Jennifer Lawrence

In my past life, I died on that operating table, watching my husband personally hand my kidney to another woman.
When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn—back at our engagement party.
He looked at me tenderly and said, "Marry me."
Without showing any emotion, I played the sex tape of him and my sister on the wedding screen.
I said, "I refuse."

"To my lovely readers: I’m really sorry to say that I’ve been sick lately and need to take a short break from writing to recover. I’ll be back as soon as I can!"

"You're just my business partner!" the handsome man across from me roared.
What he didn't know was that our 'love story' was already the hottest gossip in the entire company.

"You're terrible in bed! The stamina of a goldfish! I want someone else!"
"Oh yeah? Who exactly?"
"Someone who can actually keep up!"
My husband's jaw ticked. That night, he proved exactly how much stamina he had—and I could barely walk the next morning.

Three years of marriage. Three years of negative pregnancy tests. Desperate times called for desperate measures—so I pushed every button he had, hoping to finally conceive.
One reckless night of passion later, I thought we'd finally made progress.
Instead, divorce papers slammed into my hands.
"Anyone could mother my child," he said coldly. "Literally anyone but you."

Six years later, I returned from overseas—CEO of a medical empire, renowned archaeologist, certified gemologist, and secret heiress to the nation's wealthiest family. Oh, and I brought along my adorable twin geniuses.
My multiple identities? Mind. Blown.
Meanwhile, my ex-husband's dirty secret hit tabloids: He's firing blanks. Always has been.

Just as I'm about to marry my charming new fiancé (who actually appreciates me), my ex corners me in a hotel suite. His eyes bloodshot, voice cracking:
"You're the only one—the ONLY one—who can be my children's mother. My love. Please..."
Too bad, buddy. You snooze, you lose.
💎 Revenge. Rebirth. Twin Chaos. And one groveling ex who's about to learn what he lost. 💎

Our marriage was loveless, only physical. When he was inside me, it was another woman's name he called out.
This continued until I became pregnant. He ripped my prenatal report to shreds.
"The child and you, only one can live!"
I had no choice but to leave, filled with bitterness.
Years later, when we meet again, I am a woman who can command the winds and rains in the business world.
I tear apart his proposal, piece by piece, and say in a cold voice: "Today, your company and you, only one can live!"

My husband gave me away to another man's bed. To him, I was nothing more than an object.
What he never expected was that the gift he so carelessly threw away would become the most powerful man's cherished lover.
When my ex-husband knelt before me, that powerful man pulled me into his arms.
"Pregnant with my child," he murmured, his voice a possessive growl, "where do you think you're going?"

The unwanted wife. The unloved daughter. The disappointing granddaughter.
wore those labels like shackles my entire life.
But then I got a second chance—a do-over I never saw coming. This time, I swear I'll rewrite every page of my story.
Except there's a problem: My grandfather's already dead. The engagement's already set.
Am I really supposed to marry the man who destroyed me in my past life?
Hell no.
There's another way out.
I'll become the Mafia Don's bride instead.