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For ten years, I was Ethan Vance, the Silicon Valley "fixer," the "soul mediator" everyone trusted to clear digital ghosts and optimize karma. Then Kevin, my girlfriend Sarah' s adopted brother, showed up with his charming lies and half-price "digital shaman" tricks, stealing my clients and my reputation bit by bit. My downfall culminated in a botched "karma optimization" where the client died a gruesome digital death, Kevin vanished, and I was framed for his sabotage. The mogul' s enraged family and my disgruntled former clients, convinced I was a greedy fraud, beat me to death, unable to scream the truth about Kevin' s betrayal. But then, I opened my eyes, and I was back-standing in a luxurious smart home, the day before my life crumbled, the tech CEO handing me a data chip, Sarah and Kevin by my side; this time, things would be different.
For ten years, I was Ethan Vance, the Silicon Valley "fixer," the "soul mediator" everyone trusted to clear digital ghosts and optimize karma.
Then Kevin, my girlfriend Sarah' s adopted brother, showed up with his charming lies and half-price "digital shaman" tricks, stealing my clients and my reputation bit by bit.
My downfall culminated in a botched "karma optimization" where the client died a gruesome digital death, Kevin vanished, and I was framed for his sabotage.
The mogul' s enraged family and my disgruntled former clients, convinced I was a greedy fraud, beat me to death, unable to scream the truth about Kevin' s betrayal.
But then, I opened my eyes, and I was back-standing in a luxurious smart home, the day before my life crumbled, the tech CEO handing me a data chip, Sarah and Kevin by my side; this time, things would be different.
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Modern
For ten years, I waited for my childhood sweetheart, Adonis, to marry me. But every year, our future was delayed by a ridiculous family ritual where he had to draw a "Fortunate" tarot card. For three years, he drew the "Unfortunate" card, enduring brutal penance that left him scarred and broken. I believed it was fate. Then, on the fourth year, I saw him draw the Fortunate card. My heart soared. We were finally free. But in a swift, practiced move, he swapped it for an Unfortunate one, choosing more suffering. I was frozen in shock. Later, I overheard him confess to his cousin. He' d been swapping the cards for four years. He couldn't marry me yet because of his assistant, Ariel. She' d threatened to do something drastic if he left her. He said he owed her. My world shattered. Every lash he took, every moment of pain I shared, was a lie. A charade performed for another woman. He had chosen his guilt for her over his love for me. He even accused me of monstrous cruelty based on her lies, shouting, "I can't believe I wasted ten years on someone so vindictive. Apologize to Ariel. Now." That was the moment I knew the man I loved was gone. So, I left. I flew to Hong Kong and married another man. But just as I found my new beginning, Adonis burst in, his eyes wild with regret, begging me to come back. And right behind him was Ariel, her face twisted with madness, a gleaming knife in her hand.
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Modern
My name is Arlie Stevens, and I was a mute girl who grew up in the shadows of the Rust Belt. My street art was our daily bread, and Bowen McClure was my protector, my first love, and my voice. But the boy who once fought off bullies for me decided to climb the social ladder by getting engaged to a ruthless corporate heiress, Kassandra Woodard. On their engagement night, Kassandra falsely accused me of ruining her gown. Bowen, my Bowen, publicly whipped me as punishment to appease her family. He told me it was to protect me, a necessary evil. Then he locked me in my room. As the party's fireworks lit up the sky, I smelled smoke. The apartment was on fire, and the door was locked from the outside. Through the flames, I heard Kassandra's voice, "Bowen locked her in. He wanted her out of the way." He didn't just abandon me; he tried to burn me alive. But I survived. And when a broken, guilt-ridden Bowen finally found me years later, begging for forgiveness after destroying the woman who orchestrated it all, I had only one thing to say to him.
