Juniper Marlow

When perfect housewife Sarah catches her husband David screwing Jessica—the single mom she personally helped get hired—in a soccer equipment room, she doesn't scream or cause a scene. Instead, she chooses a deadlier path: flaunting their wealth on Instagram with Hermès shopping sprees, luxury vacations, and extravagant kids' parties. As neighbors grow suspicious and jealous of their sudden fortune, someone inevitably tips off the IRS... Turns out, the sweetest revenge isn't destroying your cheating husband—it's letting him destroy himself.

I thought seven years of marriage had given me a home, but I was just a supporting character in someone else's love story.
When I saw that ArtForum magazine, my heart nearly stopped—my mother's only legacy, Ansel Adams's signed Moonrise, Hernandez, was hanging on the wall behind Evangeline. She reclined elegantly on white Italian leather, her smile perfect like a victory announcement.
Adrian called it a "temporary loan," but I knew the truth: when a man starts giving your treasures to another woman, you're already worthless in his heart.
I won't keep performing for a dead relationship. It's time to reclaim everything that's mine—including myself.

DNA test results: I'm not the Kelly family's real daughter.
Their actual daughter Sierra came home.
She got my room, my college fund, and my boyfriend started protecting her too.
The night our house caught fire, I almost died inside, but my boyfriend said "thank God the real family is safe."
"Figure out who you are first," he told me when we broke up.
My parents spent my college money on Sierra's clothes and suggested I take a gap year.
Fine. I'll figure out who I am.
Two and a half years later, I'm back driving a company car, scouting locations for a coffee shop chain.
Sierra's working three part-time jobs to pay bills, my ex-boyfriend's a temp worker at city hall.
My former parents are using coupons at the grocery store.
And me? I'm deciding whether to invest six figures in this town.

I thought returning to wealth meant happiness. I was wrong—it was the entrance to hell.
My celebrity husband Ryan uses me as his personal punching bag every night, calling it "method acting." Meanwhile, my perfect sister Stella whispers in his ear: "Ruby did everything during her street years. You need to show her where she belongs."
When I called for help while holding my three-year-old Lily, crying, my family only said: "Tonight is Stella's Golden Globe night. Stop causing drama."
On that final night, as the rope tightened around my neck, I finally understood—
I should never have came home.
Three days after my death, they finally stepped into the mansion. Not to save me, but to confront me about my "disappearance."
Until Lily's trembling finger pointed at that sandbag...

My ex shows up flaunting a knockoff version of me, and the whole circle’s ready for my downfall? Fine—I'll show up with a fake boyfriend and flip the script. My Cunning Cutie is pure high-voltage drama: green tea provocations, cutthroat office wars, and love that turns the tables. Watch me go from the one they pity… to the one they fear.

When neuroscience PhD candidate Elena Rodriguez desperately needs a research partner for her marriage transition study, the last person she expects to volunteer is Ethan Mitchell—her college crush and campus golden boy who always seemed out of her league.
One marriage certificate, two agendas: she needs academic data, he needs to escape family pressure. What should have been a straightforward fake arrangement becomes infinitely more complicated when Elena accidentally develops an unexpected side effect after saying "I do"—she can hear her new husband's thoughts.
"She said yes... even if it's fake, she's my wife now..."
"I've been loving her for four years..."
"Want to kiss that concentrated frown away..."
When Ethan's carefully hidden four-year crush becomes Elena's personal mental soundtrack, and she discovers every "coincidental" college encounter was meticulously planned, the power dynamics of their fake marriage flip entirely.
Turns out the best way to use mind-reading is: first hear him fall, then make him completely yours.
A brilliant academic heroine × devoted STEM hero neural synchronization love experiment. When accidental telepathy meets fake marriage, when neuroscience meets real confessions, Elena's about to use this glitch-like ability to turn her fake husband into her real forever.

I thought I saved him.
Six years ago, Marcus came back from Afghanistan broken, traumatized, plagued by nightmares. I was his therapist, walked him through every panic attack, broke every professional rule to fall for my own patient.
"Age is just a number," he used to say. "You saved my life, Sophia."
Now he tells his friends I'm "stale," that I'm too old at thirty-six, that my face shows wrinkles.
When I saw the bank transfers to Emma Wilson, when I discovered this 25-year-old grad student looks like a younger me, when I realized they're using my money for couples therapy workshops...
My hands are shaking.
Not from fear. From rage.
I thought I saved a broken man. Now I understand I just raised a monster.
He forgot one thing—
I still remember how to destroy a person.

