Kinship
13 Published Stories
Kinship's Books and Stories
Rebirth: Shattering My Sister's Facade
Modern After my family went bankrupt, I entered the entertainment industry to support my sister's education. In order to make money, I endured the advances of older men and even drank until I had stomach bleeding. My usually calm sister criticized me for being too eager for success and not respecting myself, but she used my money to help others and gain a good reputation. In order to get her a famous teacher, I exposed the scandals of her competitors. She accused me of being ruthless and malicious, but she didn't refuse the opportunities I fought for her. Later, she became a famous painter while I suffered from the revenge of her competitors, ruined my reputation, and accumulated huge debts. I asked her to ask her wealthy boyfriend for help, but she said, "Sister, I told you before that we should be kind and not have malicious thoughts. Look, you are now facing retribution!" She refused to help me in order to make me realize my mistakes. I was forced to jump off a building. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day I entered the entertainment industry. Five Years, A Forgotten Name
Modern He remembered my childhood pet' s name, our first meeting, and my obscure tea brand, but for five years, Braylon couldn't remember I was allergic to shrimp. It glistened in my pasta, a cruel reminder of how little of me registered in his mind, especially as he laughed with a familiar blonde across the room. My stomach churned, not from the allergy, but from a deeper sickness.
That night, at a sprawling rooftop party, Braylon handed Dallas Huff, a young blonde, a delicate bracelet-a replica of her grandmother's, a story he'd told me a hundred times. "Dallas, this reminded me of you," he said, his voice soft, intimate. She beamed, leaning into him, her eyes sparkling, then flickered to me with a triumphant, venomous gleam.
When Dallas purred about a gallery opening, Braylon chuckled, "Eliza will be coming with us. Our anniversary dinner is that night." He turned to me, a forced smile pleading for me to play along. But I was done. "It's over, Braylon," I whispered, "And my name is Eliza." He looked genuinely lost, unable to recall my actual name, while Dallas and his friends mocked his forgetfulness.
His eyes, wide and confused, searched my face. "Eliza? What are you talking about? Your name is... it's always been..." He trailed off, genuinely lost. A bitter taste filled my mouth. He remembered every trivial detail of Dallas' s life, but my actual name? It was a blank.
Later, he left me stranded on a dark, winding road after I refused to apologize to Dallas. My phone was dead, and I stumbled, breaking my ankle. As I lay there, alone and injured, I sobbed, "Why did I stay? Why did I waste five years on him?" Braylon, meanwhile, drove away, a gnawing unease simmering beneath his anger, only to return to a horrifying scene. My Fiancé's Secret: A Wedding Day Betrayal
Romance On the morning of my wedding, I found a voice memo my fiancé of seven years had saved from his 22-year-old intern.
But I still walked down the aisle, secretly pregnant with our child. Then, as we stood at the altar, she faked a faint.
Blake dropped my hand and ran to her, leaving me alone.
He called my heartbreak a "tantrum" while making his special tea-the one I taught him-for her in our apartment. He was certain our baby was his safety net, a guarantee I' d never leave.
"She's not going to do anything," he told his mother on the phone while I was at the clinic. "Just let her blow off some steam."
He thought my pain was a game and our baby was a bargaining chip.
He was wrong. He found me in the recovery room, striding in with a cocky smile and a bouquet of lilies. The smile died when he saw me, pale in the hospital bed, and the flowers slipped from his grasp as he finally understood what I had done. The Con That Broke My Heart
Romance The air in the City Clerk' s office was thick with the smell of old paper and cheap disinfectant. My name, Ethan Miller, sat on the marriage license, waiting for one more signature to make Chloe my wife.
Then, a picture of her childhood friend, Liam O' Connell, bleeding with a razor blade nearby, flashed on her phone: "Goodbye, Chloe." She bolted, claiming he' d kill himself because of her.
A minute later, a message from Chloe arrived: "Even though Liam and I are married now, he's still willing to let you be my side-piece. You should learn from his generosity and understanding. Don't be ungrateful." She then promised me weekly visits once my father' s assets transferred to her.
I was left alone, staring at the empty space where she had been, with the clerk looking on with pity. The staged suicide, her frantic escape-it was all a setup.
They had been bleeding me dry, and I had been too blind, too desperate for her love, to see it. It wasn't just a few incidents. It was a pattern. A long con.
She thought she had abandoned me, but she had no idea. The game was over. She just didn't know it yet. His Public Shame
Romance The sweet scent of my boyfriend' s cologne filled the hotel room, a comforting blend as I watched Ryan sleep beside me.
