The Unwanted Convict Makes A Spectacular Comeback
After five years in a maximum-security women's prison, Abbey Dudley was finally released.
Her billionaire brother came to pick her up in a luxury SUV, but it wasn't to welcome her home.
Five years ago, her adopted sister Emmie pushed a girl down a flight of concrete stairs.
To protect their precious golden child, Abbey's biological parents forced her to take the bloody trophy and the blame, locking her in a cage at seventeen.
While they took Emmie to Paris Fashion Week, Abbey was gagged with bleach-soaked towels and her leg was shattered by an iron pipe.
They froze her eighteen-million-dollar trust fund and secretly transferred every cent to Emmie.
On the day of her release, they dragged her to a grand ballroom filled with New York's elite.
They forced her to wear her yellowed, frayed high school uniform, intending to publicly humiliate her as a degenerate gambling addict and an academic failure to highlight Emmie's perfection.
Abbey stood there with a ruined leg and a hollowed-out soul.
How could her own flesh and blood strip a Stanford-bound genius of her perfect grades, hand them to an adopted stranger, and throw their biological daughter to the wolves without a second thought?
"Since you surgically removed the facts that make you monsters, I invite everyone here to verify the truth."
Under the horrified gasps of the crowd, Abbey exposed their forged evidence and shattered their perfect facade.
Leaving her terrified parents and screaming brother in the ruins of their reputation, she walked out into the cold night, gripping a single silver embroidery needle.
She was going to carve out every drop of blood they took from her, with interest.
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Chapter 7
The phone rang three times. The tension in the ballroom was so thick it felt like it was crushing the air out of the guests' lungs.
A sharp click echoed through the massive speakers.
"Good evening, Mr. Brecken. Is there an emergency requiring financial authorization?"
Arthur's deep, professional baritone filled the room. As the chief wealth manager for the Dudley empire, his voice carried the absolute weight of legal and financial truth.
Brecken stood tall by the DJ booth. He slipped his free hand into his tailored trouser pocket, striking a pose of supreme, vindicated confidence. He swept his gaze over the crowd, making sure everyone was paying attention to his impending victory.
"Arthur, I need you to pull up the records for Abbey Dudley's personal trust fund," Brecken ordered, his tone dripping with arrogant authority. "I want you to confirm, right now, on speakerphone, that eighteen million dollars was deposited into her account annually for the last five years."
Brecken paused, shooting a venomous glare at Abbey. "And please inform our guests that she has completely drained the account."
Through the speakers, the rapid, rhythmic clacking of a mechanical keyboard could be heard.
Then, the typing stopped. A heavy, uncomfortable silence stretched over the line.
"Arthur? Read the ledger," Brecken demanded, his brow furrowing slightly at the delay.
Arthur cleared his throat. When he spoke, his professional tone was laced with deep confusion and hesitation.
"My apologies, Mr. Brecken... but are you perhaps mistaken about the account details?"
Brecken's confident posture cracked. He pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Mistaken about what? Just read the damn balance!"
Arthur let out a slow breath. His voice boomed through the ballroom, crisp and undeniable.
"Miss Abbey Dudley's trust fund account was completely frozen five years ago, on October 12th. The balance is zero."
The words hit the room like a physical shockwave. A collective, deafening gasp erupted from the hundreds of guests. Women covered their mouths. Men widened their eyes in shock.
Brecken's entire body went rigid. The blood drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse. His brain stalled, unable to process the words.
"What? Frozen? That's impossible!" Brecken yelled at the phone, his voice cracking with panic.
"It is not just frozen, sir," Arthur continued, his tone turning clinical to protect himself from the fallout. "According to the authorization documents signed by Madam Blair Dudley, the eighteen-million-dollar annual allocation was permanently redirected."
"Redirected where?!" Brecken roared. A cold, sickening sweat broke out across his forehead. His heart hammered violently against his ribs.
"The funds were transferred in full to an offshore private account in the Cayman Islands," Arthur stated, delivering the fatal blow. "The account is registered under the name of Miss Emmie Dudley. Miss Abbey has not received a single cent from this family in five years."
The ballroom exploded.
The polite whispers turned into a chaotic roar of outrage and scandal. The elite guests stared at the Dudley family with naked disgust.
"My god! They left their biological daughter to rot in prison with nothing, and gave double the money to the adopted girl?"
"They are monsters. Absolute vampires."
The brutal comments flew through the air, striking Brecken like physical blows. His hand shook so violently he nearly dropped the phone. He stared at Abbey.
Abbey hadn't moved an inch. She stood in her frayed uniform, her face a mask of chilling calm.
"No... no, there has to be a mistake. Mom wouldn't do that..." Brecken muttered into the microphone, his elite facade completely shattering. He sounded like a lost, terrified child.
Abbey dragged her right leg forward. Scrape. Thud.
She walked up to Brecken. The crowd parted for her. She reached out her hand. Her skin was rough, covered in calluses and scars. She gently patted Brecken on his rigid, trembling shoulder.
