Leo Fairchild
12 Published Stories
Leo Fairchild's Books and Stories
The Surgeon's Debt: Bound To The Beast
Romance I was a surgeon on the most luxurious ship in the world, scrubbing my hands until they were raw to forget the name Ye Jiuting and the past I’d left behind.
But at 2:15 AM, Room 404 became my graveyard when a federal agent flatlined on my table, and the world I’d built turned into a nightmare.
The nurse handed me a syringe she swore was a standard antibiotic, but the ship’s medical files had been scrubbed to hide a fatal allergy. Before the body was even cold, the widow was screaming murder, and the ship’s foreman, Huston Lyons, was at my throat with a predatory grin.
"You killed him, Doctor," Huston sneered, "and on this ship, people like you tend to disappear overboard."
When I tried to prove the syringe was clean, Huston’s brutal grip forced the needle into my own arm, injecting me with a lethal stimulant that sent my heart into a violent, scorching frenzy.
I fled into the bowels of the ship, my vision warping and my lungs burning, while a ship-wide announcement declared a five-million-dollar bounty on my head. Every desperate gambler and debt-ridden crew member was now hunting me like an animal for a chance at a clean slate.
I didn't understand how the digital records could lie or why a routine dose had been replaced with poison. Was I a target, or just a convenient scapegoat for a conspiracy much larger than a single death?
Just as the mercenaries were about to drag me to a black site, Clinton Collier, the terrifying "King of the Leviathan," stepped out of the shadows and claimed my life as his own.
"She is my Caretaker now," he declared, wrapping a black silk ribbon around my neck to mark me as his exclusive property.
I had escaped the gallows only to be collared by a monster, but as I felt his madness recede under my touch, I realized that being his only cure was the most dangerous weapon I possessed. They Stole Everything: Now I Take
Modern For seven years, I was a prisoner in a wheelchair, and my husband, Carter, was my devoted savior. After the accident that stole my legs, he fed me, bathed me, and carried me. He was my entire world.
Then I discovered his secret: he was having an affair with Jade, the daughter of the man who crippled me. My "recovery" smoothies weren't for healing; they were laced with sedatives to keep me weak and dependent.
When I confronted them, Jade pushed me down the stairs. As I lay bleeding on the cold marble floor, I felt a sharp, agonizing pain. I was losing our baby.
Carter looked down at me with disgust.
"You're pathetic, Alayna. Stay here and rot."
He walked out, leaving me to die.
But I didn't die. My family found me. And as I slowly, miraculously, learned to walk again, the broken wife he knew was gone.
They took my legs, my child, and my trust. Now, I would take everything from them. His Unwanted Trash, The Rival's Treasured Queen
Mafia Four years ago, I melted my skin into the asphalt to pull Julian Moretti from a burning wreckage. I spent years in the shadows, nursing him back to health, hiding my scars while he reclaimed his title as the Underboss of New York.
But on the way to our wedding, everything shattered.
Estelle Russo, the woman who caused the crash that ruined me, complained of a stomach ache in the limousine. Julian didn't hesitate.
He ordered the driver to stop on the shoulder of the highway.
"Get out," he barked at me, his eyes cold.
He forced me out of the car in my wedding gown, leaving me stranded in the dust and exhaust fumes just so Estelle could lie down on the seat.
"Take a cab to the church," he sneered before speeding away.
He didn't just leave me on the road; he abandoned me at the altar to hold the hand of the woman who had once tried to kill him. He called our relationship a "debt" he was tired of paying.
I stood there, the lace of my dress heavy with humiliation, realizing I was never his Queen—I was just his collateral damage.
I didn't call a taxi. Instead, I pulled a burner phone from my bodice and dialed the one number that would end his reign.
"The deal is live," I whispered. "He chose her."
I stripped off the wedding dress, climbed over the guardrail, and stepped into the black sedan waiting to take me to his greatest enemy. Crown of Wrath
Mafia Amelia Hopewell was found by her biological father and brought home. That same day, she discovered a bodyguard, Edmund Nash, barely clinging to life after being tormented by the false heiress. She used half her blood to save him.
Later, when Amelia's father fell gravely ill, all the family's assets were secretly frozen by a notorious crime lord.
