Luffy Photo

Jessica is living her life peacefully with her husband, Adam Peterson, when a creep shows up at her work place and sneaks a photo of her. Soon after that, an infamous boss of a drug cartel, Hugo Ortiz, arrives at her workplace with an army of guards. He calls her "Camila" and asks her to leave with him. She does not remember the man at all. She realizes that her husband had been keeping things from her. Upon digging deeper, she finds out that she had been married to Hugo Ortiz. It didn't take long for Hugo's enemies to use her as a target. Ivan Volkov, the most feared name of the bratva, has been sniffing for an opportunity to get his hands on Hugo and have his revenge for killing his only son. Jessica finds herself caught in the crossfire of a gang war while she struggles to remember how she ended up in Nebraska. What is the reality of her "husband"? Who Hugo Ortiz? Why doesn't she remember any of this? When she actually stumbles upon the answers to her questions, a part of her preferred living in blissful ignorance rather than stepping back into the world of blood and misery.

Emillia Lucille has everything. Money, looks, fame, family. You name it, she has it. Her luxury is never ending, so is her career as a model in an international agency owned by her father. Many envy her. Many tried to be her, but they failed. She is invincible. With her cold heart and charming look, she became the person every man and woman wanted and hated at the same time. But everything changed when she received a photo from an anonymous sender. A photo she ought to keep until she dies. A photo that can harm not only her career but also herself. A photo that will reunite her with her lost self and its acquaintances. Will she be able to reconnect to the past and fight the situation she was fated to face? Or will she be forever locked from it? And just like it, will she remain so far away?

During the third year of our marriage, my husband's ex—whom he dated for eight years—suddenly shares a photo of a ten-million-dollar marital home on her social media. It's captioned, "I've finally gotten a mansion! Who's the best at dating? I am!" I gape at the image—I see my husband swiping his card at the real estate sales office in a corner of the photo. I leave a question mark in the comments. In the next second, my husband calls me to tell me off. "I'm just making good on a promise I made her when we were dating—to buy her a marital home. Why did you have to go insult her like that? Are you evil enough to turn me into a man who goes back on his word?" That evening, his ex shares another photo of a million-dollar renovation bill. I know it's a gift from my husband to appease her, but I don't care anymore…

My secretary replaced me on my wedding day, walking down the aisle in a white wedding gown. The man I had loved for ten years threw the bridesmaid dress in my face and ordered me to wear it instead. "She is the bride now. You'll be next," he said coldly. My grandmother was so furious that she fell ill on the spot. Meanwhile, he and the secretary smiled brightly as they completed the wedding ceremony. After the grand wedding, the secretary posted photos of herself in her wedding gown on social media. The comments were overwhelmingly congratulatory. [Today is such a beautiful day, I finally got what I wanted. I hope those who try to ruin someone else's relationship will wake up soon.] She wrote. Chester Morrison replied to her post: [It is a great day. Don't ruin your good mood by some trash.] When I returned home, holding my grandmother's photo, who had passed away, I found them tangled together on the bedspread my grandmother had lovingly sewn for me, the one with a pair of Swan that symbolizes eternal love.

I stare at the email on my screen, unable to move my fingers. Tomorrow is our company's crucial product launch, and I just learn that the patent for the algorithm I spent three years developing is now filed under Matthew Ashford's new assistant, Sophie Bennett. I storm into Matthew's office to confront him. Sophie sits on his desk with her legs crossed, looking completely innocent. She claims that she filled out the form by mistake. "It's just a clerical error. The patent still belongs to the company. What's the big deal?" Matthew stands up from his chair, positioning himself in front of Sophie. I can't believe what I am hearing. "Matthew, this is my research!" "Emma, you're thirty-five. Why are you picking a fight with a twenty-three-year-old intern?" He frowns. Then, he turns to Sophie. "Starting tomorrow, you're the new CTO. Emma needs… some time off." I'm utterly stunned. A decade of marriage and five years dedicated to building a company together have been shattered by a few casual words from him. Thirty minutes later, Sophie posts a photo on social media of herself sitting on Matthew's lap. They are both clinking champagne glasses. "So lucky to have the best boss ever. I'll make sure to be his loyal kitten." Below that, Matthew leaves a comment—three red heart emojis. I shut my laptop and pick up my phone. "Hello. Is this Mr. David Langley from Novara Group of Sundale Valley? This is Emma Whitmore. I've changed my mind. I'm ready to join you." I pause. "And by the way, about that unreleased algorithm upgrade, I have the complete technical blueprint. Make me an offer." Later, I fly to Tallisport with an eight-figure check in hand, while Matthew goes frantic trying to find me.

