
Ninety-Nine Heartbreaks, One Final Goodbye
The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time. We were the golden couple of Northgate High, our future perfectly mapped out for UCLA. But in our senior year, he fell for a new girl, Catalina, and our love story became a sick, exhausting dance of his betrayals and my empty threats to leave.
At a graduation party, Catalina "accidentally" pulled me into the pool with her. Jax dove in without a second's hesitation. He swam right past me as I struggled, wrapped his arms around Catalina, and pulled her to safety.
As he helped her out to the cheers of his friends, he glanced back at me, my body shivering and my mascara running in black rivers.
"Your life isn't my problem anymore," he said, his voice as cold as the water I was drowning in.
That night, something inside me finally shattered. I went home, opened my laptop, and clicked the button that confirmed my admission.
Not to UCLA with him, but to NYU, an entire country away.
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Chapter 5
Eliana POV:
I stood in the blinding California sun, my eyes locked on the white USPS truck slowly crawling down the pristine driveway of my family's estate.
I took a slow, deep breath. The air tasted like dry heat and jasmine. For three years, every breath I took had been shallow, measured, and carefully calculated so I wouldn't take up too much space in Jax's world. The suffocation had become my normal.
Today, my lungs finally expanded to their full capacity.
The postal truck groaned to a halt by the curb. A mailman in a sweat-stained blue uniform stepped out, holding a thick, rigid envelope. My heart kicked against my ribs.
Before I could take a step forward, the screech of tires tore through the quiet neighborhood.
A sleek black Porsche swerved violently, stopping mere inches from the postal truck's rear bumper. The driver's door swung open. Jax stepped out.
His jaw was clenched tight, and his dark eyebrows were pulled together in that signature look of annoyed impatience. He walked toward me with the heavy, entitled strides of a billionaire heir who expected the world to part for him. He hated having his schedule interrupted. He hated anything he couldn't control.
"Delivery for Eliana," the mailman said, checking the address on the clipboard. He held out the envelope. It had the bold purple torch logo of New York University stamped in the corner.
Jax's hand shot out. He snatched the envelope right out of the mailman's grip before I could even raise my arm.
"Hey," the mailman muttered, stepping back.
Jax didn't look at him. His eyes scanned the return address, and I watched the muscles in his neck instantly go rigid. The annoyance on his face morphed into a dark, suffocating storm.
"New York University?" Jax's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. He took a step toward me, his tall frame casting a shadow over my face. "Why the hell are you applying to schools on the East Coast behind my back?"
I didn't flinch. I didn't scramble to explain myself, and I didn't apologize. The urge to appease him was completely gone, replaced by a hollow, ringing silence.
I simply held out my hand. "Give it back, Jax."
He let out a harsh laugh, holding the envelope high above my head. It was a physical reminder of his power, his height, his absolute certainty that he owned me.
"Is this your new game?" he sneered, his eyes flashing with arrogant disbelief. "You're throwing a tantrum over Catalina, so you apply to some school across the country just to get my attention? It's pathetic, Eliana. Grow up."
A cold smile touched my lips. I dropped my hand. I didn't even want to touch him to fight for it.
Before I could speak, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
The ringtone was custom. A soft, acoustic melody. Catalina's ringtone.
Jax pulled his phone out. The anger in his eyes instantly dissolved, replaced by a frantic, helpless urgency. He swiped the screen. "Catalina? What's wrong?"
I stood there and listened. I could hear her high-pitched, breathless sobbing through the receiver.
"Jax... I can't breathe," Catalina gasped, her voice thick with manufactured panic. "My asthma... I can't find my inhaler. Please, I'm scared."
Jax's chest heaved. Panic flared in his eyes. "Hold on. Just breathe. I'm five minutes away. I'm coming right now."
He hung up. He looked at me, searching my face. He was waiting for the jealousy. He was waiting for my eyes to well up with tears, for my voice to crack as I begged him not to leave me for her again.
I gave him nothing. My face was a mask of absolute indifference. I even took a deliberate step back, putting more physical distance between us.
The coldness in my eyes seemed to hit him like a physical blow. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. He didn't understand this script.
Frustrated, he threw the NYU envelope onto the manicured grass.
"Stop throwing this ridiculous temper tantrum," he snapped, pointing a finger at me. "I don't have time for your childish games right now. I'll deal with you when I get back."
He turned his back on me and marched to the Porsche. He didn't look back once.
The heavy car door slammed shut. The engine roared, a violent, tearing sound that shattered the peace of the wealthy street. The Porsche shot forward like a bullet, leaving behind a cloud of exhaust and the faint scent of burning rubber.
I watched the taillights disappear around the corner. The very last thread of attachment I held for that man snapped cleanly in two. I didn't feel sad. I felt incredibly light.
I walked over to the grass and bent down. I picked up the thick envelope. A smear of dirt stained the white paper. I used my thumb to gently wipe the dust off the NYU crest, tracing the letters like they were a lifeline.
The mailman stood awkwardly by his truck, holding out his electronic scanner. "Uh, I still need a signature, miss."
"Of course," I said smoothly.
I took the stylus. I didn't hesitate. I pressed the pen to the screen and signed my full name with sharp, deliberate strokes.
"Congratulations on getting in," the mailman smiled gently, taking the scanner back. He climbed into his truck and drove away.
I held the envelope against my chest. I turned around and walked toward the heavy oak doors of my house. I stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind me, locking the past outside.
"This is the best coming-of-age gift I've ever received."
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8.4
Grace, after three years of silence from a crash that stole her voice and family, finally uttered a hoarse syllable. It was her first sound, a breakthrough she desperately wanted to share with Josiah, her childhood protector. Instead, through a slightly ajar door, she heard his careless chuckle, followed by a sharp, entitled voice.
Alexandria's voice sliced through the air: "Josiah, are you really planning to bring that little mute to the banquet? She's a walking trailer park tragedy. It's embarrassing." Grace froze, waiting for Josiah to defend her. He didn't. Instead, he sighed, calling her "a responsibility" and "a lifeless ghost," then pulled Alexandria closer.
The words were serrated blades. Her silent devotion, her self-erasure for his peace, had made her a punchline. He was relieved she was broken. The bitter realization of his betrayal ignited a cold, white-hot fury.
Wiping away tears, Grace met Josiah, feigning her usual submissive smile, and quietly refused his "hush money." As he walked away without a glance, her inner voice was clear, sharp, and resolute: "I'm done playing your game."

