

Felicia was betrayed by her longtime boyfriend and, in her sorrow, she drunkenly entered the room of CEO Ryan. She woke up the next day, regretting the night and mistaking Ryan for a college student. Ryan, however, proposed marriage. After a quick wedding, Felicia took on family responsibilities, urging Ryan to study diligently. Ryan found this amusing until the day Felicia realized her husband was the CEO.
![[ENG DUB] Mr. Adrian, Your Wife Played You Again](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
Rosalie marries Adrian to cover her boyfriend's medical fees and bail her brother out, while Adrian only weds her to spite his ex Rose. After a year of being treated as a disposable tool, Rosalie files for divorce when Rose joins Adrian's company as PR head. Adrian grows attracted to her grit during divorce talks, and begins a desperate quest to win her back.

Titaness Cassandra accidentally discovers that Perseus, her fiancé of five years, has long been head over heels for her stepsister and would even sacrifice her life to keep the girl safe. She calmly agrees to swap marriages and takes Leah’s place to wed Abel, the cursed son of Hades. On their wedding day, Perseus finds his bride has been switched, yet he feels no joy. All his past fondness was merely gratitude for who he thought saved him as a child—only he got the wrong person. He has actually fallen for Cassandra over the years, but by the time he realizes it, she is already married to another.what fate awaits them both?

I secretly married Don Matteo, the most feared man in New York. For five years, he promised me a real wedding in front of the Five Families. He promised me ninety-nine times. And ninety-nine times, he left me at the altar—for his childhood sweetheart, Cecilia. Every time, she had an emergency. Every time, Matteo chose her. I cried. I begged. I even held a gun to his head. But he only sneered, “She’s nothing. You’re Mrs. Falcone. Know your place.” Until the ninety-ninth time. I finally stopped waiting. I placed the divorce papers—and the Falcone family alliance contract—before him. “Our marriage is over.” “So is our alliance.”

Rosalie marries Adrian to cover her boyfriend's medical fees and bail her brother out, while Adrian only weds her to spite his ex Rose. After a year of being treated as a disposable tool, Rosalie files for divorce when Rose joins Adrian's company as PR head. Adrian grows attracted to her grit during divorce talks, and begins a desperate quest to win her back.

Because of the nature of my work, I rarely had the chance to interact with people outside my job.My mother was convinced something was off with my personal life, so she arranged a marriage for me. On the wedding day, right as I was about to change and go onstage, I found my gown dumped in the trash. My fiancé's secretary shoved a bridesmaid dress at me. “I'm the bride today. You expect me to wear this?” “Quit talking. Mr. Cooper said I'm taking your place for the whole wedding.”I stood frozen for a few seconds, then pulled out my phone and called my fiancé. “Blair Cooper, are you seriously not going to give me an explanation for replacing the bride at the last minute?”He hung up before I finished. I just stood there, stunned. So this wedding doesn't need to continue.

I got bored late in the night and casually bragged about dating the campus goddess. I never expected that the very next second, I would obtain the All-Seeing Eye System. As long as I took a photo of someone with my phone, I could instantly obtain all of their secrets.The next day, I aimed the camera at the class beauty, Rachel Lewis. Almost immediately, shocking information popped up on my phone screen. I tapped open the attached PPT, which contained a detailed breakdown of the exposed dirt.

Three days before my wedding, Adrian canceled it for the fifty-second time. He came to the Palermo workshop to approve my gown’s crest embroidery, but the moment I stepped out from the fitting curtain, he snatched up his holster and radio. “Torino bastards smashed Bianca’s vineyard, surrounded the estate. Lia’s terrified, so I have to go. The wedding is off.” Once, I would have stopped him and demanded to know who mattered more to him, me or Bianca. This time, I simply let him go. Thirty minutes later, Bianca posted an Instagram Story: [You’re the only shelter for me and my daughter.] The photo showed Adrian holding Bianca close, with Lia in his arms, calling him Dad. They looked like a real family. My parents sighed. “Seraphina, is the wedding in Hawaii off again? We’ve already sent the invitations to every renowned Italian family. What will this do to the Bellini family’s honor?” I shook my head, tapping the backup invite. "The wedding goes on. In three days, I’ll still be a bride. Just not Adrian’s."

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.

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.