Pete Mitchell

Lucia’s life took a tragic turn when her father, Richard Pete, unable to repay a debt to the late Jordan Lancaster, was forced by Jordan’s widow, Eve, to marry Lucia to their cruel son, Adam. Trapped in an abusive marriage and pressured to produce an heir, Lucia fled after uncovering dark secrets but lost her memory in a plane crash. Stranded in Mexico, she fell in love with Jerahmeel Lancaster—unaware he was Jordan’s true heir—and had a child (later revealed to be Adam’s). Years later, a call from Lucia’s birth mother unlocked her past: she was the kidnapped daughter of the billionaire owner of the Marcelo empire. Returning with vengeance, she reclaimed her birthright and inherited the Lancaster Group from Jerahmeel, who died of cancer. Ruthless and powerful, she crushed Eve and Adam for their cruelty. But Adam, discovering he was the father of her son, manipulated her lingering feelings. Despite her strength, Lucia forgave him, reinstating him as her husband and handing back control of the Lancaster Group. Their reunion left their future uncertain.

Her husband was a cheater and had an affair with his secretary. Lana Carter played her cards carefully, not only tricking him into signing the divorce papers, but also landing him in prison. A dirty man like that—she didn't just want him gone, she wanted him completely destroyed. "Ethan Mitchell, enjoy your time in prison!" Ethan fell to his knees in remorse. "Honey, I was wrong. Please give me another chance." Lana intertwined her fingers with her young boyfriend's. "Let me introduce you—this is my new boyfriend." Lucas Gray, the young man she'd rescued at a bar. She thought she was just doing a good deed, but he insisted on repaying her with his devotion. Since she was single anyway, trying something different wasn't out of the question. But what if it was all an elaborate scheme of love and lies, designed to make her donate a kidney to his true love? The young heir looked hurt. "Lana, I only have one true love, and that's you!"

My mother fell critically ill and was rushed to the hospital. Desperate, I knelt before my fiancé—the department's chief surgeon—and begged him to take charge of her operation. But outside the ICU, he was carefully tending to a scraped knee. Lucy Wendell's scraped knee, to be exact. Just as I was drowning in hopelessness, Cameron Mitchell—the hospital director and my childhood friend—pushed open the operating room doors and handed me a marriage proposal. "Marry me, and I'll personally perform your mother's surgery." With trembling hands, I signed my name, clinging to the last shred of hope that she could be saved. But she never made it through that stormy night. Cameron handled all the funeral arrangements himself, and our wedding proceeded as scheduled. Seven years later, in the hushed silence of the hospital archives, I overheard Cameron speaking with the deputy director. "Cameron, why did you transfer your mother-in-law's organ to Lucy's mother during that surgery? Weren't you afraid of getting caught?" "I owed Lucy," he replied. "If I hadn't hesitated back then, Lucy never would've chosen medical aid work in Africa… and her mother wouldn't have fallen ill from the grief."