Reborn: Love You Again

The Invisible Girl's Parisian Escape

I spent my entire life loving Mark, the man who became my guardian after my parents died. For his return from a three-month trip, I cooked the perfect dinner, certain he would finally see me as a woman. Instead, he invited me to a celebratory dinner the next night, where he introduced me to his stunning fiancée. The celebration was for their engagement. "Isabelle, this is Clara," he said, his voice glowing with a love he had never shown me. "The one who's been like a little sister to me all these years." They spent the evening discussing their wedding plans, their shared joy a surreal torture. My years of devotion felt like a joke. He was so lost in his happiness that he never noticed my silence, the way my hope curdled into a thick, choking humiliation. I was invisible. But back in the apartment he paid for, an acceptance letter was waiting for me: a full scholarship to a design institute in Paris. When he found me packing the next day, demanding to know what was going on, I placed my key on the table. And I walked out of his life forever.

Beg For Me, My Love

The steady hum of my tattoo gun was usually my sanctuary, but today, it couldn't drown out the screaming numbers on Olivia' s medical bill-a crushing reminder that my artistic integrity wouldn't save my sister. Then the bell above the door chimed, and she walked back into my life, a ghost from a past I' d desperately tried to outrun. Sophia Davis, the woman I' d chosen to brutally abandon five years ago to protect her from my "unworthy" existence, now stood in my humble studio, elegant and cold, looking like she' d stepped straight off a magazine cover. She didn't come to reminisce; she came to collect, dropping a blank check on Olivia's bill and declaring, "I want to see you beg, Ethan." My pride demanded I refuse, but the image of Olivia's frail face forced the humiliating words from my lips: "Please, Sophia, I need this job. I… I'll do anything." She watched, her eyes gleaming with triumph, before labeling me her "trophy artist," a personal possession to be controlled. I thought I understood her cold, calculated revenge-until a late-night call from her best friend led me to Sophia, drunk and vulnerable, muttering, "Get Ethan. He's my dog. He has to come when I call." As I carried her home, the ice queen slipped, hinting at a pain just as deep as mine, and a lingering desire to see me.

No Longer Her Wounded Puppy

The last thing I remembered was the cold concrete against my cheek and the metallic taste of my own blood. Above the ringing in my ears, I heard Olivia, my wife, screaming, not for me, but for Ethan, her charming assistant. I had pushed her out of the way of falling scaffolding, saving her life, only for a steel pipe to crush mine; a minor gash on Ethan' s forehead was treated like a mortal wound while my entire life drained away. As paramedics rushed Ethan onto a stretcher, my vision blurred, and the brutal truth crystallized: all my sacrifices, years working to support her dreams, meant nothing. I was worth less than her lover's superficial cut, and my love for her finally died, just moments before I did. Then, I blinked. Suddenly, the sterile hospital smell was gone, replaced by Olivia' s familiar, expensive perfume, and I was standing whole, pain-free, in the living room of our ridiculously large, empty house. It was the night of our biggest fight, a week before the accident, a fight that had set the stage for the end. "Liam, I' m tired of this," she said, tossing a black credit card onto the coffee table. "Here. A million-dollar credit line. Go buy yourself whatever you want. Just stop acting like a wounded puppy every time I spend time with Ethan. It' s pathetic." In my past life, her words had shattered me, driving me to refuse the card and plead for her love, a futile mistake. But this time, I was reborn. I calmly picked up the card, a chilling question forming on my lips: "So I can spend as much as I want?"

Abandoned Bride, Avenged Heart

The day I was supposed to get married, my world shattered. Headlines screamed: "Tech Mogul Liam Vance Dies in Fiery Car Crash." My white wedding dress hung unused, replaced by black. The world saw tragedy, but quickly, their grief turned into venom aimed solely at me. "She was probably a gold digger anyway." "Maybe she drove him to it." The whispers followed me, sympathy curdling into suspicion, especially once my pregnancy became known. Then, at his memorial, I saw him. A man identical to Liam, his cousin Daniel, their resemblance unsettlingly perfect. I overheard a conversation that obliterated my reality. "I never really liked Ava, that struggling architect," Liam's mother hissed, "But she\'s carrying your child. Was it worth faking your death and putting on such a show for that B-list influencer?" My fiancé wasn't dead. He had orchestrated his own demise, abandoned me, left me to a public firing squad, all for some woman named Chloe. His parents were complicit, their support nothing but a calculated act to secure their heir. The rage was a fire, burning away my grief. They thought I was resilient, a pawn to be discarded after I served my purpose. They had no idea who they were dealing with. I stumbled out, sending a message to a distant relative: "I\'ve made up my decision. Give me a month. I\'m willing to dedicate my life to humanitarian work, serving those in need for generations." A reply came instantly. "This path requires you to sever all worldly ties. You will become a vessel for a greater purpose. Are you prepared for that sacrifice?" My past was a lie, my future stolen. "Yes," I typed back. "I am."

