No Longer Her Blood Bag

He Chose His Secret Wife Over Me

I reached for my fiancé's phone to silence an alarm and found a hidden folder named "The Protocol." Inside was a spreadsheet that systematically dismantled my entire existence. Task 399: Buy blue hydrangeas. Note: Her favorite. For Denzel. Task 400: Schedule anniversary dinner. Note: Make sure she feels special. For Denzel. In that heartbeat, I realized the man I had loved for three years hadn't looked at me once without seeing a chore list left by his dead brother. I wasn't Elfrieda Stewart, the woman Jaxon Tate loved. I was a legacy project. The truth turned lethal at our engagement gala. When a massive chandelier detached from the ceiling, Jaxon didn't lunge for me. He tackled his "ex" Janice—who I later discovered was his secret wife—to safety. He left me standing in the center of the target to be crushed by shattering glass. But the cruelty didn't end there. On a "reconciliation" yacht trip, Janice pushed me overboard. Jaxon looked at me struggling in the freezing black water, then threw the life preserver to her. He saved the shark and left me to drown. I lost everything in that water, including the unborn child I hadn't even told him about. He thought I was dead. He thought he was free to play house with Janice. But my brother pulled me from the darkness. And when I resurfaced in Norway, wearing the ring of a man far more dangerous than Jaxon could ever dream of being, Jaxon realized too late that he had destroyed the only thing that could have saved him.

Five Years, A Forgotten Name

He remembered my childhood pet' s name, our first meeting, and my obscure tea brand, but for five years, Braylon couldn't remember I was allergic to shrimp. It glistened in my pasta, a cruel reminder of how little of me registered in his mind, especially as he laughed with a familiar blonde across the room. My stomach churned, not from the allergy, but from a deeper sickness. That night, at a sprawling rooftop party, Braylon handed Dallas Huff, a young blonde, a delicate bracelet-a replica of her grandmother's, a story he'd told me a hundred times. "Dallas, this reminded me of you," he said, his voice soft, intimate. She beamed, leaning into him, her eyes sparkling, then flickered to me with a triumphant, venomous gleam. When Dallas purred about a gallery opening, Braylon chuckled, "Eliza will be coming with us. Our anniversary dinner is that night." He turned to me, a forced smile pleading for me to play along. But I was done. "It's over, Braylon," I whispered, "And my name is Eliza." He looked genuinely lost, unable to recall my actual name, while Dallas and his friends mocked his forgetfulness. His eyes, wide and confused, searched my face. "Eliza? What are you talking about? Your name is... it's always been..." He trailed off, genuinely lost. A bitter taste filled my mouth. He remembered every trivial detail of Dallas' s life, but my actual name? It was a blank. Later, he left me stranded on a dark, winding road after I refused to apologize to Dallas. My phone was dead, and I stumbled, breaking my ankle. As I lay there, alone and injured, I sobbed, "Why did I stay? Why did I waste five years on him?" Braylon, meanwhile, drove away, a gnawing unease simmering beneath his anger, only to return to a horrifying scene.

My Fiancé's Secret: A Wedding Day Betrayal

On the morning of my wedding, I found a voice memo my fiancé of seven years had saved from his 22-year-old intern. But I still walked down the aisle, secretly pregnant with our child. Then, as we stood at the altar, she faked a faint. Blake dropped my hand and ran to her, leaving me alone. He called my heartbreak a "tantrum" while making his special tea-the one I taught him-for her in our apartment. He was certain our baby was his safety net, a guarantee I' d never leave. "She's not going to do anything," he told his mother on the phone while I was at the clinic. "Just let her blow off some steam." He thought my pain was a game and our baby was a bargaining chip. He was wrong. He found me in the recovery room, striding in with a cocky smile and a bouquet of lilies. The smile died when he saw me, pale in the hospital bed, and the flowers slipped from his grasp as he finally understood what I had done.

The Con That Broke My Heart

The air in the City Clerk' s office was thick with the smell of old paper and cheap disinfectant. My name, Ethan Miller, sat on the marriage license, waiting for one more signature to make Chloe my wife. Then, a picture of her childhood friend, Liam O' Connell, bleeding with a razor blade nearby, flashed on her phone: "Goodbye, Chloe." She bolted, claiming he' d kill himself because of her. A minute later, a message from Chloe arrived: "Even though Liam and I are married now, he's still willing to let you be my side-piece. You should learn from his generosity and understanding. Don't be ungrateful." She then promised me weekly visits once my father' s assets transferred to her. I was left alone, staring at the empty space where she had been, with the clerk looking on with pity. The staged suicide, her frantic escape-it was all a setup. They had been bleeding me dry, and I had been too blind, too desperate for her love, to see it. It wasn't just a few incidents. It was a pattern. A long con. She thought she had abandoned me, but she had no idea. The game was over. She just didn't know it yet.

