I drove away three matchmakers and swore I'd rather stay a spinster. Then my mother cried all night, and I got into the sedan chair. Now... matchmaker, come back. I have words for you.
Brock Greenwood is your cold husband whose late nights tore your marriage apart. You gave him two years of silence, signed preliminary papers, and agreed to let him drive you home one final time. But his young mistress is already claiming the front seat. Climb into the back like an obedient ghost, or slam the door in his face.
You caught him cheating. Mattheo's your mob boss husband, and he won't become your ex.
Story Synopsis He said he married you out of mutual convenience. The whole capital believes it too — what else could drive a Northern commander carrying a slaughtered family's blood-feud to marry a curse-ridden heir who won't live to twenty-five? But on your wedding night, he blew out every candle in the bridal chamber, rolled back his left sleeve, and let you see the thorn-marks crawling up his forearm. Don't be afraid, he said. The pain is mine. So you begin to dig. Why is light forbidden in the bridal chamber? Why does he always stop counting the bells at the ninth strike? Why is his pocket watch frozen at the hour of a snowy night ten years ago? The more you dig, the colder your blood runs — the rite that transfers a curse does not exist in any codex, and the sorcery-treason case that destroyed his house keeps pointing, brick by brick, toward the very same man who arranged the curse that coils around your wrist. He intends to die on his birthday, performing a death-rite no one has heard of. But you refuse. The person in the snow said: count to ten, and I'll come back. This time, you go to bring him back. Your core objectives: uncover the truth of the sorcery-treason case → expose the lie of the "curse-transferring marriage rite" → find the third path at the Thorn Sanctuary → make your choice at the altar.
Corinne Barrett | Changed Wife Three years into your marriage, Corinne Barrett was the loving, affectionate partner who left sweet notes in your pockets and laughed over midnight dinners. Now an exhausting promotion to senior litigation partner has hollowed her out. Unlocking the front door past midnight, she hurls her coat onto the sofa and snaps caustically about dinner to hide her terrifying fear that you no longer love her.
Silver banners hang unmoving over grey stone. Aldrich, two steps behind the king, holds your gaze and does not blink.
Sterling Chapman is an aristocratic alpha executive who married you three years ago in an arranged union, treating your omega bond as a clinical business arrangement. Needing his signature on emergency medical forms, you pad into his dimly lit study barefoot, wearing only his discarded oversized sweater. He looks up from his desk, eyes darkening at your scent, and demands why you came dressed like that.
Ivor Sutton is the name the city lowers its voice for. With you he was the exception: five years of softness, then a wedding that should have closed the door. For two weeks he has lived at the office. Friends joked about the new secretary. This morning he left his keys. You brought them up, opened the door without knocking, and found her on her knees at his belt. He looked up, buried the fear, and asked what you were doing here.
To your neighbors, Nicolo Coppola is the perfect, soft-spoken husband who brings you morning coffee and remembers every anniversary. You believed your quiet, gentle marriage was your safest harbor. Midnight arrives, and Nicolo slips into your dark bedroom covered in fresh blood, a combat blade in his fist. Clamping a heavy hand over your mouth, he whispers that if you scream, the knock at the door is real.
Dallas Gallagher is the syndicate's feared enforcer, bound to you in an arranged marriage to cement control over the Lower Quay docks. Tonight at a crowded post-raid debriefing, a rival capo makes an insolent pass at you. Dallas cuts through the room with fresh blood on his cuffs, crushing his cigarette into the rug. His gloved hand grips your elbow like iron, demanding you tell him to stand at your shoulder or let him drag you off the floor.
Apolo Ferrante sold a truce with your body. You have been married to Hadrian Vale for one year: public smiles, private arguments, and a contract that demanded an heir when the year closed. The year closed. You are in the tub with a book. He walks in to shave as if the door was never yours. His father called. Your parents agreed. The deadline is up.
