

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

For five years, billionaire Isabella lived as a submissive housewife, secretly funding her husband's business while enduring his family’s elitist insults in French. When they demand her departure, Isabella reveals she understood every word. Returning to her conglomerate, she orchestrates a ruthless corporate and legal warfare to strip them of everything.

Valerie marries mafia heir Jeno, only to discover his mistress and secret twins. Pregnant with his child and shattered, she fakes a plane crash and disappears. When Jeno finally realizes what he has lost, his desperate pursuit comes too late, leaving Valerie free to begin again.

A brilliant OB-GYN discovers her husband’s betrayal mid-surgery—his mistress is her patient. Humiliated, pregnant, and out for justice, she exposes their lies in a viral showdown that destroys reputations and reclaims her power.

"In my previous life, I gave everything I had to marry him, only to receive fifty years of cold indifference, betrayal, and my son kneeling by my bedside on my deathbed, begging me to ""let Father go."" Reborn on the very day we were to register our marriage, Sebastian was still the same impatient man, tapping his fingers on the table. This time, I picked up the pen and slowly wrote my sister’s name in the applicant column. Since she was the one you’ve always longed for, I’ll grant your wish. I personally helped her try on wedding dresses, slipped the ring onto her finger, and watched him take her away to the capital. Then I turned around and left for the prestigious finishing school for ladies in Southport, starting from zero, determined to live for myself. I thought the story would end there. But when he discovered that the name on the marriage certificate wasn’t mine, he went mad and came chasing after me."

"In my previous life, I gave everything I had to marry him, only to receive fifty years of cold indifference, betrayal, and my son kneeling by my bedside on my deathbed, begging me to ""let Father go."" Reborn on the very day we were to register our marriage, Sebastian was still the same impatient man, tapping his fingers on the table. This time, I picked up the pen and slowly wrote my sister’s name in the applicant column. Since she was the one you’ve always longed for, I’ll grant your wish. I personally helped her try on wedding dresses, slipped the ring onto her finger, and watched him take her away to the capital. Then I turned around and left for the prestigious finishing school for ladies in Southport, starting from zero, determined to live for myself. I thought the story would end there. But when he discovered that the name on the marriage certificate wasn’t mine, he went mad and came chasing after me."
![[ENG DUB] Farewell of the Voiceless Rose](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
After suffering aphasia from a car accident, Heather Phillips is devastated when her husband William Manning asks for a fake divorce to appease his mistress. Taking him at his word, Heather makes it real. Sebastian Hart, heir to the Hart Group, flies back immediately upon hearing the news and proposes to Heather. She leaves with him without looking back, leaving William filled with regret.

Four years of marriage. One signature—his own—that set me free, though he never realized what he was signing. I was Sophia Moretti, the invisible wife of James Moretti, heir to the city’s most powerful mafia family. But when his childhood sweetheart, the dazzling and privileged Vicky, returned, I finally understood: I had always been temporary. So I played my final move. I slid the papers across his desk—divorce disguised as routine university forms. James signed without a second glance, his fountain pen scratching across the page as carelessly as he'd treated our vows, without noticing he was ending our marriage. But I walked away with more than my freedom. Beneath my coat, I carried his unborn heir—a secret that could destroy him when he finally realized what he'd lost. Now, the man who never noticed me is tearing the world apart trying to find me. From his penthouse to the underworld's gutters, he's turning over every stone. But I'm not some trembling prey waiting to be found. I rebuilt myself beyond his reach—where not even a Moretti can follow. This time, I won't be begging for his love. He'll be begging for mine.