Too Late: She Chose The Billionaire Heir

A Birkin For Every Lie

There are ninety-nine Hermès Birkins sitting in my walk-in closet. To the world, it' s a collection worth millions. To me, it' s a tally of ninety-nine times my husband, Harris, betrayed me. Each bag was a silent apology I accepted to keep our hollow marriage alive. But the hundredth betrayal wasn't fixed with crocodile leather. On the anniversary of my mother's death, I tracked Harris to my family' s private cemetery. He wasn't alone. Jessica, his "first love," was there, standing over the empty plot reserved for my living father, right next to my mother' s grave. They were digging a hole. Jessica smirked, holding a velvet box containing her dead cat and a plaque that read To Arvel, my eternal companion. "It' s just a cat, Cecily," she laughed, tossing her hair. "Don't be so dramatic. Your father won't mind the company. Besides, it shows who Harris really listens to." For years, I accepted the bags and the lies. But desecrating my family's sacred ground? The submissive wife died in that moment. I walked toward them, clutching the evidence that would destroy Jessica' s life and shatter Harris' s world. "Dig it up," I commanded, my voice colder than the grave. "Or I will bury you both right here."

My Billionaire Husband's Web Of Lies

I was the anchor for my tech billionaire husband, Killian-the only person who could ground his chaotic soul. But when my brother was dying, Killian gave the life-saving funds to his mistress for a multi-million dollar cat sanctuary. After my brother died, he left me bleeding in a car wreck to save her. The final betrayal came when I tried to file for divorce and discovered our entire marriage was a lie, the certificate a carefully crafted forgery. He had built my world on a foundation of deceit to ensure I could never leave, never have anything of my own. So I called the one man I'd rejected years ago and began my plan to burn his empire to the ground.

Reborn Wife: A Mother's Fury

The last thing I remembered was the cold, sterile operating room. A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, and my husband Ethan's chilling indifference burned into me. "Sign it, Ethan! The doctor says she's bleeding out. They need to perform the surgery to save her!" I screamed, my voice distant and desperate. But he wouldn't. He stood there, arms crossed, saying, "The doctor said there's a risk to the baby. I can't risk my daughter's life." "There won't be a daughter if I die!" I countered, agony blurring my vision. "The baby can't survive if I don't!" Then, my six-year-old stepson, Liam, holding Ethan's hand, pointed at me. "Dad, Sophia said this woman is just faking it. She said if she dies, Sophia can be my new mom and take care of you and the baby." His words hit harder than any physical pain. My own stepson, a child I'd raised since he was two, was wishing for my death. Ethan didn't scold him. He squeezed Liam' s shoulder in silent agreement as Sophia Davis, Liam's beautiful young tutor, stepped into view with a triumphant smirk. They never signed the papers. I bled out on that operating table, my last sight the three of them-Ethan, Liam, and Sophia-already looking like a happy family. A sharp gasp snapped me awake. My eyes flew open. I was in my own bed, morning sun streaming through the silk curtains. My hand went to my stomach. It was still there, a gentle, rounded swell. My baby girl was safe. I grabbed my phone. The date confirmed it: today was the day my life unraveled. The day Liam brought Sophia home. I hadn't died. I was back. The memory of my death wasn't a dream. It was a searing brand, a horrifying premonition. The betrayal, the pain, the cold finality-all of it clear as day. A wave of nausea washed over me, not from pregnancy, but from cold, hard fury. They would not kill me this time. They would not harm my daughter. This time, I would make them pay for a crime they hadn't committed yet. Just then, the doorbell rang. I heard the housekeeper, then Liam's excited chatter. My heart turned to ice. It was starting.

Her Betrayal, His Rebirth

The memory was a ghost that never left my apartment. It played on a loop: Sarah, glowing on screen, cheering fans, my game "Aetheria" about to launch. "Five more minutes, baby," she' d whispered, "And the world will see what a genius you are. I' ll make sure of it." I believed her. I poured everything into "Aetheria," my masterpiece. Sarah, the biggest streamer, was my partner, promising a massive launch. But when her stream hit zero, not "Aetheria," but "Chrono Rift," a cheap clone, filled the screen. Then her voice, slick and commercial, declared, "THIS is the game of the year. 'Chrono Rift' is here!" The betrayal was immediate. She savaged my game: "A little birdie told me 'Aetheria' is a buggy, unplayable mess. Don' t waste your money. The developer is in way over his head." The world broke. Months later, surrounded by final notice bills, I heard her on the news. "Chrono Rift" sold ten million units. Mark, its developer, wrapped an arm around her, speaking of their "stable future." I later learned of their affair, their secret deal. My ruin was their business expense. Why? How could she? The woman I loved, my partner, had systematically destroyed me for profit. Clicking off the TV, I saw an old hard drive labeled "Nexus," my abandoned first project. Plugging it in, I saw a strange line of code, a "developer' s blessing," reminding me of boundless creativity. A jolt. I would rebuild. I started "Aetheria 2.0." Their castle of glass stood, but I was gathering stones.

