Benjamen Ernst
10 Published Stories
Benjamen Ernst's Books and Stories
Sold To The Devil: Escaping My Ruthless Husband
Modern I was standing in the center of the gallery, holding a glass of expensive champagne, when the screens behind me flickered and my life ended.
It was supposed to be an art unveiling, but the monitors shifted to fake footage of me handing evidence to the FBI.
My fiancé, Ethan, looked at me like I was a sick dog that needed to be put down.
My father slapped me across the face in front of everyone, disowning me to save his own skin.
That was when Luca Vitti, the city’s most dangerous man, stepped in.
He cleared the room and took my hand.
I thought he was saving me.
I didn't realize he was just collecting a new pet.
I was locked in his estate, isolated and terrified.
Then, my healthy mother suddenly "died" of pneumonia in a Vitti clinic.
Days later, I saw Luca’s frail stepsister, Clara, breathing easily for the first time in her life.
She had my mother’s lungs.
I became nothing more than a breeding vessel.
When I fell pregnant, I overheard Luca and Ethan planning my death.
"Once the kid is cut out, she's a loose end," Luca had said.
They were going to kill me and give my son to the woman who stole my mother's breath.
I couldn't let that happen.
So, I staged a tragedy.
I induced labor in secret, hid my living son, and placed a fake corpse in the crib with a note: The Vitti Legacy.
I escaped while they mourned.
Five years later, Luca finally found the doctor’s confession.
He learned that Clara had orchestrated everything.
He opened the velvet box I left behind and realized it was empty.
Now, he knows I didn't kill his son.
I saved him from becoming a monster like his father. Return From Grave: Reclaiming My Betrayed Heart
Modern I returned to Boston after three years, not for forgiveness, but to die.
My family, who blamed me for my mother's death, had cast me out, replacing me with a quiet, grateful orphan named Gabriela. She stole my father's love, my brother's affection, and my childhood sweetheart, Corey.
Now, terminally ill, my only wish was to reclaim my mother's wedding dress, a final piece of her to hold onto. But Gabriela was wearing it to marry Corey.
When I confronted her, she destroyed my mother's locket and cursed me to drop dead. In a blind rage, I slapped her. She shrieked, stabbed her own arm, and framed me for the attack.
As my family and Corey looked on with disgust, calling me a maniac, my body gave out. I collapsed, coughing up blood, my secret illness revealed in the most brutal way possible.
"You always blame me," I gasped, the words bubbling out with blood. "But I was just... dying."
Their faces filled with dawning horror, but it was too late. I was already gone.
Until I opened my eyes again, and my mother, who had been waiting for me all along, took my hand. "We'll be reborn," she promised, her eyes blazing with fury at the family who had destroyed me. "Together. As mother and daughter, again." My Empire, My Son, My New Love
Modern While I was fighting for my life in the delivery room, my husband was on the front page of every tabloid, caught in a scandalous affair.
He never came to see me or our newborn son. Instead, he whisked his actress mistress away to a luxury resort in the Swiss Alps, dismissing his betrayal as a mere "business arrangement."
When his mistress brazenly appeared in my home, she taunted me, claiming my husband wished I had died in childbirth. Then, she revealed a paternity test claiming my son wasn't his.
My husband believed her. He believed the lies of the woman who secretly snuck into our nursery to pinch and bruise our helpless, sleeping baby.
He took her side, shielded her from me, and even tried to take my son away to raise with her.
I had lost my parents and my brother, and now I was losing everything else. I was an orphan, a betrayed wife, and they were trying to take the only thing I had left: my child.
But they underestimated me. They thought Kane Powell was the most powerful person I knew. They were wrong. His Betrayal, My Steel-Legged Return
Modern The first time my husband tried to have me killed, he used our eight-year-old daughter as the bait.
After I discovered his affair with a woman whose college tuition I was paying, he staged our daughter's kidnapping to lure me into a trap.
I woke up in a hospital, my legs amputated, my womb removed, a permanent cripple.
My husband, Eugene, played the part of the grieving spouse perfectly, promising police he' d find the monsters responsible.
But I overheard him whispering to our daughter in the hallway.
"You were so brave," he praised her. "You made Mommy believe you were in danger. It was the only way to stop her from leaving us."
Her reply destroyed what was left of my soul.
"I like Brenna better anyway. She's prettier than Mommy."
They thought they had broken me, leaving me a shattered shell of a woman. So I let them believe it. I faked my own suicide and vanished. Now, three years later, I've returned. Standing on two legs of polished steel, I'm the CEO of a robotics empire, and I'm here to burn their world to the ground. Reborn: A Husband's Vengeful Love
Modern The last thing I remembered was the freezing cold of a lonely alley, the bitter taste of cheap whiskey, and the image of a newspaper: a glossy photo of my ex-wife, Sarah, and her new husband, Mark Thompson, cradling their perfect baby.
