Digital Detox Survival Challenge

The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband

I sat in the gray, airless room of the New York State Department of Corrections, my knuckles white as the Warden delivered the news. "Parole denied." My father, Howard Sterling, had forged new evidence of financial crimes to keep me behind bars. He walked into the room, smelling of expensive cologne, and tossed a black folder onto the steel table. It was a marriage contract for Lucas Kensington, a billionaire currently lying in a vegetative state in the ICU. "Sign it. You walk out today." I laughed at the idea of being sold to a "corpse" until Howard slid a grainy photo toward me. It showed a toddler with a crescent-moon birthmark—the son Howard told me had died in an incubator five years ago. He smiled and told me the boy's safety depended entirely on my cooperation. I was thrust into the Kensington estate, where the family treated me like a "drowned rat." They dressed me in mothball-scented rags and mocked my status, unaware that I was monitoring their every move. I watched the cousin, Julian, openly waiting for Lucas to die to inherit the empire, while the doctors prepared to sign the death certificate. I didn't understand why my father would lie about my son’s death for years, or what kind of monsters would use a child as a bargaining chip. The injustice of it burned in my chest as I realized I was just a pawn in a game of old money and blood. As the monitors began to flatline and the family started to celebrate their inheritance, I locked the door and reached into the hem of my dress. I pulled out the sharpened silver wires I’d fashioned in the prison workshop. They thought they bought a submissive convict, but they actually invited "The Saint"—the world’s most dangerous underground surgeon—into their home. "Wake up, Lucas. You owe me a life." I wasn't there to be a bride; I was there to wake the dead and burn their empire to the ground.

Shattered Vows: The Mob Wife's Revenge

My husband was the Don of New York, and for ten years, I was his perfect trophy wife. I designed his buildings, kept his secrets, and stood by his side as the envy of the city. But the moment his mistress marched into my casino with a secret son, my decade of loyalty meant nothing. The boy demanded my grandmother's bracelet—which was dangling from his wrist. When I reached to take back what was mine, Emilio didn't defend me. He shoved me. Hard. I crashed backward into a wall of shattered glass. While I lay bleeding on the marble floor I had hand-picked, losing our unborn child, he didn't even look at me. He was on his knees, wrapping his suit jacket around another woman's son to shield him from the debris. In the hospital, the cruelty only worsened. "It was an accident, Elana. Leo was scared." He dismissed the death of our baby as collateral damage. He had given my family heirloom to his bastard child and chose them over me without hesitation. I realized then that the Omertà—our sacred code of silence—was a lie. He had built a warm, loving shadow family while I was just a useful decoration waiting in a cold mansion. He wanted to bury me in that life forever. So, I decided to give him a funeral. I staged my suicide off the cliffs of the estate, letting the freezing ocean swallow Elana Thomas. Now, everyone thinks the Don's wife is dead. But in Zurich, a new woman named Elena is very much alive, and she’s coming back to burn his empire to the ground.

The Architect Who Rose Anew

A magazine cover celebrated me as "The Architect Who Built an Empire." It was supposed to be a triumph for me and my husband, Axel. Instead, it was the beginning of our end. His adoration turned to ice overnight. He demanded I hand over my life's work-my museum project-to Bryn, a young intern he had suddenly taken under his wing. He stole my project, publicly shamed me, and threatened to destroy my career. He sided with her lies, even as I lay bleeding on the floor of a gala while he chose to save her from a falling chandelier. The final blow came when I miscarried our child. He dragged me from my hospital bed, accused me of faking it for sympathy, and abandoned me in a cold, derelict warehouse. This was the man who once swore he'd always champion my dreams. He had become a monster, and I was left with nothing but the ashes of the life we built. But as I fled the city with nothing but a single bag, a new resolve hardened within me. They thought they had broken me. They had no idea what they had just unleashed.

Second Chance, Deadly Trap

One moment, I was just Sarah, pulling weeds from my tomato patch under the hot Nebraska sun, living the quiet farm life I' d painstakingly built. The next, a chilling wave of memory, raw and horrifying, washed over me – memories of another life, a past I' d lived and died. And with that horrific clarity, I saw him again: Mark, my husband, the man who disappeared seven years ago, now limping up our driveway, playing the pathetic, broken-down prodigal son. My heart didn't leap; it solidified into a cold, hard stone, because I remembered everything he'd done in that other life. I remembered how we' d welcomed him in, how my in-laws had drained their life savings, how I'd sold my mother's last keepsakes, all out of love and misguided pity. I remembered how he' d squandered every penny on his secret city wife and her gambling debts, then, when the money ran out, tried to sell our farm out from under us. I remembered the barn burning, the livestock screaming, the loan sharks he brought to our door, leaving us with nothing but ashes, debt, and the bitter taste of his laughter as he drove away. None of us survived that first time. Now, he was back, with the same tattered clothes and the same practiced look of sorrow, mouthing the same fake emotions: "Sarah, I finally made it home." My blood ran cold with the memory of starving in the winter, of seeing my mother-in-law cry, of the life he had so casually incinerated. I would not let it happen again. This time, I would not be the same naive country wife; I would make sure he walked into a trap of his own making, a trap from which he would never escape.

