autumn trace

Raised by the Yoners, Autumn discovers she's not their biological child but the heiress of the prestigious Yale family. The real Yoner daughter, Vivian, now a destitute beggar, is manipulated by a vengeful former housekeeper to disgrace the Yoners. When Autumn is betrayed and confined by her adoptive parents, Xenith Yale emerges, offering support and encouragement. Together they unravel the conspiracy, restoring Autumn's rightful place and finding love amidst turmoil, while Vivian and her accomplice face their comeuppance.

Chantal Jones and Jason Joliet fell in love when they were young. Jason witnessed Chantal being hurt by her foster father and, in a fit of rage, stabbed the man and was sent to prison.On the very day he was imprisoned, Chantal broke up with him.Five years later, Jason returned from abroad to attend his brother's engagement party—only to find that the smiling, gentle fiancée beside his brother was none other than Chantal,the woman he could never forget, the love and hatred buried deep in his heart.

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.