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For eighteen years, I was a Bellini. Sheltered, protected, and loved. Then my birth parents showed up out of nowhere and demanded me back. My adoptive father, Salvatore Bellini, was a name that carried weight in New York. When he sent me away, his eyes were red. “Odette, your birth parents don’t have proper staff. You won’t be used to it.” My adoptive mother Sofia ran half the family fortune. She squeezed my hand. “Two million on this card, baby. The second you feel wrong, you come home.” My brother Matteo’s voice was cold as ice. “Remember, you’re a Bellini. No one gets to look down on you.” “We’ll visit you every week. If anyone dares to wrong you, I’ll make them regret it.” I thought they were overreacting. Then I walked through my birth parents' front door. Their adopted daughter slapped me twice. She threw a wad of cash in my face, her eyes promising murder. “Take it. That’s the price of your life.” “I pissed off the Bellinis. Now ......

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“Are you seriously putting eighty percent of your assets into a new trust for Savannah?” My husband Clay’s friend sounded utterly incredulous. “What about Elara? She gave you a son!” My husband, heir to a Texas oil empire, just lifted his glass. His voice was cold. “A woman from the right kind of family would never sign this agreement.” “Her lawyers would tear it to shreds.” He paused, the corner of his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. “But Elara will.” “She’s just a poor girl from the Appalachian mountains. She’s obedient. And she loves me.” “She’ll sign anything for me.” … I stood frozen outside the study, my blood turning to ice. *She’ll sign anything for me.* The words were poisoned icicles in my heart. Inside, Clay’s friend was still pressing him, his voice tight with urgency. “Clay, even if you give Elara nothing, Mason is your son. You’re cutting him out, too. That’s brutal.” Another voice chimed in, mocking. “Speaking of Savannah, I heard that count she married in Europe can’t have kids. That boy of hers…” “Shut up.” Clay’s voice dropped, as sharp and cold as a frozen lake in a Texas winter. “Anyone who jokes about Savannah’s reputation again will find out what happens when I turn on a friend.” The room went silent. A moment later, the same friend changed the subject, his voice laced with confusion. “With terms like these, I can’t believe Elara will agree. She’s not stupid.” Clay gave a soft, arrogant laugh—the sound of a man who believed he controlled everything. “She will.” “Elara isn’t materialistic. In seven years of marriage, the only thing she’s ever wanted is my love and to be a real part of this family.” “She’s desperate to be the legitimate Mrs. Beaumont.” … I stood outside the door, the warm Texas wind unable to touch the chill in my bones. So he knew. He’d known all along. He knew how hard I had tried to fit in, how desperately I had longed for a single scrap of sincerity from him. For seven years. Even after giving him a son, I was still the girl from the Appalachians who didn’t belong. He had never truly seen me as his wife. Now, to make room for his first love, Savannah, he was finally willing to give me a “formal” identity: a paid household manager, bound by a legal document. In that instant, seven years of devotion burned to ash. I no longer wanted to be Mrs. Beaumont.I pushed open the study door. My hand was shaking, but my spine was straight. The conversation stopped cold. Clay’s friends watched me with probing eyes, but I ignored them. I walked right up to Clay, forcing down the storm of emotions inside me. “Clay, I’d like to host a small family dinner to welcome Nana.” I added, “She was just diagnosed with severe pulmonary fibrosis. The doctors said the dry Texas climate might help. This is the first time she’s ever been this far from home.” Clay was about to speak when his phone rang. The moment he saw the caller ID, his eyes softened with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. Savannah’s tearful voice drifted from the receiver. “Clay, my horse got spooked at the polo club… I’m so scared. Can you come get me?” Clay stood up instantly, without a flicker of hesitation. “I’ll be right there.” On instinct, I grabbed his sleeve. “Nana has been looking forward to this…” He ripped his arm from my grasp, his voice dripping with condescending impatience. “Elara, do you really think some old woman from the mountains cares about a welcome dinner?” I froze. He leaned in close, his warm breath brushing my ear as he spoke words as cold and clear as ice. “You want to be a good Mrs. Beaumont? Then learn your place.” With that, he and his friends were gone. The study was terrifyingly quiet. I stood there for a long moment. Then, a laugh escaped my lips. Something inside my chest had just shattered for good. Fine.I went back to my......