His Public Shame

The sweet scent of my boyfriend' s cologne filled the hotel room, a comforting blend as I watched Ryan sleep beside me. But my perfect moment shattered when his phone lit up, revealing a group chat confessing he' d just "bagged the quiet art chick" and describing me as a mere "mission accomplished." My stomach churned as I scrolled, finding a picture of me, asleep, and his chilling message: "Not as innocent as she looks, boys. Played hard to get for years, but she caved pretty easy tonight." Then, the ultimate horror-a private, intimate video of us, shared with the caption: "Proof. She was all over me." The sweet smell suffocated me, every word a fresh stab of humiliation, and the video a violation that left me breathless. I fled, scrubbing at my skin, but his scent, his touch, the memory felt like an indelible stain. The next day, the video was everywhere, plastered across the university forum, labeling me a "slut." Ryan, the master manipulator, had already twisted the narrative, portraying himself as the victim. I lost everything: my dorm, my internship, and worst of all, my own mother disowned me, slapping me publicly. The ultimate betrayal came when I discovered his co-conspirator: my stepsister, Jessica, who gleefully confessed to orchestrating my public downfall. With nothing left to lose, I made a promise to myself: I would expose them, not for revenge, but for the truth. My chance came at Ryan's birthday party, where I went live on social media. "I' m not here to wish you well, Ryan," I announced, the camera capturing his panicked face. "I' m here to give you the birthday present you deserve. The truth."

The Unremembered Betrayal

The hospital room was a blank canvas compared to my mind-empty, save for the rhythmic beep of a machine. I was Ava, or so they said, suffering from amnesia after a car accident. Liam, my dashing fiancé, and Chloe, my teary-eyed sister, were constants by my side, weaving a perfect narrative of our lives: a successful businesswoman, heiress, engaged to be married. But their perfect picture began to fray. Fragments of memories, sharp and brutal, flashed in the dark: a swerving car, screeching tires, a look of terror-and something else-on Chloe' s face, Liam' s white-knuckled grip on the wheel. These didn't feel like accidents; they felt like lies. The diamond ring Liam pressed into my hand felt heavy and foreign, a symbol of a life that wasn't mine. Then, the shattering realization: a faded photo, Liam leaning into Chloe, a shared secret smile, while I stood between them, an outsider. The truth began to surface, cold and undeniable. The accident wasn't an accident. Liam and Chloe, my supposed loved ones, were conspirators, their devotion a carefully crafted facade. He was cheating with my sister, and I was merely a pawn in their scheme to seize my family' s fortune. The "caring" gestures, the possessive touches – they were traps. The house, our supposed home, became a gilded cage. How could I have been so blind? How could the two people closest to me orchestrate such a cruel betrayal, even attempting to end my life? The indignity burned, replaced by a searing clarity: I was not a victim, but a survivor. With a throbbing arm and a heart hardened by rage, I knew I couldn' t stay. This wasn't just about reclaiming my memories; it was about exposing their deception and forging a new path, a life on my own terms, free from their lies.

Billionaire Boss? Nah, Just A Possessive Husband!

I just got my billionaire husband to sign our divorce papers. He thinks it's another business document. Our marriage was a business transaction. I was his secretary by day, his invisible wife by night. He got a CEO title and a rebellion against his mother; I got the money to save mine. The only rule? Don't fall in love. I broke it. He didn't. So I'm cashing out. Thirty days from now, I'm gone. But now he's noticing me. Touching me. Claiming me. The same man who flaunts his mistresses is suddenly burning down a nightclub because another man insulted me. He says he'll never let me go. But he has no idea I'm already halfway out the door. How far will a billionaire go to keep a wife he never wanted until she tried to leave?

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

Too Late, Hubby, I'm The Tycoon's Darling Now!

For three years, Averie pushed herself through a secret marriage, waiting for the day she could finally wear a white dress and be seen as his wife. The night before she could finally walk down the aisle, he confessed without a hint of hesitation that he was marrying the woman who once rescued him instead. The "fake" divorce agreement she signed for him shattered into a real, icy breakup that finally freed her wounded heart. When he returned in remorse, begging for just one more chance, a ruthless business magnate pulled Averie close and muttered coldly, "You're too late. She's my woman now."

Abandoned Luna: Now Untouchable

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.

His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love

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.

Traded Husbands, Tangled Hearts: Can Destiny Be Changed?

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?