My Candy Girl

Ten Years a Ward

For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world. On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him. But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!" He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds. Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe. The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself. The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most. I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt. I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number. "Dad," I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York."

The Taste of Sweet Karma

For seven years, I was his eyes, his hands, his constant companion. I nursed Ethan through his blindness, celebrated his sight's return, and eventually became his lover. I truly believed our bond, forged in his darkness and my unwavering devotion, was unbreakable. But in the quiet bubble of his Escalade, I clearly understood every crisp Spanish word he spoke into his tablet. He told his best friend, Ben, that his elopement with Victoria, the woman who abandoned him when he went blind, was set for tomorrow. He chuckled, assuring Ben, "Sarah doesn't need to know. She'll always be there. She's not going anywhere." My breath hitched as Vicky's brazen Instagram pictures of her marriage license confirmed their triumph, dated that very morning. He barely registered my presence, quick to dismiss me, focused only on a message from his new wife. At my own birthday party, Victoria gifted me a yapping Chihuahua, deliberately playing on my deep-seated trauma from a childhood dog attack. Ethan pressured me to accept it, blind to my terror, then watched as I was drenched and cut by a collapsing champagne tower, shielding Victoria instead of me. Seven years of sacrifice, of pouring my soul into his recovery, all reduced to a casual dismissal and a public humiliation. How could he betray me so utterly, so casually, after all I'd done, after I gave him back his world? My love wasn't a doormat, and he was wrong. He thought I'd always be there, but this was the final breaking point. I would sever this tie that had become a chain and disappear. I would contact Eleanor Hayes, his powerful mother, to help me vanish, for good.

Betrayed By Love, Saved By Sacrifice

My husband, Julian Mcgee, the golden boy of Manhattan and heir to a powerful dynasty, was once utterly devoted to me. He defied his elitist parents for our love, promising me forever. Then Katia French appeared. I found a secret folder on his laptop, filled with hundreds of her photos and detailed analyses of her life. It was an obsession laid bare. He promised it was nothing, just "curiosity," and I, clinging to the memory of the man who adored me, chose to believe him. His "handling it" was to begin an affair, bringing her to public events and humiliating me. When I found out I was pregnant, I hoped our baby would save us. For a few weeks, he seemed joyful. Then Katia called, claiming Julian wanted a baby with her too, and that my "score" in his affection was dropping. In a moment of raw frustration, I slapped her. His punishment was swift and brutal. He had me arrested, three months pregnant, leaving me in a cold holding cell. He even leaned down to my belly and whispered, "Your mother was naughty. This is her punishment." The man who once moved heaven and earth for me now abandoned me to a cell, prioritizing his mistress. My fairy tale had become a nightmare, and I couldn't understand how it had come to this.

From Ashes To His Embrace

The cold barrel of a gun pressed against my head. I had one last call to save my life, and I chose her: my Issy. But the woman who answered was a stranger. When I told her they were going to kill me, that her cousin Jordan had set me up, she was impatient. "I have no time for this," she said, her voice like ice. "Jordan and I are finalizing our engagement party invitations." Engaged. To the very man who wanted me dead. I pleaded with her, reminding her of our life together, of the memory loss from the treatment her family forced on her. "I don't have amnesia," she snapped. "I remember everything that matters. You're a mechanic from Ohio. I'm an heiress. We live in different worlds." She told me she loved Jordan, that he was her equal and I was nothing. The click of the phone hanging up was louder than the gun cocking behind me. I wasn't afraid of dying anymore. The woman I loved had already killed me. Just as I closed my eyes, the warehouse doors burst open. A dozen figures in black suits disarmed my captors in seconds. A tall woman in a power suit stepped out of the light. She offered me a business proposal: a marriage contract. In exchange for my signature, she would provide protection, resources, and a complete escape. It was my only way out.

When True Love Costs Everything

My studio was a monument to dust and dreams, haunted by stack of canvases and a growing pile of final notices. Then I saw it: a news notification celebrating Mark Johnson, the tech mogul, philanthropist, and the man I' d saved four years ago when he was dying in a hospital bed. When I called for help, his polished fiancée, Jessica, answered, her voice dripping with condescending sweetness as she dismissed my emergency as a financial ploy and him as "moved on." Mark came to the phone, his voice cold and hard, accusing me of faking my illness and abandoning him for money when he had nothing, throwing scraps of charity at me before hanging up. Later, in our old coffee shop, I saw them, a picture of perfect happiness, until Jessica spotted me and signaled Mark, who humiliated me publicly, snarling that I was a "pathetic, manipulative, greedy liar" trying to cash in on his success. At the gallery where I found work, they ambushed me again; Jessica deliberately poured water on me, and Mark, with icy contempt, declared I deserved even less, driving me to kneel and wipe the floor in a desperate, public act of self-abasement. Overwhelmed, I collapsed, and my best friend, Emily, screamed the truth: I was his anonymous kidney donor, dying because of it, but I, burdened by an inexplicable need to protect him, denied everything, reaffirming his narrative of me as a greedy con artist. His face contorted between Emily' s raw grief and my fabricated confession, he chose the easier lie and transferred a fortune into my account, a monstrous payment to 'buy' my lies and rid himself of me forever, unknowingly funding my funeral. But my dying words shattered his carefully constructed reality, revealing the devastating truth. In a horrifying turn, Jessica, seeking to regain Mark and eliminate me, lunged to smother me with a pillow, only to be stopped by Mark, who, in the ensuing struggle, accidentally pushed her through a window to her death. Overcome with guilt and armed with the truth, Mark then made the ultimate sacrifice, donating his healthy kidney to save my life, fulfilling his promise to "pay me back" and giving me a second chance I would live for both of us.

The Impostor Husband, The Vanished Daughter

The first sign that something was wrong was the silence. It was a heavy, unnatural quiet where my daughter Lily' s humming should have been. "Lily?" I called out, my voice too loud in the dusty living room of my husband Daniel's childhood home. No answer. A knot of unease tightened as I searched the house, my heart beginning to pound. When I found Daniel upstairs, he was calm, too calm. "I can' t find Lily," I said, breathless. He smiled, but his eyes were empty. "Olivia, honey, we' ve been over this. You don' t have a daughter. There is no Lily." The world tilted. He pulled out medical records, diagnoses of postpartum psychosis, years of therapy. Every piece of my memory, twisted, manipulated. My husband and his mother, Patricia, looked at me with pity and annoyance, like I was a problem, not a person. "You' re lying," I whispered, holding a small drawing I found, a crayon picture of a girl in a yellow dress, with one word: LILY. They had erased every trace-photos, her booster seat, everything. Even my best friend, Sarah, my supposed therapist, denied Lily' s existence. I was trapped, my reality crumbling around me. But the real Daniel was allergic to peanuts. The man beside me ate the peanut butter toast without a flinch. He wasn' t my husband. He was an impostor, and he, along with the whole town, was involved in something ancient and evil. They were preparing a sacrifice. My daughter. Lily was real, and she was in danger. I had to save her, no matter the cost.

Secret Wife, Real Billionaire

"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.

The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.

Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance

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."

Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

Abandoned Luna: Now Untouchable

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.

Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell

"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."