In desperation, Amelia sought Edmund's help. Instead, she witnessed the crime lord's second-in-command standing respectfully before him.
"Mr. Nash, if Miss Hopewell's father doesn't get surgery within three hours, he won't survive," the man said.
"The company's success owes much to the money Miss Hopewell gave you. Are you sure you won't reveal your true identity to her?" he asked.
Edmund toyed with an expensive sapphire necklace, his eyes cold and detached.
"For the next three hours, ensure Amelia Hopewell doesn't borrow a single penny," he ordered.
"Rosalyn said if Amelia's father gets the surgery, she won't let me step foot in her room again. What a vengeful little girl."
Amelia realized the crime lord who had been crushing her family's business for three years was none other than her beloved fiancé, Edmund Nash.
Upon learning the truth, Amelia dialed the number of her former subordinate, "I want Edmund ruined in three days!" The Man She Threw Away
Romance "I'll do it," I told my father, agreeing to an arranged marriage to save our failing family business. It was a lifeline.
But then my mother mentioned Chloe, and the truth, raw and ugly, began to unravel: my five-year relationship, the company we built together, everything was a lie.
I had given up my dream career, poured my savings and energy into "O'Connell & Davis Design" for a love I thought was real. But Chloe had always seen me as a stand-in, a "successful and stable" version of her childhood crush, Noah Vance. I discovered their secret chats, their intimate moments, and the chilling realization that my entire existence in her life had been a performance.
Even my grandmother's redesigned engagement ring, a symbol of my intent, was just another prop in her twisted game. She brazenly claimed it as hers, desperate to maintain her illusion.
The depth of her betrayal, the calculated deceit, left me hollow. My love, my sacrifices, our shared future-all reduced to a cruel joke.
In the face of her desperate attempts to reel me back in-her feigned distress for Noah, her oblivious claims of love-I cut all ties, walked away from our shared life, and embraced a future with the formidable Isabella Rossi, a woman who had seen my worth all along. Her Second Chance at Vengeance
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold, my body broken, kneeling in the snow at Chloe Davis' s memorial. I was Olivia Reynolds, a tech heiress who gave everything for Julian Thorne, only for him to shatter my soul.
He built a digital shrine to his "dead" ex-girlfriend in our home, forcing me to chant repentance for sins I didn' t commit, mourning a woman whose supposed death catalyzed his public transformation into a guru. This relentless torment led to my miscarriage, the loss of our unborn child, and ultimately, my own lonely death.
Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the bridal suite of the Grand Astoria Hotel, on my wedding day, the scent of gardenias filling the air. The day it all began, again.
Julian walked in, his charming smile now turning my stomach. "Olivia, my love," he said, "I need to talk to you about Chloe." He spun the same manipulative tale from my past life, claiming Chloe was leaving the country forever and he needed to see her "one last time" for "our future."
He called it a sacrifice we had to make, together. The same sacrifice that had made me the lamb on his altar before.
I remembered his cruelty, my empty crib, my parents' grief, Ethan' s vacant eyes after Julian destroyed his life. He had been reborn too, and knew.
But this time, I wouldn't be so foolish. I wouldn't cry or beg. I would give Julian exactly what he thought he wanted: my blessing to go. Poisoned Love, Calculated Death
Billionaires The yacht' s engine faded, leaving me stranded on a desolate island.
My fiancé, Liam, and my adoptive sister, Brittany, had promised a celebratory pre-wedding adventure, but they left me there to die.
For ten agonizing days, the emergency beacon on the smartwatch Liam gave me, supposedly a symbol of his protection, blinked unseen.
He ignored my desperate signal, the battery dying, my hope dwindling with each passing hour.
My leg was shattered, twisted at an unnatural angle from a wild boar attack, leaving me crippled and starving, death a patient shadow.
Then, a man emerged from the jungle, a rugged survivalist named Jax, who became my savior, tending my wounds and feeding me.
I fell for him, hard and fast, believing fate had replaced a false love with a real one.
One night, the pulsing light of a satellite phone deep in the jungle shattered that illusion.
I crawled to his hidden bunker, and heard Jax–whose real name was Jason Cole–reporting to Brittany, confirming my worst fears.
