Da Lanlan
9 Published Stories
Da Lanlan's Books and Stories
Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Romance I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. His Second Chance, Her Regret
Fantasy I woke up in a hotel suite, still in my tuxedo, on my wedding day, October 12th, 2014. My fiancée, Sarah Jenkins, stood before me, her face pale, telling me to get out.
The jarring part was that in my memory, Sarah was dead. She had died ten years later, throwing herself in front of me during a car crash, her last words a plea for me to "live well." This was our wedding day, ten years in the past, a second chance.
I knew why I was here. I had spent a decade consumed by regret, forcing Sarah into a loveless marriage for a business deal. I later discovered her diary, filled with her true love for Mark Johnson, something she never had for me. After her death, I yearned to undo my mistakes. A locket, sold to me by a strange old man, promised a way to fix a great regret. Now, I was back.
The voice from the locket echoed in my mind, "Her death is a fixed point. Unless her three great regrets are undone, the end will remain the same." I knew those regrets: not fighting for Mark, giving up her music, and Mark's car accident, which had happened a year into our miserable marriage.
To start, I crossed my name off the marriage certificate and wrote Mark Johnson's in its place. Sarah's call came shortly after: Mark was in an accident. My blood ran cold, she accused me, "This is your fault! You did this!"
She demanded I fix it because his rare blood type matched mine. Bleeding myself dry for her, I watched Sarah's rage turn to tearful accusation, "You did this, Ethan! So you're going to fix it!" I thought she understood my sacrifice for her and Mark's happiness. But as I collapsed from donating double the amount of blood, she screamed, "Cutting his brake lines... Ethan, that was monstrous!" She believed I was the one who sabotaged Mark's car.
I had tried to save her, but instead, I became the villain. I chose to disappear from her life. The locket's work was done; I had erased her regrets. Now, only my own new life remained. His Sister, His Choice: My Freedom
Modern The gallery shimmered with color, a vibrant tribute to my son Leo's first year, his framed finger paintings and tiny plaster casts proudly displayed. My art, my life, my world. Today, I was a proud mother and a celebrated artist.
Then the gallery door creaked open, and a cold draft swept in with Brenda, my husband' s sister, her eyes already searching for fault lines.
"An entire party for a one-year-old? A little much, don' t you think, Sarah? Most people just do a cake and some balloons." The words cut, but the real sting came when she implied my "art" was just a desperate attempt to contribute financially. Mark, my husband, stood beside me, silent, his arm tightening in a gesture of restraint, not defense.
The room grew heavy with unspoken judgment, our friends shifting in discomfort. Brenda, reveling in the awkwardness, then whispered loud enough for me to hear, insulting my post-baby body. My throat tightened, and I fought back tears. This was supposed to be a moment of joy, yet here I was, wounded again by someone who delighted in tearing me down.
Later, as "Happy Birthday" filled the air, and Leo' s candle flickered, Brenda' s voice sliced through the sweetness: "I wish he grows up to look a little more like Mark. Right now, with that hair, he could be mistaken for the mailman' s kid." The insinuation was vile, stripping any innocence from the day.
Something inside me snapped. "Get out," I said, my voice shaking with a rage I hadn' t known I possessed.
But when Brenda feigned tears, my husband, Mark, sided with her. "Sarah, that' s enough," he said, his voice cold. "You are making a scene. Apologize to my sister right now." Apologize? His words hit me harder than any slap. He didn' t defend me; he condemned me. He chose his toxic sister over his family, over me.
Was this the man I married? The father of my child? My marriage, my sense of security, crumbled into a lie. My pain didn' t matter; my dignity didn' t matter. Only keeping the peace with Brenda mattered, at my expense.
As Linda, my gallery-owner friend, began politely ushering guests out, a horrifying clarity washed over me. I couldn't live a life where I always came second. I had to choose myself. I had to choose my son. The battle for my voice, my boundaries, and my future had just begun. Unwanted Husband, Unwritten Future
Romance A dull ache throbbed at the back of my head.