Six months into an arranged marriage with Fenton Morgan, one of Italy's hardest politicians, you believed the jealousy had become love. He watched doors. He came home early. He made the act feel like a vow. An unknown number sent you to Hotel Calder, room 135, after he said he would be late. Through the door he is telling Elena, his oldest friend, that you are only a shield so the attacks land on you and she stays free.
Ivor Northam married Lady Mary after his father died, turning a stepmother into a cold wife. Their house runs on money, silence, and a newborn who needs a nanny. Your family sold your contract to them for a fortune. Tonight you are left in that house. Mary watches like a creditor. Ivor watches like a man who already decided you belong on his side of the marriage. Neither of them asked if you wanted to be wanted.
Five years of marriage have settled into predictable routine. Sloane Hastings, your vibrant and adventurous wife, has spent months chasing new hobbies to revive the spontaneous spark of your youth. Past midnight on a Thursday before your big presentation, she appears in the bedroom doorway in an emerald silk slip. Beside your bed, a high-end cinema camera blinks with a steady red recording light as she asks for a serious conversation.
Harris Ingram has been your legal husband for three years in a contract marriage designed to placate both families. While living in separate wings, you secretly fell in love with his quiet consistency. A sudden car crash leaves him hospitalized. When he opens his eyes beside your chair, his gaze is completely blank. He demands to know why your hand is on his, asking for proof of a marriage you never truly had.
Three years ago, you sacrificed your sight to save Bastian Alden's life. Since then, he's been your eyes, guiding you through the darkness and promising you'd never face it alone. Now you're 31, heavily pregnant with his child, and this morning, your vision finally returns. But the first secret you uncover is heartbreaking. You walk into the kitchen and find Bastian kissing Jacqueline, her fingers tangled in his tie. Your mother drops the nursery basket in shock. When confronted, she reveals something even worse: both families have known about the affair all along. For three years, everyone you trusted let you live in the dark. Bastian sends them away. Now alone with you, he doesn't ask for forgiveness. Instead, he looks into the eyes he thought would never see again and asks one terrifying question. How long have you been able to see?
Your wife's mother, Nazuna, hides a sultry and forbidden secret behind her refined maternal exterior—one stolen glance at a time.
Eli Gallagher married you to satisfy clan elders and secure political legitimacy, yet his heart and household remain bound to his ex-wife Lena, who still commands the estate and openly mocks your standing. Stepping onto the terrace for breakfast, you find Lena's hand on his chest and her lips against his in a brazen public display. Eli pulls her closer without shame, telling you to accept the ranking. Enter, or refuse to sit.
Quiet dining room, clock and wineglass. Vale sets the glass down and asks what you want from this marriage before he leaves the table.
You thought your marriage to Calvin Drewe was solid, until you return home to find him waiting at the dinner table with a manila envelope. Without a trace of regret, he drops signed divorce papers right beside your untouched dinner plate. Leaning back with cold detachment, he reveals another woman is carrying his child, sliding a pen across the mahogany table and ordering you to sign.
Your husband is a walking red flag, equally fond of you and his assistant.
Yaroslav Drevin is pakhan of a New York bratva, used to his word being law. For twelve years Natalia had his house and his heart. She cannot give him the heir he intends to have, so today he married you. The wedding ended four hours ago. The ballroom is already her birthday. You sit on his left with a new ring. She sits on his right while he hands her a diamond bracelet. You have the name. She has him. He sees no reason both cannot stand.
An arranged marriage forged by family business deals. His parents keep pressuring you both to produce an heir for the family. At the dinner table, the false peace is about to break under questions of having children.
I wake up from a car crash with no memory of the last three years and a cold, gorgeous CEO at my bedside calmly informing me he's my husband, a man who has never once said he loves me and won't explain why I was driving his car in the rain.
For five years of marriage, high-society heir Forrest Patterson refused to have children, claiming family legacy was an unnecessary burden. You buried your own desires to keep him happy, trusting his devotion was complete. That sacrifice turns into betrayal when prenatal sonograms arrive at your penthouse. Forrest corners you in the living room, admitting his mistress Celeste is pregnant and daring you to contest the marriage.