But my perfect moment shattered when his phone lit up, revealing a group chat confessing he' d just "bagged the quiet art chick" and describing me as a mere "mission accomplished."
My stomach churned as I scrolled, finding a picture of me, asleep, and his chilling message: "Not as innocent as she looks, boys. Played hard to get for years, but she caved pretty easy tonight."
Then, the ultimate horror-a private, intimate video of us, shared with the caption: "Proof. She was all over me."
The sweet smell suffocated me, every word a fresh stab of humiliation, and the video a violation that left me breathless.
I fled, scrubbing at my skin, but his scent, his touch, the memory felt like an indelible stain.
The next day, the video was everywhere, plastered across the university forum, labeling me a "slut."
Ryan, the master manipulator, had already twisted the narrative, portraying himself as the victim.
I lost everything: my dorm, my internship, and worst of all, my own mother disowned me, slapping me publicly.
The ultimate betrayal came when I discovered his co-conspirator: my stepsister, Jessica, who gleefully confessed to orchestrating my public downfall.
With nothing left to lose, I made a promise to myself: I would expose them, not for revenge, but for the truth.
My chance came at Ryan's birthday party, where I went live on social media.
"I' m not here to wish you well, Ryan," I announced, the camera capturing his panicked face. "I' m here to give you the birthday present you deserve. The truth." The Unremembered Betrayal
Romance The hospital room was a blank canvas compared to my mind-empty, save for the rhythmic beep of a machine.
I was Ava, or so they said, suffering from amnesia after a car accident.
Liam, my dashing fiancé, and Chloe, my teary-eyed sister, were constants by my side, weaving a perfect narrative of our lives: a successful businesswoman, heiress, engaged to be married.
But their perfect picture began to fray.
Fragments of memories, sharp and brutal, flashed in the dark: a swerving car, screeching tires, a look of terror-and something else-on Chloe' s face, Liam' s white-knuckled grip on the wheel.
These didn't feel like accidents; they felt like lies.
The diamond ring Liam pressed into my hand felt heavy and foreign, a symbol of a life that wasn't mine.
Then, the shattering realization: a faded photo, Liam leaning into Chloe, a shared secret smile, while I stood between them, an outsider.
The truth began to surface, cold and undeniable.
The accident wasn't an accident.
Liam and Chloe, my supposed loved ones, were conspirators, their devotion a carefully crafted facade.
He was cheating with my sister, and I was merely a pawn in their scheme to seize my family' s fortune.
The "caring" gestures, the possessive touches – they were traps.
The house, our supposed home, became a gilded cage.
How could I have been so blind?
How could the two people closest to me orchestrate such a cruel betrayal, even attempting to end my life?
The indignity burned, replaced by a searing clarity: I was not a victim, but a survivor.
With a throbbing arm and a heart hardened by rage, I knew I couldn' t stay.
This wasn't just about reclaiming my memories; it was about exposing their deception and forging a new path, a life on my own terms, free from their lies. The Heiress's Reckoning
Romance The news of Ryan Lester' s return shattered the carefully constructed peace of my elite Austin life.
My childhood fiancé, the golden boy, was back, and the high society gossip channels were buzzing.
But for me, the heir to the Clarkson oil fortune, his reappearance meant one painful thing: the man I truly loved, Ethan Lester, was about to be discarded.
I found Ethan at my gate, drenched and bruised, his eyes broken as he asked if he was just a stand-in, a placeholder for the "real deal" - his cruel half-brother.
All these years, I' d poured my heart, my resources, into transforming this scorned, illegitimate son from a stray dog into a confident, powerful man.
I' d paid lawyers to exhume his mother' s body from a pauper' s grave, tutors to get him into university, and used my father' s connections to put him on the path to corporate power.
I had seen through Ryan's polished facade to the vicious cruelty beneath, sacrificing my own supposed destiny to champion Ethan.
Now, the family that had tried to erase Ethan was bringing Ryan home to reclaim his birthright and put my love back in his place.
But they didn' t understand: I wasn' t just a rich girl playing savior.
I was a strategist, and the game had just begun.
I would make sure Ryan Lester lost everything, and Ethan Lester, my wolf, would finally take his rightful crown. The Scorned Wife's Masterplan
Romance My name is Elara Vance, and I fix problems. For the most powerful people in New York City, I make scandals disappear. My life was a meticulously crafted facade, including my five-year marriage to the seemingly devoted Ethan Thorne.
