Spring's Hiding in the Foggy Courtyard
In Kingsport, Savannah and Zachary were the envy of everyone—the picture-perfect couple. He was a ruthless business prodigy; she, a brilliant news anchor. They had been together since their school days, all the way to the altar. Zachary cherished her completely, holding her in the palm of his hand, placing her at the very center of his heart.
Then that beautiful life came to a sudden, screeching halt with the arrival of the spiritual advisor, Angela.
Angela claimed she and Zachary were bound by a predestined love from a past life. She also declared that Savannah’s fate was fundamentally at odds with the fortunes of Zachary’s family. “If you wish for peace and prosperity,” she warned, “Zachary must sever all ties with her. He must never see her again.”
“Superstitious nonsense!” Zachary scoffed. Had Savannah not stopped him, he would have thrown the woman out on the spot.
But no one could have predicted what happened next. Two days later, Jonathan—Zachary’s grandfather, the family patriarch in robust health—was suddenly struck by a severe, mysterious illness. The family scrambled for doctors and remedies, yet his condition only worsened. To make matters worse, their corporation was hit by a massive crisis, its stock price plummeting wildly.
With all other options exhausted, a desperate Zachary went to seek Angela’s so-called “solution to reverse their fortune.”
“You wish to challenge fate itself, Zachary?” Angela’s fingers flew through a series of calculations before she let out a soft, ominous sigh. “Even for me, there are no guarantees. But for you… I’m willing to try.”
No one could have imagined the “solution” she proposed. She demanded that Savannah kneel in the freezing autumn downpour, facing southwest, and bow deeply eighty-one times, her forehead touching the wet pavement.
“Savannah, please… just get through this for me, for Grandpa,” Zachary pleaded, holding her close.
Unable to refuse him, she went out alone into the torrential rain. She prostrated herself eighty-one times until her forehead was split and bloody. The next day, she collapsed with a raging fever. Miraculously, Jonathan’s condition improved, and the corporate crisis was resolved.
From that day on, Zachary and his entire family began treating Angela like an honored guest, hanging on her every word. Meanwhile, Savannah lay alone in a hospital bed, feverish and aching in every muscle. Her “compensation” was a limited-edition handbag.
She was sick for a full week. Zachary didn’t visit her once—all because Angela had advised against it. “Angela says we just need to hold out for forty-nine days,” he told her.
But Savannah’s suffering would extend far beyond those forty-nine days. She had barely been home from the hospital for two days when Jonathan’s health took another sharp turn for the worse.
“Miss Savannah’s fate is simply too strong, too harsh,” Angela lamented, her tone dripping with false pity. Yet every task she set for Savannah was more cruel than the last.
She made Savannah hold a heavy candelabra day and night, praying and repenting for Jonathan’s sake.
The constantly dripping wax burned Savannah’s hands, covering them in blisters—a searing, heart-stopping pain. Zachary’s compensation this time? A priceless antique jade necklace worth millions.
Next, Angela ordered Savannah to crawl on her knees up a punishing 1,999 stone steps to a mountain chapel to pray for a protective blessing.
Savannah fell repeatedly, leaving her battered and bruised. She spent a full month in a wheelchair. Zachary’s reparation? A diamond tiara valued at over a hundred million.
Then, Angela demanded Savannah write daily prayers in her own blood. One day, two days… ten, twenty… Under the guise of challenging fate to rewrite destiny, Angela’s torment grew more intense and relentless.
Savannah was in utter agony, but Zachary’s only response was to tell her to “bear with it a little longer.” Even when she finally contacted an internationally renowned specialist for rare diseases and begged Zachary to take Jonathan for an examination, he flatly refused.
“Angela says Grandpa cannot be moved right now. We’ll discuss check-ups later.”
His words sent a chill straight through Savannah’s heart. This wasn’t the Zachary she knew. He had always been on her side.
Before their marriage, his mother, Jessica, had disliked Savannah for being orphaned and coming from a family whose fortunes had faded. She’d hired a so-called “master” who claimed Savannah’s fate was too harsh—that she had “cursed” her own parents to death, and that anyone close to her would suffer. Jessica tried to force Zachary into a marriage alliance with a wealthy heiress of her choosing. Back then, Zachary had responded by taking a hammer and, right in front of his mother, shattering the master’s ten fingers.