"Do you understand now, brother?" Abbey's voice rang out, its rough, damaged timbre cutting through the air like a jagged blade. "I didn't blow your money in underground casinos. Your family stripped me bare, so thoroughly that I couldn't even afford a new shirt."
Every word was a razor blade slicing through the Dudley family's reputation.
Near the back of the room, Blair Dudley let out a strangled cry. She tried to run forward to stop the humiliation, but Chandler grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh to keep her hidden from the glaring eyes of their peers.
Brecken felt the room spinning. The moral high ground he had stood on for five years crumbled into dust beneath his feet. The humiliation burned his throat like acid.
But his ego was too massive to accept defeat. His narcissistic brain frantically searched for a way to shift the blame back onto her.
He slammed his finger onto the phone screen, violently cutting the call. He spun around and glared at Abbey, his eyes bloodshot and wild like a cornered animal.
"If you didn't get the money, why didn't you say anything?!" Brecken screamed, spitting the words at her face. "You kept your mouth shut on purpose! You planned this just to embarrass us tonight!"
He pointed his finger at her chest, desperately trying to paint her as the villain one last time.
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9.3
Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie—an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse.
8.1
Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
7.2
I thought I was just marrying a middle-class commercial pilot who proposed to me in a Brooklyn cemetery to fulfill his grandmother's bizarre dying wish.
But when an arrogant pilot tried to harass me at the airport, my "ordinary" husband suddenly appeared, his eyes like chips of ice.
"Take your hand off my wife."
With that single cold command, he had the airline's top executives groveling and the man practically fired on the spot.
Everyone called him "Mr. Chandler." He handed me an exclusive black Centurion card, claiming it was just a standard "manager's perk." His retired parents, who supposedly ran a small business, visited me wearing Patek Philippe watches. I ignored all the glaring red flags, foolishly believing I had just lucked into a stable, caring marriage after a lifetime of disappointments.
Yet, despite his constant, suffocating generosity, he kept a physical wall between us. After a kiss so desperate and hungry it felt like he had been starving for it his entire life, he violently pushed me away.
"We should take this slow."
I couldn't understand why a man who looked at me with such intense, possessive devotion would treat our marriage like a sterile business deal. Why was he orchestrating every perfect detail of my life while refusing to even share a bed with me?
I had no idea that the man sleeping in the guest room wasn't a pilot at all. He was Harmon Chandler, the ruthless billionaire emperor of the Chandler Group. And he had been secretly monitoring my every move for ten years.
7.1
For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.
7.5
I spent ten years blindly devoted to my husband, Kyler, building a perfect life together.
When I went into premature labor, he held my hand and promised everything would be fine.
But the moment I woke up in the VIP delivery room, the doctor coldly declared my newborn daughter dead.
Kyler rushed in, his face a mask of grief, insisting on taking her body away immediately to handle the arrangements.
If I hadn't heard my supposedly dead baby's telepathic voice echoing in my head, I would have handed her over.
She told me Kyler had poisoned my prenatal vitamins to induce early labor.
He bribed the medical team to fake her death so he could harvest her rare stem cells to save his sick mistress.
And worse, he had pulled the security detail from our eight-year-old son's school.
He was letting cartel kidnappers take my boy just to force me to sign over my family's billionaire trust fund.
The man I kissed every morning was a monster wearing my husband's skin.
How could he smile at me while planning to murder our children and drain my family's wealth?
The sheer terror and betrayal tore my heart into a thousand jagged pieces.
But I didn't scream or confront him.
Instead, I faked a hysterical breakdown, clutched my baby tight, and quietly contacted my family's private mercenary team.
"File the injunctions. I want him destroyed by morning."
9.0
For a whole year, April believed her billionaire husband, Bartholomew, abandoned her in Europe the day after their arranged wedding. She hated him so much she drunkenly prayed for his death at a club.
But he suddenly returned that very night, catching her red-handed. Instead of a divorce, he trapped her, threatening to bankrupt her bloodsucking family unless she moved into his penthouse to play the devoted wife.
Forced to comply, she attended a dinner with her toxic family. Her stepmother deliberately served her lobster—knowing April had a fatal allergy.
"Eat up, darling. I know hospital food is dreadful."
When April refused and exposed their massive gambling debts, her furious father raised his hand to strike her across the face.
But it was Bartholomew, the ruthless tyrant she despised, who caught her father's arm and snapped his wrist.
"If you ever try to touch my wife again, I will erase your family by sunrise."
April was completely stunned. Why was he defending her with such murderous rage? And why did he keep a cheap paper airplane she had made at age six preserved under a glass dome in his study?
The answer came that night. When Bartholomew stepped out of the shower, April saw the massive, jagged surgical scar sliced directly over his heart. He hadn't run away; he had been fighting for his life on an operating table. Staring at the man who had silently survived just to come back to her, April made her choice. She was going to uncover the truth behind his surgery and their past.