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In my last life, a friend I’d trusted for ten years drove a knife into my heart over a single biscuit. When I opened my eyes again, we had both been reborn—right before the extreme freeze arrived.

He was convinced the apocalypse had come. He borrowed from loan sharks, rented a massive warehouse to hoard supplies, and even crowned himself king during the icebound period, killing without mercy.

But he didn’t know the truth:

This disaster would end completely after only thirty days.

While he taunted me like a madman, I didn’t expose him. I calmly requested thirty days of paid leave from my company.

This time, I’ll sit in a warm, climate-controlled room and watch—when the state machine restarts on day thirty—how he drops to his knees and sobs in despair.

At the Morello family’s Christmas dinner, I stood beside Vincent, waiting for him to announce our engagement.
Instead, in the very next second, he walked in holding a little boy and claimed him as his son.
And the woman he said he was going to marry? Scarlett Morello. The one he had always introduced as his “sister.”
The whole room erupted in applause. I stood there frozen, like a nail hammered into the floor.
Later, in his study, he took my hand and said, “Scarlett is dying. Late-stage breast cancer. She only has six months left. After she’s gone, I’ll marry you.”
But there was no guilt in his eyes. No love, either.
Then he told me to go to his villa that afternoon, to take care of the woman who was supposedly “dying.”
I opened the photo he sent me. Scarlett was lying in a hospital bed, pale-faced, an IV in the back of her hand.
A professional tennis player who had been playing in an exhibition match three weeks ago, and who had dropped three grand at Louis Vuitton on Fifth Avenue just five days ago.
But sure. She was “dying.”
At three in the morning, I was curled up by the front door of my apartment, crying so long I lost track of time.
Then my phone lit up. A text from an unknown number:
[Elena, I’m downstairs. When we were kids, you told me that once I controlled the docks on the East Coast, you’d marry me. The docks are mine now. Does that promise still stand?]
I pulled back the curtain and there he was. Ethan Vitale, my first love, leaning against the door of a black Cadillac, lifting a hand in a lazy wave.
Three years ago, when he left New York, he was only a Capo.
Now, he was the Don of the Vitale family.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t pressure me to come downstairs.
He came for one reason only, to let me know he was back.
I wiped away my tears and texted back:
[It still stands.]
Because I wanted to see for myself just how long that woman could keep up her act.

Dear readers, this book has come to an end. Thank you for sticking with me and reading all this time. I highly recommend another amazing novel of the same genre:
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On my wedding day, I found another woman's sexy lace bra in my husband's car, with semen still on it...

Dear readers! If you love this story, check out my other book: His Regret，My Ex Wants Me Back

A month before my wedding, I burned the dress I'd spent a year making with my own hands.
My fiancé stood there with his pregnant mistress wrapped in his arms, sneering at me. "Without me, you're nothing."
I turned around and knocked on the richest man in the city's door. "Mr. Locke, interested in a marriage alliance? I'm offering a hundred-billion-dollar stake—plus a future business empire, free of charge."

When I was in excruciating pain from cancer, my husband gave the last box of painkillers to his pregnant mistress.

After I retired, I was willing to do the dirtiest work at a small auto repair shop—just to give my sick daughter an ordinary childhood.
I endured my mother’s insults, my eldest brother’s wage cuts, my younger brother’s extortion.
But they actually joined forces to steal my daughter’s life-saving money for gambling, then sold me into an illegal mine to pay off their debts.
When the iron chain locked around my wrist, when my daughter cried in despair, the killing intent that had slept in my blood for three years finally woke up completely.
They had no idea I was once the iron-blooded God of War—commander of a million troops, the name that made enemy nations tremble.

What is happening today? This morning, Ophelia had everything she thought she wanted - amazing friends, an awesome job at one of the best gourmet food company, which for a food lover like her is a dream come true, and a boyfriend. Until the mysterious and cold Mr. Hansel, her CEO, asks her name. Now she keeps wondering why someone like him would be interested in someone like her. She is a nobody, a simple secretary. And not very attractive either, too chubby - or so her boyfriend keeps saying. So why does he keep looking at her? Could he be seeing more in her than everyone else, including herself? Could he be seeing... her?

Discover this Winter Romance story about Love, and... more importantly, self-Love!

The Second Season of the Flower Romance Series!
The Baker & The Bear, The Waitress & The Werewolf, The Secretary & The Succubus, The Librarian & the Lion, and finally The Millionaire & The Mermaid!