

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.

Clara is the biological daughter of her family, but her parents and brothers always blindly favored her adoptive sister, Emily. After years of torment, Emily finally murdered Clara at the age of 24… but now, Clara has the chance to be 19 again. In this life, Clara vows to never again be victimized by bullies. Though her brothers find out the truth from Clara’s diary, which plunges them into regret, it’s too late - Clara’s long past forgiveness.

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.

When her family was facing big trouble, Stacey Sanchez had no choice but to break up with Smith Gilbert and choose to marry Zayne Harris. Then, when she decided to divorce Zayne and got into a fight with him, to protect the baby of her and Smith, she accidentally injured Zayne and thus ended up in jail. Five years later, after getting released from prison, Stacey came across Smith who had returned to the country.

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.

After her father had an affair and her mother passed away, Clara's stepmother moved in with her illegitimate son, throwing Clara into a world of trouble. The scheming stepmother wanted her own son to study abroad, so she pressured Clara to drop out of school and get married, using the dowry to fund her son's education. But Clara, determined not to give up on her dreams, took on all sorts of part-time jobs. One day, she saved an elderly lady, and through a twist of fate, ended up marrying the woman's grandson. Clara was ready to keep working hard to support herself, only to find out her new husband was actually a super-rich tycoon pretending to be a poor employee! Deciding to play along with his charade, a hilarious and absurd drama ensued!
![[ENG DUB] Wed to the Unknown Heir](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
After her father had an affair and her mother passed away, Clara's stepmother moved in with her illegitimate son, throwing Clara into a world of trouble. The scheming stepmother wanted her own son to study abroad, so she pressured Clara to drop out of school and get married, using the dowry to fund her son's education. But Clara, determined not to give up on her dreams, took on all sorts of part-time jobs. One day, she saved an elderly lady, and through a twist of fate, ended up marrying the woman's grandson. Clara was ready to keep working hard to support herself, only to find out her new husband was actually a super-rich tycoon pretending to be a poor employee! Deciding to play along with his charade, a hilarious and absurd drama ensued!

I had been married for eight years when I inherited a fortune worth hundreds of millions that my grandfather left to me and my mafia boss husband. However, just as the lawyer was finalizing the transfer, we discovered my marriage certificate was fake. That meant the entire inheritance could only go to me. “Ms. Rivers, according to the system, you were divorced a year ago. Your husband, Zayn Levine, is legally married to… Whitney Sanders. According to the papers, you're single. In other words, Mr. Levine has no right to claim the inheritance.” Whitney, the woman Zayn had once loved before she went abroad, the one he never forgot. I stared at the lawyer’s message, unable to accept it. All of Zayn’s affection and tenderness over the years had been nothing but a lie. I had planned to tell him on our anniversary that after eight long years of marriage, I was pregnant. It was the miracle we had both been waiting for. Yet it seemed like he had never really been looking forward to it at all. As I gently rested my hand on my belly, I told myself that even if my twins grew up without a father, they would be just fine. In this place built on nothing but lies, the only thing left for me to do was run away.