The wedding rehearsal collapses the moment the hospital system refuses her payment—and the refusal cannot be undone. Under the glare of fluorescent lights, she doesn’t beg, doesn’t explain. She lets the rejection screen stay visible while the live cameras outside the chapel warm up. When Aspen arrives in tailored shoes and rehearsed concern, she says nothing—she simply forwards his engagement video to the hospital clerk, timestamps intact. Champagne towers. A promise to transfer “everything” after vows. The contrast is lethal. Stage one: he reframes mercy as ownership. The surgery money appears, labeled a pre‑marital gift. The press is already waiting. He offers her his hand like a leash. She doesn’t take it. Stage two: the intercom detonates the room. A flagged record. A marriage she never consented to. No denial—just a pause while she pulls the registry receipt from her phone, metadata glowing, and lets the whisper ripple through the corridor. Phones rise. Screens capture. The story begins to travel without her saying a word. Stage three escalates at the altar. Suitcases hit the table—cash spilling, cameras swallowing the image whole. A man from her past steps into frame, not as a savior but as proof: an affidavit, a recorded call, a dead name bound to her ID five years ago. A charity hero’s signature. A system bent until it breaks. Aspen sneers; she smiles. She walks forward. Tears the contract on livestream. The chat explodes. Power shifts in real time as the narrative outruns him. But the feed cuts before the end. A final message uploads—scheduled, not sent. A second contract waits in escrow. And somewhere between the chapel doors and the operating room, a countdown starts, promising that what just went viral was only the first release.

After two years in a passionless marriage, Charlotte discovers her emotionally distant husband has secretly been in love with his stepsister all along — and she’s just been his cover. So she tells the truth to his stepsister and leaves him, but he ends up regretting it.

The moment Miranda, heiress to Frank Aviation Group, steps off her private jet with her daughter Bella, she has no idea she’s about to walk into the most jaw-dropping betrayal of her life—one that turns her luxury world into a battlefield of lies, infidelity, and high-stakes revenge. Her pilot husband Andre plays the perfect family man by day, but behind Miranda’s back he steals her jet card to secretly fly his mistress Jennifer—a woman bold enough to parade around Miranda’s own aircraft, insult her child, and smash Bella’s priceless crown as if she owns the sky itself. The humiliation goes viral, the marriage shatters, and Miranda finally sees Andre for what he is: a fraud who traded loyalty for greed. But Miranda isn’t just a betrayed wife—she’s the daughter of a billionaire empire. With her father’s power behind her, she turns the tables with a ruthless precision that brings bankruptcy, handcuffs, and total public downfall crashing down on Andre. Yet just when it seems justice is served, one chilling truth about Jennifer’s motives hints that Miranda’s real enemy… might be much closer than she thinks. Because in a world built on money, power, and secrets, the real twist is who walks away owning the skies.

Six years ago, on a stormy night. I carried him out of a pool of blood, bullets still lodged between his shoulder blades. He was battered and broken, breathing faintly, yet murmuring a code name—“Lord Ex.” I didn’t call the police. I didn’t dare ask who he was. I hid him in the old house instead, nursing him back to life with spoonfuls of medicine and sips of water for three long months. During that time, he leaned against my bed and said, “A Zhi, if one day I leave, don’t wait for me.” I said okay. But I lied. I waited six years. Now I lie in a hospital bed, my hands wrapped in bandages, nerves severed—never to hold a gun or knife again. And there he stands at the door, dressed in a black suit, watch gleaming, eyes cold as if he’s never seen me before. “I saved you,” my voice trembles, tears splashing onto the sheets. “Now what? You’ll just watch me die?” Finally, he steps closer. He leans down, lifts his hand, and gently brushes a strand of hair from my face. “Don’t cry,” he says. “I’ll heal your hands.” My heart softens—just halfway—when footsteps echo outside. A line of men in black enters, bowing respectfully. “Sir, the madam and the children are waiting downstairs.” The air freezes. I go rigid. “…What wife?” He pulls his hand away, adjusts his cufflinks, calm and detached. “Married three years. Three children. The mission’s over. Everyone returns to their place.” I laugh—crying and laughing at once. “So who am I? A backup? A forgotten mistake? Or just a decoy to draw attention?” No one answers. Then my father bursts in and slaps me hard across the face. “Enough! Do you think you’re the chosen one? He has a family, a prearranged marriage. You were an unauthorized contact—an accident. Orders have already been issued to eliminate you!” I clutch my cheek, staring at the man walking away. His final whisper, barely audible— “When interests are at stake, where does loyalty stand?” The moment the door shuts, I rip off the heart monitor, throw aside the pillow— A modified revolver lies silently beneath. In the chamber: five empty slots, only the first round loaded. I wipe my tears in the mirror, force a cold smirk. “You say loyalty means nothing…” “Then I’ll use everything you taught me—to tear this entire game apart.”