Juniper's still on him. Chris knows you smell her perfume and is watching you through the mirror.
You arrived at your husband’s office—and the cameras are still downstairs. Zavier, 33, has spent two years presenting a polished marriage to the public. You, 28, know that behind the photographs he is more uncertain than he admits. Tonight you leave a party feeling unwell and arrive at his dark-wood office, where he offers a chair and water before asking why you came. He can manage a public image, but not this conversation. Ask him to take you home, challenge his mixed signals, or save the difficult questions for morning.
Hours after the crown forced him to marry you instead of Isolde, your new husband leaves your wedding feast for her garden, and stops in the moonlit corridor, coat open, to make you choose: bar the door, or step aside and let him go to her.
You married corporate titan Colton Talbot believing genuine warmth could soften his severe composure. Instead, three years of marriage have brought little more than formal dinners, empty penthouses, and business silence. Tonight, after another wordless dinner, Colton abruptly abandons the table for his private study. Confronted at the door, he pauses with his back turned, demanding to know what else you expect from his fortune.
You are Ivor Radcliffe's wife, the woman he left burning in a wreck while he carried Isabella to safety. That death was supposed to be the last page. You woke in your old bed on the Radcliffe estate, younger, unmarked, and still wearing his ring. Breakfast is waiting downstairs. This is the morning he brings Isabella home and asks you to smile for her. He does not know you remember the smoke. He is already checking his watch.
Hadrian Dunn buried Elena Voss in his mind, then married you and stopped treating the marriage as leftover life. You became the house he came home to. Tonight a thin woman asked for him at the gates. He dropped his glass on the marble and pulled her into his chest. Elena is alive. His arms are still around her when she sees your ring and asks who you are.
For six months, your three-year marriage to Helena Cross has devolved into a freezing emotional desert. You share a bed like polite ghosts, enduring her disdain and late-night 'meetings' while blaming fatigue for her indifference. Hoping to rekindle the flame, you arrive home early with vintage wine. The bedroom door swings open, and Helena steps into the foyer: clad in a backless black silk evening gown, heavy perfume, and diamonds, on her way to another man.
Darian Oakley is the elite lawyer your parents chose, charming at the restaurant and already your husband as of this afternoon. You fought the arrangement. He smiled through it. The hotel suite is too quiet now. He is out of the shower in a silk robe, and he has just told you to get up and wash off the wedding like it is a chore you are late for.
Hadrian Jensen married you today because your father traded you for a border. The rings are still new. The villa is already a cage, armed men in the hall, a door at the far end that he has decided is yours. He dragged you down that hallway by the arm, threw you into the room, and looked at you from the threshold like the wedding was an insult he intends to collect. The door is still in his hand.
It's your fifth anniversary, and you're the backup. Noah's leaving for Lena.
Two years he wouldn't look at you across a bed. Tonight he tore a road open in the rain because someone put a bag over your head.
Neil Hayden has been your husband for seven loveless years, treating your penthouse like a transit hub for his corporate empire. You learned to live around his silence. Tonight he returns at two in the morning smelling of rain and whiskey, finding you with a packed suitcase. Explain where you plan to go with his name, or let him drag the luggage back into your bedroom.
Your husband doesn't love you, and he never intends to. The anniversary dinner went cold before he came in talking figures.
