, divorced me three times, each time for the sake of his childhood sweetheart. The first time, intimate photos of them at the airport went viral. That very night, he placed the divorce papers in front of me. "Selena," he said, "Melanie's father once saved my life. I can't allow her to be condemned as a homewrecker. Let's divorce for now. Once this storm passes, we'll remarry." With my heart in pieces, I signed the papers and prepared to leave. However, at the airport, Henry stopped me. He broke down in front of me and begged, "I've already taken care of the media. Melanie has gone abroad again. I've repaid everything I owed her family. Please don't leave. Let's get married again." His tearful pleas softened my resolve. That was the first time I forgave him. The second time, he came to me looking utterly worn out. "Melanie was implicated by her boyfriend and ended up in prison," he said. "I need to bail her out as her spouse. Once she's free, we'll remarry right away." I believed him. That time, he kept his promise. He returned and remarried me. The third time, he lowered his head and hesitated, unable to look me in the eye. "Melanie is about to give birth," he said. "An unwed pregnancy would destroy her modeling career. I have to help her. This will be the last time. Once the child is settled, we'll remarry. I promise this will never happen again." I looked at him for a long time. In the end, I answered softly, "Okay." However, on the day we were meant to register our marriage again, I never appeared. Any love I still had was worn away bit by bit. In the end, I left for good, taking with me not only a broken heart, but also the unborn heir he would never know.

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.

"What is this? Are you dying anytime soon? How many days do you have left?” “I believe you know how to read clearly. Go through the results. I’m sure you will be the one leaving anytime soon.” She said confidently. I stared at her once more and proceeded to read the contents of the paper. “You are pregnant,” I said and she smiled. “Yes darling, and guess who my baby’s father is?” I shook my head at her disbelievingly and she nodded her head. “Yes, Eliott is the father of my unborn baby.” “Do you expect to believe such baseless accusations? I am not dumb, Emma. “I know it’s hard for you to believe but, Eliott never broke up with me. Did you think that all the excuses he gave were real? Even Elon Musk doesn’t have a schedule that’s as tight as that. He spent most of his time with me and that is how we made a baby.” She rubbed her abdomen and I chuckled hard. She was lying. She had to be. *** “Mr. Winconstin, your ex-wife is back!” I raised my head from the magazine I was reading. It was no news that Oleander was back in San Francisco. She took over her family's company and was bent on restoring it's lost glory. I should admit it, she never seemed like a business lady to me. “She didn't come alone.” I sat up. Has she moved on already? “She came back with two children and the boy is your carbon copy.” Instantly, blood filled my nose. Was she pregnant then? Why didn't she tell me? Why did she decide to keep my children away from me? “Get the car ready. We are heading to the Thayer's company immediately.”

My ex-husband is getting married. and.... I’m the one hired to plan the wedding. My name is Arabella Paloma Garcia. Five years ago, I was arranged to marry an Italian heir with an angel’s face and the personality of something between a blizzard and a natural disaster: Rafael Vittorio Ricciardi. We spent one year of marriage arguing hard enough to make a lawyer retire early. Then his ex came back, and I left with a divorce bracelet on my finger… and a pair of babies in my belly. Now I live in San Francisco. I own a wedding planning company, I’m a single mom to two demon twins, and I’m very, very proud of the fact that the name Ricciardi doesn’t appear anywhere in my life. Until one email lands in my inbox: Ricciardi–Marino Wedding. Groom: Rafael Vittorio Ricciardi. Bride: Alessandra Marino… the woman who once became the reason I got kicked out of his life. I should’ve said no. But Alessandra is infuriating, and I want to prove I’m over Rafael. So I take the job. But he walks in with a cold stare that sends my stomach straight to the floor. No recognition. A helicopter crash two years ago wiped six years of his life. Including me. Including our marriage. Perfect. I’ll plan my ex-husband’s wedding, send him down the aisle, and go back to my life. The plan goes smoothly. Right up until the wedding day. The bride disappears. The guests are waiting. The media is already rolling. And Rafael closes the bridal suite door… drops a bomb that earns him my fist in his face: “You’re the one who going to walk down the aisle with me.”