A Second Chance With Mr. Blackwood
In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled.
Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault.
For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice.
"Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get."
She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me.
In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed.
My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end.
As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was.
I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs.
I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell.
This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.
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Chapter 3
Giovanna stood in the massive walk-in closet. She bypassed the flashy, revealing clothes she used to wear to annoy Damien. She pulled out a tailored, burgundy Ivy League-style dress. The high collar perfectly hid the marks on her neck.
When she walked out, Damien was waiting by the bedroom door. He wore a dark, bespoke suit that cost more than most people's houses. His eyes swept over her, still calculating, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Giovanna didn't hesitate. She walked up to him and slid her hand through the crook of his arm.
They walked down the sweeping marble staircase together.
The maids dusting the foyer stopped moving. They stared, their mouths slightly open, shocked to see the master of the house and his volatile wife walking arm-in-arm without screaming at each other.
They entered the long dining room. Damien pulled out a chair for her at the mahogany table before taking his seat at the head.
A maid placed a steaming cup of black coffee in front of Giovanna. Damien had always ordered it for her, thinking she liked it.
Giovanna pushed the coffee away. She reach for the glass of warm, sweet milk meant for her oatmeal. She lifted the glass and playfully clinked it against Damien's coffee mug.
Before Damien could process the change, a low, sharp beep sounded from the earpiece of the head of security standing by the door.
The security chief stepped forward. "Boss. Elara Vang is at the front gate."
The air in the room dropped ten degrees. Damien's face turned to stone. "Deny entry."
Giovanna knew Elara would come. She reached across the table and placed her hand over Damien's clenched fist.
"D," she said softly, her thumb rubbing over his white knuckles. "Let her in. I have some things I need to say to my dear sister."
Damien stared at her hand on his. He looked up, his dark eyes searching hers. He hated it, but he gave a sharp nod to the security chief.
Three minutes later, the dining room doors burst open.
Elara rushed in. She wore a pristine white designer skirt suit. Her eyes were already rimmed with red, her face the perfect picture of frantic worry.
She completely ignored Damien. She ran straight toward Giovanna, reaching out to grab her hands.
"Gio!" Elara cried out, her voice trembling with fake tears. "Are you okay? Did he force you again last night?"
The silence in the dining room became suffocating. The killing intent rolling off Damien's body was a physical weight in the air.
Elara waited for the explosion. She waited for Giovanna to scream, to throw her milk at Damien, to demand to leave.
Giovanna didn't move. She picked up a linen napkin, elegantly dabbed the corner of her mouth, and slowly stood up.
She sidestepped Elara's reaching hands. She looked at her sister the way one looks at a rotting piece of meat on the sidewalk.
Elara's hands fell to her sides. A cold spike of panic hit her stomach. This wasn't the script.
Giovanna took a step forward, closing the distance.
Without a single change in her expression, Giovanna raised her right hand and slapped Elara across the face.
The crack of skin against skin echoed off the high ceiling like a gunshot. The force of the blow threw Elara off balance. She crashed hard onto the polished wood floor.
The maids gasped. Even Damien's eyes widened a fraction of an inch.
Elara held her rapidly swelling cheek. She stared up at Giovanna, genuine shock replacing the fake tears. "Are you crazy?! I'm trying to help you!"
Giovanna looked down at her. A cruel, mocking smile touched her lips.
"Help me?" Giovanna's voice was crystal clear, making sure every person in the room heard her. "Or help me piss off my husband?"
She turned her head. She looked right at Damien. Her smile softened into something incredibly warm.
"Listen closely, Elara," Giovanna said, her eyes never leaving Damien's. "He is my beloved husband. I will not tolerate you disrespecting him in our home."
Damien's chest hitched. The dark, violent storm in his eyes vanished, replaced by a burning, obsessive heat. The words 'beloved husband' wrapped around his heart and squeezed tight.
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7.8
Helen was finally brought back to the luxurious Gallagher estate as their long-lost blood relative.
But her new family didn't welcome her; they looked at her with undisguised disgust.
The matriarch mocked her stench of poverty, while her step-sister Candice treated her like a feral animal. The patriarch, Fredy—who had built his empire by betraying Helen's mother—tried to break her spirit. He blackmailed Helen into attending a high-society gala by threatening to cut off her grandmother's medical funds.
