Sonic.exe Disc

She woke up in a dark room with no idea how she got there. She doesn't remember who she is. Will she ever find out? Will she ever know what happened to her? Will the love that she finds be at the time that she is destined to be? Will she choose security, power, or neither? Or will time choose for her?

It all seemed like the perfect marriage until she was stripped of her title of an heiress, a wife and a mother. The betrayal from the people she loved the most stinged but the loss of her child stinging even harder. Thrown in jail for a crime she knew nothing about, the discarded heiress longed for the day she would pay back for the betrayal. Her prayers seemed to be answered as an unexpected visitor paid her a visit in jail, with an offer no scorn and mourning mother would refuse. But for what price?

On the day of my divorce, my ex-mother-in-law updates her social media with a photo. It's my husband's mistress' ultrasound—she's pregnant. Their friends and family congratulate her. Meanwhile, I share a premarital medical report. It belongs to her son, Owen Wade. It also clearly indicates he has congenital necrospermia. There's no way I'll want a man who can't have kids!

"Clara, if we divorce I promise that you will never see Luke again!" A cold smile ran from ear to the other, curling my scarlet lips, "Who says I'm fighting for custody anyways? I'm kicking both you and your son out of my life." In a former life cut short, Clara Winston had been the perfect wife-obedience and selflessness wrapped with a ribbon of loyalty. But after eight years her husband's first love, her twin sister Cassie returns because she needed a kidney donor, both him and her stepson pressured Clara to offer hers. Then after she saved Cassie's life she bled to death losing her own. She opens her eyes to a second chance, a second shot at life and this time she will be no one's doormat.

It only took a moment to burn everything down. For five years, Isla Merrick played the part—soft-spoken wife, graceful hostess, quiet shadow to Callum Braxton’s powerful presence. She became what the world expected: dutiful, polished, harmless. Then came his cold declaration: “Let’s get divorced.” No emotion. No explanation. Just a clean cut—like a business deal. But Callum never knew she had been waiting for that moment. Planning for it. Beneath the composed surface, Isla had been sharpening the edges he once dulled. Because Isla Merrick had a past—and it wasn’t the scandal the tabloids spun. It was deeper. Sharper. Before she was Mrs. Braxton, she trained at Summerdell—an elite, off-the-record martial arts academy. Whispers of crime and prison blurred the truth, but Isla stayed silent. She had bigger plans. Three years later, she returns—not to reconcile, but to reintroduce herself. Isla Merrick now runs a luxury fashion empire, famous for turning scandal into power. And when she steps into the country’s most elite gala, draped in elegance and authority, Callum barely recognizes her. But she recognizes him. Before he can speak, a figure joins her—Dorian Kane. Ruthless investor. Public obsession. His hand rests on Isla’s waist like it belongs there. “Just so we’re clear, Braxton,” Dorian says coolly. “She’s not yours. Not anymore.” For Callum, it’s the beginning of a reckoning. For Isla, it’s the first breath of freedom. She isn’t the woman who once begged to be loved. She’s the woman who knows she never needed to be. And this time, she’s not just rewriting the story—she’s owning the ending.

Larissa and Stanley got married based on Stanley's grandfather's conditions, and Stanley wanted to satisfy his grandfather, but after the marriage, Larissa didn't get Stanley's attention, Stanley believed that he didn't touch Larissa till she walked away from the marriage, but later came back with triplet,

On day two of Matthew's so-called business trip, I was wiping down the counter when I said, "Auri, play some music." Instead of music, a syrupy voice chirped, "Sure thing, my Baby Moon. Oh, and Matthew, don't forget Bibi's birthday surprise tonight." I froze. The speaker blasted some random playlist, but all I heard was 'Bibi.' Matthew Kein was my husband. So who the hell was Bibi? I called him. "Did you mess with our smart speaker?" A beat of silence, then his fake laugh. "Oh, a buddy dropped by. Probably logged his account in. Why?" I laughed back like I bought it, then hung up. Two taps later, I was scrolling the login history, already hailing a cab to the company tied to that mystery account.