I woke up in a stark white hospital room, not knowing where I was, or even who I was.
Then they came-my adoptive parents, my wife Olivia, and my brother Liam.
Instead of concern, their faces were etched with annoyance.
They called me Ethan, but the name felt foreign.
They spoke about me as if I were furniture, criticizing my "stunts" and how I always sought attention.
Olivia, stunning and cold, entered, her eyes reflecting deep dislike.
Liam softened instantly for her.
Then Olivia spoke, revealing a devastating truth: "The CEO of Reed Tech' s husband tried to kill himself again. It' s humiliating."
Worse, whispers from the hallway confirmed it: "She' s in love with his brother."
I was married to a woman who despised me, living a pathetic life in a favored brother' s shadow.
It was a life of begging for love that was never given.
Panic started to build, but then a strange calm washed over me.
The amnesia wasn' t a curse; it was a mercy.
It was a blank slate, a chance to escape a prison I didn' t remember entering.
They thought I was the same weak, desperate Ethan.
They were wrong.
I wasn't him anymore.
I was no one.
And I could become anyone.
I made a decision, right there in that sterile room, surrounded by people who wished I didn't exist.
I would grant them their wish.
I reached for the phone.
I didn' t call a friend.
I called a lawyer.
"I need to file for divorce," I said, my voice steady.
"And I want to discuss severing ties with my adoptive family."
A new chapter was about to begin. Contract, Baby, And Billionaire
Romance The cold screen of my phone cast a harsh glow on Olivia' s smug, made-up face-my art school rival-her latest post a candid, unflattering photo of me.
Then, I saw the caption: "Some people will do anything for money.
Here's Scarlet, a little fuller these days.
Wonder if she finally landed a big fish.
Or maybe it' s just a little goldfish she' s carrying?"
The comments exploded, branding me a gold-digger, a woman using a baby to trap a man.
Nausea churned in my stomach, not just morning sickness, but pure panic.
Just as the world narrowed to the poison spreading online, a new notification flashed: a press release from the Sterling Corporation.
My heart pounded as I clicked, expecting another blow.
Instead, it was an announcement from the notoriously reclusive tech mogul, Liam Sterling: he confirmed he was the father of my unborn child and vowed legal action against any defamation.
The world tilted.
Liam Sterling?
The legendary, untouchable genius from college?
It was impossible.
I had never even spoken to him.
How could he be the father of a child conceived in a transaction with a nameless stranger in a dimly lit hotel room-a desperate mistake made to save my dying grandmother?
It made no sense.
The public shaming felt insignificant now, overshadowed by a terrifying reality: my quiet, desperate life had just collided with a world of unimaginable power.
I was trapped, a pawn in a game I didn' t understand.
I had signed a contract for survival, and now I was paying the ultimate price. Her Billionaire Husband's Vengeance
Romance The Boston Real Estate Awards gala was meant to be a triumph – a celebration of my hard-earned success as lead architect for a foundation rebuilding the city, a life I painstakingly built after leaving behind a toxic past.
But then, across the glittering ballroom, I saw them: Matthew, my ex-fiancé, and Sabrina, my stepsister, his heavily pregnant wife, the golden couple whose lies once orchestrated my death and the loss of my unborn child.
They spun their familiar, perfected tale to a reporter: my "public breakdown" in Vegas, the "male escorts," the "maxed-out credit cards" – a fabrication designed to paint me as unhinged, justifying why "our family had no choice but to cut her off."
My heart pounded with a cold, familiar dread; this was the narrative that destroyed my first life, costing me everything, even before Matthew' s truck "accidentally" ran me off the road for my inheritance.
But this time, when they sneered, offering me a job cleaning construction sites, mocking my presumed destitution, a calm resolve settled over me; my second chance wasn't about vengeance, but about finally living free. Breaking the Prophecy
Horror Oakhaven, Vermont, lives by a chilling prophecy: my deaf-mute mother, Martha, will speak only three times, her words bearing immense, unsettling weight. For years, she was just a quiet enigma, her silence another local quirk.