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Modern
For seven years, I was his secret. His brilliant, naive Elodie. Last night, he held me and called me his future. Today, his sister, my best friend, showed me the pictures from his engagement party. My life's work, a revolutionary bio-printed kidney, was meant to save his dying fiancée. But then I overheard his real plan. If my research failed, he had a backup. "She's got a nice pair of kidneys," he told his friends. "Perfect match." He'd secretly filmed our most intimate moments, blackmail to force me onto the operating table. I wasn't his love. I was his insurance policy. A spare part. He thought he had me cornered. He underestimated his "naive little scientist." So I faked my death and disappeared. Five years later, I'm back, my name on the cover of every scientific journal. And he's about to find out that the woman he tried to butcher is now the one who holds his entire world in her hands.
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Mafia
At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south. But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband. In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family—a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire. His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach. "We're terminating this complication," she said coldly. As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.
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Modern
The sterile scent of a hospital clung to me, even in my own sun-drenched room. Today was the presentation, the day my life was supposed to begin. Instead, it ended. Memories, sharp and brutal, flooded back: me, confidently presenting my skyscraper design. Then, the fatal error: File Not Found. My mother, Eleanor, fussing over my desk the night before, "accidentally" deleting everything. My father, Richard, dismissing my tears, "Listen to your mother. She knows what's best." My brother, Liam, smirking, "A skyscraper isn' t as important as Mom, is it?" Later that night, Eleanor offered a thick, green smoothie. "A special health smoothie, just for you." I drank it, trusting her. Minutes later, the tightening throat, the hives, the desperate fight for air. Anaphylactic shock. I was severely allergic to kiwi, and the smoothie was full of it. As my vision tunneled, I saw my family. They weren't calling 911. They were comforting Eleanor, who sobbed into my father' s shoulder. Liam shook his head, "She' s always so dramatic." And then, nothing. Until now. Waking up here. I saw the date on my phone. It was Wednesday morning. The day of the presentation. Cold, hard clarity settled over me. They hadn't just sabotaged my dream; they' d tried to kill me to control me. And now, I was back. Back to build a new blueprint. A blueprint for their ruin.
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Fantasy
The cold moonlight painted shadows across the floor, doing nothing to warm the chill that had settled deep in my bones as I knelt before my husband, Valerius. Just a year ago, he had promised me forever, swearing he' d always be my shield. Now, he looked at me with cold disgust. "Explain this," he demanded, tearing open my nightgown to reveal the withered flower branded into my shoulder – a symbol of shame, a mark of the lowest. Tears welled, blurring his furious face. I couldn' t tell him the truth, a horrific secret I' d sworn to keep to protect him. He shoved me away, calling me soiled, then laughed cruelly, refusing to "dirty his hands" on me, before storming out, slamming the door on everything we were. Driven by desperation, I tried to carve the mark off, nearly taking my life before my maid, Clara, stopped me, suggesting a brutal herbal remedy instead. The agony was blinding, but I endured it, for him, for us, for the love I yearned to reclaim. With a raw, weeping scar where the brand once was, I found him, hoping to see a flicker of the man I knew. He stared at my wound, then laughed, a short, ugly sound. "A scar is just as ugly as a brand. It proves nothing." My hope shattered, he delivered the final blow: he was marrying my cousin, Isabella, in a week. The physical pain from my scar was nothing compared to the gaping wound he' d torn in my chest, leaving me an empty void.