The year of my college entrance exams, I gave up my acceptance to Harvard for James Carter. But after five years into our relationship, I ended it. Outside the dorm building, I caught him holding Sarah Williams, who was dripping in designer labels, locked in a passionate kiss. James smirked, "You're just a simple farmer. What kind of life could you possibly offer me?" But he seemed to forget that I had bought him everything - from his tailored Tom Ford suit to his Rolex watch. Heartbroken, I walked away. If someone else wanted to be a doormat for him, they could be my guest - I was done. Later, I focused on growing my agricultural business, eventually expanding into space farming. That's when the media uncovered my true identity as the heiress to a multi-billion dollar fortune. Mr. Williams groveled, forcing Sarah to kneel beside him, begging me to consider a business partnership. James, his eyes red from crying, grabbed my sleeve and said he regretted everything.

La discípula de mi esposo, Camila, alardeaba de su técnica de desactivar bombas con los ojos cerrados, guiándose solo por la intuición. El resultado fue un error de juicio que activó el sistema de detonación de respaldo de la bomba. Yo tuve que intervenir de emergencia, usando el peligrosísimo método de condensación con nitrógeno líquido para salvar todo el edificio. A Camila la apartaron de la primera línea y, además, la suspendieron. Mi esposo, Sergio, quiso hablar en su defensa, pero yo me interpuse resueltamente: —Si la defiendes ahora, no la salvarás y te hundirá con ella. Hasta a ti te suspenderán. Abrumada por la presión, Camila terminó con su vida provocando una explosión. En una carta que dejó, acusaba a Sergio: “En el momento que más necesitaba de él, él prefirió lavarse las manos.” Sergio no dijo nada. Solo guardó esa carta como un tesoro en su estudio. Años después, Sergio ya era un experto en desactivación de bombas, famoso en todo el país. Durante un ataque terrorista, unos secuestradores me colocaron una bomba de tiempo. Él acudió en persona a desactivarla, pero frente a mí, repitió el mismo error fatal de su discípula. Mirando la cuenta atrás, me dijo con una sonrisa burlona: «Mira, solo estaba nerviosa aquella vez. ¡Si la hubiera apoyado entonces, ahora ella sería la heroína!». La bomba estalló. Quedé hecha añicos. Al abrir los ojos otra vez, había vuelto a aquel momento en que él intentaba defender a su discípula. Lo que él no sabía era que en ese edificio se albergaba un servidor crítico con los secretos nacionales de máximo nivel.

` It was a cool, breezy and stormy night. Rain came down in sheets, as a dark figure stood before a house. The house was pretty ordinary, white with blue shutters; it didn't have more than two bedrooms. It looked like a cozy little family home with flowers and shrubs lining the front lawn, and then the smell from the pellet stove smoke invaded his nostrils. He took a deep breath and pulled out an old, rusted compass from his black trench coat. It looked like it could have been from the 14th century, the small, brass disc was dented and the Victorian designs were faded. He studied it as it pointed east, towards the small house. He looked the house over carefully, looking for the best entrance, before proceeding towards the side to gaze into the window. Inside you can see the small kitchen; the brand new, all black appliances off set the linoleum floor. Cabinets filled almost every wall of the small space that made it look more crowded than it should have been. The kitchen opened to a larger room which seemed to be used as a living room and a dining room all at once. The whole house looked crowded, with the furniture in the living room all touching except for a small gap to walk through and the dining room was so close to the sofa, it could have been sitting on it. He stepped back into the shadows as he watched a young couple enter the kitchen. The wife was tall and slender, had strawberry blond hair formed around her face accenting her jaw-line and her deep blue eyes stopped your heart as you got lost in them. Her fair complexion was silky and complimented her soft face.