Then, the unwritten rule shattered. My father died mysteriously after her first whispered "utterance." Five years later, just before my wedding, Martha whispered to my fiancé, Michael, and he barely escaped death in a bizarre "sleepwalking accident."
Oakhaven erupted, screaming "Silent Curse." Reporters swarmed, turning our private grief into public spectacle. My mother retreated into an impenetrable silence, leaving me isolated, my world crumbling under the supposed curse.
But I knew better. Dad never sleepwalked. Michael remembered nothing. My mother, though silent, harbored no malice. The official stories felt like flimsy lies. What truly happened? What did her "prophecies" really mean?
Then, her desperate voice reached me: "Sarah... Pastor Thorne... He knows... Don't trust... the water... He...!" The line went dead. I found her, a suicide note and pills. But I knew. This wasn't a curse. This was a warning. And I would uncover the killer. The Surgeon's Secret, My Husband's Lie
Mafia My beloved grandfather's "routine" surgery didn't just end in death; it unveiled a nightmare.
Then I found it: "MD <3 VA"—Mark Davidson and Victoria Ainsworth—carved into his liver, a sickening love note from my own husband and the surgeon who had killed him.
Mark, the Chief Medical Examiner, covered up her crime, then publicly sided with Victoria's powerful, elite family in court, systematically discrediting and financially ruining me.
I lost everything: my home, my reputation, my hope, even enduring a brutal beating from their thugs.
The horror escalated when Victoria, in cold blood, murdered my bedridden mother, then gloated, revealing Mark's decades-old betrayal that had also led to my father's death.
How could the man I loved for so long be complicit in such monstrous evils, betraying my entire family, leaving me broken, destitute, and utterly alone?
But in my deepest despair, a hidden letter from my mother surfaced, revealing a single, impossible name: my long-lost uncle, a highly influential U.S. General.
The monumental fight for justice, finally, was on. You might like
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Da Lanlan I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises
Rabbit My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool.
For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office.
The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation.
My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order.
Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve.
Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one. 
/1/105396/coverorgin.jpg?v=20ef5105069b9898103d84e82f272146&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86908/coverorgin.jpg?v=687790eaf54df99f05f99415b2085e61&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86388/coverorgin.jpg?v=7641094bb349bb1c7f42a7eedd357bed&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85420/coverorgin.jpg?v=80a064baabb5f64efcad95c5526df712&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84876/coverorgin.jpg?v=3292035f0ee8585ee19446d6a2e409d3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83987/coverorgin.jpg?v=7f8e85cdfcbd656a90c0265f9d0127f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82684/coverorgin.jpg?v=63688dbc7532891483feea06616051bf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80933/coverorgin.jpg?v=639e0ffc6d9c4dda14c7e8892740a98a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18746/coverorgin.jpg?v=6fbf83b263f1cf08f1737f6ab1a51dd5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110344/coverorgin.jpg?v=ee9edc19532d5cad4529d092169ad91d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106591/coverorgin.jpg?v=7112ffc44f6337f03a03bec3d6824a38&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105410/coverorgin.jpg?v=68bf1b78d60cae51b9e167ecf8a0a734&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102860/coverorgin.jpg?v=fb1450ebea277ac6119b3b112743e9b6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101423/coverorgin.jpg?v=7bf1dc2685ee6e3097492f6899d4a76f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102856/coverorgin.jpg?v=b1608f8b252c671e4efe9a90343f3a01&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101926/coverorgin.jpg?v=153b0a77281acb72488f5bb716ff50a3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79054/coverorgin.jpg?v=248fd387f8a7ef06a95d551925555a22&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101927/coverorgin.jpg?v=7ad1b5e76740b32684d81d5fae9ebc76&imageMogr2/format/webp)