The Price of Unrequited Love

The Billionaire's Secret Twins: Her Revenge

I was four months pregnant, weighing over two hundred pounds, and my heart was failing from experimental treatments forced on me as a child. My doctor looked at me with clinical detachment and told me I was in a death sentence: if I kept the baby, I would die, and if I tried to remove it, I would die. Desperate for a lifeline, I called my father, Francis Acosta, to tell him I was sick and pregnant. I expected a father's love, but all I got was a cold, sharp blade of a voice. "Then do it quietly," he said. "Don't embarrass Candi. Her debutante ball is coming up." He didn't just reject me; he erased me. My trust fund was frozen, and I was told I was no longer an Acosta. My fiancé, Auston, had already discarded me, calling me a "bloated whale" while he looked for a thinner, wealthier replacement. I left New York on a Greyhound bus, weeping into a bag of chips, a broken woman the world considered a mistake. I couldn't understand how my own father could tell me to die "quietly" just to save face for a party. I didn't know why I had been a lab rat for my family’s pharmaceutical ambitions, or how they could sleep at night while I was left to rot in the gray drizzle of the city. Five years later, the doors of JFK International Airport slid open. I stepped onto the marble floor in red-soled stilettos, my body lean, lethal, and carved from years of blood and sweat. I wasn't the "whale" anymore; I was a ghost coming back to haunt them. With my daughter by my side and a medical reputation that terrified the global elite, I was ready to dismantle the Acosta empire piece by piece. "Tell Francis to wash his neck," I whispered to the skyline. "I'm home."

The Broken Ballerina's Secret Paris Escape

I traced the floral patterns on the silver candlestick, my fingertips numb from the cold of the penthouse. It was our fifth anniversary, and the Wellington steak I’d spent four hours preparing sat soggy and defeated under the dim chandelier. Fielding finally walked in at 1:00 AM, smelling of scotch and tuberose—a scent I didn't own. When I tried to touch him, he recoiled as if my fingers were acid, then disappeared into the bathroom where I heard him moan his ex-girlfriend's name with a desperate, guttural longing. The betrayal didn't end there. The next day, I found him at a luxury restaurant, watching him slide a massive pink diamond onto Corinna’s finger—the same ring he’d told me was a "business investment." I stood hidden behind a frosted glass partition as his friends laughed, calling me a "lame duck" and a "depressed millstone" around his neck. Fielding didn't defend me; he calmly told them our marriage was just a "debt" he had to pay because I’d saved his life in the crash that ended my ballet career. "She's a millstone, Fielding. How long are you going to play nursemaid?" "I owe her. It's a debt. I pay my debts." When I finally confronted him, he didn't show remorse. Instead, he threatened to use his power to declare me mentally unstable and freeze my grandmother’s trust fund so I’d be left "crippled and penniless" on the street. I realized then that Fielding didn't want a wife; he wanted a martyr to ease his survivor's guilt, as long as I stayed broken and dependent. He thought he’d clipped my wings for good, but he didn't know I’d been secretly studying for the Sorbonne while he was out with his mistress. As I put on my designer gown for the charity gala, I wasn't preparing for a party. I was liquidating my jewelry for untraceable cash and planning the ultimate exit. He thinks I’m his prisoner, but the countdown to my final act has already begun.

You Forgot I Was A Morgan

For a year, I played the part of the perfect, long-suffering wife, enduring my husband' s public affair. I did it all for one reason: to win full custody of our son, Colton. But when Colton was arrested, he didn't turn to me for help. He looked at me with disgust and spat that our family's problems were all my fault. Later that night, my husband, Jackson, demanded I apologize to his mistress. When I refused, he shoved me into the freezing lake. As I drowned, I saw him and my son comforting her on the dock, a perfect family silhouetted against the moonlight. They were watching me die. The last of my love for them turned to ash. They forgot one thing. I wasn't just a housewife. I was a Morgan. My fingers found the emergency beacon my billionaire father gave me. And I pressed it.

The Hero's Other Life

My husband, Mike, was a hero: a National Guard Sergeant, beloved teacher, and football coach. I was his proud, supportive wife, a registered nurse at the VA, and I believed our life was built on his service to our country. But on a charity delivery for Gold Star families, I drove to a quiet town expecting to help a grieving sister. Instead, I saw my "hero" husband in a backyard, laughing with a woman and a little boy who called him "Daddy." My world tilted, the air left my lungs as I watched them, a perfect family portrait under the sun. He came home days later, full of lies about the Nevada desert, his smiles not reaching his eyes. When I confronted him about Mill Creek, Brianna, and Cody, his facade cracked, but he spun a tale of noble duty to a fallen comrade' s family. But I knew the truth: Cody's age didn't add up to a "one-time mistake." The silence hung heavy, confirming not just one betrayal, but two – Brianna was pregnant again. The next morning, he shoved insurance forms at me, printed for Cody, demanding I sign them to pay for his illegitimate son' s medical needs with my federal benefits. When I refused, "No" became a rock, and he grabbed my arm, shoved me against the counter, hurting my hip. "You owe me this," he hissed, the hero stripped away, revealing a monster. Then, with vindictive cruelty, he exposed my sister Olivia' s husband, Mike' s best friend, as also having had an affair, tying our pain together. I was attacked, our sacred family bonds shattered by his cold, calculated malice. How could I have been so blind? How dared he weaponize my sister's pain to control me? That was the moment. The fear became cold, righteous anger. This wasn't just about my broken marriage; it was about two sisters betrayed, their lives upended by a manipulator. We would not just leave; we would fight back. With every rule he broke, every lie he told, we would systematically dismantle the hero he pretended to be.

Seeking Revenge on My Evil Aunt

Aunt Paige couldn't stand that our family was doing better than hers. She schemed to take everything from us. I was accepted into a prestigious university, while her son Grayson didn't even meet the requirements for a community college. On the day of my graduation party, a child in the village fell into the water. Aunt Paige pushed me into the water. "Jun Jun, you're a student at a prestigious university; you can't embarrass the school, go save that child!" I struggled to lift the child, but I drowned instead. After my death, my grandfather and mother also passed away one after the other. Grayson, hailed as a hero, was accepted into a university. Aunt Paige took the relocation compensation for our family's 200-acre orchard. From being destitute, she became incredibly wealthy, the richest person in the village. After being reborn, when I saw that child fall into the water again, before Aunt Paige could say anything, I kicked her into the water.

Rising From Ashes: The Heiress They Tried To Erase

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

Too Late, Hubby, I'm The Tycoon's Darling Now!

For three years, Averie pushed herself through a secret marriage, waiting for the day she could finally wear a white dress and be seen as his wife. The night before she could finally walk down the aisle, he confessed without a hint of hesitation that he was marrying the woman who once rescued him instead. The "fake" divorce agreement she signed for him shattered into a real, icy breakup that finally freed her wounded heart. When he returned in remorse, begging for just one more chance, a ruthless business magnate pulled Averie close and muttered coldly, "You're too late. She's my woman now."

Traded Husbands, Tangled Hearts: Can Destiny Be Changed?

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

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."

Beg For My Love, Cold-Hearted CEO

Since she was ten, Noreen had been by Caiden's side, watching him rise from a young boy into a respected CEO. After two years of marriage, though, his visits home grew rare. Gossip among the wealthy said he despised her. Even his beloved mocked her hopes, and his circle treated her with scorn. People forgot about her decade of loyalty. She clung to memories and became a figure of ridicule, worn out from trying. They thought he'd won his freedom, but he dropped to his knees and begged, "Noreen, you're the only one I love." Leaving behind the divorce papers, she walked away.