"I need to stay here to ensure she doesn' t escape and challenge the heiress for her inheritance," he said, his voice cold and professional.
Brittany' s chilling reply echoed through the night: "Just make sure it' s clean. No traces. The island will take care of the rest."
My savior was my jailer, every kind gesture a calculated lie, every moment a performance.
He was poisoning my wound, making sure the island would be blamed for my slow, agonizing death.
But I wasn't just a victim; I was an architect, and I could build a storm.
Sneaking into his high-tech bunker, I manipulated satellite weather data, designing a phantom hurricane aimed directly at the island.
My fabricated storm was my only ticket off this island, but first, I had to survive the real monster trapped with me. When the Dutiful Wife Unveils Her Trap
Billionaires For years, I played the part of the dutiful, soft-spoken wife, even though my family's wealth could buy and sell my husband's entire town.
I worked a low-paying job, pretending every dollar counted, all to soothe Brian's fragile ego as we saved for our daughter Stella's private school.
Then, a cold notification shattered the illusion: our $150,000 in savings was gone.
Brian flinched, then confessed: he'd given every penny to his mother, not for an emergency, but to buy a house for his deadbeat brother, Ryan, and his pregnant fiancée, Gabrielle.
My daughter's future, sacrificed for their shameless greed.
But instead of the tears and accusations Brian expected, a calm, terrible clarity washed over me.
I smiled, a slow, understanding smile, and pretended it was "just money."
As his family's demands for a lavish wedding escalated-a Tiffany ring, the Four Seasons, a luxury car-I played along, promising my "uncle's" company would handle it.
Then, I unveiled my masterpiece: a "fake divorce" to access a multi-million-dollar trust fund, a lie so tantalizing even Brian's avaricious mother mortgaged her house for the wedding deposits.
They thought they were fleecing a naive fool.
They had no idea they were walking into a meticulously laid trap, designed to utterly ruin them.
Tonight, at the wedding, the truth will come out, and they will pay for every penny. Scarlett's Shadow: A Broken Man's Redemption
Modern The wedding ring was still cold on my finger when Scarlett, my brand new wife, tossed her phone on the bed.
Our Hawaii honeymoon?
Canceled.
A "business opportunity" came up, she said, already pulling out a sleek black dress.
Just a few hours after saying "I do," my world was already shrinking to fit hers.
Then came the real unraveling.
Left behind in a chaotic foreign riot by the very woman I married and her trusted assistant, I survived hell.
I was beaten, starved, and left for dead.
When I finally crawled back home, battered and scarred, Scarlett didn't offer comfort – she threw stale pretzels at me and watched with disgust as I ate them off the floor like an animal.
Later, she even shoved me down a flight of stairs, leaving me with a ruptured spleen.
My life, my love, my very existence was just an inconvenient asset to her.
How could the woman I' d loved my entire life treat me like garbage, or worse, a public relations problem?
Why was I always the one left broken while she walked away clean?
But when her assistant, Dylan, showed up to gloat about orchestrating my near-death experience, confessing every twisted detail of his plan to get rid of me right in front of Scarlett, everything changed.
He thought he had manipulated them both, but he made one fatal mistake.
Scarlett had finally learned, the hard way, who the real villain was.
And now, it was her turn to decide who she was. From Naive to Ruthless
Romance The bell above my clinic door jingled.
I was Dr. Hayes, a woman who' d finally built a life, a stable family.
Pregnant with our planned baby, I believed my husband, Mark, was as excited as I was.
Then Chloe, a seemingly confident student, walked in with a smile that felt sharp, unpleasant.
"I'm Chloe. Mark's student," she stated, then pushed up her sleeve.
There, a fresh tattoo: an infinity symbol intertwined with our anniversary date.
"Mark got one too," she purred, "Matching. Cute, right? He said it symbolized forever. Our forever."
My stomach clenched, the air left my lungs.
That night, Mark played the doting husband, his hand resting on my pregnant belly.
But I smelled her perfume, faintly.
Days later, I watched on our car's security camera as Mark drove to Chloe's apartment, not a "faculty meeting."
I heard him tell her, "Poor Evie. So trusting... Evie' s predictable, a bit naive."
