Regret of the Mafia King

From Rival to Sister-in-law

Josie Watson asked for a divorce for the ninety-ninth time, but Laurence Andrews took a call from his first love and told her to get out of the car. "Go home and think it over. I hope this is the last time you make a fuss," he said. For Rosalie Harris, he abandoned Josie repeatedly, humiliating her. Laurence believed Josie couldn't survive without him. He didn't know Rosalie's brother was secretly encouraging Josie to divorce and leave the country.

My Fiancé Married Me To My Rival

At my best friend's birthday party, I drank tainted wine and passed out. When I woke up, I heard the doctor say it could cause severe nerve damage. I teased my fiancé Cayden Hewitt, asking who I was and where I was. He hesitated, staring at me, then called my rival Liam Hewitt. "You're Julia. He's your fiancé. You're getting married soon." I froze, thinking he was joking too. My best friend, Vivian Green, slipped her arm through Cayden's, looking every bit like a couple in love. Eventually, I was about to marry Liam. But Cayden, with eyes red from emotion, stood in front of the car to stop it, pleading, "Julia, don't marry him. I've realized I can't let you go."

The Mob's Bride

I was Ava Hudson, the future daughter-in-law of a prominent councilman in the city of Windhaven. My fiancé, Leo Kennedy, was a celebrated rising star in politics, admired by all. But deep in his heart, he harbored a love for a woman named Isabella Fuller, his untouchable ideal. Now, the notorious crime lord Alessandro Marcello had declared his intent to marry Isabella. I overheard Leo's chilling voice from outside the study. Send Ava to him. No matter how ruthless he is, would he dare touch the councilman's future daughter-in-law?" I followed his plan and married into the Marcello family. Later, it was Leo who lost his mind.

My Split-The-Bill Husband

In the five years of our marriage, my husband Isaac Saunders's favorite mantra was, "Even close brothers keep clear accounts, and even intimate couples should maintain equality." We strictly split everything down the middle, calculating utility bills to the last cent and even taking turns paying for groceries. But that day, when my younger sister Aileen Howe was urgently hospitalized, I asked to borrow three hundred dollars from him. He immediately pulled out a calculator and said, "According to our prenuptial agreement, interest-free loans are capped at two hundred dollars. Any amount exceeding that accrues interest at a daily rate of five percent and requires collateral." Watching him state this so earnestly, I felt the situation was utterly absurd. I signed the agreement silently and took the money. He didn't know that the house he was using as collateral for his interest calculation was legally in my name. Nor did he know that the investments he was so proud of were profitable thanks to insider information my father had provided me. Isaac, you love calculating so much, let's see who's really good at playing the numbers game. I'll show you what it truly means to lose everything.

The 1314th Jilted Bride

For ten years I planned our dream wedding-over and over-while my CEO fiancé Kody Morgan found ways to miss every single one. Ever since Tonya Buckley, his childhood sweetheart, returned to the country, my wedding had become a ticking time bomb. She caused a scene on the eve of my wedding, and Kody always stood me up. This last time, Tonya cut her finger, and a few drops of blood spilled dramatically. Kody anxiously ran red lights, risking everything to rush her to the ER, insisting the doctor check her carefully. Meanwhile, I faced the guests' derisive stares and received only Kody's dismissive excuse. "Does it have to be today? We've canceled the wedding so many times already, let's reschedule for next weekend. Tonya passes out at the sight of blood, so I need to stay with her. I really hope you understand." He reminisces about their childhood bond, granting Tonya every request, while neglecting me. Actually, I didn't have to marry him. When his absence became a pattern, I chose a man who'd actually appear.

Rebirth Over the Deep

I had thalassophobia, a condition rooted in an incident ten years ago when I saved Alec Johnson from a dangerous undertow. He once held my shivering body and swore he would never let me near the ocean again. Later, his first love, Rosalyn Martin, known as the "Mermaid Dancer," injured herself before a crucial underwater documentary shoot. Unable to find a stand-in, he turned to me. He locked me in a swaying cabin, his eyes bloodshot as he pleaded, "Maeve, your build is the closest to hers. Please, finish this last underwater ballet scene for her. This is her lifelong dream. I'm begging you." They forced me into a diving suit and pushed me into the dark, icy depths that had nearly claimed my life once before. When I surfaced, driven by sheer survival instinct, I saw him cradling a tearful Rosalyn, soothing her gently. "Rosalyn, don't cry. Your dream is complete." No one noticed I had nearly died down there. He didn't know that every investment in his thriving company came from me. What he was about to destroy wasn't just my love but his entire future.

Between Ruin And Resolve: My Ex-Husband's Regret

After two years of marriage, Sadie was finally pregnant. Filled with hope and joy, she was blindsided when Noah asked for a divorce. During a failed attempt on her life, Sadie found herself lying in a pool of blood, desperately calling Noah to ask him to save her and the baby. But her calls went unanswered. Shattered by his betrayal, she left the country. Time passed, and Sadie was about to be wed for a second time. Noah appeared in a frenzy and fell to his knees. "How dare you marry someone else after bearing my child?"

After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

The Forgotten Mother's Vow: Taking Back What's Hers

Isabelle's love for Kolton held flawless for fifteen years-until the day she delivered their children and slipped into a coma. He leaned to her ear and whispered, "Don't wake up. You're worthless to me now." The twins later clutched another woman's hand and chirped, "Mommy," splintering Isabelle's heart. She woke, filed for divorce, and disappeared. Only then did Kolton notice her fingerprints on every habit. They met again: she emerged as the lead medical specialist, radiant and unmoved. But at her engagement gala, she leapt into a tycoon's arms. Jealous, he crushed a glass, blood wetting his palm. He believed as soon as he made a move, Isabelle would return to him. After all, she had loved him deeply.

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."

After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.