At the gala, Candice squeezed into a diamond-encrusted gown, desperate to seduce the guest of honor, Damian Montgomery. Damian was the most powerful man in New York, and he was currently tearing the city apart looking for a mysterious woman named Jane.
Overhearing this, a sick, greedy smile spread across Candice's face. She planned to impersonate Jane to claim Damian's wealth and completely crush Helen under her heel.
"Hide in the corner tonight. Don't you dare try to speak to anyone important!"
They all thought Helen was just a helpless, uncultured country girl they could easily manipulate and step on to secure their stolen legacy.
What they didn't know was that Helen was the real Jane. She was the lethal shadow who had saved Damian in the woods, shattered his grip, and robbed his highly guarded vault just the night before.
Helen calmly adjusted her simple black dress and stepped into the ballroom, ready to tear their stolen world apart.
7.2
Blaire woke up in a Manhattan penthouse, her body covered in bruises and her innocence stolen.
Before she could process the terror, her adoptive sister Danita burst in, acting heartbroken and accusing Blaire of shamelessly seducing the powerful Kamryn Lane. Kamryn threw a one-million-dollar check at Blaire's bleeding face, calling her a calculating gold digger.
That night, Blaire overheard a conversation in the family study that shattered her entire reality.
"Once she gives birth to the Lane family's seed, we'll stage an accident, drain her blood, and transplant her healthy heart into your chest."
Her adoptive mother and Danita were celebrating the success of their trap. She wasn't an adopted daughter; she was a living organ bank and a disposable surrogate. Even her adoptive brother, Calhoun, knew everything, trapping her in the dark hallways with a sick, possessive obsession to ensure she never escaped.
The horrific truth suffocated her. The family that had taken her in had raised her like livestock for slaughter. How could they smile at her every day while planning to carve out her heart?
Terrified but burning with a desperate will to survive, Blaire swallowed a Plan B pill to ruin their surrogate plot and fled the estate. To get the money and power she needed to crush her adoptive family, she pulled out Kamryn Lane's business card. This time, she would make a deal with the devil.
8.1
Desperate for a way out of rejection and poverty, Pearl Augustine accepts a nanny job with an outrageous salary-working for billionaire Ace Warren. What she doesn't expect is his daughter.
Mia Warren is spoiled, sharp-tongued, and feared by everyone in the mansion. Behind her cruelty is a lonely child longing for a mother. As Pearl becomes the only one who can reach her, walls begin to fall-especially those around Ace, a grieving man hiding behind wealth and control.
What started as "just a job" quickly turns into something dangerous: attachment.
Sometimes, healing begins where you least expect it.
8.7
Emerson worked grueling twelve-hour shifts just to keep her five-year-old son, Leo, alive. Her only lifeline was her partner Alden, who was willing to give up his wealthy family to protect them.
But when Leo's bone marrow completely failed, the doctor delivered a death sentence. The only way to save him was a two-million-dollar treatment, or having another child with his biological father.
That father was Finnegan Mcconnell, the ruthless billionaire who had accused Emerson of faking her pregnancy and abandoned her five years ago.
Desperate for the medical fees, Emerson submitted her designs to Finnegan's company.
Instead of advancing the money, Finnegan tore her portfolio to shreds and trapped her as a prisoner in his estate.
To force her complete submission, he systematically destroyed her reality. He framed Alden with federal charges, leaving him facing twenty years in prison.
Alden's mother stormed into the pediatric ICU, violently strangling Emerson against the wall.
"Beg Finnegan to let my son go! You are a curse!"
Even Emerson's own adoptive mother showed up at the hospital, just to publicly mock her dying child.
Emerson was suffocating in despair. Finnegan already had a beautiful new wife and a five-year-old daughter—absolute proof he had been cheating while she was pregnant and alone.
He had his perfect family. Why did he have to hunt her down and sever every lifeline she had left, just to watch her drown?
With her son's heart monitor fading and Alden locked in a cell, her pride finally shattered.
Emerson walked into the top-floor executive office and dropped to her knees at the devil's feet, but the desperate mother looking up at him was preparing for a devastating revenge.
8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.
9.7
Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire.
But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men.
Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her.
Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped.
Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust.
"If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector."
Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell.
She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100?
Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack.