At a gathering, someone asked my fiancé, “If she weren’t here, would you get back with your ex?” After a brief silence, he answered, “Yes.” All eyes turned to me, waiting for a scene. Instead, I smiled—and started clapping. “If you can’t let her go, I’ll step aside,” I said lightly. Then I canceled the engagement and walked away without looking back. He thought I was just being dramatic. Certain I loved him too much to ever leave, certain I would never give up being his wife. But this time, I didn’t come back. Later, at my wedding— to his cold, untouchable lawyer uncle— he showed up like a madman, eyes bloodshot. “Come with me. Let’s run away.” Before I could speak, a hand pulled me close. “Try that again,” the man beside me said coldly, “and you won’t like what happens next.”

The moment she returned home, she discovered the man she had secretly loved for years was about to marry the very person who had tormented her. Heartbroken, she fled—only to collide with her ex, the wild and reckless CEO everyone in the city whispered about. Memories of high school came rushing back—hot summer nights, an empty gym, a stolen, tender kiss. At eighteen, he had once held her hand and murmured, “You’re so good… I like you.” She had only smiled, dismissed it, and left for five years abroad. Now, face to face again, she thought he had forgotten. She tried to walk away—but he grabbed her hand, a sly grin in his dark eyes: “After all this time… why not give me one more chance?” Countless nights followed, their bodies and hearts entangled. He became her medicine, her craving, her chaos. She thought it would be nothing more than a fleeting passion—until the day she tried to leave. His gaze burned like fire, hands gripping her waist, voice raw and urgent: “Stay with me… marry me, will you?”

The day she finds out she’s pregnant again, she also discovers her husband has built a new life—with the woman she once helped. While she was grieving their lost child, wasting away in pain, he was celebrating the birth of another woman’s son. The company she built? Given to his mistress. The home she thought was theirs? Recreated for someone else. In that moment, love dies. Only hatred remains. She hides the pregnancy report and files for divorce. “If you regret this, come back and beg me,” he says coldly. “I can pretend the divorce never happened.” She doesn’t even look back. “See you at the courthouse.” Later, he’s the one who breaks. He finds her again—brilliant, untouchable, far beyond his reach. For the first time, he lowers himself, voice hoarse with regret. “Just… look at me again.” She smiles faintly, eyes distant. “Too late. I’ll never love you again.”

She had been secretly in love with him for three years. They had kept a hidden relationship for three years. But one day, she heard a shocking truth from her best friend: he was already in a relationship with someone else. She finally realized she had only been a stand-in all along. To claim her father’s inheritance, she agreed to a blind date. But by mistake, she sat at the wrong table. “I’ll marry you,” she said calmly. “One year later, we end the engagement.” The man opposite her raised an eyebrow. “Fine. But why wait? We can register the marriage now.” Later, her ex saw the ring on her hand and regretted it. He grabbed her wrist with red eyes. “Let’s get back together, please.” Before she could respond, a hand wrapped around her waist from behind. A cold voice sounded: “So you want to be a homewrecker?” He glanced at her ex. “Sorry, you’re holding my wife’s hand.” “And if you don’t let go… I might break it.” Only then did the ex realize—she was now his rival’s wife.

The day his first love returned, he told her, “She doesn’t have much time left. Be gentle with her.” To spare her any regret, he stole the wedding she had meticulously prepared, slipped the diamond ring she had tracked across continents onto the other woman’s finger, and even claimed the wedding dress she had personally designed. He later tried to take over her months-long charity project, ensuring the other woman would reap both fame and fortune. That day, their seven-year-old son tugged on the other woman’s sleeve: “Auntie, can you be my mom? Daddy and I both really like you.” Looking at this “family of three,” she finally let go, signing the divorce papers with a smile and walking away with nothing. Months later, at a grand corporate gala, her ex appeared drunk, clutching their son, eyes red as he knelt before her. “I was wrong… please, come back.” Before she could answer, a tall, commanding man holding a striking young boy stepped forward, wrapping her in his arms. “Please let go of my wife. She was exhausted last night and can’t be pushed any further.”

