

After a car accident, Faye Richards pretends to have amnesia to test her fiance Duncan Brown's devotion, only to discover his affair with her best friend Becky Ramsey. Even more shocking, Duncan lies and claims his close friend Kenneth Hilton is actually her boyfriend. Faye plays along, coolly maneuvering between the two men to uncover the truth behind the betrayal. Yet Kenneth's real identity and his true motives for approaching her become an even deeper mystery than the infidelity itself.

Yunus's five-year old daughter was critically injured in a car accident, but his wife was next door, threatening all the doctors, demanding they check her white whale and his dog for injuries. Yunus buried his daughter with tears in his eyes, but his wife insisted on digging up the grave to bury the dog of her white whale! Yunus felt an intense hatred for his wife. And after returning to the wealthy elite, he went on a rampage and took revenge on his wife!

The night before high school graduation, Ethan Luciano pulled me into his bedroom. His hands were rough, his touch demanding, yet my heart overflowed with a decade's worth of unspoken longing. I'd loved Ethan for ten years, and finally, it seemed my silent wishes had come true. Afterwards, as we lay tangled in his sheets, he whispered that he'd marry me after graduation. Once he took over the Luciano family's empire from his father, he'd make me the most cherished woman in the family. I believed him. The next morning, I sat curled up against his bare chest as he casually told my foster brother, Lucas, about us. My cheeks were flushed, and my heart raced, still clinging to the sweetness of the night before. However, then their conversation shifted into Italian. Lucas smirked, leaning back against the doorframe. "Not bad, Young Boss. Your first time, and the school's 'it girl' just threw herself at you. So, how's my little sister taste?" Ethan gave a lazy chuckle. "Looks like an angel, but a freak in the sheets. Who would’ve thought?" The room erupted in low, conspiratorial laughter. Lucas raised a brow. "So, should I call her my little sister or my future sister-in-law?" Ethan’s tone darkened, his arm tightening around my waist for a moment. Then he let out a sigh. "She’s nothing. Just practice," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I’m trying to hook up with the cheer captain, Sylvia Dawson, but I don’t want her thinking I’m clueless in bed. Cynthia Saville’s just a warm-up." He paused. "But don’t tell Sylvia. I don’t need her getting all emotional." They didn't know that I’d spent months secretly learning Italian, preparing for the life I thought I’d share with Ethan. I didn't say a word. Later that day, I quietly withdrew my early decision application to Caltech and applied to MIT instead.

The night before high school graduation, Ethan Luciano pulled me into his bedroom. His hands were rough, his touch demanding, yet my heart overflowed with a decade's worth of unspoken longing. I'd loved Ethan for ten years, and finally, it seemed my silent wishes had come true. Afterwards, as we lay tangled in his sheets, he whispered that he'd marry me after graduation. Once he took over the Luciano family's empire from his father, he'd make me the most cherished woman in the family. I believed him. The next morning, I sat curled up against his bare chest as he casually told my foster brother, Lucas, about us. My cheeks were flushed, and my heart raced, still clinging to the sweetness of the night before. However, then their conversation shifted into Italian. Lucas smirked, leaning back against the doorframe. "Not bad, Young Boss. Your first time, and the school's 'it girl' just threw herself at you. So, how's my little sister taste?" Ethan gave a lazy chuckle. "Looks like an angel, but a freak in the sheets. Who would’ve thought?" The room erupted in low, conspiratorial laughter. Lucas raised a brow. "So, should I call her my little sister or my future sister-in-law?" Ethan’s tone darkened, his arm tightening around my waist for a moment. Then he let out a sigh. "She’s nothing. Just practice," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I’m trying to hook up with the cheer captain, Sylvia Dawson, but I don’t want her thinking I’m clueless in bed. Cynthia Saville’s just a warm-up." He paused. "But don’t tell Sylvia. I don’t need her getting all emotional." They didn't know that I’d spent months secretly learning Italian, preparing for the life I thought I’d share with Ethan. I didn't say a word. Later that day, I quietly withdrew my early decision application to Caltech and applied to MIT instead.

Riley Miller heads to the bank to withdraw some cash, only to have the ATM swallow her card—thanks to an unhelpful customer service clerk. Her frustration deepens when she discovers that $10,000 has mysteriously vanished from her account. Just when she feels helpless, the malfunctioning ATM suddenly goes haywire… and starts spewing out money like there's no tomorrow.

While Alpha Leon danced with his assistant on the dance floor, I sipped wine with clients. To avoid offending anyone, I let his intoxicated self brush his cold hand against my thigh. Still, Leon never glanced at me. His attention was entirely on helping the assistant brush stray hair from her forehead, softly asking if she was hungry. When the banquet ended, the assistant complained of boredom, and Leon immediately whisked her away, leaving me behind for the next round of festivities. “The young shewolf’s been busy with work lately. I’m just taking her to relax. “You don’t like bars, so don’t follow us. “Also, I won’t be back tonight. We’ll postpone tomorrow’s marking to another day.” We’d been together for five years. Although he gave me the title of Luna, he never marked me. This was the ninety-ninth time Leon Gray had unilaterally canceled marking me. So, I nodded. Since he was always busy, perhaps this marking was unnecessary.

"I loved Dante Rossi for twenty years. I gave up my medical career, my dreams, and my dignity for him. On the eve of our wedding, I discovered he had gotten another woman pregnant — his childhood companion, Isobel. So on what should have been the happiest day of my life, I canceled the wedding, burned every photo and letter, and disappeared without a trace, leaving only one sentence on our calendar: “Let’s break up, Dante.” Two years later, I returned as a successful medical researcher, engaged to a man who truly loves me. But Dante finally learned the truth — I was the one who took a bullet for him five years ago, not Isobel. Now the once-arrogant heir of the arms empire has lost everything. He kneels before me, regrets eating him alive, and begs for another chance. He even blocked a knife meant for me with his own body. But it’s too late."

ER doctor Kate Reed believes she has a loving marriage—until one phone call shatters the illusion. While she's in surgery, her husband Mason Fadley claims his flight is canceled, but he's secretly with his sister-in-law, Sandy Young. When Mason collapses from expired drugs, Kate uncovers the affair—and learns her miscarriage was their doing. On Sandy's wedding day, Kate doesn't arrive to celebrate. She comes to expose their sins.

The air in the Parisian haute couture salon smelled like money and fear. I’d waited six months for my wedding dress. Now, it was draped over the shoulders of Sofia Ross—the trending influencer, and my mafia fiancé Vincent Cassio’s god-sister. The salon manager was sweating bullets, his eyes darting between me and the man lounging on the velvet sofa. Vincent Cassio stood up. He adjusted a fold of the diamond-encrusted train on Sofia with a casual flick of his wrist. “Her premiere next week needs a statement piece. She’s borrowing it. Pick something off the rack and stop making a scene.” His tone was flat, final. Under the crystal chandeliers, Sofia admired herself in the full-length mirror, a triumphant smile on her lips. I looked at my reflection in the same mirror, wearing jeans and a soaked trench coat. I looked like a lost tourist. Suddenly, the entire past year of planning felt like a sick joke. I didn’t yell. I just felt cold. Numb. I slipped the five-carat engagement ring off my finger. It hit the glass coffee table with a sharp, final click. “You’re right, Vincent. I don’t need this wedding dress. This wedding… I don’t need it either.”