My final breath fogged in the winter air as I died with the brutal truth ringing in my mind.
I had failed them-my son, Leo, and my mother, Susan, both lying in fresh graves, victims of Sarah' s abandonment and my naive loyalty.
For four years, I toiled, clinging to her empty promises, while they withered away from neglect and poverty in our crumbling home.
I' d even sold a kidney to save them, but the money came too late; my mother starved, and Leo succumbed to a preventable fever.
At their funeral, Sarah returned not to mourn, but to accuse, to divorce, and to flaunt her new life with Mark-a life built on our ruins.
Then, a sharp, ragged gasp tore through me.
I wasn' t in an alley, but on the cold, splintered floorboards of my own bedroom, the air thick with the scent of sickness.
My heart hammered as I saw them: my mother, Susan, frail but breathing, and Leo, flushed with fever but alive, nestled in his crib.
A quick glance at the calendar confirmed it: three days before their deaths.
The raw grief, fused with a cold, hard rage, ignited a fire in my gut.
No more silence.
No more waiting.
"Mom," I declared, my voice steady, "We' re leaving. We' re going to find Sarah."
I had a second chance, and this time, I wouldn' t just survive; I would make them pay. Wife of the Rock God
Romance I gave up my music journalism career, piece by piece, to build Nathaniel Roberts' country music empire.
He was my college sweetheart, my golden boy, the man I poured my soul into making a star.
Then, his new pop-country princess co-star, Gabrielle, called me, her voice sickeningly sweet, telling me Nathaniel' s credit card was maxed out.
She was in our bed, and I heard the rustle of our expensive sheets, the ones I picked out.
I didn' t scream, I didn' t cry.
I simply packed everything he ever bought me into garbage bags and told him to get out.
He laughed, calling me dramatic, but agreed to a divorce, assuming I was after a final payday.
He gave me a massive settlement and an iron-clad NDA, smugly believing he' d bought my silence and dignity.
Months later, his manager called, oozing fake sympathy, inviting me to a reality show, "Second Takes," for "closure."
I knew their true plan: to make me look pathetic, clinging to him so he could gently reject me, cleaning up his image after the cheating scandal.
They wanted me to be his public doormat, boosting his new duet with Gabrielle.
I sobbed into the phone, playing my part perfectly, swearing I missed him, begging to get him back.
But their elaborate scheme was about to backfire spectacularly.
They thought I wanted his heart, but I was about to go for his wallet, his freedom, and his entire career. Too Late, Ethan: The Comeback Queen
Romance My office air, thick with stale coffee and cheap air freshener, always reminded me of the dreams I built with Ethan.
We were supposed to marry in a month, invitations sent, a Vera Wang dress waiting, our Boston Harbor Hotel wedding booked.
But then, Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, looked at me with what he thought were "soulful" eyes and dropped a bombshell.
He was going to marry Sabrina, the scholarship intern my family' s foundation sponsored, to "save" her from a loan shark.
He expected my "good heart" to understand this temporary arrangement, this noble sacrifice for a girl he plainly adored.
I didn't cry or scream; the pain was a cold stone, but my face was calm.
I saw him then, not as the boy I' d known since prep school, but as a weak, pathetic stranger using a flimsy excuse for a dirty affair.
He had been counting on my blindness, my willingness to be a doormat.
My hands didn' t tremble as I pulled an identical invitation from my Hermès bag.
I slid it across his desk: an invitation to my wedding, to Matthew Lester, on the very same day.
His disbelief turned to a slack-jawed horror as Sabrina, his tearful damsel, stumbled in.
He instantly became her protector, glaring at me, accusing me of scaring her.
I simply walked out, leaving the invitation like a time bomb, knowing my humiliation was far from over.
The city' s elite whispered as he publicly chose her over me, his "powerful fiancée losing her grip."
But they didn' t know the truth: this wasn' t the end of me; it was the start of something new.
I tossed my family' s heirloom sapphire engagement ring into a recycling bin and typed my resignation to his company.
I knew Ethan would try to cling to me, or worse, retaliate.
What he didn' t know was that I was already steps ahead, ready to reclaim everything he thought he could steal. A Father's Unwavering Fight
Billionaires The quarterly earnings call had just wrapped, leaving me with the quiet hum of success as CEO of Apex Innovations.
My company was thriving, big but discreet, just how I liked it. All I truly cared about was getting home to my son, Leo, my everything.
Then, the school's number flashed on my phone. My heart always jumped when they called, but this wasn't the usual secretary.
It was Leo, his small voice shaking, "Dad, I got beat up at school!"