Finding Peace, Not Love

Tonight was my engagement gala to Arthur, the renowned art dealer who was my mentor, my patron, and my entire world. He was giving a speech when he suddenly abandoned me on stage, in front of hundreds of guests, to rush to the side of his beautiful, widowed sister-in-law, Isabella. The public humiliation was crushing, but the true horror came later. I found them together, their long-standing affair undeniable, and in the ensuing confrontation, I fell down a flight of stairs and cracked my head open. At the hospital, I was bleeding out and in desperate need of a blood transfusion. I watched as Arthur, the man I loved, grabbed a doctor. But he didn't point at me. He pointed at Isabella, who was faking a fainting spell beside him. "Give her the blood!" he screamed, his voice filled with panic. "My fiancée is pregnant with my child!" He was willing to let me die. The man I had pulled from the depths of grief, whose career I had sacrificed my own to rebuild, was ready to sacrifice my life for his manipulative mistress and her fabricated pregnancy. My love wasn't just unrequited; it was a liability he was trying to discard. As my vision faded to black, my heart didn't just break; it turned to ice. When I opened my eyes again, the girl who loved Arthur Thorne was dead. And the woman who would destroy him had just been born.

From Ruin to Redemption

The hospital board' s letter felt like a death sentence for my career, accusing me of medical negligence and intellectual property theft. I knew immediately who was behind this malicious attack: Julian Vance, my father' s former protégé, a man whose brilliance was shadowed only by his ruthless ambition. My world, painstakingly built through years of dedication as a neurosurgeon, was crumbling, and my ailing father, Dr. Arthur Reed, sat distant and lost to the neurological disorder slowly stealing him from me. Julian, once a trusted family friend, now stood on my doorstep with fake concern, twisting my deepest vulnerabilities-my mother's death, my sacrifice of a prestigious fellowship to care for my father-into accusations of emotional instability. He wasn't just trying to steal my father's groundbreaking research; he was actively poisoning every relationship, every support system I had, culminating in the cruelest blow yet: manipulating authorities to have my father forcibly removed from his home and hospitalized, cutting off all my access. I was left trembling, collapsed on the floor, watching him walk away with a triumphant smirk, convinced he had won. But as a lifeline appeared in the form of a loyal friend and unexpected allies, a cold fury began to replace my despair. He thought I was broken, that I would give up. He was wrong. This wasn't just about my father's legacy anymore; it was about reclaiming my own story.

From Best Friend To Fiancé

Her sister is marrying her ex. So she brings her best friend as her fake fiancé. What could possibly go wrong? Savannah Hart thought she was over Dean Archer-until her sister, Chloe announces she's marrying him. The same man Savannah never stopped loving. The man who left her heartbroken... and now belongs to her sister. A weeklong wedding in New Hope. One mansion full of guests. And a very bitter maid of honor. To survive it, Savannah brings a date-her charming, clean-cut best friend, Roman Blackwood. The one man who's always had her back. He owes her a favor, and pretending to be her fiancé? Easy. Until fake kisses start to feel real. Now Savannah's torn between keeping up the act... or risking everything for the one man she was never supposed to fall for.

After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire

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."

Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

THE BILLIONAIRE'S REGRET, CHASING AFTER ME

After the divorce, she became the dream woman everyone longed for. James Ferguson saved Zelda Liamson and always did whatever she asked, making sure she had everything she could ever want. Zelda thought it was true love. After five years of marriage, she realized she was nothing more than his favourite pet, while he was her whole world. Then, the woman James truly loved came back, and Zelda demanded a divorce. James mocked her, saying, " You can't survive without me. What will you do without the Ferguson's name? " But Zelda did run away and never looked back, receiving marriage proposals every day. James lost his mind and returned, begging Zelda, "Please, come back to me. Give me another chance." His eyes were full of love and desperation.

Rejected Heiress: My Heartless Family's Regret

For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

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.