The Heart Condition That Wasn't

Betrayed By Blood: The True Heir's Revenge

I thought being rescued from the kidnapper's basement after eight years was the end of my hell, but it was just the beginning. My father, the powerful Underboss Derek McCall, looked at my twelve-year-old face and saw only the monster who had held us captive. He was convinced I was the byproduct of his wife's assault, calling me "pollution" in his pristine bloodline. Life at the estate was a nightmare. I was forced to scrub floors while his stepdaughter, Kylie, lived like a princess. When I was starving, Derek caught me eating from the garbage and mocked me. When Kylie ordered a Doberman to maul me, tearing my leg apart on the manicured lawn, he just watched and told the guards to stitch me up without anesthesia. Yet, when he was dying from a gunshot wound and the hospital was out of blood, I was the one who stepped up. I gave two pints of my blood to save him, hoping he would finally see me. He didn't. The moment he was stable, his mother kicked me out of the house, handing me over to social services like unwanted trash. They didn't realize until the car drove away that the medical file on the table held a secret. My blood wasn't dirty. The DNA was a 99.9% match. I wasn't the kidnapper's child. I was his. When they finally came begging for forgiveness years later, I didn't offer a hug. I handed them an eviction notice.

Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband

My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman. I rushed Jeremy to the Emergency Room, his small body heavy and limp against my chest. But the person blocking the sliding doors wasn’t a doctor. It was Yvonne, my fiancé Benedict's new lover. She looked at my desperate, rain-soaked face and sneered. "Don't ruin my night with your drama," she hissed. "Benedict is busy." She and her brother shoved me back onto the wet floor. My son died on the cold tiles of the entrance. My heart gave out moments later, unable to bear the grief. When Benedict finally walked past our bodies, he didn't even look at our faces. He crumpled up the note I had written begging for help and tossed it into the trash. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again." He stepped over his own dead son to go to a party. But I didn't disappear. I became a ghost, invisible and tethered to him by an unbreakable chain. I watched him laugh with the woman who killed us. I watched him live his perfect life while I floated in the void. Until he found the autopsy report. Until he saw the date of birth. Until he found the broken locket in the evidence bag engraved with *Benedict & Ava*. Now, he spends every night crying into the dark, begging for a forgiveness he will never get. He thinks he is simply haunted. He has no idea he is paying a blood debt that will never end.

His Guilt, Her Freedom

At their nine-year anniversary party, Annis's husband brought his pregnant mistress home. He told Annis to move her things to the guest room and play hostess. "She's carrying my son," he said. "Be a good girl." But that wasn't the worst of it. A few days later, his mistress had "complications." She needed a transfusion. She had a rare blood type—the same as Annis's. He had his men drag Annis to a private hospital. She had a severe heart condition, and the doctor warned him that a full transfusion could stop her heart. Her husband simply waved him off. "Do it," he ordered. "I'm assuming full responsibility." He forced her to sign the papers, saying, "You owe me this, Annis. After all I've given you." As her blood drained away, her heart monitor began to scream. But his mistress called for him from the next room. He left Annis on the table, snapping at the doctor to "speed it up" before rushing to her side. The nine years of love she had for him died right there in that hospital bed. But she didn't die. She survived. And she waited. On his grandfather's 80th birthday, in front of his entire powerful family, a courier arrived. He wasn't carrying a gift. He was carrying a package from Annis, containing signed divorce papers and the official medical report detailing exactly how her husband had tried to kill her.

The Price Of His Choices

My husband, David Chen, casually destroyed my grandmother' s locket-a cherished family heirloom-in the garbage disposal, just to appease his childhood friend, Jessica Lee. That same day, I packed my bags, took our son Leo, and left. Three years later, back in the city as a jewelry designer, I found myself face-to-face with David at a prestigious competition. He was still the arrogant tech mogul, seemingly surprised I wasn' t struggling. He tried to buy me back, offering diamonds, believing money could fix his broken character. Then his assistant, Jessica, slinked up, mocking my simple dress and implying I was a gold digger, desperate for David' s lifestyle. She then deliberately spilled red wine on my priceless Antoine Dubois dress. As if that wasn' t enough, she maliciously tossed my custom-made, diamond-studded anniversary bracelet-a gift from my new husband, Michael Thompson-into a public trash can, mirroring David' s cruel act from years ago. The audacity of their insults, their absolute contempt for my worth, and the calculated destruction of something deeply personal infuriated me. How could they be so blind, so utterly convinced of their superiority, while standing on property owned by my husband and insulting his wife, a judge of the very competition they were attending? Just as Jessica raised her hand to slap me, a strong hand caught her wrist. "What do you think you' re doing to my wife?" Michael Thompson' s voice, cold and authoritative, cut through the silence. My new life, built on respect and true love, was about to shatter their illusion of power.