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I posted a photo of myself, six months pregnant, on Instagram. When Kieran saw it, the color drained from his face. Before long, he had me locked away in a private psychiatric clinic. All because that photo sent Carla into another spiral of depression. Carla has MRKH syndrome. No uterus. Can’t have children. And to make her feel better, Kieran decided to give me, his six-month-pregnant wife, 101 rounds of electroshock. I begged him to spare my baby. He didn't even flinch. After the first hundred shocks, chunks of my skin were dead. Bone showing. For the 101st shock, Kieran personally placed the electrodes on my stomach. He stared down at my belly, his voice cold as ice. “Everyone knows Carla can't have children.” “But you just had to post that photo, didn't you? Triggered her relapse.” “I’ve been too lenient with you. That’s why you’ve gotten so bold.” “Now, you’re going to feel the same pain she does during one of her episodes.” The high-voltage current burned straight through my abdomen. Amniotic fluid and blood gushed from the wound, exposing my organs. And when Carla’s surgery was a success, Kieran wept with joy. He even threw her a thirty-six-day party on a cruise ship. When he finally remembered I was still in that clinic, his assistant called. “Sir… our people found Mrs. Vitale in the hospital morgue…” ... The first hundred shocks had already burned my skin raw. My body was seized by convulsions, and I’d lost control of my bladder, soaking the table beneath me. I stared in terror as Kieran’s hand reached for my stomach. Tears blurred my vision. “Kieran, please, spare the baby… I won’t ask for anything ever again.” “Just let me have our child, and I’ll leave. I promise.” “If you don’t believe me, I swear it. I’ll disappear from your life forever.” Beside him, Carla lowered her head, her voice trembling. “Kieran… I don’t understand what I did to make Blythe hate me so much.” “Why would she use my infertility to humiliate me like this?” Kieran raised a hand and stroked her hair. “You’ve suffered enough, Carla.” “It’s all right. You’ll be better soon.” “I’ve already scheduled an appointment with the best specialist in the country. I’ll take you there myself.” Then he turned, his gaze falling back to my stomach. “Carla can’t have children. Everyone knows to avoid the subject.” “But you just had to post that photo to provoke her and cause another breakdown.” “I’ve been too good to you. That’s why you’ve forgotten your place.” “Now it’s time you understood the kind of pain she endures.” He pressed the button. Electricity tore through my stomach, a thousand needles stabbing into every nerve. I thrashed against the restraints, my arms straining, but it was useless. In the end, all I could do was scream. “Kieran Vitale, if my baby dies, I’ll never forgive you, not even in death!” He only smiled. “Good. I’ll be waiting.” Carla’s eyes reddened. “Kieran, please don’t let this damage your marriage. I’d feel so guilty.” “She’s not worth your guilt.” With that, he pressed the button again, turning the current higher. My body snapped taut, and the area beneath me was soaked once more. “Admit you were wrong, and I’ll have them stop.” He tossed the words out carelessly, then left with Carla. A few seconds after they walked out, the current suddenly surged. Sheets of my skin sloughed off, exposing the white of my bones. A wound had been burned open across my stomach. The current was relentless, searing the wound open. I remembered the operators outside the door and summoned the last of my strength. “Help me… please, help me…” The technician outside looked troubled. “Ma’am, it’s not that I don’t want to help you.” “You know Mr. Vitale’s reputation.” “One word from him, and I’m blacklisted in this city.” “Don’t worry. This level is supposed to be ......

Three months pregnant, I told my fiancé, Miles Kensington, I was ending it. He frowned at me. "What is it this time? Because my mother said you shouldn't keep the baby right now?" "Yes." He looked impatient. "Fine. Go back to the apartment and rest. I'll talk to my mother." I said nothing. He turned away to take a call from his assistant, completely missing that something was off with me. "Book two first-class tickets to Cabo for the weekend. Take her to the beach to unwind." That "her" wasn't me. After he hung up, all he said to me was that we'd talk another time. He didn't know I'd gotten my test results today. I was carrying twins. I made the call. "Aunt Victoria, help me arrange a move to the West Coast." If the Kensington family didn't want this child, then the baby would bear the name Quinn. No more ties to that old Boston dynasty. *** An iMessage lit up my screen just as I ended the call with my aunt. "Harper, it's Paige. Miles ......

