Piece Of Cake

Addison Stone, Attorney at Law, thought she had the perfect life: A handsome husband, loving son, and a career with a promising future. That is until his first love, Evelyn Valentine, returned and everything she worked so hard to build started to fall apart piece by piece. But then, at her darkest hour, a mysterious man enters her life--Hunter Grant. He's handsome, powerful, and has the means to offer her what she wants--whether that is redemption or revenge. When her husband finally realizes his mistake, will it be too late to save his life and the love of Mrs. Stone?

He is an egomaniac and a self-centered human who only opened up to his dead ex. And she is a young professor of psychology who once had everything she ever dreamed of. She looks like his first love. And he reminds her of her fiancé. They cross paths and are drawn to each other for two different reasons. Firstly, Anna thinks Dylan has a piece to her past while Dylan thinks Anna is his first love. In fixing the misunderstandings between themselves, they begin to see reasons why they were mistaken or not.

Chanel Danica Suarez, a musically inclined fashion designer is living her dream. Everything she ever wanted is already on her reach. But despite having material things, she still felt emptiness inside especially, when she lost her mother. The piano became her companion which eased her longing and made her feel loved. But when she met Dior Louis Saavedra, the dullness that once filled her life became brighter. Could he be the missing note to her broken piece? Or would he be another reason for her to keep falling apart?

A year ago, I lost my best friend, and I lost my way. I was at the top of my game and in a split second, Leah was dead and the two men that I loved more than life itself had betrayed me. I was alone. I was broken. Then, the mob called. And, I answered. It was a bad idea to get involved with the mob, but the longer I worked with Alessio, the harder it was to stay away from him. He was the missing piece that I had been longing for. Too bad he was a murderer, and his family was trying to kill me.

Elijah Morris has been fooling around for four out of the five years we've been married. And from the very first month, he openly betrays me. Meanwhile, I spend my time warding people off with expensive contracts, one after another. Eventually, all that's left between us is constant fighting. One day, his younger stepsister, Abigail Wright, returns. And just like that, he finally settles down. That's when the system tells me that I can finally go home. For the next five days, I no longer ask about his schedule. I don't care if he is with Abigail, nor do I care if she is pregnant with his child. I even move out of the master bedroom myself, listening to them going at it all night. The fifth day after Abigail's return is our wedding anniversary. Elijah bursts into the room, tears up our marriage certificate in front of me, and smashes my most treasured vase into pieces. He grips my throat tightly and growls, "Why did you put mango in Abby's cake? She's allergic, and she almost died! How could you be so cruel?" For the first time, I don't argue with him. Instead, I go along with his accusations. "So what?" I then pick up a shard from the broken vase on the floor under his disbelieving gaze. Then, I draw it across my artery. Just like that, I end my life in this world.

My twin sister died on her 18th birthday. She died of respiratory failure in a dark corner of a hotel after being raped. Her dearest friend, Joanne Lowe, whom she always cared for and supported, turned around and anonymously spread photos of my sister being raped. I then slowly ruined the face which had so badly wanted to replace my sister with a knife. With blood everywhere, I cradled Joanne's face as if it were a piece of art and said, "My beloved sister is gone, and you people who harmed her won't be let off so easily."

I've been in a secret relationship with Declan Gibson for five years, and I've tried to seduce him more times than I can count. Yet, when I stand in front of him in my birthday suit and a pair of bunny ears, all he does is worry that I'll catch a cold and wrap me in a blanket. I used to think his restraint came from being the mafia don, that he was saving our first time for our wedding night. However, one month before the ceremony, he secretly plans the city's grandest fireworks show to celebrate his childhood sweetheart's birthday. They hug and share a slice of cake in public. That night, they check into a hotel. … The next morning, I watch them leave together. That's when I realize Declan is not restrained. He just doesn't love me, so I walk out of the hotel. I call my parents. "Dad, I've broken up with Declan. I'll marry into the Sullivan family as planned." My father is stunned. "I thought you were madly in love with Declan. Why did you break up? I heard Bryson can't have children. You've always loved kids. What will you do once you marry him?" "It's fine," I reply, disheartened. "We can always adopt."

On the last day of the year, my music player app pushed out my 2025 listening report. My keyword was 'Resonance.' I had not actually spent much time listening to music that year. My account had mostly been used by my boyfriend, Jeremy Steward. A small line of text appeared underneath. [At 4:00 A.M. on December 1st, you were still sharing the same song with someone. So this is what love looks like, staying awake through the night.] My breath caught. December 1st was my birthday. However, that night, I had gone to bed early. Jeremy had rushed off right after cutting the cake, saying he needed to go back to the office for overtime. Almost as if possessed, I tapped my trembling hands on the unfamiliar profile that showed up as my most frequent interaction. Their keyword for the year was 'Exclusively Yours.' My heart skipped. I opened the details. [This year, you and this user listened to songs together late at night 688 times. Every time is a private whisper between souls.] Right then, a message from Jeremy popped up on my phone. [Babe, I have to work late again tonight. Don't wait up for me. Sleep early, okay?] At the same moment, that unfamiliar account posted a new update. A photo of two hands intertwined inside a car, fingers tightly laced together. [I love working late with him the most. We'll listen to music together for a lifetime.]

Angie woke up in the morning, finding herself in a strange place, with a man beside her, and without a single piece of clothing. It was bad luck for her when Mike, the man she had supposedly spent the night with—the only son of the head of the black organization "The Black Venom"—approached again and handed her a contract that would turn her life upside down. "Sign it and marry me, or die." Then, like riding a roller coaster, Angie tried to survive the fake marriage. It was only two years, but a big secret was uncovered, making the remaining time a living hell—not only for Angie but also for Mike.

The morning was cold and I was currency. My father handed me to Dimitri Volkov, Bratva, like I was a contract clause. I said no at the altar. Loud enough for everyone to hear. The priest kept going. Dimitri didn’t even blink. That was fact one: I was married without consent, in Chicago, to a man who accepted silence as agreement. I left him later. Not in rage. In clarity, after I saw another girl get caught in his world with no choice, just like me. Then I went to war. Law school had taught me precision, so I used it. Civil suits. Asset forfeiture. Anonymous tips to the right agencies. I took apart everything legitimate he’d built, piece by piece, until he bled territories and pride. He showed up bruised once, signed over forty percent of his clean empire to my name, brought therapy receipts. That was fact two: I dismantled the man who caged me, on paper, without firing a shot. I still have the necklace. The one he left in my lap that first night. I wore it through the worst, through the year I rebuilt alone, through every hearing. Last month I was pregnant in a courtroom, arguing a case I won. He was in the gallery. The diamonds sat above my collar. No one asked. I never explained. That was fact three: I took something from that night and made it mine. It doesn’t belong to him anymore. It doesn’t belong to what he did. It belongs to me.