“Since you’re so skilled at divination,” Zachary had sneered, tossing the bloodied hammer aside, “did you foresee this particular calamity befalling you today?”
But now, Angela
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Chapter 4
The taillights had just vanished from sight when the pain exploded inside Savannah—vicious, complete. Sweat soaked her clothes in an instant; thick, dark blood began pouring from her nose and the corners of her mouth.
Biting down on her tongue until she tasted blood, she used the sharp pain to claw her way back to awareness. Then, inch by agonizing inch, she dragged herself toward the rock that had gashed her knee. She began sawing the rope against its jagged edge.
Time crawled. When the rope finally gave way, her hands were a mess of cuts and raw flesh.
She tried to push herself up, to stumble toward the main road for help.
Two steps. Then her legs gave out completely, dropping her into the dirt.
Still, she didn’t stop. She crawled. Hand over bleeding hand, knees scraping over sharp stones that sliced her skin and tore her nails. Jaw clenched until it ached, she dragged herself forward—one desperate inch at a time.
She didn’t know how long she crawled. Was she even still alive? Maybe she was already a vengeful ghost, refusing to be buried in this place.
Then, through the haze, voices. Human voices. Only then did the last shred of tension leave her body, and she fell into blackness.
When she woke, every wound had been meticulously treated.
Zachary sat in a chair by the hospital bed, peeling an apple. The long, unbroken peel spiraled down—a pointless, graceful exercise from a man who had all the time in the world while she lay broken.
Before Angela appeared, this was how he’d always kept her company in the hospital.
“It was Angela. She poisoned me. The poison was a white powder, hidden in her ring.”
Her throat felt scorched. Her voice came out low, raspy, utterly unfamiliar. A wave of despair hit her: she’d never be able to host again.
“Savannah, you didn’t used to lie to me.” Zachary sighed softly, cutting a piece of the snow-white apple and holding it to her lips. “I know you’ve misunderstood my relationship with Angela, but to frame her, you’d risk your life eating poisonous mushrooms? That’s going too far.”
Savannah didn’t open her mouth. She just stared at him. “I didn’t eat any mushrooms. Angela poisoned me. Have her silver ring tested. You’ll see I’m telling the truth.”
“That doesn’t matter now. You’re fine. What matters is that because of you, a lot of people online think Angela is a fraud. I need you to go live, right now, and clear her name.”
“Doesn’t *matter*? I almost died! How can that not matter? ‘Clear her name’? She *is* a fraud. Why would I do that? She burned down my family home. She poisoned me. I will *never* let her get away with this.”
“Savannah, when did you become so unreasonable? I’ve told you, Angela is trying to help us!”
Zachary sighed like a man pushed to his limit and handed her a file. Savannah took it hesitantly, flipping it open. Her breath caught. Inside were vile slanders against her parents, painting her lifelong philanthropist parents—who had died tragically young—as fame-hungry hypocrites. Forged documents, photos, all meticulously crafted to look devastatingly real.
Anyone who didn’t know the truth would believe every word.
“If you don’t clear Angela’s name,” Zachary said, his voice gentle, “I’ll have no choice but to release this file online.”
He reached out, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek she hadn’t even felt fall. “Savannah, you’re forcing my hand.”
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8.2
I gave up my New York socialite status to live with my husband in a basement for seven years. On our wedding day, he abandoned me to attend a christening party with Brooke and her son. While everyone laughed at my expense, he updated his Instagram feed with the caption: "Loving you brings joy to Mom and Dad." The photos showed him, Brooke, and their son looking like a perfect family. I commented sarcastically, "Congrats. Permanently sealed." Armed with the DNA test results, I filed for divorce. But later, he showed up with red-rimmed eyes, kneeling before me, pleading for me not to leave. Christian finally called after three days of complete silence. Before I could say anything, a woman's voice filled the line:
"Elianna, I'm truly sorry. I've been feeling down; the past couple of days marked the anniversary of my husband's death."
"Christian was so concerned about me that he missed the wedding."
