Stamped

"The marriage certificate's fake..." The clerk in the County Clerk's Office shot Serena a sympathetic look. "Vincent Schit legally married Maggie Cheape. Two weeks ago." Serena didn't even blink. Of course the guy she'd spent six years loving married his ex behind her back. "Thanks."

It was only meant to be a one-time, one-night solution to ONE problem. Okay, that's a lie. There are two problems: #1) I'm broke. Through no fault of my own, other than I fell down a rabbit hole so deep, I'm now buried in my sister's debt—with my name, Nikki St. Claire, stamped across it. #2) I honestly need a reprieve from my overly mundane, personal life. So when I stumble upon a highly exclusive and extremely secretive auction, I'm both intrigued and potentially saved, given I've left no "box" of what I'll do unchecked on the interview questionnaire, which exponentially increases the reserve that's set on me. Only thing is… The man who buys me turns out to be Jameson Richards. A drool-worthy billionaire bachelor. Also… My boss. How we got this tangled up in each other is a story unto itself. What we do once I accept his one-night contract is a tale riddled with lust and love.

They say the devil wears a three-piece suit. Mine wore a ring stamped with a golden lion, the symbol of the Ricci mafia. It was on a night of fire and ashes that my life changed. My name was Alaya, and I was just a girl among many others, born in the alleys of a neighborhood where poverty poisons you from the cradle. My mother, sick, had only me... and the debts. That night, they came. They knocked on the door. Three men in black. Not a word, just an envelope, and a chilling phrase: — "Your daughter is still a virgin, isn't she? The boss pays dearly for that." I had no choice. His name was Santino Ricci. Cold. Magnetic. Dangerous. The head of one of the most powerful families in Italy. He looked at me like one looks at precious merchandise. Then he said: — "You will be my wife. No matter how you feel." And I signed my condemnation. This marriage was not a union... but a gilded cage. I learned to survive among snakes. I saw death. I saw blood. I heard the screams of girls who, like me, had been sold. But what they had not anticipated... was that the little broken virgin would eventually bite back.

Yselle Morel is watching her family's glassworks collapse—unpaid wages, angry suppliers, a bank ready to shut the gates. When Renaud Valois, a feared billionaire financier, offers a rescue, it comes with a cruel condition: marriage. He says it’s business. His eyes say it’s revenge. In Valois’s riverside estate outside Paris, Yselle plays the obedient wife—smiling, thanking staff, acting harmless. She calls it "wife camouflage." Then she finds a locked room behind the library wall: a war room filled with files, photos, and timelines about her father’s life… and a folder stamped with Yselle’s name. Renaud didn’t choose her. He planned her. As “accidents” start closing in—tampered brakes, poisoned tea, a near fall on a dark stairwell—Yselle realizes the marriage isn’t only punishment. It’s protection. Someone wants her silent before the Day 30 board vote that will decide her family’s future. And the closer she gets to the truth, the more she fears the man who raised her. On the eve of the vote, Yselle opens the last drawer in the war room and finds an envelope addressed to her—in her mother’s handwriting. The ink looks fresh. Then the lights go out, and a voice behind her whispers, “Don’t trust your husband.”

I married Don Matteo in secret. Every time he fucked his childhood sweetheart, he promised me a real wedding，in front of the Five Families. For five years, Matteo promised me ninety-nine times. And ninety-nine times, he left me at the altar. The first time, Cecilia’s prize-winning show cat died. To comfort her, he postponed the wedding for three months. I stood at the altar alone, eyes red, trying to calm down the family elders. The second time, Cecilia threw a tantrum at a casino and shattered a hundred-million-dollar antique vase. He diverted the private jet meant for their wedding and rushed through the night to clean up her mess. And every time, right before our wedding, his childhood sweetheart would have some kind of emergency. I cried. I screamed. I even held a gun to his head. But Matteo would just pin me against the wall and shut me up with a cold, hard kiss. “She’s just a fuck. You are Mrs. Falcone. Have some goddamn class.” After the ninety-ninth time, I was finally done. I slid the papers across the table. The ink was still wet, the Falcone family seal stamped at the bottom. “Our marriage, our alliance—it’s over.”

After returning home from a flight, I realize that my bottle of hair conditioner has run out in the bathroom. The thing is, my husband, Carlos Zappa, doesn't use hair conditioner at all. Seeing Carlos through the frosted glass, I decide to probe him for answers. "Did any guests stay over lately? Or have you started doing hair care?" Carlos flips through the documents, which are stamped with the Zappa family crest, impatiently at my questions. "Maybe a maid accidentally toppled the bottle over when she was cleaning the bathroom. Also, why are you annoying me with such minuscule matters?" When I put on the bathrobe, I feel a ticklish sensation coming from the collar. As soon as I look down, I notice a strand of dried yellow hair being entangled in the collar. The moment the steam dissipates, I see two pairs of intertwining handprints on the bathroom's glass door. I never thought that my home would grow this popular during my one-week trip away from home. I've been married to Carlos for three years, and yet this is my first time finding out that he's actually this wild in bed. So, I secretly text my father, the Don of the Carozza family. "Dad, Carlos has cheated on me. Does the bet we made three years ago still count?"