When I found a file in my boss Alex Blackwood's office labeled "Sophia Matthews - Potential Breeder," I thought it was some sick joke.
Until I saw his eyes glow gold in the moonlight.
Five years after running away pregnant with his child, I thought I was safe. I was wrong.
Now he's found us, and my five-year-old son just took down an aggressive dog in the park with his bare hands—making it submit with a single growl.
"He's my heir," Alex says, predator's gleam in his eyes.
"He's my son," I fire back.
But when the werewolf Council sends assassins, when my kid's eyes start glowing, when a damn five-year-old shows more Alpha power than grown men, I realize running is no longer an option.
This time, I'm not running.
I'm going to show the entire werewolf world: you want my son? You go through me first.
Five years of hiding → Time to fight back → When human mothers become unstoppable

I'm the FBI's deadliest undercover agent, nine years in the making, with one purpose: infiltrate the Romano crime family and make their heir pay for my father's murder.
The mission was simple—get close to Dante Romano, gather evidence, put him behind bars.
The plan was perfect until I found myself dangling from the 42nd floor.
When those amber eyes pulled me to safety, I discovered the supposedly ruthless mafia heir was nothing like the monster in my files. He reads books about victim recovery, protects me more than himself, and the pain in his eyes feels devastatingly real...
But enemies are enemies, right?
When I find myself falling for the man I'm supposed to destroy, everything starts unraveling. Mission or love? Truth or vengeance?
And when the truth comes out, everything I believed...

I was auctioned off like merchandise by three men, but I don't know why they want a worthless person like me.

I'm a blind hooker who can't see anything, surviving only by selling my body.
After accidentally getting pregnant, my client humiliated me in public: "Two lines! You lying bitch trying to scam my money!" The owner immediately threw me out, and my begging on my knees was useless—who wants a pregnant piece of trash?
I thought I'd die on the streets, until I heard familiar footsteps...
"I'll buy her." The politician's voice made my blood run cold.
"I'll pay double." The businessman immediately followed.
"Wait! That kid is mine!" The broke gambler screamed frantically.
Three men in expensive suits started bidding, auctioning me and my unborn child like livestock. I couldn't see anything, could only listen to them discuss my "value" like they were picking produce at a market.
But I don't understand... I'm just a nobody, a worthless person who can't even see where I'm going. Why do these powerful men suddenly all want me? What about an unborn baby drives them so crazy?
The politician mentions needing a "perfect family image," the businessman talks about "political investment," the gambler claims the child will help him "make a comeback"... Their words are full of conspiracies I can't comprehend.

At 2:17 AM, six weeks postpartum, new mom Harper thought she was just responding to her baby's crying. Instead, she discovered her husband Kieran and their live-in nanny Anya in the most intimate embrace—right beside her daughter's crib.
In her most vulnerable moment, in what should have been the safest space in her home, the two people she trusted most were betraying everything sacred about motherhood and marriage. Worse yet, they thought she was just another "baby-brained" mom who would never catch on.

They seriously underestimated what a mother is capable of.

When Harper finds that mysterious $300 Victoria's Secret charge on their shared account, when she discovers Kieran's handwritten love notes hidden in Anya's room, when she overhears them mocking her "annoying" middle-of-the-night feedings—she realizes it's time to show them what a real "burning sensation" feels like.

So the next time they tried to sneak around, Harper secretly swapped out their lube for her own special blend.

If you want to play with fire, let me show you what burning really feels like.

On her wedding day, she was deliberately sabotaged! And this was just the beginning of revenge...
Today was supposed to be the most important day of Vera Sinclair's life. White dress, flower arch, ready to marry fire captain Caleb Morrison, the love of her life.
But her booked makeup artist suddenly had an "emergency," replaced by a complete stranger.
The woman's eyes held pure malice, yet she disguised it perfectly. Rough technique, wrong shades, deliberate destruction—when Vera looked in the mirror, she saw a face as pale and lifeless as a corpse.
"This is exactly what you deserve." The makeup artist smiled viciously.
Before she could react, a bigger nightmare struck: her house was on fire!
Rushing to the church for help, she found all the wedding guests staring at her with strange looks. And that woman who ruined her makeup was standing by the altar, ready to publicly announce a secret that would destroy her entire life...
"Tell her the truth, Caleb. Tell her why you really approached her!"
When she looked at her beloved fiancé, she saw pain, guilt, and... fear in his eyes.
Had three years of love been nothing but an elaborate deception?
What happens when the wedding of your dreams becomes your worst nightmare?