"I’ve already talked to him about it."
"And the post was meant to comfort me; he has deleted it now, so please don't take offense."
The woman turned towards him:
"Christian, honestly, the wedding was a significant event; how could you leave like that?"
"We're adults now, let’s not behave like kids throwing tantrums, alright?"
"I could spoil you for a lifetime. Can Elianna do that?"
"Come on, let's set a date for a proper ceremony.
8.1
Tech-CEO Victoria discovers her husband Ethan is cheating with his male trainer; she records the tryst and confronts Ethan’s boss, Dylan Shaw, offering a merger to save Dylan’s cash-strapped company. She demands Ethan’s professional destruction in exchange—she becomes CEO, Dylan Chairman. Dylan agrees on one condition: total strategic ruthlessness so Ethan never sees the hit coming.
9.6
The rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Cole Tower, each drop a tiny fist pounding the glass. I stood in the marble-floored lobby, watching Jason emerge from the private elevator with her. Maren Green. Even from across the cavernous space, the resemblance stole my breath. She looked exactly like the woman in the silver-framed photograph that Jason kept locked in his desk drawer—the one he thought I didn't know about. Indie Green. His first love. His dead love. Except Indie was dead, and this woman was very much alive. Maren's laugh carried across the lobby, light and musical, and I watched my husband's face transform into something I hadn't seen in the three years of our marriage.
9.1
For three years, June played the perfect, submissive wife to billionaire Augustus Pruitt, hoping a child would finally warm his cold heart and secure their marriage.
But when she cautiously suggested they have a baby, he looked at her with pure, unfiltered disgust.
"A woman who schemes her way into a marriage doesn't get to carry my blood."
He sneered, leaving immediately to lavish his mistress with diamonds. The nightmare only escalated from there. Augustus bought the one painting June desperately wanted—a piece she had secretly created herself—just to gift it to his mistress. He publicly outbid June at the gallery, mocking her lack of wealth, and left her to collapse in the freezing rain. When the storm gave her a severe 104-degree fever and she nearly died on their staircase, he didn't even stay by her hospital bed. Instead, he sent an assistant with a box of jewelry to buy her silence, then forced her to attend a family dinner where his mother and sister viciously mocked her barren womb and background.
Looking at Augustus, who sat there casually cutting his steak while his family tore her apart, the last flicker of hope in June's chest sputtered and died.
She finally understood that her three years of bleeding devotion were nothing but a pathetic joke to them.
She dropped her silverware, the sharp clatter silencing the entire room. She wasn't going to be their punching bag anymore. It was time to finalize the divorce papers, reclaim her hidden identity as the world-renowned artist 'mr.sun', and make them all regret it.
9.6
Chapter 1
I’ve always loved dogs, so when I was a child, Grandfather placed a leash in my hand. He told me the boy technically my uncle, Anthony, would be my pet.
From that day on, I learned to swing the whip. Laughing, I lashed him until he bled, all the while respectfully calling him Uncle.
Later, the dog broke its chains and turned on its master.
In public, I remained the unassailable heiress of the Jessica empire. In private, late at night, he would grip my throat, force me to my knees, and demand to know when I’d give him a child.
I took it all in silence.
Until the day I learned I was pregnant—and overheard him soothing his long-lost first love. “Marry me,” he said. “I’ll deal with Jessica so she won’t be in your way.”
My fingers found the scar on my arm. No heartbreak, just the quiet tally of a countdown.
When the seventh mark appeared, I would be free of him for good.
---
My drifting consciousness snapped back as Anthony’s ragged breathing slowly eased. We clung to each other like any ordinary couple, limbs tangled.
A flicker of warmth stirred in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak, but a sharp ringtone cut me off.
Anthony snatched up his phone. Seeing the caller ID, he pulled out of me at once and answered, his voice softening. “Grace, what’s wrong?”
Grace—Anthony’s long-lost first love, the girl who’d saved his life years ago. The woman he’d spent tens of millions wooing with flowers, yachts, and starlit villas. The one he’d proposed to ten times.
Ice water poured over me, washing away every lingering trace of pleasure.
