Reborn on Our Wedding Day

He Chose The Mistress Over His Queen

I was polishing a diamond engagement ring that cost more than a small island when I heard the truth. My fiancé, the ruthless Don Dante Moretti, was telling his mistress I was nothing more than a glorified bank account. But it wasn't until the accident that I understood the depth of his cruelty. While training in the estate gym, a support cable snapped. I fell twenty feet, shattering my leg on impact. Through the haze of blinding pain, I waited for Dante to save me. Instead, he rushed to his mistress, Livia—the woman who had cut the wire. He held her close, soothing her because the loud noise had "startled" her, while I lay broken and bleeding on the floor. "She won't die," I heard him whisper to her later. "Pain is a good teacher." My love for him turned to ice in that moment. He didn't just want my father's money; he was letting her plan my assassination to get it. They thought I was just a porcelain doll to be discarded once the wedding contracts were signed. They forgot that even a pawn can kill a king. I wiped the tears from my face and walked straight into the territory of the Valenti Syndicate—Dante's sworn enemy. "I don't want protection," I told the rival Don, placing the surveillance evidence on his table. "I want to burn his entire dynasty to the ground."

Betrayed For A Fake Heir: The Wife's Exit

At the auction, my husband raised his paddle and bid five million dollars on the only keepsake I had left of my dead mother. But he didn't buy the sapphire necklace for me. He handed the velvet box to his pregnant mistress, Mia, right in front of the entire New York underworld. When I reached for it, Mia faked a stumble. Dante moved with the speed of a predator. He shoved me hard to clear space for her. My body slammed into a marble pillar, shattering my hip, while he scooped her up and carried her out, stepping over my dress without a single glance. That was only the beginning. He forced me to drain my blood to save her during a false emergency. He exiled me to a freezing cabin with no heat, leaving me to be buried alive in an avalanche while he comforted her over a lie. Lying in the hospital bed after surviving the snow, I realized I no longer hated him. Hate is passion. Hate implies he still matters. I felt nothing but a cold, heavy silence. So when he finally left the house to hunt down the truth about Mia’s baby, I didn't wait for his apology. I left my wedding ring on the bathroom counter. I dropped my phone into a sewer grate. By the time the Dragon of New York realized his wife was gone, I was already in Seattle, painting a new life where monsters couldn't find me.

Love, Lies, And A Second Life

The air in the room was stale, thick with the smell of antiseptic and despair. They told me I was sick, that grief had broken my mind. My mother-in-law, Martha, would visit, her concern a chilling mask, whispering to doctors how I was hallucinating, a danger to myself and my son, Billy. "She doesn' t understand that David is gone," she' d insist, loud enough for me to hear. But the real horror wasn't my madness; it was the truth. Three days after my husband, David, a decorated police officer, was supposedly killed, I stood at his memorial, expected to mourn. The man in the casket wasn't David. It was Mark, his identical twin, missing the faded scar David always had. That night, I found David, not dead, but alive in our summer cabin, with his childhood sweetheart, Emily Peterson. He confessed it all with chilling indifference: Mark was killed in a shootout, and David seized the chance for a new life, free from me and Billy. "I never loved you," he said, as if explaining a simple math problem. "It was always Emily." I tried to tell everyone-his mother, his captain-but they looked at me with pity, already conditioned by Martha and David' s lies. They had me committed to a white room, and David married Emily. My four-year-old son, Billy, was left in their care, crying for me every night. Then came the unbearable news: Billy was dead, a "tragic accident" from an overdose of cough medicine. My world shattered. Desperate, I fashioned a noose, remembering Billy' s bright laugh, the life David had stolen. My only regret was that David would never face justice. I kicked the chair away. Darkness took me. Then, a blinding light, and I was back on my living room couch, the day David was supposedly killed. I wasn' t dead. I was back. Martha' s face, a mask of practiced sadness, now held a triumphant curl. I heard David' s voice from the hallway, "Is she stable?" "She' s fragile, but she bought it," Martha replied. "She' ll break, just like we planned. We' ll have her committed, and Billy will be ours." "Good," David said. "Make sure she doesn' t get near the body. Mark didn' t have my scar." This time, I was not the grieving widow. I was the executioner.

