Sophie Gray South Park

"Sean, I've made up my mind, I'm going to marry you!" Janice Douglas played with her left hand's fingertips absentmindedly, her eyes locked on the swinging door of the nearby private room. On the other end of the call, the man let out a low chuckle, warm yet laced with a cool, worldly detachment. "Ms. Douglas, are you sure about this? Marrying into our families is a one-way street, no U-turns." "I'm sure!" Janice did not even pause before she shot back, her voice slicing through any second thoughts. "Fine, I'll be back in ten days. Pick me up at the airport, and we'll head straight to make it official."

News of a wedding in Nordica's top power family lit up the world. But at the rehearsal, I caught my fiancée, Ivette Bianchi, making out with her childhood sweetheart, Jerick Weiner. "Babe, we've been in love forever. Let me use your first-time blood as pigment for my art?" Ivette blushed, hesitated— Jerick didn't wait. He pinned her to the wall and kissed her. "My best piece needs that color," he whispered. "I want this painting to end our youth." I watched them twisted together, ice-cold. Dropped the ring. It clattered across the floor. "Go through with the ceremony," I said. "Or your family goes broke." She stiffened, shoved Jerick off, and spat, "Fine." Then she turned right back, grabbed his hand, and dragged him inside. "It's just a bachelorette party. I won't miss the rehearsal." The door slammed. I didn't react. I was done. I made the call. "Change the bride. And yeah—the Bianchis crossed the line first. I want them erased."

Someone had sprinkled some corrosive acid powder all over my wedding dress, the one worth over a hundred million. The moment I put it on, my flesh began to burn and dissolve. Blood and yellowish fluid pooled around me as a result. When I tried to call for an ambulance, someone’s mother held me down. She smiled cruelly and said, “You dare steal my daughter’s wedding dress? Go to hell!” However, my husband had ordered the dress from a top designer. It was one of a kind! I struggled with all my strength and shouted at her, “Do you know who I am? How dare you touch me?!” Her daughter, Yelena Stone, then grabbed a knife and stabbed me hard in my pregnant belly. She sneered and said, “You stole my man, but you have the audacity to yell at me? Fine. I’ll just spend a little more to end your worthless life.” My worthless life? I laughed. My hands were stained with blood as I called my brother, Hunter Sinclair, an elite in Jinvell’s social circles. “Hunter! Someone’s trying to kill me! And tell Jacob to get here now!”

All it takes for me to be locked inside a sauna for eight hours is an accidental splash of hot water on Wayne Miller's secretary's hand. Right before I lose consciousness, he finally orders someone to let me out. He hisses, "Consider this a warning. If I ever see you lay a hand on Naomi again, I won't let you off so easily." I lie on a stretcher and answer with quiet composure, "Understood."

To help my surgeon husband with his erectile dysfunction, I made an appointment with an expert six months in advance. But as the day approached, Isiah Coleman canceled it without explanation. Just as I was about to call him to demand answers, I spotted a post from his female friend on her social media. My usually stoic husband was beaming as he wrapped his arms around her. The caption read: [Only I can cure your illness.] What struck me, though, was the telltale bulge in his pants in the photo—a reaction I'd never seen from him with me. With a cold laugh, I liked the post and left a comment: [What a miracle worker!] The post exploded, with everyone speculating whether I'd confront the mistress. But what awaited him after the holiday was our freshly printed divorce certificate.

On the night before our wedding, my fiancée's ex-boyfriend lost in three rounds of Truth or Dare. Round One was Truth. He had to confess the most intimate thing he'd ever done with the opposite sex. Rob Ross shot me a wink. "That scar on Dorothy's thigh? I accidentally bit her there." Round Two was Truth again. He had to reveal a secret no one else in the room knew. He blushed a little. "When Dorothy was fast asleep, I took care of her physical needs for her." Round Three was Dare. He had to kiss a lady in the room for a full ten seconds. Without hesitation, he turned and kissed my fiancée, Dorothy Bryant. Dorothy froze for a moment, then held the back of his head and kissed him back. As the room watched in shock, she pulled Rob behind a screen, and they proceeded to entwine passionately, oblivious to the stares. The entire room fell into a stunned, suffocating silence. Every pair of eyes swiveled toward me. They all braced for an explosive outburst. But when the pair finally emerged from behind the screen, still lost in each other, I was the first to break the tension by clapping enthusiastically. "Such being the case, why not make him the groom tomorrow?"

After my eight-year-old twin sister was kidnapped, my dad became the person who wished for my death more than anyone else in the world. He would always say, "Zachary is an ungrateful brat! A good-for-nothing!" So, when the news of my disappearance reached the school, my dad leads everyone in cheers. He even spreads word of my misdeeds everywhere. "Zachary stole a poor student's tuition fees and even made a false police report accusing the teacher of hitting him!" "That's right! He even helped traffickers kidnap children—his own sister was almost sold by him! I hope he dies soon!" Five years later, my memories are extracted and projected onto a large display screen. And yet my dad, who hates me to the core and wishes for my death, falls to his knees and begs for my forgiveness the moment he learns of my death.

Seven years into our marriage, Zane Grimes and I remained childless. He once held me close, his voice tender and earnest. "Don't overthink it. I've never cared for children. You're all I want in this life." But on the day his company went public, as the ceremonial bell echoed through the hall, the doors burst open. My sister stormed in, cradling a wailing infant. "Zane, this is your son! How can you abandon us?" Zane's face paled as he turned to me, his eyes brimming with panic and a silent plea. Unbeknownst to him, I had long known about his betrayal and the child.

Before Mom's surgery, Mason—yeah, the Mason Leonhart from one of Brighton's big-name families—suddenly "had" to go on a business trip and couldn't be at the hospital. A few hours later, Judy Yeager blasted a video on social. There was Mason, Mr. Born-With-A-Silver-Spoon, recycling bottles with her. Caption: [If we work hard together, no hardship can scare us.] I couldn't resist. [Future Leonhart heir, worth ten billion, still helping his girl recycle bottles to trade in for cash—heartwarming.] It vanished in seconds. My phone lit up. Mason's voice? Ice cold. "Shiloh Harrington, what was that? Call Judy. Tell her you were joking." I laughed. "Keep playing your little poor-boy cosplay without me." Hung up. Three days till the divorce cooling-off ended. Then Mason could be the broke man he was pretending to be.

I gave him my heart, and he gave his mother the power to break it. For years, Bella endured a loveless marriage built on her silence and sacrifice. Eric, the man she had married, chose his love and loyalty to his overbearing mother over protecting his wife. When the humiliation became unbearable after letting another woman into their home, Bella finally walked away. Then came Cole Warren, A wealthier billionaire than Eric. He was everything Eric wasn't. With Cole, Bella found peace and the love she had begged Eric for. But fate had one last twist. Bella was already pregnant and with Eric's child. Now, Eric wants her back. But Bella isn't the same woman he abandoned.