In the deepest corner of the prison, Ella huddled on a moldy wooden bunk, her nosebleed dripping into a metal basin with a dull plink. Jin stepped on her wrist, smirking. "Champion's daughter? If your old man's so powerful, why hasn't he come to save you?" At that very moment, three hundred kilometers away, in a decaying orphanage, iron gates rusted shut. Judy was locked in the basement, her fingernails scraping against concrete as she whispered, "Daddy will come... He promised." No one believed her. Not even the matron shaking her head. "Another crazy kid." Until— Tires crushed dead leaves. A deep-blue Mercedes tore through the rainy night, screeching to a halt before the orphanage gate. The door swung open. Jack Reynolds stepped out—impeccable suit, knuckles wrapped in old scars, eyes sharp enough to split the darkness. His bodyguards marched in formation. No alarms sounded, yet the air turned to ice. "Where is my daughter?" Not a question. A declaration. Back in the prison, Jin raised a metal spoon toward Ella’s eye— *Boom!* The cell door exploded open. Jack stood silhouetted in the light, flanked by lawyers and guards. His gaze swept over the bruises littering the floor, finally settling on Ella. Without a word, he crouched down and gently wiped the blood from her lip with his thumb. "Does it hurt?" His voice was soft. Ella shook her head. Tears fell. At the same instant, Judy screamed from the basement: "Don’t touch him! He’ll beat every one of you—" But her voice froze. Because what she saw—her father wasn’t holding her. The child in his arms matched the photo perfectly. But… that wasn’t her. The rain kept falling. One girl rescued from prison. One trembling in the dark. And Jack finally lifted his head, staring straight into the surveillance camera, each word carved like stone: "Who locked her up?" The answer lies within a fire that burned fifteen years ago. Next chapter: Blood ties will rip lies apart. The champion’s wrath has only just begun.

Three hours into the flight to Vancouver, flight attendant Lara Smith strode toward seat 31F in high heels, her face wearing a professional smile but her voice as cold as Siberian wind. "Ma'am, your bag must go into the overhead bin. It's airline policy." Vina Chopra didn't look up, her fingers rapidly tapping her phone screen. "I'm waiting for a call—my parents are in the hospital. They might not make it. There's medicine in that bag." "The captain won't change course for your family emergency," Lara snapped, raising her voice by eight degrees as she grabbed the dark green handbag. Vina shot to her feet, eyes red-rimmed. "You have no idea how hard I've fought to get here!" In the struggle, Vina stumbled backward, crashing into the bathroom door and falling inside. Passengers turned, some whispering in shock. "Shameless!" Lara declared to the onlookers, smirking. "Think shedding a few tears earns special treatment? Is the whole world performing tragic dramas now?" From inside the restroom came muffled sobs. "I'm not—I just want to see them one last time... I flew all the way from India. I didn't book first class because it was sold out—not because I couldn't afford it..." Just then, male flight attendant Daniel approached quietly, holding the passenger manifest. His gaze settled on the damp sleeve of Vina’s shirt. Softly, he said, "She's the daughter of Vivan Chaudhary. Founder of Chaudhary Group—one of the world's top five medical device companies. Last year, he donated thirty-seven hospitals along border regions." The cabin fell silent. Lara’s smile froze. "Her father had a hemorrhagic stroke yesterday. Her mother is in ICU with heart failure. She canceled her private jet, gave up chauffeured service, and chose to fly commercial—to 'feel what it's like to carry the weight of an ordinary life.'" The bathroom door opened. Vina stepped out, tear-streaked but standing tall. "I didn't ask for privilege. I just... didn't want to be treated like air." Phones rose around her, flashes exploding like stars. Lara’s lips twitched. Finally, she muttered, "Guess you're just lucky to be born rich." Vina smiled then—a tired, bloodshot gaze locking onto Lara’s. "Then what do you have? Besides that uniform and your arrogance?" Engines roared as the plane began its descent. But this storm had only just landed.