When Prophecies Kill: A Fortune Reclaimed

The last thing I remember from my first life is the roar of flames and the ceiling crushing me in my family' s manor. My fiancée, Nicole, and my supposed long-lost brother, Wesley, watched from outside, their faces twisted not in grief, but in triumph. I died alone, framed, betrayed, and erased from existence. Now, I'm back, reborn into the very moment their insidious plan unfolded. Wesley, the charming newcomer who miraculously appeared after my parents' funeral with a "prophecy" of our housekeeper Maria's death, was setting the stage. Then came the "vision" of an earthquake, threatening to destroy our ancestral home, driving my sisters Jennifer and Gabby into a panicked retreat. In my past life, I believed their lies, fled the house, and it exploded with me inside, solidifying Wesley's prophetic credibility. But this time, I saw it all: Nicole's subtle glances with Wesley, her calculated suggestions leading to Maria's peril, the same conniving smiles they wore as I perished. How could I have been so blind? So trusting of the very people who plotted my agonizing demise, all for the fortune my family built? My body may have died once, but my spirit refused to be extinguished. Now, with fire in my veins and memories sharp as steel, I am ready to rewrite our destiny and turn their perfect scheme into their worst nightmare.

Mistress's Second Life Revenge

I woke up in my New York penthouse bedroom, sunlight harsh in my eyes. The date on my phone read five years ago, before the fire, before I died. My breath hitched in my throat as I understood: I was reborn. My husband, Ethan, walked in, his voice flat, demanding I authorize a quarter-million dollar transfer from my trust fund. In my first life, that money went to Chloe Sanders, his intern, his mistress. Every painful memory came flooding back: his coldness, his brazen affairs, and finally, him locking me in a remote ski lodge wing as smoke filled the air. He drove away, leaving me to die in the flames. I whispered that I didn't feel well, but he only scoffed, telling me to sign the papers and stop being dramatic. Later, I saw him with Chloe, his tenderness and warm smile solely for her, confirming his betrayal was still ongoing. When I finally confronted him, his hand swung, cracking across my cheek, leaving me stunned and bleeding. He then slammed the door to our bedroom shut, locking me inside, threatening a private care facility, calling me "unhinged." The injustice burned, fueling a cold fury deeper than fear. Was this my cruel fate, to relive the same nightmare with the same monster? Why had I been given a second chance, only to face his baseless accusations and violence once more? This time, I wouldn't just endure his cruelty; I would break free. As I sent a coded message to my parents, my escape plan was in motion, and my fight for freedom had truly begun.

Too Late For Regret: The Genius Heiress Who Shines

Blinded in a crash, Cary was rejected by every socialite—except Evelina, who married him without hesitation. Three years later, he regained his sight and ended their marriage. "We’ve already lost so many years. I won’t let her waste another one on me." Evelina signed the divorce papers without a word. Everyone mocked her fall—until they discovered that the miracle doctor, jewelry mogul, stock genius, top hacker, and the President's true daughter… were all her. When Cary came crawling back, a ruthless tycoon had him kicked out. "She's my wife now. Get lost."

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.

The Jilted Bride Marries The Ruthless Capo

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

Rebirth of the Broken Luna: A Second Chance at Luna's Heart

Luna has tried her best to make her forced marriage to Xen work for the sake of their child. But with Riley and Sophia- Xen's ex-girlfriend and her son in the picture. She fights a losing battle. Ollie, Xen's son is neglected by his father for a very long time and he is also suffering from a mysterious sickness that's draining his life force. When his last wish to have his dad come to his 5th birthday party is dashed by his failure to show up, Ollie dies in an accident after seeing his father celebrate Riley's birthday with Sophia and it's displayed on the big advertising boards that fill the city. Ollie dies and Luna follows after, unable to bear the grief, dying in her mate's hands cursing him and begging for a second chance to save her son. Luna gets the opportunity and is woken up in the past, exactly one year to the day Sophia and Riley show up. But this time around, Luna is willing to get rid of everyone and anyone even her mate if he steps in her way to save her son.

My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

The Sterling Scandal: Married To The Uncle

I was at my own engagement party at the Sterling estate when the world started tilting. Victoria Sterling, my future mother-in-law, smiled coldly as she watched me struggle with a cup of tea that had been drugged to ruin me. Before I could find my fiancé, Ryan, a waiter dragged me into the forbidden West Wing and locked me in a room with Julian Sterling, the family’s "fallen titan" who had been confined to a wheelchair for years. The door burst open to a frenzy of camera flashes and theatrical screams. Victoria framed me as a seductress caught in the act, and Ryan didn't even try to listen to my pleas, calling me "cheap leftovers" before walking away with his pregnant mistress. When I turned to my own family for help, my father signed a document severing our relationship for a five-million-dollar payout from Julian. They traded me like a commodity without a second thought. I didn't understand why my own parents were so eager to sell me, or how Ryan could look at me with such disgust after promising me forever. I was a sacrifice, a pawn used to protect the family's offshore accounts, and I couldn't fathom how every person I loved had a price tag for my destruction. With nowhere left to go, I married Julian in a bleak ceremony at City Hall. He slid a heavy diamond onto my finger and whispered, "We have a war to start." That night, inside his secret penthouse, I watched the paralyzed man stand up from his wheelchair and activate a screen filled with the Sterling family's darkest secrets. The execution had officially begun.