I married a stranger in Vegas. That was my first mistake.
My second? Thinking a hot cop who responds to "I love you" with a thumbs-up emoji could actually be husband material.
Detective Mike Sullivan doesn't do feelings, doesn't do long texts, and definitely doesn't do relationship drama. His idea of communication is "K" and "👍" – and I'm supposed to decode that like some kind of digital archaeologist.
But when Miami PD raids the strip club where I'm having "professional development" with my coworkers, and my own husband is the one arresting me in front of my entire office?
That's when I realize this accidental marriage might be more complicated than I thought.
Because apparently, being interrogated by your spouse in an actual police station isn't covered in any marriage handbook I've read.

Everyone thinks my stepbrother Oliver is perfect boyfriend material.
Caring, protective, straight out of a romance novel.
Problem is—he's not my boyfriend, he's my brother. And he's systematically destroying my life.
Three days ago, I killed myself with pills. Today I woke up back at eighteen.
Even more fucked up? Oliver remembers too.
Last lifetime, he spent seven years driving away every friend I had, making me believe he was the only person who loved me. I died completely alone.
This time, he plans to do it better.
But this time I'm not the naive girl who believed "I'm doing this for your own good."
This time, I'm going to show everyone what this "perfect brother" really is.
He thinks controlling me is easy? Let's see who knows the rules of this game better.

When Evie was dying and needed $120,000 for treatment, I thought I was out of options.
Until Dr. Martinez offered me a "solution"—a temporary pairing contract with the Blackthorne family heir. Three days, $150,000, enough to save Evie's life with money to spare.
Caspian Blackthorne is the most powerful Alpha in the city, with wealth and influence beyond measure, while I'm just a single Omega mother running a failing diner on the edge of werewolf territory. We should exist in completely different worlds.
I prepared myself for everything, ready to fulfill every clause in that contract.
But what I didn't expect was this—when the heat accelerator kicked in, this untouchable Alpha actually refused. He'd rather sleep on the floor than lay a finger on me.
"When this is all over, I want to know that if you ever choose me, it's because you want to, not because you have to."
Wait... choose him?
What the hell is this man thinking? And when he starts showing up at my diner every day, helping Felix with math homework, listening to Ruby's school stories, taking care of sick Evie...
I realize I'm facing something far more dangerous than a $120,000 medical bill.

I thought winning the lottery would save our family. I never imagined it would destroy it.
When Colton held up that $3 million lottery ticket, I cried with relief—no more struggling with rent, finally our kids could have a good life. I even threw a BBQ to celebrate with all our trailer park neighbors.
But he stood on that picnic table and announced to everyone: "Winning this money made me realize I've been settling for a life that's too small. Brandi, I want a divorce."
Then a blonde nail salon worker who looked barely 22 stepped out of a red Camaro: "Hi everyone, I'm Raven, his new girlfriend."
What broke my heart more was my 15-year-old daughter Skylar choosing to go with her father: "Mom, I'm tired of being poor, tired of people calling us trailer trash."
Overnight, I lost my husband, my daughter, my home, even my job. At 33, I was sleeping on my friend's couch with my 8-year-old son, the laughingstock of the entire town.
But when I discovered this nail technician's true identity, everything changed...

I died for three days. My boyfriend got a new girlfriend in two.
She's wearing my pink cardigan, sitting at our first-date table, having a candlelit dinner with my Zane. My apron on her body, my sangria recipe on her lips, even our private nickname "Z" rolling off her tongue.
I'm Harper Wells, 20, Olive Garden server, killed in a car crash. She's Brielle Kim, 22, Instagram influencer, my perfect replacement.
The kicker? The night I died, I was rushing back to tell Zane I was pregnant. I had chocolate cake, photo album, even a voice memo practicing how to say "we're having a baby." But when I called saying I had important news, he said: "Harper, I'm with Brielle right now, she's having a crisis and needs help. Can we talk tomorrow?"
I died pregnant with his child in the rain while he was comforting another woman.
Now this Brielle didn't just steal my boyfriend—she stole my section, my customers, my uniform, my cocktail recipe, even our romantic traditions. My coworkers watch her live-post from our "first date spot," wearing my clothes for photos, using the hand signal I taught Zane to say "I love you."
Three days. My entire identity completely overwritten by a girl with a good camera in three days.
But now I'm back, and I'm remembering every detail from that night. Including why Zane didn't answer my calls. Including when they really started. Including...