Then she walked into my office. Pregnant. Opulent. Demanding I make a woman disappear – my husband' s wife. The name she uttered was Ethan Thorne, and her round belly held his third secret child.
I watched, frozen, as my life imploded. I saw them together, her laughing in his arms. Later, in the street, his mistress publicly attacked me, kicking my injured knee. The ultimate humiliation came when Ethan brought their two existing children into my home, spinning a lie about them being orphans.
His mistress had called my sacrificial marriage a "joke," and my patient support a farce. For years, I was the fool, the last to realize the depth of his betrayal and the complicity of his world. The shock and sorrow turned swiftly into an arctic calm, a hardened resolve.
A fixer doesn't just shatter; she plots. Without a word, I picked up my pen. I would accept the case, make his wife disappear for good. But this time, the "wife" wouldn't just vanish. She would dismantle his empire, piece by agonizing piece, and watch him fall. The Villain's Secret: Reborn for Love
Billionaires I signed the forms, my final act of defiance against a cruel inheritance.
My time was short, a merciless illness stealing my future, just like it had taken my mother and grandmother.
So, I had to hurt the man I loved, Ethan, make him despise me, so he wouldn't mourn what he thought he'd lost.
I had built a fortress of hatred around myself, shielding him from the truth of my fading life.
He became cold, rich, and brought women home, his vengeance a constant reminder of my fabricated betrayal.
But his latest paramour, Isabelle, proved to be far more vicious.
She found my hidden medical files, uncovering the terminal secret I'd fought so hard to keep.
Then, in a fit of cruel jealousy, she caused the accidental death of Leo, our beloved ginger cat, my only comfort and last tangible link to the Ethan I once loved.
Isabelle then delivered her brutal ultimatum: "End it quickly, or I'll tell him everything about your illness, about your deception, about how you manipulated him into thinking you only cared for money."
She threatened to strip away the bitter peace I was trying to leave him.
The choice was excruciating: allow Ethan to grieve a villain, or force him to bear the unbearable truth of my sacrifice and his own unwitting torment during my slow demise.
My heart ached with the silent agony of this final cruelty.
How could I possibly let him find out the truth?
It tore at my soul, but there was only one path left for me to take.
So I cooked his favorite meal, whispered a final, hateful lie, and then, in cold earnest, ended my own life, leaving him with the memory of a mercenary wife, sparing him the grief.
But death rarely keeps its promises.
I awoke, gasping, in a time that shouldn't exist, finding myself on the precipice of a fate I had already lived, a second chance I never asked for, ready to make a different choice. Erased: My Music, My Legacy
Modern I watched the screen, my knuckles white, as two viral videos ripped my world apart.
One was old, grainy, showing a younger me, working two jobs, sharing cheap pizza with Lucas, eyes full of hope for his music, our future.
"We're gonna make it, Lucas," I'd whispered, believing every word.
The second video was slick, from last night's awards, Lucas on stage, award in hand.
"This is for you, Sophie," he declared, beaming at the pop starlet who sat in the front row.
"With you, Sophie, I finally see clearly, no longer mistaking shadows for the sun."
Shadows for the sun.
That was me.
The internet comments were a dumpster fire: "Lucas finally upgraded!", "Good riddance to that clingy ex!"
My chest tightened.
This wasn't just a breakup; it was a public execution of my past, my love, my countless hours pouring the legacy of Mateo-my deceased love, our songs-into Lucas.
He was the man I' d spent years building up, only for him to erase me.
A fraudulent document surfaced, a backdated "songwriting assignment" giving Sophie credit for our song.
Even my own Aunt Maria went on record, calling me an opportunist.
The world saw me as a villain, a user, a bitter ex.
The truth?
No one knew about Mateo, his raw talent, his tragic death, or how I' d desperately tried to keep his dream alive through his twin brother.
No one knew the songs were always his and mine.
I was drowning in an avalanche of lies.
Then, an unexpected email landed in my inbox: "Ava, I saw the news. It' s BS. All of it."
It was from Jay. He had Mateo's footage. And he was making a documentary.
My whole story was about to change. No Longer Her Blood Bag
Fantasy My name is Ethan, and for seven years, I was a vampire's blood thrall, a living blood bag for Victoria, my supposed mistress.
Every day was pure agony, battling the "Pact Strain" – a searing pain that only her blood could ease, blood she rarely offered.