Beyond Forgiveness: A Wife's Vengeance

For ten years, Julian Thorne, the Silicon Valley titan, was my world. He came into my life when I was a nobody, busking on the streets, and transformed me into a princess, envied by every woman in the country. He promised me forever, fighting his powerful family to marry me, treating me like the most precious thing in existence. But that fairy tale shattered the moment Bethany Greene entered the picture, and six months was all it took for him to erase a decade of devotion. My husband, once full of warmth, became a stranger who looked at me with cold fury. He accused me of manipulating Bethany into leaving him, spitting "Liar" with disgust. He played a video of my younger brother, Finn, on life support, threatening to pull the plug if I didn' t convince Bethany to return. "He' s a vegetable that' s costing me a fortune," he said coldly, as I begged him not to. The pain of knowing I might lose Finn, my only family, was unbearable, but the true horror was yet to come. As I pretended to call Bethany, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen. I was bleeding. "Julian, please… help me," I whispered, terrified, realizing I might be losing our baby. He dismissed it as drama, then his face lit up with a genuine smile when Bethany called his phone. He left without a second glance, instructing the butler to lock me in the meditation room, confident I was just trying to manipulate him. Hours later, alone, bleeding, and pounding on the locked door, I felt the life I was carrying slip away. My baby was gone, lost because the man I loved condemned me. When I woke in a sterile hospital room, Bethany was there, clinging to Julian, fabricating a story about me harassing her parents. He believed her instantly, his eyes cold and unmoved, denying we' d ever had a baby. "Lost what baby? Scarlett, stop making up stories to get attention." He watched impassively as Bethany forced me to apologize for something I hadn' t done, her triumphant smirk a knife to my heart. Then, he dropped the final bombshell, "I'm divorcing you." He even had his lawyer tell me he expected me to wait patiently for him to return after his "fling" with Bethany was over. That was the moment everything snapped into brutal clarity. My love for him, which had endured so much, finally burned to ashes, leaving only a cold, hard resolve. I signed the divorce papers, picked up the plane ticket, and looked him straight in the eye: "I don' t want you to love me anymore. I' m done." And with that, I walked out, leaving Julian and his new obsession behind, ready to disappear and never look back.

Love Letter, Public Shame

The crumpled note in my locker felt like a ticking time bomb. It was a love letter, addressed to me, Chloe, from a handwriting I didn't recognize. But before I could even process it, Principal Albright, hawk-eyed and always on the prowl, spotted a corner peeking from my pocket. "What is that, Ms. Davis?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the hall. I was caught, forced to hand over the painfully private confession. She read it, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her own pocket. "My office. After school," she said, her heels clicking like a death knell. Dread coiled in my stomach, but a sliver of relief, too-at least it would be private. I was wrong. Ms. Albright, perched behind her mahogany desk like a queen on her throne, deemed the letter "poetic" and "overly emotional," a "distraction" that derailed "promising students." Then she dropped the bomb: I would be reading it aloud, for everyone, at the Parent-Teacher Meeting tomorrow night. It wasn't a choice; it was a command, a public shaming she framed as a "teachable moment." My blood ran cold. Her voice, now dripping with self-righteous conviction, painted the letter as a "serious problem," a "symptom of a lack of focus," a "derailment of academic career." She demanded I not only read it, but identify the author. She was turning a tender, private sentiment into a weapon, attempting to break me and publicly humiliate some anonymous boy. But Ms. Albright, so certain in her rigid worldview, had no idea just how spectacularly her plan was about to backfire. She had no idea that the "problem" boy she wanted to expose, the one whose heartfelt words she was about to use as a performance of moral superiority, was her own son. Ethan Albright. Her perfect, valedictorian, star-athlete son.

THE SPITEFUL BRIDE: MARRY TO RIVAL'S SON

"Let's get married," Mia declares, her voice trembling despite her defiant gaze into Stefan's guarded brown eyes. She needs this, even if he seems untouchable. Stefan raises a skeptical brow. "And why would I do that?" His voice was low, like a warning, and it made her shiver even though she tried not to show it. "We both have one thing in common," Mia continues, her gaze unwavering. "Shitty fathers. They want to take what's ours and give it to who they think deserves it." A pointed pause hangs in the air. "The only difference between us is that you're an illegitimate child, and I'm not." Stefan studies her, the heiress in her designer armor, the fire in her eyes that matches the burn of his own rage. "That's your solution? A wedding band as a weapon?" He said ignoring the part where she just referred to him as an illegitimate child. "The only weapon they won't see coming." She steps closer, close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume, gunpowder and jasmine. "Our fathers stole our birthrights. The sole reason they betrayed us. We join forces, create our own empire that'll bring down theirs." A beat of silence. Then, Stefan's mouth curves into something sharp. "One condition," he murmurs, closing the distance. "No divorces. No surrenders. If we're doing this, it's for life" "Deal" Mia said without missing a beat. Her father wants to destroy her life. She wouldn't give him the pleasure, she would destroy her life as she seems fit. ................ Two shattered heirs. One deadly vow. A marriage built on revenge. Mia Meyers was born to rule her father's empire (so she thought), until he named his bastard son heir instead. Stefan Sterling knows the sting of betrayal too. His father discarded him like trash. Now the rivals' disgraced children have a poisonous proposal: Marry for vengeance. Crush their fathers' legacies. Never speak of divorce. Whoever cracks first loses everything. Can these two rivals, united by their vengeful hearts, pull off a marriage of convenience to reclaim what they believe is rightfully theirs? Or will their fathers' animosity, and their own complicated pasts tear their fragile alliance apart?

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.

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."

The Jilted Heiress' Return To The High Life

Corinne devoted three years of her life to her boyfriend, only for it to all go to waste. He saw her as nothing more than a country bumpkin and left her at the altar to be with his true love. After getting jilted, Corinne reclaimed her identity as the granddaughter of the town's richest man, inherited a billion-dollar fortune, and ultimately rose to the top. But her success attracted the envy of others, and people constantly tried to bring her down. As she dealt with these troublemakers one by one, Mr. Hopkins, notorious for his ruthlessness, stood by and cheered her on. "Way to go, honey!"

Secret Baby: The Jilted Wife's Final Goodbye

I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant. But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over. "Sign it," He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise. I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth. "It's just cramps," I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could. Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus. Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down. He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.

Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me Now

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."