I was just a waitress working double shifts to pay for my sister-in-law's cancer treatment, until that brooding businessman Marcus Blackwood walked into my diner—or rather, until his eight-year-old son Tommy accidentally spilled orange juice all over me, and I didn't lose my temper.
The next day, an expensive lawyer knocked on my door: "Mr. Blackwood needs a wife. You need money. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement."
$850,000. A 24-month marriage contract.
My job seemed simple: live in his mansion, care for his traumatized son, play the perfect wife at business events. No emotional complications, no real marital duties—just an elaborate performance.
But nobody told me Marcus would stay up all night when I had a fever. Nobody told me little Tommy calling me "Mom" would feel so heartbreakingly sweet. And nobody warned me how terrified I'd feel when his ex-wife—the brilliant, beautiful doctor Elena—suddenly returned.
"She said she'd come back," Tommy clung to me desperately, "Are you going to leave too?"
Everything changed when I realized I was falling in love with the man who bought me. But is this feeling real? Or are we both just looking for substitutes for someone else?
When life and death forces a choice, I have to decide—fulfill the contract to the end, or run before my heart breaks completely...

For thirty years, I've been the perfect Mrs. Morrison. Until that night when I heard my son Dylan publicly humiliate Della at the Country Club—the orphan I rescued ten years ago, who's become more of a daughter to me than my own son ever was.
"This is what happens when you adopt stray cats," he said.
When I waited for my husband Theo to defend us, he coldly replied: "Divorce it is, then. I'm tired of settling anyway."
In that moment, Della and I made the same decision: divorce.
The 54-year-old me and 29-year-old her left the Morrison mansion with four suitcases, moving into a lakeside cabin. The men thought we'd come crawling back within days—after all, we were just two women "without financial resources."
But when we started investigating the family finances, we discovered $150,000 in mysterious expenses. All flowing to one woman—Theo's college classmate, Becca Sterling.
Cancer treatment I could understand, but when I overheard what Theo said to her at the hospital... I realized I didn't know the man I'd shared a bed with for thirty years.

My name is Evangeline Rosemont, but please, just call me Evie.

Yes, that Rosemont—heir to a fifteen-billion-dollar sports empire that owns four NFL teams. But at Texas State University, I'm just another scholarship cheerleader living in the cheapest dorm, working at a campus coffee shop, and pretending to stress about my Target budget.

Until my roommate Sienna starts getting suspicious.

She thinks she's a New Orleans socialite, strutting around in rented Gucci and spinning elaborate lies about her oil executive father, all while desperately chasing our school's star quarterback, Axel Kingsley.

The irony? Axel has been my best friend since we were eight years old. We agreed to pretend we don't know each other so I could experience college as a "normal" person.

But Sienna's getting too close to the truth. She's staging "accidental" locker room encounters with Axel, posting fake relationship photos on Instagram, and even faking injuries for sympathy. When she threatens to expose my real identity in front of the entire school, I realize—

Maybe it's time she finds out why my "used" Honda Civic sounds suspiciously like a Ferrari under the hood.

And when she discovers that my coffee shop boss just landed on campus in a private jet, calling me "sweetheart"...

Well, let's just say her reaction is going to be priceless.

I was just trying to clean some teeth when I met the girl who wrecked my marriage.
Paisley-Rose Henderson. Eighteen, all blonde hair and fake lashes, working afternoons at Dairy Queen. She had that small-town princess attitude that made you want to crown her—or strangle her.
"I have this loose tooth," she said, settling into my dental chair like she owned it. "Coach Brock says he has the same problem. Probably from all the... biting." Her voice dripped with implication.
Coach Brock. My husband. Father of my son. The man who promised me forever in this gossip-soaked town.
Paisley kept going, inspecting her perfect nails. "He's so sweet to me," she said. "Says I deserve pretty things. Not like some older women who’ve given up on themselves."
That’s when I saw it—the Tiffany bracelet I’d been saving for, now on her wrist. Bought with money from our joint account.
My phone buzzed: “BTW, your silk robe fits me perfectly. Pink really is my color! 😘” Attached was a photo—her wearing my robe, sitting on my kitchen counter. The same spot where I made Brock coffee every morning.
Then: “Don’t worry about Tyler adjusting—I’ll be such an amazing stepmom!”
My hands shook. Not with fear. With rage.

