The Sister's Vengeance

The Ghost Surgeon's Revenge: Rising From Ashes

I was the trophy wife of Wall Street’s golden boy, Spencer Elliott. For three years, I played the part of the perfect, silent spouse, enduring his coldness and his mother’s venom. I did it all because Spencer was the only person paying for the experimental medical care keeping my dying mother alive. But during a high-society gala, the gilded cage finally broke. I overheard Spencer laughing with his mistress about the "custom cocktail" he was feeding my mother. He wasn't paying for her cure; he was paying a doctor to systematically poison her with sedatives to keep me dependent and compliant until his forty-million-dollar inheritance vested. When I tried to confront him, the mask of the perfect husband shattered. He dragged me by my hair into our bedroom and slammed me against the wall, his eyes cold and murderous. "If you ever try to leave, your mother gets an overdose. Accidentally, of course." He told me I was nothing more than a pawn for his payout. I realized then that my entire marriage was a calculated swindle, and the man I thought was my savior was actually my mother's executioner. The betrayal was so deep it turned my blood to ice. Every sacrifice I had made and every humiliation I had swallowed was built on a monstrous lie. I felt a cold, sharp rage replacing my despair, a surgeon’s focus shifting from healing to a much more dangerous kind of excision. That’s when Julian Sterling, the most feared man in the city, stepped out of the shadows to burn my world down. He rescued me from Spencer’s violence and promised me a life of freedom, but as I finally exhaled in his arms, my secret burner phone buzzed with an encrypted message. The man who originally ruined my family was back, and the last time he was seen, he was standing right next to Julian. Is my new protector my greatest ally, or the target I've been hunting all along?

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.

Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

Jilted Bride's Revenge: The Valkyrie Awakens

I had been a wife for exactly six hours when I woke up to the sound of my husband’s heavy breathing. In the dim moonlight of our bridal suite, I watched Hardin, the man I had adored for years, intertwined with my sister Carissa on the chaise lounge. The betrayal didn't come with an apology. Hardin stood up, unashamed, and sneered at me. "You're awake? Get out, you frumpy mute." Carissa huddled under a throw, her fake tears already welling up as she played the victim. They didn't just want me gone; they wanted me erased to protect their reputations. When I refused to move, my world collapsed. My father didn't offer a shoulder to cry on; he threatened to have me committed to a mental asylum to save his business merger. "You're a disgrace," he bellowed, while the guards stood ready to drag me away. They had spent my life treating me like a stuttering, submissive pawn, and now they were done with me. I felt a blinding pain in my skull, a fracture that should have broken me. But instead of tears, something dormant and lethal flickered to life. The terrified girl who walked down the aisle earlier that day simply ceased to exist. In her place, a clinical system—the Valkyrie Protocol—booted up. My racing heart plummeted to a steady sixty beats per minute. I didn't scream. I stood up, my spine straightening for the first time in twenty years, and looked at Hardin with the detachment of a surgeon looking at a tumor. "Correction," I said, my voice stripped of its stutter. "You're in my light." By dawn, I had drained my father's accounts, vanished into a storm, and found a bleeding Crown Prince in a hidden safehouse. They thought they had broken a mute girl. They didn't realize they had just activated their own destruction.

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.

One Night Stand With My Boss

Alcohol and heartbreak are definitely not a good combo.Too bad I learnt that a little too late. I'm Tessa Beckett and I painfully got dumped by my boyfriend of three years.That led me to getting drunk at a bar and having a one-night stand with a stranger.Before he would see me as a slut the next day,I paid him for the sex and deeply insulted his ability to please me. But this stranger turned out to be my new boss!

Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

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.