The Billionaire's Regret: A Silent Amends

While struggling to get by, a call from an unknown New York number shattered my fragile sense of peace. It was Ethan Vance's assistant, inviting me to his foundation's gala-Ethan, my former guardian who had cruelly exiled me years ago, now pulling me back. Victoria, Ethan' s wife, immediately launched a campaign of humiliation, subtly branding me his "old ward" at the gala. She then systematically sabotaged my job search, slamming every door shut on my desperate attempts to rebuild my life. When I refused her massive bribe to disappear, a brutal fire tore through our apartment, leaving my daughter Lily in a hospital bed, gasping for air. Clutching my terrified Lily and battling my own PTSD flashbacks, I knew this wasn't an accident; the fire was no coincidence. This cold, calculated attack was all Victoria, who had effortlessly tried to destroy what little I had. How could a person be so merciless, deliberately endangering a child to eliminate me? I hugged Lily tight, promising, "Never. I will never let anything happen to you." Lying there, battered and bruised, my resolve hardened. I was through being a victim of his past or her present schemes. It was time to confront Ethan, expose his wife, and fight for the stable life Lily and I deserved.

The Daughter Who Refused to Break

Emily Callahan had finally done it. Full scholarship to the state university, a dream come true for her and a testament to her late father' s legacy, her mother Susan beaming with pride from their beloved Sunrise Cafe. But the aroma of coffee turned to the stench of fear when local crime boss Paddy O' Doyle, whose offers for the cafe were always refused, stormed in. What began as intimidation quickly became a brutal assault, leaving Susan battered and their cafe in ruins. This attack was no isolated incident; it was just the first domino. The police chief turned a blind eye, revealing a pervasive corruption that shielded the O' Doyles from justice. Emily' s scholarship was mysteriously revoked, her future snatched away. Then came the orchestrated smear campaign, turning the community against her, followed by a terrifying home invasion where her dog was brutally murdered and her father' s cherished Medal of Honor desecrated. Now, even her mother' s vital medical care was at risk. How could a hero' s family be so horribly betrayed and abandoned, their pleas for justice met with silence or outright hostility by the very system meant to protect them? The injustice burned, transforming her grief into a searing rage. With every official avenue blocked and nowhere left to turn, Emily clutched her father' s Medal of Honor, a symbol of everything good and true, and embarked on a desperate cross-country journey to seek out the only man who could possibly help: her father' s former commanding officer, a four-star General.

The Twin Swap: An 18-Year Deception

For 18 years, I quietly raised my twin sons, Alex and Ben, believing their father Mark and his mistress Brenda were dead. Now, with their Stanford acceptance, I planned a celebratory dinner, a culmination of my secret pride. But as the party peaked, the 'dead' burst in—Mark Thompson and Brenda Sullivan, arrogantly alive. Mark accused me of lies, Brenda feigned heartbreak, and he demanded I sign away my sons, seizing what he claimed was his. My bewildered sons watched their world crumble as Mark's family rallied behind him. With a steady hand, I signed the papers, feeling my boys' pain and disbelief. "Mom, no! How can you?" Alex cried. Everyone assumed I was broken, defeated. They saw a mother abandoning her children, a woman succumbing to the pressure. "You're just... giving us up?" Ben whispered, his eyes clouded with betrayal. The room buzzed with judgment. They had no idea this was just the first act of a meticulously planned retribution. "The party isn't over," I stated, a chilling smile on my face. As two young men, one dependent on a wheelchair, entered, I revealed their truth. "Mark, Brenda, meet Cody and Tyler Thompson. Your actual biological sons." My 18-year revenge was finally set into motion.

A Favor To My Boss

Emma had agreed to pretend to be her boss's girlfriend at an event where his ex-wife planned to show up with the guy she had cheated with. "We'll see how this turns out."

Unmasking My Shunned Wife: She Hid A Thousand Identities

Abandoned as a child and orphaned by murder, Kathryn swore she'd reclaim every shred of her stolen birthright. When she returned, society called her an unpolished love-child, scoffing that Evan had lost his mind to marry her. Only Evan knew the truth: the quiet woman he cradled like porcelain hid secrets enough to set the city trembling. She doubled as a legendary healer, an elusive hacker, and the royal court's favorite perfumer. At meetings, the directors groaned at the lovey-dovey couple, "Does she really have to be here?" Evan shrugged. "Happy wife, happy life." Soon her masks fell, and those who sneered bowed in awe.

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.

The Stray Heiress Strikes Back

Ten years ago, Elizabeth Kaiser was abandoned by her biological father, cast out of her home like a stray dog. A decade later, she returned as a decorated general of Nation A, wielding immense power and wealth beyond measure. The onlookers waited eagerly for her downfall, only to watch in shock as the elite families of Capitol City bowed before her in reverence. Elizabeth smirked coldly. "Want to chase me? Better ask my fists for permission first!"

His Unwanted Wife, The World's Coveted Genius

Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."

Heartbreak Billionaire: He Should Never Have Let Go

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.