I stayed silent. I swallowed the words that had almost spilled out in the heat of the moment—
*I’m almost a month along.*
“Anthony,” Grace’s wounded voice came through the speaker, “you went to see Jessica again, didn’t you?”
His body still carried the heat of desire, but his eyes turned cold as they flicked toward me. Gently, he soothed her: “She’s just a bitch. If you don’t like it, I won’t touch her again.”
Whatever Grace said next, Anthony didn’t bother lowering his voice as he headed for the bathroom. “Be good. Just say you’ll marry me, and I’ll deal with Jessica immediately. I won’t let her be an eyesore for you.”
My heart plummeted. Ignoring the ache in my back and legs, I slid out of bed, wiped the sticky wetness from my skin, and curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed. I dragged the blanket over my naked body, trying to steal back a little warmth.
A memory surfaced: eight years ago, after Anthony had tried to run from the Jessica family and been dragged back by Grandfather. Night after night, he’d slept curled on the floor of my room like a dog, utterly still.
Back then, everyone thought my betrayal and torment had broken his spirit for good. No one knew that, under my deliberate cover, Anthony had been quietly trading stocks, investing, building a company—becoming Kingsport’s mysterious rising star.
Years later, when Grandfather suffered a stroke and lay dying, with the Anthony's Group thrown into turmoil, Anthony finally struck. He nearly tore the family empire apart.
In the end, it was me who saved the crumbling dynasty—kneeling on the floor, handing over every share of the Anthony's Group left to me in Grandfather’s will, then crawling into his bed.
That day was my twentieth birthday.
“Go shower. You can sleep in the bed tonight.”
Anthony’s voice pulled me from the edge of sleep. His handsome features still held a trace of the tenderness he’d just shown the woman he loved.
“Grace agreed to marry me. You’ll have to start calling her Mrs Jessica, Jessica.” A faint smile touched his lips—the first lively expression he’d shown me in a long time.
It reminded me of eight years ago, when we’d fled the Jessica house hand in hand, betraying the world for our love. He’d grinned and shouted, “From today on, Jessica belongs to Anthony!”
But now, even in our most intimate moments, he looked at me with nothing but hatred and impatience. That tenderness, that love—none of it was mine anymore.
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard before answering evenly, “Congratulations.”
Dazed, I walked into the bathroom and pulled up Gregory’s number.
**Me:** Begin the plan. Gather the materials for submission.
His reply came instantly.
**Gregory:** Understood, Boss.
I put my phone away and let scalding water pour over my skin. A cold, heavy ache settled in my chest, but beneath it bloomed a fierce, swelling hope.
Six years and eleven months. I was finally close.
This monstrous house, built on sin and cruelty—I would watch it crumble to dust with my own eyes.
My fingers traced the six scars on my right arm, each one raised and distinct. I closed my stinging eyes.
Just one more month. Once the seventh year was complete, once the seventh mark appeared, I could end this. I could leave for good.
7.2
For ten years, Aurora was abandoned by her wealthy family to rot in the countryside.
When she finally returned, there was no warm welcome. The Lott family only brought her back to replace her adopted sister in an arranged marriage with Damian Yates, a notoriously violent, crippled billionaire, just to save their bankrupt company.
Her grandmother mocked her as uneducated trash. Her fake sister feigned disgust at her very presence.
When her biological father desperately tried to stop them from sending his daughter to her death, the family turned on him.
Her grandmother struck her father across the face, kicked the three of them out of the manor into the freezing rain, and arrogantly declared they would starve on the streets by nightfall.
They thought Aurora was just a helpless, pathetic hillbilly who would quietly accept being sold as livestock.
They had no idea that over the past decade, she had survived the darkest corners of the world, becoming a lethal operative with unimaginable power.
Standing in the cold rain, Aurora didn't shed a single tear.
She calmly pulled out her encrypted phone, personally canceled the billionaire's marriage contract, and ordered her hacker to completely freeze the Lott family's accounts.
"Total financial annihilation. Burn them to the ground."
But as she watched her abusers' legacy crumble, a classified file arrived on her phone, revealing that the very billionaire she just rejected was tied to her mother's unsolved murder.
The real hunt was just beginning.