The Bullet I Took For You

For five blissful years, I poured my heart and soul into saving Ethan Lester, the tragic hero from a TV show, now the man I loved. Our wedding was just seven days away, my mission 99% complete, a lifetime of happiness within reach. Then, his voice, thick with emotion, echoed from the guesthouse. "Annie, I never stopped loving you." He declared I was just "static," background noise to his enduring love for Annabel, his wealthy ex-fiancée. The woman whose family destroyed him. The woman for whom he promised to still take a bullet. That promise felt like a bullet through my own heart, erasing my entire existence, my sacrifice of literally taking a bullet for him. How could he betray me so completely, after all we had built, after the life I gave him back? I yanked out my phone, contact the program, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands: "I want to pull the plug. I' m going home."

Unraveling Fifty Years of Silence

At seventy, my body failed, but my mind was sharp with the bitterness of a fifty-year marriage to a woman I was certain never loved me back. My final words, a rasping confession of lifelong regret, were, "If I could do it all over again, I would never love you." Then, darkness, a profound silence, and suddenly, light flooded my vision as I shot awake, an eighteen-year-old in my childhood bedroom, strong and healthy. This was my second chance, and I vowed to rewrite my bitter past, starting with Jocelyn Anderson, the ice queen who had unknowingly broken my heart for half a century. I meticulously planned to shun her, using my knowledge of the future to build an empire, while deliberately acting aloof and uninterested, pushing her away at every turn. But then, she inexplicably transferred to my school, sat next to me in class, and shockingly appeared on the football field with Gatorade. My carefully constructed aversion shattered as I accused her of loving another, blinded by the phantom pain of my first life's perceived betrayal. Just as I walked away, broken-hearted and accepting my fate, her trembling voice hit me like a physical blow: "You think you're the only one who remembers?" "You were my husband for fifty years, Ethan," she whispered, her words confirming the impossible. But then Wesley Fowler, whom I believed was her lover, arrived, pulling her away and reigniting the crushing certainty that she was still lying, still choosing him. How could this be happening again, even with a second chance, even with her claiming to remember? The universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke, ensuring my sorrow spanned two lifetimes, leaving me with an agonizing question: if we both remembered, why was she still choosing him, still living the lie that destroyed us? I fled, seeking escape in Maine, only for her to follow, confronting me with a truth so profound it would either heal my soul or shatter it completely, forcing me to confront the fifty-year misunderstanding that defined my existence.

Savage Obsession: The Remorseful Tycoon Wants A Second Chance

A year into the marriage, Thea rushed home with radiant happiness-she was pregnant. Jerred barely glanced up. "She's back." The woman he'd never let go had returned, and he forgot he was a husband, spending every night at her hospital bed. Thea forced a smile. "Let's divorce." He snapped, "You're jealous of someone who's dying?" Because the woman was terminal, he excused every jab and made Thea endure. When love went cold, she left the papers and stormed off. He locked down the city and caught her at the airport, eyes red, dropping to his knees. "Honey, where are you going with our child?"

Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair

I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria. But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity. A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love. My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me. Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego. He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press. He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan. He had no idea she was a fraud. He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her. He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate. At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play.

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.

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

Best Friend Divorced Me When I Carried His Baby

Marrying her best friend was a dream come true for Kelly, but everything truly has a limitation. Pierce is Kelly’s first love, but as his best friend, she knew well there was always another woman deep in his heart. Lexi Gilbert. The woman Pierce could never forget even if he had already been arranged to marry Kelly. *** Kelly finally realized their happy marriage of the last three years was just a beautiful dream when Pierce asked for a divorce just because Lexi returned. She could only be his best friend even if she was carrying his baby. *** Since their friendship had become a cage, Kelly chose to set him free, as well as the miserable herself. But why then, it was Pierce who became the one who refused to move on? To make matters worse, her devil stepbrother also domineeringly stepped in at the same time, asking her to be his. *** Her Prince Charming vs. Her Devil Stepbrother? How could Kelly save her heart in this battle of love and hate?

Love's Sweetest Surprise: From Brokenhearted To Billionaire's Wife

For five years, I believed I was living in a perfect marriage, only to discover it was all a sham! I discovered that my husband was coveting my bone marrow for his mistress! Right in front of me, he sent her flirtatious messages. To make matters worse, he even brought her into the company to steal my work! I finally understood, he never loved me. I stopped pretending, collected evidence of his infidelity, and reclaimed the research he had stolen from me. I signed the divorce papers and left without looking back. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum and would eventually return. But when we met again, I was holding the hand of a globally renowned tycoon, draped in a wedding dress and grinning with confidence. My ex-husband's eyes were red with regret. "Come back to me!" But my new groom wrapped his arm around my waist, and chuckled dismissively, "Get the hell out of here! She's mine now."