He laughed with her, calling my past, my pain, "clingy."
Then came Chloe' s texts: a photo of Mark in her bed, followed by a box of my childhood cookies.
"He got them for me," she wrote, "Said they reminded him of sweet, innocent things. Guess I' m his new sweet thing."
He saw me as the damaged girl from the group home, easily fooled, not the woman I'd become.
The man I believed saved me from my past used it to mock me with his mistress.
How could I bring our baby into a home built on such casual, callous lies?
The trusting, hopeful Evie was gone.
I called a clinic, then a ruthless lawyer.
This time, I was playing for keeps. Breaking Free From Her Chains
Modern Ethan Miller stared at divorce papers, trapped in a marriage that promised everything but delivered only a polite, desolate void.
For years, his wife, Ava Harrison, remained an untouchable enigma, her dedication to charity work a fortress against intimacy.
Then, a soft sigh from her private "sanctuary" – the music room – shattered the façade.
Ethan found Ava enraptured, whispering Liam's name, clutching a silver toy, surrounded by childhood photos of her adopted brother, exposing a dark, incestuous truth.
This wasn't just bizarre; it explained his unconsummated marriage, his role as a convenient "prop."
Later, Liam, her enabler, attacked Ethan with a broken bottle, then brutally beat him, while Ava prioritized her brother and the family name, dismissing Ethan's agony as "accidents."
Why was he a fool, discarded and abused, while his wife protected a monster?
His love, once a perfect score, had been systematically, ruthlessly chipped away by betrayals, leaving only raw, unbearable emptiness.
With nothing left, Ethan signed the papers, packed his bag, and walked out of the gilded cage, finally free.
He chose a new life in London, leaving behind the chilling memory of Ava' s last, desperate text: "Liam needs you. Come back." You might like
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. 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. 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. 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.
After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire
Rabbit Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered.
Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak.
She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her.
Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears.
Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home." 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. After My Husband Cheated, I Married His Greatest Rival
Rabbit The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost.
Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal.
This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline.
I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir
Shirlee Melnick Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit.
The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena.
This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone. 
/1/105402/coverorgin.jpg?v=4aa09f23c1815b9999a88334ca61e5c8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102701/coverorgin.jpg?v=93cd1480525534bb692a3a0de5cc3030&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104854/coverorgin.jpg?v=2aba64933de709ed4ca102c08228a748&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103881/coverorgin.jpg?v=fa2e233a9f44ff6a32a3ff1d691600a1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/93439/coverorgin.jpg?v=8c12b164438172dae202c615c1e712c8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86852/coverorgin.jpg?v=551a21228ec3957c5071b90e71e468f6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86658/coverorgin.jpg?v=07d0313020cba3b4234d476961c9d9c5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85692/coverorgin.jpg?v=a03f31b10dd38c2f2a2e620c09ea9b82&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84383/coverorgin.jpg?v=92226b4ba2315fb4ed379b35618cd6cb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83667/coverorgin.jpg?v=dd34df5d827f72a0e091d2d7f4303ac6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82903/coverorgin.jpg?v=340a3abc59b34f2a0ad5be5ea5c009af&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82265/coverorgin.jpg?v=af99e973cd8605799f384af978ff1808&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102860/coverorgin.jpg?v=fd4279179a94dd229627ce7640bf190d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102856/coverorgin.jpg?v=ab447bb3dfea8a92331d6f2abd61bff7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101423/coverorgin.jpg?v=46b8ac4ba2161e0b69a9b73304ac43c3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79054/coverorgin.jpg?v=248fd387f8a7ef06a95d551925555a22&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101421/coverorgin.jpg?v=c057fb8d460e14f164780fa0f4313597&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101926/coverorgin.jpg?v=368e7983714c1a0bd18be7d5ea10f6b7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102857/coverorgin.jpg?v=5276123ce725745b44ab39f7aa4668f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101922/coverorgin.jpg?v=85446ccd5cc7810ecc42f10e6e51a892&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/89487/coverorgin.jpg?v=30c72fb6b095854b815d695ff85f75a6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101428/coverorgin.jpg?v=a6edc7fa863c44c8d677b68f6b8753a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)