My husband had an accident while on his way to celebrate his infatuation’s divorce. He was relatively unharmed, just a head injury. When he regained consciousness, it turned out he’d forgotten me, though he remembered everyone else. His infatuation was there, crying softly by his side as he comforted her tenderly. Meanwhile, I skimmed the fat from the chicken stew I'd brought him, hoping it wouldn't be too greasy when he tasted it. Two days later, after all the visitors had left, I saw him sitting there, rubbing his temples. I spoke gently, "The doctor said you'll experience dizziness and nausea for a few days. Maybe you should lie down and rest." Dean opened his eyes and looked at me, silent for a long moment. Just when I thought he wouldn't speak, he suddenly asked, "Did I marry you because I loved you? Why am I the only one who’s forgotten you?" I was taken aback, not expecting him to ask this. "No, we were college classmates. After graduation, your family was pushing for marriage. I happened to like you, so we got married." Now it was his turn to be surprised. "You liked me?" I walked over to him and straightened the collar of his loose pajamas. "Yeah, I really did back then. You were handsome, smart, and talented. Who wouldn’t?" I saw the confusion in his eyes and couldn’t help but smile slightly. "Go rest now, or you'll feel worse later." Watching him retreat to the bedroom, I made a firm resolution in my heart. This man, I’m done with him. No matter how much I once liked him, I don't want him anymore. I quietly shut the master bedroom door before making my way to the study. Dean’s bookshelf was always meticulously organized, every book in its place. Whenever he wanted to read something specific, he’d pull it out ahead of time and leave it in the center of the rightmost cabinet. My fingers brushed over the spines until I landed on a thick journal. I opened it, flipping through the pages with a bittersweet ache in my chest. **October 16, 2014** Wow. The senior playing the violin at the freshman welcome party was *so* handsome. His name is Dean. I think I might have a little crush on him. The pages were filled with my raw, unfiltered thoughts about him—every flutter of my heart, every stolen glance. And tucked between the pages was an ultrasound report. **January 19, 2023** Dean and I are going to have a baby. I can’t wait to tell him. He’s always wanted to be a father, and I know he’ll be over the moon. **January 20, 2023** Dean didn’t come home last night. I wanted to text him about the pregnancy, but it felt like something I should say in person. He’ll be so happy… right? **January 21, 2023** Dean said he was on a “business trip” and forgot to tell me. Fine. I’ll tell him when he gets back. **January 22, 2023** I saw Marina’s Instagram post. Not sure if it’s visible only to me, but Dean was with her. They went on a getaway together. So, it wasn’t a business trip after all. **January 23, 2023** Marina called me. She wants me to divorce Dean and “give him back” to her. But wasn’t *she* the one who left him to go abroad? How do I “give him back” when I didn’t take him away? Her call upset me so much I ended up with stomach pains and had to go to the hospital. The doctor told me to stay calm, but how am I supposed to do that? **February 24, 2023** Marina says she’s divorced now, and Dean is going to celebrate with her. My stomach hurts again, and I feel nauseous. I drank some herbal tea to protect the baby, but it tasted awful. **February 26, 2023** Dean told me the office had a gathering, so he wouldn’t be home tonight. But I know he’s with Marina. Oh, baby, I’m sorry. You might not have a dad because he can’t let go of his past. **February 27, 2023** Dean got into a car accident last night. He woke up today and remembers everyone… except me. It’s over. I placed the journal back in the center of the rightmost bookshelf, making sure it was positioned lower so he’d notice it within a couple of months. The third drawer of the desk was where I kept my personal belongings. I tucked the medical records inside and locked it up. It was time to end all this toxicity. I needed to cut ties with everything and everyone that brought me pain—Marina, Dean, even Dean’s pretentious parents. A jerk doesn’t change, and I’m not holding my breath for him to have a sudden epiphany. But once I’m gone, I won’t let them live their lives so comfortably either. March 1, 2023 I set the breakfast I had prepared on the dining table just as Dean emerged from the bedroom. I smiled at him, but he avoided eye contact and sat down. I tried not to let it bother me; ever since Marina mentioned wanting a divorce, this had