I endured her extreme neglect, her casual cruelty, feeling my spirit erode away, piece by painful piece.
Then, Liam arrived – a human she rescued, immediately wrapped in her obsessive affection.
My suffering became unbearable, my very existence dismissed as she doted on him.
The ultimate betrayal came when she literally offered my throat to a newly turned, rabid Liam, commanding him to feed on me to stabilize his transformation.
I was just a disposable sacrifice.
Through a haze of pain and fading vision, I saw the truth: I was nothing but a living convenience, a mere self-service blood bank.
How could I have been so blind, so endlessly devoted to someone who saw me as less than an object?
The agonizing bite paled in comparison to the sting of her absolute disregard.
But in that moment of dying despair, a desperate, cunning spark ignited.
I feigned unconsciousness, using my self-inflicted wounds as a cover.
I would escape.
I would find my chance to destroy the pact's binding artifact, and finally sever these chains of torment.
What happens when your enslaver tries to reclaim you, threatening the one kind soul who ever helped you? Her Pregnancy, My Exodus
Fantasy I was Chloe, a frontwoman of "Nightingale & Guitarist," a life I’d painstakingly built with Liam, the struggling musician I’d saved.
For five years, I was his muse, his partner, his wife, having chosen him over my original, shattered reality.
Then, Liam began his affair with Kendra, our ambitious tour assistant.
For three unbearable years, I lived a grotesque parody of a marriage, enduring his blatant betrayals, his gaslighting, and Kendra’s open triumph, as if I had somehow deserved this calculated heartbreak.
The final, crushing blow came on my birthday, backstage, when Kendra callously announced her pregnancy, a child she claimed was Liam's, right after he'd publicly blamed me for her distress.
How could I have given up everything, every piece of my true self, Elara the cellist, only to be reduced to this, a discarded note in their discordant symphony?
Why did I allow myself to be consumed by such a bitter, endless performance?
But a lifeline appeared: The mysterious Dreamweaver system, which had first sent me to Liam, offered a way to finally go back.
To my real life.
To myself.
For ten days, I methodically dismantled every trace of "Chloe," liquidating all the assets, severing every tie, until my final, quiet disappearance at midnight, as gracefully as a fading echo.
Yet, even in my true world, peace was fleeting; Dreamweaver demanded I return, one last time, to quell Liam’s destructive grief, which threatened to unravel the very fabric of his reality.
I had to finish what I started, to play the final, unburdened note. You might like
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!" 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." 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." The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband
Qing Shui 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. The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire
Nap Regazzini I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future.
"Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead.
I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good.
I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything.
I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it.
"I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing."
He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire. 
/0/60597/coverorgin.jpg?v=ee3fb939181fc0a85ac87ed88cf08790&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104693/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106224547&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103424/coverorgin.jpg?v=f31675876b8693225bdf99e48b826cc2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/97556/coverorgin.jpg?v=e2a6f936f4cc0f46831e32944e89f117&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86619/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106212143&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85930/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106211413&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84599/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106205033&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84166/coverorgin.jpg?v=76accd17efecccbfe7aca3bfcbf27c7b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83459/coverorgin.jpg?v=505c51f66527ae696e3ed3c1e7622a3f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82396/coverorgin.jpg?v=ba2525bbdd83eecd96537956f2016841&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81908/coverorgin.jpg?v=c974e759c3df675ae9c05d471895f926&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80923/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106194526&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80300/coverorgin.jpg?v=ea2f73005496e7a878d75837beca8d01&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105404/coverorgin.jpg?v=d939c1a8d0134274943ca633deea3ff2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/78663/coverorgin.jpg?v=b705411c5144e51405caa1dd738aa5d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81650/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e4487b5edd0ed017fe09f8ca0166339&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/87013/coverorgin.jpg?v=03a545cda7f62154e8e6e3fea8e07fc4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/77278/coverorgin.jpg?v=e33b5a48fd64490b6c3dab31c8798b9a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/71279/coverorgin.jpg?v=9e49a76b6b5eef1f9b662f77b9729717&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86395/coverorgin.jpg?v=55bb4b33b13d15db79b49aea662af755&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/75796/coverorgin.jpg?v=7fa49608a32ed5c0cfde642b9545384e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104683/coverorgin.jpg?v=a9ce19c3d20a93ca95caf7c89ba159a0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105857/coverorgin.jpg?v=be989f164346fbb755b725e8be294596&imageMogr2/format/webp)