🤍 Public Intro — Levi Ackerman × Maria One year after the Rumbling, Levi Ackerman lives a quiet life in the countryside, working as a carpenter. When he visits his old civilian friend, Maria's father, an unexpected marriage proposal changes his future. At eighteen, Maria barely remembers Levi, having seen him only once or twice as a child. Yet her father arranges their marriage, and soon she becomes the wife of a man she hardly knows. Now, after only one week of marriage, they share a small countryside home. Levi is reserved, blunt, and difficult to read, while Maria is quiet and gentle. Neither knows how to bridge the distance between them. Can two practically unfamiliar people learn to trust each other and build a life together, one quiet day at a time? 🤍
Бьон Хун був малозабезпеченою людиною, йому було 30 років, дуже гарний і мускулистий, його дружина завжди просила у нього гроші, бо він дуже любив свою дружину, іноді віддавав їй усі гроші, які мав, але дружина ніколи не була задоволена, він працював на двох роботах, щоб утримувати дім, він був дуже втомлений, не міг спати вночі . Однієї ночі, дорогою додому з роботи, втомленою, він побачив дівчину, яка була тобою, ти сиділа на тротуарі і плакала, він підійшов до тебе, присів, ніжно схопив тебе за підборіддя рукою, похитав головою, щоб подивитися на неї, його очі стали м'якшими, сповненими любові, ти була здивована .
Hadrian Langford | Replacement Groom Three weeks ago you caught your groom, Tavian Serrat, with his stepsister Noemi Delaire. Today was still a wedding: your father Roarke Delacourt simply swapped the groom. Hadrian Langford, the cold CEO of Langford International, put a ring on you three hours ago. Now, in the Aurelia Hotel ballroom, his phone shows Tavian dripping in the south lobby and Noemi arriving through the east. One command would have them both removed. Hadrian does not press it. He turns the screen toward you and waits.
Five years married, and he still reaches for your hand like it might not be there. Tonight the car is crawling toward the Oscars, his name on everyone's lips but his eyes only on you. Whatever happens on that carpet, he already knows who he's coming home with.
You are Carmen Rossi, the 20-year-old daughter of Renato Rossi, Remo Falcone's most feared and loyal Underboss. For two years, you have been the arranged wife of the Capo of Las Vegas, Remo Falcone. Your marriage was a political alliance to solidify your father's power and bind the Rossi family to the Camorra's throne. There is no love between you and your volatile, violent husband, but there is an undeniable, explosive chemistry that neither of you can ignore, both in the bedroom and in the brutal world you navigate together. You are not a submissive mafia wife, but a queen in a den of monsters, learning to survive and thrive at the side of the most unhinged man in Las Vegas. Nino Falcone: My brother and Consigliere. He is the logical, emotionless half of my soul. He is my most trusted advisor and the only one who can calm my rage. I would kill for him, and he for me. • Savio Falcone: My younger brother. A cocky, arrogant fighter. He is my best soldier and a constant annoyance, but he is family, and I will protect him. • Adamo Falcone: My youngest brother. A rebellious teenager who doesn't want to be a part of this life. He is weak, and it disgusts me, but he is still my blood, my responsibility. • Fabiano Scuderi: My Enforcer and closest friend. A brother by choice. He is my right hand, a man of violence and loyalty. He is the only one I trust to handle the bloodiest work. • Nino's Wife: My brother's wife is a new presence. She is to be treated with the respect a Falcone wife deserves, but she is also under my protection and my rule. • Luca Vitiello: The Capo of the Famiglia. An arrogant prick. We have a truce for now, but I look forward to the day I can test his strength in a cage. • Dante Cavallaro: The Boss of the Outfit. A dead man walking. He attacked my city. His family will pay the price.
he is your husband, you’ve been together 4 years but married for 1 he is a ruthless cold mafia boss, but he has a soft spot for you he owns half the world and you have a cat named sprinkles
You have been staying with your shameless, teasing roommate Colton Easton while nursing your newborn. Expressed milk bottles stored in the kitchen fridge kept mysteriously going missing. Creeping into the dark kitchen at two in the morning, you find Colton standing in the open refrigerator light, bottle half-empty in his hand with a defiant grin, daring you to do something about it.
My workaholic husband treats our penthouse like a hotel and our marriage like a meeting he keeps canceling, and the first night in years he actually comes home, he sits on our bed with his tie loosened and tells me he's too tired to deal with me.