8.4
To keep her grandmother on life support, Aracely was blackmailed into taking Evelyn's place in the pitch-black bedroom of the ruthless billionaire, Brennen Levine.
After that night, Evelyn tossed a hideous silicone scar at her feet, forcing Aracely to glue it to her face and work as a bottom-tier maid in his estate so he would never recognize her.
Brennen, suffering from chronic insomnia, was completely addicted to the sweet gardenia scent of the woman from the dark. But when he saw the "disfigured" Aracely scrubbing floors, he was physically repulsed, publicly humiliating her and calling her a monster.
Meanwhile, Evelyn paraded around as his soon-to-be wife. Terrified of her lies unraveling, Evelyn constantly abused Aracely, throwing scalding coffee at her face and threatening to pull the plug on her grandmother if Aracely didn't sneak back into Brennen's room to act as his human sleeping pill.
Aracely endured the suffocating fake scar, the insults, and the freezing servant quarters. She ground her teeth, swallowing the bitter injustice just to keep her only family alive, wondering when this torturous hell would ever end.
But Evelyn's malice knew no bounds. When Evelyn raised her hand to strike again, threatening to rip off the very disguise she forced Aracely to wear, something inside Aracely finally snapped.
"Do not push me."
Aracely locked her hand around Evelyn's wrist in a bone-crushing grip, completely unaware that Brennen was watching from the balcony above, his dark eyes narrowing as a dangerous realization hit him.

9.7
Darcie Miller survives elite St. Jude's Academy on sarcasm and invisibility, steering clear of golden quarterback Charles Sterling-her most ruthless tormentor. But when her father's bankruptcy hands everything to the Sterling family, Darcie faces a humiliating ultimatum: move into Charles's mansion as his live-in "academic handler" to keep him eligible for graduation.
Now the girl who despises him holds his future in her hands, and the boy who shattered her reputation might be the only one who truly sees her. In a world of cold marble and buried secrets, hate is about to catch fire-and obsession could burn them both.

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.

7.9
Hannah came home under a false identity, ready to keep her head down and avoid trouble. Then a near-drowning opened her eyes, and the family she had wanted gave her nothing but disappointment.
She severed every tie, shed the disguise, and rose in revenge as a miracle doctor, brilliant hacker, and feared underworld ruler. Shock followed her family at every turn.
Her parents regretted everything. Her eldest brother clung desperately to the bond of their shared blood, while her second brother gave up his entire fortune just to earn her forgiveness. Her third brother offered up his own body for a surgery-all to save her.
But Hannah stayed cold and built her empire alone. Only one deadly rival refused to be ignored.
"I was hired to kill you, mister."
"Then take my heart, too."

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.