been his usual demeanor with me. This is why I couldn't buy Dean's claims of amnesia. After two days of quietly observing him, I concluded he was faking it. He was using the silent treatment along with his supposed memory loss as a tactic to make me frustrated enough to initiate the divorce. The cherry on top was him asking yesterday if he married me because he loved me. Breakfast passed in silence. I was patiently peeling an apple when Dean's phone rang. His face lit up with a smile as he glanced at the caller ID. "Marina, yeah, I'm awake. Still a little dizzy, but I'll be okay. Make sure to wear something warm. Yep, I'm home, feel free to come by anytime." My hand paused mid-peel. Should I make myself scarce so they could have more room to parade their affection? If I had to witness their lovey-dovey behavior once more, I feared I might truly get sick. After finishing breakfast, I tidied up and told Dean I was heading out. "Alright, Marina said she's coming over to take care of me, so you don't need to worry," he replied. I nodded with a smile, "That's great; I won't worry then. I'll be back tonight, and we can talk after dinner." Dean seemed to be searching my eyes for a reaction, maybe hoping to see dismay or defeat. But he'd be let down, as my gaze remained steady. "Okay," he said. I headed straight to my childhood friend's law firm. "So, you're getting a divorce?" Arianna asked, incredulous. "You two have always been the picture-perfect couple. How did it come to this?" I took a sip of coffee. "He's been cheating. His ex got divorced, and now he wants to be with her." "Do his parents know?" I rolled my eyes. "His social-climbing parents have been comparing me to Marina for years. Marina's family is wealthy; she made money in Europe, and she's supposedly so kind-hearted. They've always thought she was better than me. They'll probably be thrilled this time." Arianna grabbed the coffee from my hand. "Aren't you pregnant? Is coffee even okay?" I tilted my head. "Who said I'm keeping it? Ever since they started going on romantic getaways, I decided not to have this child. Dean's tainted, and I don't want anything binding me to him, not even a child, even if it carries his blood." I took the coffee back and had another sip. "Just no time right now. Help me draft a divorce agreement, as soon as possible. I want to secure the best deal while I can, ideally getting him to walk away with nothing." "If you're sure about this, I won't try to talk you out of it. A jerk like him isn't worth the trouble. I'll get started now, come with me." I spent the entire day at the law firm, working with Arianna and two other lawyers to finalize the divorce agreement. At nine in the evening, I returned home with the divorce papers in hand. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by a table full of leftovers. Dean and Marina both looked up. "Why didn't you call if you weren't coming back for dinner?" Dean asked. Of course, I had been too busy and forgot. I checked my phone. "You didn't call me to ask either." Marina smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Ah, married life, there's nothing that can't be talked out. You two chat, I'll get going. Dean, the pulled pork you made was delicious. See you!" "You can cook?" I walked over to the table and noted the mess—four dishes and a soup, all looking quite decent. Dean nodded. "I've always known how to cook. Did I never cook for you? That can't be right. I love cooking. I used to make meals for Marina all the time." I laughed. All these years of marriage, and he pretended not to know how to cook? "Okay, I get it. You don't love me anymore; you love your star." I settled onto the couch and pushed the divorce agreement towards him. "Look it over. If everything's fine, go ahead and sign it. I'll grant you your love story. I've been a stay-at-home wife these years, no chance to work, no savings. So let's see if you can leave with nothing. Marina's family is so wealthy; they won't mind this small amount of property, right?" Dean didn't hesitate much. After looking through it, he signed without any fuss. "I'm truly sorry. I just can't remember you, and we can't live together anymore, so I'll agree to all your terms." I laughed, collecting the agreement. "Tomorrow, we'll head to the civil office. The house is in your parents' name, so I won't stay here tonight. I have plans for the afternoon, so let's meet at the office first thing." I waved and left the home I'd lived in for years. "I don't need to take anything. Nothing important. Throw it all out if you want." It wasn't until I was in the taxi that I burst out laughing. This was way too easy.

