THE TWINS

THE CASE OF THE KAZARRANS SISTERS.

THE KAZARRANS SISTERS, DID NOT KNOW THEIR PAST, BUT THEY LIVED INTENSIVELY ALL THE PRESENT, LOVE, POWER AND FAME WERE INTERRUPTED BY A TRAGIC FUTURE.

THE CHRONICLES OF A DIARIST

CHRONICLE TELLS THE STORY OF A COURAGEOUS WOMAN WHO FOUND IN THE PROFESSION OF DAY DAY ARTIST A WAY TO LIVE HAPPILY AND SHARING THE PAIN AND JOYS OF HER DAY DAY DAY FRIENDS.

THE MYSTERY OF THE BLACK SCARF

SHE JUST WANTED PROTECTION, RESPECT AND RECOGNITION, AND THE DESIRE TO BE A SOCIALITE, AT ANY COST.

THE DIARY OF MR PEO 1937

WORK TELLS THE STORY OF A MAN WHO LIVED A TRUE AND FAITHFUL SUBMISSION OF LOVE

THE BUTCHER AND DEATH

WORK TELLS THE STORY OF A YOUNG MAN WHO WAS BORN AND LIVED WITH A GIFT THAT WAS HIS GIFT TO SEE AND SPEAK WITH DEATH

A FIBER WOMAM

BEATING THE PREJUDICE SCIENCE, ALONE IN LIFE, AND IN THE WORLD. NORTHEAST, SOLITARY WOMAN, GROSS STONE WOMAN., WAS BORN IN THE LAND OF THE WEAK, AND WON IN THE LAND OF THE FORT, AGAINST THE PREJUDICE AND MACHISM OF MEN OF ITS EPOCA.

The Mute Bride Is The Secret Mastermind

I was the titan of Wall Street until an indictment and an ankle monitor turned my penthouse into a gilded cage. To save face, I was forced into a marriage with Elza, a "mute" girl from the Schmidt family whom I treated as nothing more than a silent piece of furniture while my empire crumbled. The night I was poisoned at a high-society gala, a mysterious server in an oversized uniform saved my life with terrifying, clinical precision. They disappeared into the night, leaving me with a silver cufflink and a burning obsession to find the shadow who held my life in their hands. Back home, I took my frustration out on Elza, telling her she was "exhausting to look at" and "smelled like sickness" after her charity visits. Her own family treated her like a stray dog, trying to humiliate her at the next gala by dressing her in what they claimed was a cheap knockoff while whispering to the press that she was nothing but a high-end escort. "Stay out of my way," I would growl at her, never noticing the steel in her eyes. I sat at my table, watching my rivals' stocks plummet and wondering who "The Zero"—the legendary financial ghost—really was. I never suspected that the woman I ignored was the same one solving the equations that were currently burning Manhattan to the ground. The injustice peaked when Elza stood before the city's elite, not as a victim, but as a queen. She dropped over a hundred million dollars to buy back her family’s legacy, revealing a secret fortune that made my own empire look like pocket change. As I grabbed her wrist and saw the small red mole hidden beneath her watch, the truth hit me like a physical blow. The silent wife I had despised was the savior I had been hunting, and she was finally done playing the victim. "We have a lot to talk about, wife," I whispered, realizing I had been sleeping next to the most dangerous woman in the world.

Never Yours Again: Too Late To Chase Me Back, Mr. CEO!

Ever since Ryan took her in, Kailey had tried to be sensible and pleasing, shaping herself around his moods. He'd raised her, but she never saw him as family; she'd been sure they'd end up together. On the day she turned twenty, ready to confess her feelings again, his beloved woman came back. Kailey overheard, "Kailey is just a kid to me; I could never look at her that way. The only person I love is Olivia." She walked away, and Ryan fell apart. Later, at her wedding, Kailey smiled in white. Ryan pleaded, "I regret it, Kailey. Please don't marry him." Calmly, she said, "Can you let go? My groom won't appreciate it."

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback

Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic. Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold. "Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'" The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip. Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet. I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child. But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame. "I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done." I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down.

The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge

For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist. The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran’s "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite." When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome. I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out. But Kieran forgot one thing: my father’s multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city’s most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy. I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins—the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street—and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake.

Too Late, Mr. Johnston: She Is Gone

Kara was diagnosed with cancer, and her unborn child could not be kept. Kara planned to end the pregnancy, get a divorce, and face her impending death with equanimity, allowing Davin and his new love, Alyse, to be together. But Davin had no intention of letting her go so easily. He and the increasingly frail Kara were inseparable day and night, just to leave a child for the infertile Alyse. Kara lay dying in her hospital bed, crying and laughing, pleading, "I'll give you my life, please let me go." Later, the cold and aloof man knelt before Kara's tombstone, holding gardenias day and night, his eyes red as he murmured, "Baby, stop it, come back."