"Are you sure you can get out of this trap, Arka? The trap you created for yourself long ago." The sentence haunted Arka's mind every time he looked at the woman who was now sitting gracefully on his lap. Amidst the glimmer of crystal lamps and the sheen of a gold dress, his ex-wife, Kania, looked like a queen who had just reclaimed her throne. Arka knew they were no longer bound by a sacred vow. Their divorce was final, signed on stamped paper years ago. Yet, in this private room, with the aroma of whiskey and Kania's challenging gaze, Arka once again became the helpless, foolish man. Tonight was supposed to be the celebration of his new engagement. He was supposed to be celebrating a new chapter. But Kania's presence in the private lounge, in a high-slit dress that showed off her long legs, had ruined everything. "You didn't have to come, Kania," Arka hissed, his voice choked. Kania smiled cynically, caressing Arka's jaw with her cold fingers. "You're right, darling. I didn't have to come. But I had to make sure of one thing: that your heart... still belongs to me, just like before." It turned out that getting out of the marriage was much easier than getting out of his ex-wife's love. Will Arka continue his engagement? Or will he return to his ex-wife?

Lily Thornton was the underprivileged student I'd sponsored for a full ten years. From middle school through college, I covered every penny of her tuition and living expenses. I treated her like my own little sister. When she was diagnosed with a rare disease, I even begged my husband, Graham Forsythe -- Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery -- to personally operate on her. But on the day of her college graduation ceremony. I went to her apartment early to surprise her. And found Graham pressing her into the sofa, tenderly kissing her slightly swollen belly. "Graham, if Serena finds out about our baby, do you think she'll cut off my medication?" Graham pulled her into his arms, his voice laced with that condescending patience of his. "Don't worry. Serena is the kind of woman who's so rational she's practically cold-blooded. She'd never understand the soul-deep connection we share -- two people saving each other." "But to protect my reputation as department chief, she'll fall in line." "Once I get that one-of-a-kind clinical trial slot for the new drug, I'll divorce her and give you and the baby a real home." I stood outside the door, staring at the freshly stamped Phase-I clinical trial authorization in my hand. I didn't push the door open. I didn't make a scene. I simply, with perfect calm, tore it to shreds and dropped the pieces into the trash can beside me. Graham Forsythe. You couldn't have imagined this in your wildest dreams. That clinical trial slot your entire hospital had pulled every string to secure. Its lead research scientist was none other than your wife. The one you mocked for being so rational she was cold-blooded.

"Hi there, I'd like to emigrate." Christina stood at the counter and handed over the neatly prepared documents to the clerk on the other side of the glass. The clerk quickly stamped each page. The red ink spread like tiny ripples on still water. Then, without looking up, he pulled out another form and passed it back to her. "Ma'am, your paperwork will be processed in fifteen days." Christina nodded, turned on her heel, and headed for the exit. But before she could step outside, whispers trailed after her. "Did I see that right? Mrs. Waldorf is applying for emigration? Did she have a squabble with Mr. Waldorf?" "Even if they argued, would it go this far? Mr. Waldorf practically worships her. What could possibly make her leave so decisively?" "Exactly. Five years ago, their wedding was the event of the century. Even someone like me, who barely goes online, heard about it. And three years ago, after her car accident, the blood bank ran out of stock. Mr. Waldorf ignored everyone's objections and nearly drained himself to save her. Then, just last year, when she disappeared for an hour, he mobilized every media outlet worldwide to find her. Now she's leaving without a word—won't that drive him insane?" The murmurs swirled and lingered, but Christina only smiled faintly. Her expression was calm, but her eyes darkened with a bitterness that deepened with every step. Yes, she thought. Everyone knew just how much Lucien Waldorf loved her.

At the bachelor party the night before the wedding, the truth-or-dare penalty was brutal—show the most hidden photo on your phone. Gina, Peter's so-called "girl bro," lost. She just grinned and cast her screen onto the big TV. A marriage license filled the screen, stamped by the county clerk. Names: Peter Cooke and Gina Draper. Date: yesterday. The room went dead silent. I stared at Peter's drained face. Gina didn't flinch. She patted his shoulder. "Oops. Guess you found out. Joey, don't take it seriously. Just a dumb bet. I wanted to see what the county clerk's office looked like, so I dared Peter to register a marriage with me." She leaned in, eyes on me like I was the joke. "You're still getting your wedding tomorrow. The vows, the ceremony. I just borrowed your fiancé for a stamp. Don't tell me you're jealous of his buddy." Peter jumped up and pulled me in. "Babe, listen. You're the only one in my heart. It was just a joke." He pulled out the diamond ring, dropped to one knee. "I'll file for divorce first thing tomorrow. It won't mess up our noon wedding. Invites are already out. Don't make this a scene in front of my friends. Once we're married, all my money's yours, okay?" I smiled. He had no clue how any of this worked. Didn't even know divorce came with a thirty-day wait. I didn't take the ring. I pulled out my phone and blasted a group text canceling the wedding.