"Baby, lend me Stella for the movie."
When my fiancé Damon said this, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. My guide dog starring in his Oscar-worthy film—what a perfect love story.
I'm Aria Sinclair, 26-year-old blind film producer with perfect pitch and endless money, but no eyes. So when he said "The press will go crazy for our story," I stupidly agreed.
Three weeks later, in the editing room:
01:47:23—Dull impact.
01:47:31—Familiar whimper.
01:47:35—Silence.
My perfect pitch never lies. That wasn't CGI—that was real impact. Worse, I knew that whimper. That was Stella, my guide dog, my eyes, my most loyal companion.
They killed her. For a goddamn trophy.
On premiere night, when Damon walked the red carpet with a strange German Shepherd, when I touched her paw and found no white star-shaped mark—
"This is not my dog!"
I broke down in front of hundreds of reporters.
"Honey, you're under too much stress," Damon said gently. "Maybe you need rest."
Whispers from the audience: "Poor blind girl..." "She really needs help..."
Just like that, I became the crazy one.
Abandoned by the world.
Betrayed by the man I loved most.
But they made one fatal mistake—they thought stealing my eyes would silence me.
Now it's time to let them hear what despair sounds like...
[Click to watch me destroy them both...]

I'm a professional poker player, so I know when someone's bluffing.
My fiancé Blake? Definitely not bluffing when he stole my $847,000 and gave it to some mafia princess named Celeste. Apparently, sleeping with her was just "business."
Here's where it gets interesting. The guy sitting next to me on the plane accidentally showed me the bank transfer. Knox Santoro - looks like money, smells like danger, and for some reason wants to help me destroy Blake and his new girlfriend.
The problem? I can read anyone at a poker table, but Knox is completely unreadable. Either he's the best liar I've ever met, or he's actually telling the truth about wanting to help me.

I'm dead. But somehow, I'm still here.
Three days ago, I was Dr. Eva Torres, helicopter pilot, single mom to the most amazing eight-year-old on the planet. Then my chopper went down in a blizzard, and... well, let's just say I didn't make it home for pancakes like I promised Grace.
Now I'm stuck watching my little girl from the other side, and trust me, being a ghost mom is way worse than being a living one.
Grace is about to be thrown into foster care, and she has no idea that her father is Senator William Hawthorne. Yeah, that William Hawthorne. The one running for governor. The one who thinks I just vanished from his life seven years ago.
But here's the thing—Will has no clue he even has a daughter.
The DNA test is coming. The truth is coming. But first, someone has to save my little girl...

After my father's sudden death, the scholarship fund he left behind could only be inherited by a "son." To afford college, I had no choice but to live as a male since high school—I've been masquerading in the men's dorm for a year and a half now.
Until that damn shower incident—I thought the steam was thick enough, thought my roommate Caspian didn't see anything. But he started looking at me differently, with a tenderness that made my heart race.
Worse yet, my toxic ex Diesel suddenly transferred here and began suspecting my real identity. Just when the threat was closing in, the football team captain himself offered—
"Be my girlfriend, Scout. Even if it's fake."
His protection was fierce and gentle, making me question if this was all an act or...But when my secret was maliciously exposed and he declared before the entire school "She's MY girl," I realized what trouble I'd brought him.
I had to leave. I couldn't keep dragging him down.
So why did he chase me to the hospital to tell me: "Scout, I've known you were a girl from day one. And it's the real you I fell for."

Marrying my ex-fiancé's baby brother? The boy who was supposed to call me "sister"?
When Knox abandons me at the altar, twenty-one-year-old Theo becomes my only option to save a multi-million dollar merger. Three years of marriage, separate bedrooms, purely business. What could go wrong with a shy virgin cowboy who blushes when I get too close?
Everything, apparently.
Theo Sterling is full of dangerous surprises. He grinds his own flour and bakes bread that tastes like sin. He fixes our roof in thunderstorms like some rugged fantasy. And when he teaches me to ride, his strong hands make me forget I'm supposed to be the experienced one here.
The innocent farm boy from our awkward wedding night is becoming a man who makes my pulse race. Our contract says three years. My traitorous heart is whispering forever.
Then Knox suddenly returns with his girlfriend...

Seven months pregnant and finally happy, I thought my past was buried. Then I walked into that upscale baby boutique and saw him—Donovan Ashworth, the billionaire who kept me as his secret for ten years. Standing beside him was Charlotte, his picture-perfect fiancée, flashing a diamond that could buy my house.
But Charlotte had her own agenda. A fake pregnancy. A desperate plan. And when she demanded a DNA test claiming my baby might be Don's, I knew this wasn't coincidence—it was sabotage.
What I didn't expect was the results. What I didn't expect was Don showing up at my door with an engagement ring, begging me to leave my husband. What I didn't expect was having to choose between the man who gave me everything except respect, and the one who gave me something more precious than money.
Some mistakes can't be undone. Some chances come too late. And sometimes, the best revenge is simply being happy.