For five years, she played the perfect wife. On the day her daughter turned one month old, she finally woke up. Her husband gave all his care to another woman, yet demanded she be strong, independent, and never complain. That day, she flipped the table in public. “Divorce. I’ve had enough of this.” He only sneered. “Since when did you become so petty? Always talking about divorce.” Then she disappeared. And only then did he realize—without her, everything in his world began to fall apart. Nothing worked. Nothing felt right. Three years later, they met again at an international summit. She stood at the center of the stage, a world-renowned architect, dazzling everyone. Under the flashing lights, he dropped to his knees. “Come back… please.” She didn’t even stop. Arm in arm with another man, she walked past him with a faint smile. Later, he received a gilded invitation. At the wedding, the bride in white leaned into his own brother’s arms. He rushed in, eyes red— only to hear her soft, calm voice: “I was tired of being the understanding one. Now, I choose myself.”

Juliette Westbrook had admired Maxwell Hawke from the time she was sixteen. The marriage contract their families arranged had given her the perfect reason to set aside her own ambitions and wholeheartedly devote herself to becoming Mrs. Hawke. She had always believed that she could soften Maxwell's cold exterior, that her patience and affection would eventually win him over. But the day she went alone to her prenatal appointment at the hospital, returning home only to discover Maxwell moving his first love into their house "to take care of her," Juliette finally saw the truth: no matter how tightly she clung to him, she could never warm a heart that had never been hers. Juliette flung the divorce papers onto the table, turned away, and reclaimed her own life. Later, when she swept the top prize at an international piano competition, that once-distant, aristocratic man—who had always seemed out of reach—fell to his knees before the world, begging her to return.

She was left to die in a burning fire, while her husband shielded the woman who started it. She slammed the divorce papers in front of him, but he only laughed. “Stop making a scene. You’re deaf in your left ear—you can’t survive without me.” “She’s just a friend. Don’t be jealous. No one can threaten your position as my wife.” She said nothing. She bought a ticket and left the country without looking back, disappearing completely. At the same time, global media announced the return of a top simultaneous interpreter. He thought she would come back eventually. But days turned into months, and she was still gone. Only then did he lose control. He searched for her everywhere like a madman. “I was wrong… I can’t live without you.” When he finally found her, he blocked her path in a corner, eyes red. “Please… don’t divorce me.”

They had been married four years when her husband betrayed them. He went after his first love like a man chasing a ghost, desperate to rewrite the ending he’d botched in youth. Francesca loved him. She fought for the marriage, pleaded, swallowed her pride, tried to stitch together what he was tearing apart. He only tightened his arm around the other woman and sneered. “Francesca, there isn’t a drop of woman in you. One look at that ice-cold face and I can’t work up the slightest urge.” That was when something in her went quiet for good. No more begging. No more waiting at the door, performing the miracle of dignity on her way out. … When they met again, Julian didn’t recognize his ex-wife. Gone was the armor of the corporate warrior. Francesca had set it aside like a costume after the curtain call. She moved with a softness now, a warmth that lit rooms without announcing itself. Men with empires to their names fell over themselves to win her attention. Even Sebastian—the one man everyone called the most powerful in the city—had smiled only for her, his Fran. Julian lost his mind. Night after night he stood guard outside her door, pressing checks into her palm, sending diamonds in velvet boxes, trying, in his clumsy, extravagant way, to hand her his heart still beating. People began to ask what connected Francesca and Julian Hale. She only smiled, light as a breeze, unbothered and amused. “Mr. Hale?” she said. “Just a book I once read at my bedside. I turned the last page and put it away.”

By the video from his so-called first love, showing them tangled together, she finally understood one thing. There was no point waiting for a man to turn back. She looked at the home she had built with all her effort. Leaving in a clean divorce? That would be too kind. She was never a self-sacrificing wife. If she was going to divorce, she would make sure she took back what she deserved—billions in compensation. After the divorce, she shone brilliantly. Suitors surrounded her endlessly, while he grew jealous and unhinged. One night, he got drunk and broke into her home, trying to kneel and beg for reconciliation. But someone else was already there. A man at the very top of the world stood beside her. A man who spoiled her beyond reason. A man who she loved with all her heart. Only then did he realize—he had completely lost the woman who once looked at him like he was everything.