My blood ran cold. He explained the bully was Ethan Miller, who'd twisted truths, calling me a "freeloader living off Mom." At the school, anger warred with disbelief.
The principal and Ms. Albright, draped in a designer scarf I' d just bought my wife, blamed Leo, siding with Ethan and his arrogant father, Rick Miller.
Jessica was even worse. My own wife dismissed Leo' s pain as a "schoolyard squabble," defending Rick as an "important contact."
She then signed a "reconciliation agreement" that forced our bruised son to apologize, all to "protect our family image."
She prioritized appearances over her child.
Freeloader? Me? The CEO? The blatant bias, Rick's veiled threats, and Jessica's cold dismissal screamed betrayal.
What in God's name was really going on? This was more than a schoolyard fight; it was a deeply unsettling web of lies, and I was furious.
A cold, hard knot of suspicion tightened in my gut. This wasn't just about school donations.
That evening, I made a call to my most trusted executive assistant: "Sarah, I need everything you can find on Richard Miller and Jessica' s recent projects. Discreetly." The game had changed. And I would find out why. The Elite PMC Leader's Price: A Bargain at $9.99
Modern I was Ethan “Ghost” Riker, an elite PMC leader, engaged to Sophia.
My disciplined, trust-filled life felt stable, despite its dangers.
But a botched mission, leaving my best man critically injured, shattered that.
The culprit? Kevin, Sophia’s arrogant younger brother, whom I held accountable.
This decision would unearth a betrayal I never imagined.
The next morning, my secure sat phone buzzed with an alarming alert.
My full bio, deepest secrets, and safe houses were on the dark web for $9.99.
Too fast, too precise, too intimate – it pointed to Sophia.
Then, from the Walker estate, I heard her chilling laugh, boasting she’d listed me for pennies.
She confirmed I was a "tool," a "dog" who needed reminding of his place.
My blood ran cold, burning with rage, as she casually plotted my further humiliation.
Driven by disbelief, I walked into her trap: a desolate factory, a fake "safe house."
Drugged, helpless, I faced my bitter old enemies, orchestrated by Sophia and Kevin.
They beat me bloody, filming every degrading moment, leaving me for dead.
Each blow was agony, but the public humiliation was worse.
"Why, Sophia?" I rasped, as she knelt beside me, her perfume mixing with my blood.
Her whisper sealed my fate: "Because it's entertaining."
"This is what happens to dogs that bite," she purred, abandoning me.
How could she destroy me so meticulously, so coldly, after everything?
I refused to die her dog.
A stubborn defiance ignited in my broken spirit.
Against all odds, I clung to life, rescued by a loyal brother-in-arms.
They thought they’d killed the Ghost, but Ethan Riker was truly reborn.
The man who survived would be harder, colder, and ready to rewrite the rules. You might like
Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback
Huo Wuer Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold.
"Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'"
The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip.
Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet.
I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child.
But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame.
"I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done."
I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down. No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. 
/1/104647/coverorgin.jpg?v=7e4561cb163c120e68c4b8f26af09859&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102056/coverorgin.jpg?v=2c19c8de1dddb3eda4182d1bee845be6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/100040/coverorgin.jpg?v=b0203c4cf7801f7f57115606d8bd54ec&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/98562/coverorgin.jpg?v=914c76b0148ad0c26fafe5b4a97dd38f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86639/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef5cc72b08781db3fa07eec15496db5a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84506/coverorgin.jpg?v=d85e3010834ed75158714e065887371e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84367/coverorgin.jpg?v=6b22d94c0de0a929f56776c5fe7a5edc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81089/coverorgin.jpg?v=86c9297836223900f99791639a2e7f62&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80363/coverorgin.jpg?v=81a69f8b00eecf37b518102f90f9b8b1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/58442/coverorgin.jpg?v=d9207ad051fd092c6e40495eb2cd3f75&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106447/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f3287a2d4b0f0bdd81f9c491b55fa4b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106649/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc013f9614b3e2840c7775fd23782e0e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107459/coverorgin.jpg?v=2597733fdce978cb34bc36946ed9f42a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81650/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e4487b5edd0ed017fe09f8ca0166339&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105404/coverorgin.jpg?v=d939c1a8d0134274943ca633deea3ff2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/78663/coverorgin.jpg?v=b705411c5144e51405caa1dd738aa5d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/77278/coverorgin.jpg?v=e33b5a48fd64490b6c3dab31c8798b9a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105057/coverorgin.jpg?v=202d59641d5f8e56e9f4255b2bc60b1e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107820/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e86399a40b4939055e49bc447825466&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/71279/coverorgin.jpg?v=9e49a76b6b5eef1f9b662f77b9729717&imageMogr2/format/webp)