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I had just survived a private jet crash, my body a map of violet bruises and my lungs still burning from the smoke. I woke up in a sterile hospital room, gasping for my husband's name, only to realize I was completely alone. While I was bleeding in a ditch, my husband, Adam, was on the news smiling at a ribbon-cutting ceremony. When I tracked him down at the hospital's VIP wing, I didn't find a grieving husband. I found him tenderly cradling his ex-girlfriend, Casie, in his arms, his face lit with a protective warmth he had never shown me as he carried her into the maternity ward. The betrayal went deeper than I could have imagined. Adam admitted the affair started on our third anniversary-the night he claimed he was stuck in London for a merger. Back at the manor, his mother had already filled our planned nursery with pink boutique bags for Casie's "little princess." When I demanded a divorce, Adam didn't flinch. He sneered that I was "gutter trash" from a foster home and that I'd be begging on the streets within a week. To trap me, he froze my bank accounts, cancelled my flight, and even called the police to report me for "theft" of company property. I realized then that I wasn't his partner; I was a charity case he had plucked from obscurity to manage his life. To the Hortons, I was just a servant who happened to sleep in the master bedroom, a "resilient" woman meant to endure his abuse in silence while the whole world laughed at the joke that was my marriage. Adam thought stripping me of his money would make me crawl back to him. He was wrong. I walked into his executive suite during his biggest deal of the year and poured a mug of sludge over his original ten-million-dollar contracts. Then, right in front of his board and his mistress, I stripped off every designer thread he had ever paid for until I was standing in nothing but my own silk camisole. "You can keep the clothes, Adam. They're as hollow as you are." I grabbed my passport, turned my back on his billions, and walked out of that glass tower barefoot, bleeding, and finally free.
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Chelsey loved Brett for seven years and tried everything for a baby-doctors, IVF, surgeries. Then she found out he'd been dosing her food with contraceptives. She woke back at the fire years earlier and watched Brett carry another woman out, leaving Chelsey to choke in smoke. She realized he'd been reborn too-and picked his "true love." Chelsey walked away and married Julian, her friend's cousin and the hot firefighter who saved her; he gave her all his money the day they married. Brett scoffed... until Chelsey shone at an AI summit and Julian's real identity shocked him. Seeing her with twins and another baby coming, Brett begged, "Come back to me! Please!"
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Nicole had entered marriage with Walter, a man who never returned her feelings, bound to him through an arrangement made by their families rather than by choice. Even so, she had held onto the quiet belief that time might soften his heart and that one day he would learn to love her. However, that day never came. Instead, he treated her with constant contempt, tearing her down with cruel words and dismissing her as fat and manipulative whenever it suited him. After two years of a cold and distant marriage, Walter demanded a divorce, delivering his decision in the most degrading manner he could manage. Stripped of her dignity and exhausted by the humiliation, Nicole agreed to her friend Brenda's plan to make him see what he had lost. The idea was simple but daring. She would use another man to prove that the woman Walter had mocked and insulted could still be desired by someone else. All they had to do was hire a gigolo. Patrick had endured one romantic disappointment after another. Every woman he had been involved with had been drawn not to him, but to his wealth. As one of the heirs to a powerful and influential family, he had long accepted that this pattern was almost unavoidable. What Patrick wanted was far more difficult to find. He longed to fall in love with a woman who cared for him as a person, not for the name he carried or the fortune attached to it. One night, while he was at a bar, an attractive stranger approached him. Because of his appearance and composed demeanor, she mistook him for a gigolo. She made an unconventional proposal, one that immediately caught his interest and proved impossible for him to refuse.
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Clocking 18, Suzie had just one thing in mind, to take revenge on everyone who has bullied her, including her father and the quadruplet brothers, one of them which she has given her entire heart only for him to shatter it. But hours before her shift, the goddess played a trick on her, mating her to the same brothers she desperately wanted to play with their lives. What would become of Suzie’s revenge especially now that the four brothers want to be with her? Even with their lives in danger, all they want is for their mate, whom they have tortured all this years to love and forgive them. Would this be possible for Suzie? Or would she turn a blind eye and watch their lives turn miserable? Find out.
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Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit. The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena. This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone.
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After being kicked out of her home, Harlee learned she wasn't the biological daughter of her family. Rumors had it that her impoverished biological family favored sons and planned to profit from her return. Unexpectedly, her real father was a zillionaire, catapulting her into immense wealth and making her the most cherished member of the family. While they anticipated her disgrace, Harlee secretly held design patents worth billions. Celebrated for her brilliance, she was invited to mentor in a national astronomy group, drew interest from wealthy suitors, and caught the eye of a mysterious figure, ascending to legendary status.


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