From Mistress to Mrs. Sullivan

From Mistress to Mrs. Sullivan

Meng Xinyu

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My half-sister, Claire, stood in the town square, her dramatically broken engagement a public spectacle. Her tears flowed freely, a performance of distraught innocence she'd perfected. I watched, a familiar chill settling in my chest. This was exactly how it started last time. Shortly after, my fiancé, Ethan Prescott, found me. His handsome face was etched with practiced concern. He declared he had to marry Claire to save her reputation, then coolly promised I'd still be his-his mistress in the shadows. In my past life, my refusal led to Claire's staged suicide, public shaming, isolation, and years of abuse under Ethan's roof, ending in his violent plot that killed me and my unborn child. This time, the rumors branding me cruel spread like wildfire. Ethan even threatened to send Mrs. Gable, my past tormentor, to "train" me into submission. He explicitly told me to wear dove-grey for his wedding, befitting a mistress. The echoes of my worst nightmare were deafening. How could he repeat such calculated cruelty, and why was I doomed to this cycle of torment? The injustice, the sheer audacity of their manipulation, burned within me. But this time, I wouldn't scream or refuse. Armed with grim foresight, I calmly accepted his proposal. My audacious secret was already in motion: I would marry Captain Jack Sullivan, Ethan's bitter rival, and reclaim my life.

Introduction

My half-sister, Claire, stood in the town square, her dramatically broken engagement a public spectacle.

Her tears flowed freely, a performance of distraught innocence she'd perfected.

I watched, a familiar chill settling in my chest.

This was exactly how it started last time.

Shortly after, my fiancé, Ethan Prescott, found me.

His handsome face was etched with practiced concern.

He declared he had to marry Claire to save her reputation, then coolly promised I'd still be his-his mistress in the shadows.

In my past life, my refusal led to Claire's staged suicide, public shaming, isolation, and years of abuse under Ethan's roof, ending in his violent plot that killed me and my unborn child.

This time, the rumors branding me cruel spread like wildfire.

Ethan even threatened to send Mrs. Gable, my past tormentor, to "train" me into submission.

He explicitly told me to wear dove-grey for his wedding, befitting a mistress.

The echoes of my worst nightmare were deafening.

How could he repeat such calculated cruelty, and why was I doomed to this cycle of torment?

The injustice, the sheer audacity of their manipulation, burned within me.

But this time, I wouldn't scream or refuse.

Armed with grim foresight, I calmly accepted his proposal.

My audacious secret was already in motion: I would marry Captain Jack Sullivan, Ethan's bitter rival, and reclaim my life.

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Shattered Proposal, Unexpected Bride

Shattered Proposal, Unexpected Bride

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It was my 30th birthday, and I was all set to propose to Sarah, my girlfriend of five years, at the fanciest restaurant in the city. I had the ring, the perfect table, and a future all planned out. But as I waited, she walked in, not alone, but with another man – her colleague. And then, in a devastating twist, she got down on one knee and proposed to him, right there in front of everyone, as my world shattered. My mother called, wishing me a happy birthday, and confused when I could only whisper about the arranged marriage she' d mentioned. Sarah' s excited shouts of "She said yes!" echoed in the background as the entire restaurant applauded their engagement. Moments later, her text popped up: "Happy Birthday, Ethan! Sorry, got held up at work. On my way home now. I got you a cake!"-the lie a final stab. When she came home that night, full of excuses about how it was just a "career play" and a "fake engagement," I smelled his cologne on her. The lie was too much. I packed a single suitcase, leaving behind five years of a life that was nothing but a pretense. The next morning, at the office, the humiliation continued. Sarah and her fiancé, Mark, announced their engagement, and Mark took the promotion that should have been mine. Sarah told me I was fired, then orchestrated a cruel setup, framing me for stealing Mark' s Rolex. She publicly shamed me, slapped me across the face, and accused me of being a lowlife. Why had I given up everything for her? Why was she so intent on destroying me? With my world crumbling, I accepted an arranged marriage with Olivia Sterling, a woman whose calm, sharp eyes suggested a powerful intelligence, and who just might be my unexpected salvation.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
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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.

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