

I stared at the Vercetti marriage contract my father pushed across the table. Without hesitation, I wrote my half-sister’s name, Demi, and slid it back. My father froze. Then his eyes lit up with ridiculous excitement, like he’d just won the lottery. "How can you give such a perfect chance to your sister?" Last life, my marriage was a joke for everyone around me. I was the red-haired, untamed little witch who dared to climb into the orbit of Cassian Vercetti, heir and leader of the old-blood Vercetti crime family. I was never perfect nor obedient. He loved goddess gowns. I wore mini skirts and danced on tables. He demanded missionary, traditional, orderly intimacy. I wanted to climb on top, ride him, lose myself completely. At a gala, society wives laughing at my hair, my dress, my “wildness.” I thought he would at least pretend to defend me. He didn’t. “Forgive her. She’s not…properly trained.” Trained. Like a dog. I spent my entire last life suffocating under his rules, bending myself bloody to fit the shape he wanted, until the night our house caught fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment I learned of the arranged marriage. I looked at the contract in front of me. This time? I think the nightclub boys suits me better. But the moment Cassian realized the bride wasn’t me, he shattered every rule he’d ever lived by.

For five years, I thought our marriage was solid. Then, my husband, Lionel Franco’s first love, Sandra Howard, posted a photo of a property deed on her social media. The caption read: [Thank you, Lionel, for transferring the house to me.] I stared in disbelief and left a single comment: [WTF?] Lionel called within minutes. “She’s a struggling single mother. Transferring the house to her makes it easier for her son to get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live,” he snapped. “How can you be so lacking in compassion?” In the background, I heard her muffled sobs. Half an hour later, she tagged me in another post. This time, she flaunted her Mercedes worth over a million dollars, with the caption: [Paid in full. As the saying goes, ‘Where a man spends his money, that's where his heart is’.] I knew he bought it to soothe her temper. But this time, I had enough. I decided to divorce him.

I was reborn on the very day my sister Tilda Wright and I were supposed to pick our husbands. And that was when I unlocked an incredible ability—I could hear everyone’s inner thoughts. I caught Tilda’s greedy voice in my head: This time, I’m definitely snatching the best husband for myself first! Before I could even react, she dashed over and stole the sweet man I’d married in my past life. Meanwhile, I was stuck with the abusive brute who’d beaten her black and blue every single day back then. I let out a cold, mocking laugh. Did she really think the man I once married was some flawless prince charming? How naive.

It was our wedding anniversary when my husband's high school sweetheart posted a sonogram picture on her social media, with her captioning a public thank-you to my husband: [Thank you to the man who's been there for me for ten years, and for giving me a son.] The room spun, and anger surged through me as I quickly commented: [So, you're proud of being a homewrecker?] Almost immediately, my husband called, his voice full of rage. "How can you think such disgusting things? All I did was help her with IVF, fulfilling her dream of becoming a single mom. "And by the way, Ruby only needed one try to get pregnant, while you’ve been through three rounds with nothing. Your body is useless!" Just three days ago, he told me he was going abroad for business—ignoring my calls and messages the entire time. I thought he was just busy. However, it turned out he was with her, attending her prenatal checkup. Half an hour later, Ruby posted again, showing off a table full of delicious food. [I got tired of French food, so Ash made me all my favorite dishes. He’s the best!] I stared at the pregnancy test in my hand, the joy I had felt earlier now completely gone. After eight years of love and six years of swallowing my pride just to keep the marriage alive, I’m finally ready to let go.

In the fifth year of Gwyneth Payne's marriage to Asher Crowe, he tells her thrice that he wants to bring Liana Quayle along with them when they migrate. Gwyneth puts down the dishes she's just prepared and asks him why. He's frank with her. "I don't want to keep this from you anymore. Liana lives in the residential area beside ours. She's spent nine years with me, and I owe her too much. I must bring her with me when we migrate." Gwyneth doesn't cry or kick up a fuss. Instead, she books a ticket for Liana on their flight. Asher thinks she's finally seen sense. On the day they leave the country, Gwyneth watches Asher and Liana board the flight. Then, she turns and boards another flight that will take her back to her parents' home.

Harold and daughter Demi are critically injured in a riot,with Demi fighting for her life. When the hospital faces a Type A blood shortage, his wife Violet signs away the life-saving blood to save Jack, son of her first love Nate, who claims the boy has leukemia. She abandons her dying daughter without hesitation.Heartbroken after six years of devotion, Harold resumes his hidden identity as heir to the powerful Summit Group. He saves Demi and disappears. Finding Harold's abandoned phone filled with loving messages and final farewell, crushing regret overwhelms Violet.

Minnie Lane and her siblings had always relied on each other since they were kids. But an accident tore them apart, separating them for years. Fifteen years later, her younger siblings have each achieved success in their respective careers, while Minnie, tragically, was sold by human traffickers to Victor Zane in a remote village. Now, her younger siblings are determined to set out on a journey to find their eldest sister and bring her home.

Four years of marriage. I was the invisible wife of James Moretti, a Mafia heir. When his beloved Vicky returned, I knew I was just a passerby. I disguised the divorce papers as university documents, and he signed them without a second thought. When I left, I took not only my freedom, but also his unborn child—a secret that could destroy him. Now, the man who never even looked at me is turning the world upside down searching for me. But I have already risen from the ashes, and I am now out of his reach. This time, it is not me begging for his love, but him begging me to come back.

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.