Due to one phone call, Carl Lorde left me behind in a deserted area on the highway, even though I had been pregnant for four months. I walked to a rest area to ask for help, but in the end, I was unable to keep the baby. I broke down and called Carl, but he kept rejecting my calls. The next day, his childhood friend posted an intimate photo of them lying side by side in bed, with a caption. [With just one call, you’d come over to my side no matter what.] Everyone was waiting for me, Carl’s girlfriend, to make a joke of myself. However, I just wiped away my tears, liked the post, and commented, [Congratulations, you two are a match made in the trash dump. I hope you rot in hell together.]

I was six months pregnant when my husband, Michael Greene, shoved me off the edge of a yacht during a birthday party. Why? Because Lily Clement, his childhood sweetheart, had fallen into the water, and apparently, the yacht was too small for all three of us. After being pulled from the ocean, suffering from hypothermia and shock, I was taken to the hospital. Doctors determined that emergency surgery was necessary and required a family member's consent. However, no matter how many times they called, Michael never picked up. At the same time, lying in a hospital bed, I scrolled through Lily’s Instagram and saw the post she shared just hours earlier. It was a photo of the two of them, soaked but clinging to each other like lovers out of a movie. "Sometimes love comes from the most unexpected places. Thank you for always being there for me—quietly, selflessly, unshakably." That was all I needed. The day I was discharged, I left Michael a signed divorce agreement. If he wanted to be her knight in shining armor, I’d let him.

My husband, Hank, is dead.  On our wedding anniversary, he ventured out in the pouring rain to buy me a cake, only to be hit by a truck. His body was badly mangled in the crash.  My sister-in-law, Lyra, called me a killer, claiming that I did not deserve Hank’s inheritance.  My mother-in-law, Judy, kicked me out of the house.  Overwhelmed by grief and guilt, I often wondered if he would still be alive had I stopped him that day. Eventually, emotions gripped me, and I was diagnosed with cancer.  Judy came to visit me on my deathbed. “You’re an idiot to believe everything!”  She threw a family photo in my face.  The shock and anger were more than I could handle, and I breathed my last.  It turned out that Hank was never dead. He had a child with his old flame.  When I opened my eyes once more, I returned to the day my husband faked his death.

I double over in pain after assisting Adrian Randall with a late-night operation. He immediately carries me to a ward to check on me. However, before he can do that, he receives a call from a patient and hurries off. That night, I miscarry. When I come out of the operating theater, I see his childhood friend's social media update. She's shared a photo of her baby bump. "He hurried to come to my side just because I was lost. You have to treat Adrian well in the future, my darling!" I rub my belly, which throbs with a dull ache. I don't cry and demand an explanation from Adrian as I would have in the past. Instead, I like the post and apply for a position on the Borderless Medical Assistance Program. The day I leave, the high and mighty Dr. Randall looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. He asks, "How can you bear to leave me behind?"

For five years, I thought our marriage was solid. Then, my husband, Lionel Franco’s first love, Sandra Howard, posted a photo of a property deed on her social media. The caption read: [Thank you, Lionel, for transferring the house to me.] I stared in disbelief and left a single comment: [WTF?] Lionel called within minutes. “She’s a struggling single mother. Transferring the house to her makes it easier for her son to get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live,” he snapped. “How can you be so lacking in compassion?” In the background, I heard her muffled sobs. Half an hour later, she tagged me in another post.  This time, she flaunted her Mercedes worth over a million dollars, with the caption: [Paid in full. As the saying goes, ‘Where a man spends his money, that's where his heart is’.] I knew he bought it to soothe her temper. But this time, I had enough. I decided to divorce him.