I posted a photo of myself, six months pregnant, on Instagram. When Kieran saw it, the color drained from his face. Before long, he had me locked away in a private psychiatric clinic. All because that photo sent Carla into another spiral of depression. Carla has MRKH syndrome. No uterus. Can’t have children. And to make her feel better, Kieran decided to give me, his six-month-pregnant wife, 101 rounds of electroshock. I begged him to spare my baby. He didn't even flinch. After the first hundred shocks, chunks of my skin were dead. Bone showing. For the 101st shock, Kieran personally placed the electrodes on my stomach. He stared down at my belly, his voice cold as ice. “Everyone knows Carla can't have children.” “But you just had to post that photo, didn't you? Triggered her relapse.” “I’ve been too lenient with you. That’s why you’ve gotten so bold.” “Now, you’re going to feel the same pain she does during one of her episodes.” The high......

For eighteen years, I was a Bellini. Sheltered, protected, and loved. Then my birth parents showed up out of nowhere and demanded me back. My adoptive father, Salvatore Bellini, was a name that carried weight in New York. When he sent me away, his eyes were red. “Odette, your birth parents don’t have proper staff. You won’t be used to it.” My adoptive mother Sofia ran half the family fortune. She squeezed my hand. “Two million on this card, baby. The second you feel wrong, you come home.” My brother Matteo’s voice was cold as ice. “Remember, you’re a Bellini. No one gets to look down on you.” “We’ll visit you every week. If anyone dares to wrong you, I’ll make them regret it.” I thought they were overreacting. Then I walked through my birth parents' front door. Their adopted daughter slapped me twice. She threw a wad of cash in my face, her eyes promising murder. “Take it. That’s the price of your life.” “I pissed off the Bellinis. Now they're looking for me. And they're pushing my parents to hand me over." “You're taking the fall for me. Shut your mouth tight, or I'll make your life a nightmare.” I turned to my birth parents. They pulled that girl, Jenna, behind them without a second thought. “We raised Jenna for eighteen years. Nothing can happen to her.” “You're our blood. So you owe her this.” I froze. So that was the plan. They fought so hard to rip me from the Bellinis… just to hand me over like a sacrifice. I thought about Salvatore. How he always backed me up. I thought about Sofia. How she never let me get the short end. I thought about Matteo. The look on his face when he said nobody messes with me. A chill went down my spine. The last person who dared to treat me this way was no longer in New York. ... For the sake of the blood we shared, I tried to reason with them. “Dad, Mom, I’m your daughter. You—” Before I could finish, Mrs. Bennett slapped me across......

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“Fallon, your twenty-second birthday is coming up.” Isabella Marino’s voice was bright over the phone. “Have you decided which of your five fiancés you’re going to choose?” Fallon stood by the window, her fingertips grazing the sill. “I have,” she said. Isabella laughed. “I knew it. You've chased after Matteo your whole life. It's him, right?” “No,” Fallon said. “Not Matteo.” The line went quiet. “Then Nico? Gianni? Alessio?” Isabella asked. “They all like you." “Not them, either.” Isabella drew in a sharp breath. “That only leaves Eamon. ‘ “But you two have never gotten along. Tell me you’re not picking him.” “I am.” Fallon cut in. “Mom, I’m marrying Eamon Burke.” “What?” Isabella’s voice shot up. “Fallon, you and Eamon have been at each other's throats since you were kids.” “At five, you shoved him into the country club pool.” “At ten, you soaked his birthday cake in Tabasco.” “At fifteen, you tossed his limited-edition Air Jordans straight into the Central Park fountain—” Fallon let her mother rattle off the old crimes. A small smile tugged at her lips. “Last year you said you never wanted to see his face again,” Isabella went on. “Then he left for Switzerland the next week. So why him? Why now?” Fallon lowered her eyes. Because this wasn’t her first life. And in that life, she found out the truth too late. Out of all five men, only Eamon Burke had ever really loved her. But she didn’t know it before. … In her last life, she had stood in this very spot, brimming with excitement as she told her mother she was going to marry Matteo Moretti. She’d had no idea the eldest son of the Moretti family would fake his own death just to run away with another woman. She had been trapped in that lie for twenty years. The Marino family was old-money New York. Her mother, Isabella, had been close friends for years with the matriarchs of the Moretti, Bellini, Romano, Ferraro, and ......

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