Christmas Movie With Anne Heche Dramas & Movies

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When my CEO wife, Nina Wynn, learned I voluntarily handed a multimillion-dollar project to her favorite assistant, Zach Channing, she thought her three-month cold treatment finally worked. Beaming, she suddenly suggested we fly to Ivesland for our long-delayed honeymoon. When Zach found out, he became jealous and threatened to quit. Panicked, she spent three days and nights comforting him, then canceled our honeymoon again with the excuse of a business trip, giving him my ticket instead. Later, she casually explained to me, "Romance is trivial. Work comes first. As the boss, I have to prioritize. You’re my husband; you should understand." I looked at Zach’s latest social post, which was a photo of the two of them leaning intimately with their hands forming a heart, and said nothing. I only nod. Thinking I’d become more thoughtful and obedient, she was pleased. She even promised to make it up to me with a more romantic honeymoon when they got back home. However, unbeknownst to her, I’d already resigned. The divorce papers were already signed, and there was no future for us ever again.

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Someone @'d me on Nextdoor. "Hey, penthouse girl. You're single. What do you need a whole rooftop garden for? My husband's throwing a party. We'll be needing it starting tomorrow." "Don't worry, we'll give you two hundred bucks a month for upkeep. You'll make a couple hundred for doing jack shit. You should be thrilled." I stared at the screen. It was a joke. I was Don Ricci's heir, groomed to run the South Side. But I traded that life for a paintbrush. This apartment was my sanctuary, my quiet place. That rooftop garden wasn't some building perk. It was mine. I'd paid half a million cash for the deed when I bought the place. I turned it into my sunroom studio. And now someone thinks they can have it for two hundred bucks a month? I replied with two words: "Dream on." I didn't expect the building manager and two security guards at my door the next day. Someone had filed a complaint about me "misusing community resources." And now, for the sake of "neighborly harmony," they were demanding my keys. Fine. They wanted to throw civility out the window? They were about to learn what real power felt like.

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To revenge her disloyal husband and the vicious homewrecker, Ashley gets entangled with a sexy, enigmatic Mr. Big, who harbors especial feelings for her....

370.7K Views53.4K Favorites70 Full EpisodesAvailable in 2 Languages

On her birthday, Serena, the chairwoman of Wall Street's Sterling Consortium, discovers that her husband, Hunter, has been using her trust fund to buy luxury cars for his mistress Chloe. At the scene of a car accident, Chloe arrogantly humiliates Serena, never realizing that she has crossed the wrong woman. At a lavish charity gala, Serena makes a stunning entrance and publicly exposes the ugly truth about Hunter and Chloe. She immediately sets divorce and asset forfeiture proceedings in motion, making the two betrayers pay dearly for their betrayal.

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My daughter, Ruby Pratt, has leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant—and fast. Out of everyone in the family, my husband, Dan Pratt, was the only match. I begged him for an entire month before he finally agreed to go through with the donation. But on the morning of the surgery, he went completely off the grid. I stood outside the hospital all day, waiting. No calls. No texts. Not even a shadow. That night, his childhood friend, Valerie Kinder, posted on Instagram. In the photo, Dan was holding Valerie's hand with one arm and carrying her young son with the other—on a beach in Lulabo City. The caption read: [Soaking up the sun! Dan cleared his whole schedule to join us on a month-long trek and we finally made it to the coast! My little boy said Uncle Dan made his ocean dream come true. Pure joy!] My heart splintered. While I was drowning in worry over my daughter, he was off playing happy family with them. I wiped my tears and typed a comment beneath her post: [Not 'Uncle.' From now on, he's your son's father.] That night, I finally got a call from him. "Babe, don't be like this," Dan said. "You're not being fair. "Valerie's son has been bullied at school for not having a dad. I couldn't stand seeing him hurt, so I took them on this trip. It was supposed to help him heal. "I'll catch the first flight back tomorrow and head straight to the hospital to donate the marrow. I promise." I hung up with a bitter smile. The next morning, Dan rushed into the hospital room. But all he found on the bed was a death certificate.

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Elite lawyer Kylin Taylor walks into a cafe and finds her fiance Zane Walker attending tenderly to his mistress. She doesn't make a scene. That night, she slides a condom into a legal contract and hands it to Zane's closest friend, David Evans, Eryland's most talked-about playboy. "Hotel tonight? It's on me." What begins as cold, surgical revenge becomes something stranger: she uses David to deliver Zane a humiliation; David plays along with every sign of enjoying himself.But as the game deepens, he drops the act entirely and and starts betting everything he has on her instead of the thrill. Kylin realizes, with a jolt, that she never had control of this board to begin with. Someone laid these pieces into position ten years ago, and it wasn't her.

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My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.

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Dailin grew up in an orphanage. On her 25th birthday, she got a call from the richest man in the world and learned she was the Crawford family’s long-lost biological daughter—who had been missing for twenty years. Overjoyed, she wanted to share the shocking news with her boyfriend of seven years, Logan, who was in financial trouble. But outside his door, she caught Logan cheating with her best friend, Mia. As she listened through the door, she heard the cruel truth: Logan had only been using her and had come to look down on her. Her heart shattered, and she chose without hesitation to go back to her father—the richest man in the world. A week later, at the Crawford family’s formal welcome gala, Logan and Mia schemed their way into the outer reception. Not only did Logan mock and humiliate Dailin, who was dressed to the nines, but he also publicly accused her of stealing it when a priceless necklace went missing. Desperate to impress the world’s richest man, Logan grabbed Dailin’s purse and searched it—unaware that he was about to face the full fury of the Crawford family and a downfall he would never recover from.

3.8K Views1.3K Favorites43 Full Episodes

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.