A decade of devotion later, Aurora learns her wealthy husband Chuck neglects their daughter Molly for his first love Mia and her son. Heartbroken, Aurora seeks divorce; Molly gives Chuck a second chance but is hurt again, leaving with her mother. Aurora’s long-lost godfather offers Chuck a billion dollar order, which Chuck mistakenly attributes to Mia. Overwhelming regret hits when he learns the truth—but by then, Molly has completely given up on him.

Gabrielle Taylor, a bold young model, is publicly humiliated and fired after discovering her ex is marrying her best friend. A spontaneous kiss with powerful CEO Kyle Wright sets off a chain of events that pulls her into his world. Hired as his assistant, Gabrielle must navigate ambition, romance, and betrayal in a glamorous, high-stakes world.

To save her mother, Melissa enters a transactional arrangement with paraplegic billionaire Owen. Their deal turns into love, threatened by his manipulative mother and jealous ex, Nina. When Nina kidnaps the pregnant Melissa, Owen miraculously walks to rescue her, exposing the plot.

Embers glowed red, like the grip of her mother’s hand in her final moments. Ari stood barefoot on the scorched earth behind the manor, her dress flapping in the night wind like a tattered banner. The nobles formed a circle around her, their golden spectacles reflecting cold, glittering eyes. "Daughter of a traitor—unworthy of bearing the heirloom of the Wolfblood." They pointed at the silver chain around her neck, the one her mother had died to leave behind, engraved with forgotten moon-script: *Blood not cold, oath unbroken.* Ivy screamed from behind iron bars, but her voice drowned beneath the crackling flames. A man who looked like a cook approached, a boning knife in hand, a scar cutting across his face, grinning like a madman. "Heard your sister preferred her feet burned raw rather than give it up?" He hurled a ladle of hot oil into the fire. The blaze roared skyward. "Well then, let's see how much pain the little sister can take tonight." Ari didn’t turn. She only stared into the churning sparks within the coals—seeing again that night ten years past: her mother being dragged into the woods, pressing this very necklace into her palm with her last breath. "You call me the child of a traitor?" she finally spoke, her voice ragged as tearing cloth. "But tell me—who among you remembers who took the hunters’ silver arrows so you could live?" The crowd stirred. Doubt flickered. Then—a shadow cut across the firelight. A man in a tailored suit stepped from the darkness, his polished shoes treading over ash without a sound. His gaze swept over Ari—the trembling spine held unbent—and slowly, he removed his gloves. "Gentlemen," his voice low and heavy, "what you are burning is not a traitor’s bloodline. It is the last living descendant of the final Wolf Lord." He lifted his eyes, their depths dark as an abyss: "And I have come to bring her home." The wind stilled. The fire burned on. A tear traced down Ari’s cheek—but she did not step back. The game was set. Survival has always been written by the victor.

After a reckless one-night stand with equestrian champion Phillips Hobbs, hotel maid Cindy Becker is caught in a scandal that forces them into a flash marriage. Bound by pride and passion yet divided by class and circumstance, their fragile union faces relentless tests—from Phillips’ devoted fiancée to the weight of family expectations. But as jealousy, rivalry, and sacrifice threaten to tear them apart, Cindy and Phillips uncover a truth neither expected: their lives have been intertwined long before that night.

At the elite gala, crystal chandeliers shimmering above champagne towers, Juliet Hayes stepped into the ballroom in a crimson gown, a silver small-caliber pistol aimed at Victor Astor’s chest. “You owe me,” she sneered, eyes sharp as blades. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back—when you left me on that Venetian bridge three years ago?” Silence gripped the room. Victor only smiled, lifting his wine glass with deliberate grace. “Oh? Then tell me—exactly who are you?” The livestream chat exploded: [No way! This Juliet is fake! The real Miss Hayes has been locked away in a sanatorium by Victor for five years!] [Plot twist incoming! Every move she makes is part of his script!] [Even her name was given by him… oh god, she’s just a doll he created…] Juliet froze. She remembered the night she fled the slums—he gave her the name "Juliet," taught her aristocratic diction, sent her into Parisian high society. She thought it was love. It was training. “You think you’re here for revenge?” Victor set down his glass, stepping closer. “But you don’t even realize it—your dress, your words, even the way you hold that gun—all written by my brother, Jasper, just for you.” She pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang out. But it wasn’t Victor who fell—it was the bodyguard rushing in behind her, blood blooming across his chest, the Hayes family crest pinned to his jacket. “He’s the real one.” Victor’s voice turned icy. “And you? You wouldn’t pass a DNA test.” Staggering backward, Juliet crashed into the champagne tower. Glass shattered. On the grand screen at the far end of the hall, surveillance footage flickered to life—a pale woman in a wheelchair, smiling quietly at the camera. *That* is Juliet Hayes.” Victor said. “I’ve killed seven impostors before you. You’re the eighth.” She finally understood—no one ever intended for her to walk out alive the moment she stepped onto that red carpet. In the next breath, she dropped to her knees—not in surrender, but raised the gun to her own temple. “If I’m not her… then who am I?” Victor looked down, whispering like a lover’s kiss: “You were my most perfect forgery. Pity—even the finest counterfeit must burn.” Flames crept from the hem of her dress. Music swelled once more. At the center of the dance floor, only a pair of bloodstained red dancing shoes remained, slowly spinning.