

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.

My mother-in-law and I were traveling together. We'd just checked into the Solenne Hotel in Rivera City and decided to hit the pool. Then this woman—dressed like money and attitude—pinched her nose like we stank. "This is a luxury hotel. How did you people even get in? Sneak in just for the pool? Ugh, I need a test after this." Buzzkill. I snapped, "It's a hotel pool. Guests swim. If that's a problem, go build your own." Her face twisted. "Excuse me? Do you even know who I am? My husband owns this place. We always stay in the top suite. So get out. You reek of broke. You're contaminating the water." Georgina and I traded a look. Ice cold. This was her son's hotel. My husband's. Since when did he come with a second wife?

After her parents' death, Sienna is forced to accept her stepfather's brother — the ruthless arms dealer Kian Voss — as her guardian. Desperate to escape, she follows him into a secret SM club, only to be masked and delivered into his private room. Her plan to expose him spirals into dangerous, addictive desire...

Abigail lies dead in the hospital, while her fiancé Kyle and stepsister Chloe gloat over their murder of her. Overhearing their evil plan, Abigail later comes back to life and immediately marries a broke model named Henry as revenge. Abigail thinks her marriage is all just a play, but when she faces betrayal and difficulties, Henry secretly helps her. However, just as things are getting real between them, she finds out a shocking secret about Henry’s identity...
![[ENG DUB] Ex-husband Proposed Again](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
Before the divorce, Chris Zais deemed Xenia Roberts, a vicious woman who would do anything to get what she wanted. After the divorce, Chris calmly said, "If you regret it. I can give you another chance." Speechless, Xenia rejected, "Thank you for your offer. But no thanks."

Fred, a college grad fresh out for just a year, offers his bus seat to 50-year-old pregnant Sarah. But Sarah latches onto him, falsely claiming he's the father of her unborn twins. With a paternity test report, she forces Fred to break up with his girlfriend. Everyone believes her, dead-set on Fred being the Dad, yet only Fred knows he never had any contact with her beyond that seat. Pushed to jump off a building, Fred gets a second chance at life, and his first act is to refuse to give Sarah that seat...

After surviving her ex's cruel April Fools' proposal pranks for six years, Sienna discovers their entire relationship was just a bet. She tosses her ring and flees to Ireland—leaving him broken, weeping, and too late to stop her wedding.

I married Don Matteo in secret. Every time he fucked his childhood sweetheart, he promised me a real wedding,in front of the Five Families. For five years, Matteo promised me ninety-nine times. And ninety-nine times, he left me at the altar. The first time, Cecilia’s prize-winning show cat died. To comfort her, he postponed the wedding for three months. I stood at the altar alone, eyes red, trying to calm down the family elders. The second time, Cecilia threw a tantrum at a casino and shattered a hundred-million-dollar antique vase. He diverted the private jet meant for their wedding and rushed through the night to clean up her mess. And every time, right before our wedding, his childhood sweetheart would have some kind of emergency. I cried. I screamed. I even held a gun to his head. But Matteo would just pin me against the wall and shut me up with a cold, hard kiss. “She’s just a fuck. You are Mrs. Falcone. Have some goddamn class.” After the ninety-ninth time, I was finally done. I slid the papers across the table. The ink was still wet, the Falcone family seal stamped at the bottom. “Our marriage, our alliance—it’s over.”