Is Behind Golden Hand Based On A True Story?

Fresh out of college, Clara Stewart asked me to take on a $500,000 mortgage for her. When I refused, she turned around and bought an $800,000 villa in full, for another guy. Holding up the property deed, she told me: "Jayden, the truth is, I'm actually rich. I've been pretending to be poor to test you. Unfortunately, you failed. I'm disappointed in you. Let's break up." I simply smiled and walked away without a second thought. The irony? I'm the son of the richest man in the country. I was pretending to be broke, too. Fast forward four years, we met again at the National Wealth Summit. Clara had just barely made it into the top 50 on the list, clinging to the arm of Henry Brown as they entered. She spotted me in simple clothes with no visible brand, holding a child in one arm and the keys to a Porsche Cayenne in the other. Thinking I was someone's driver, she sneered: "Jayden, you really went all out just to see me again? Let's be real, you're just a driver now, and I'm on the wealth list. We live in completely different worlds. Don't waste your time fantasizing." I did not bother replying. Honestly, I was only there because my billionaire dad insisted. I had finally cleared a day to spend with my son and now I had to waste it on that.

In the luxurious world of the wealthy, one unforgettable evening leads to a lifetime of secrets, lies, and unforeseen consequences. When a meek yet determined woman from a deprived background meets a controlling and ruthless playboy, their lives become intertwined in a complex of desire, dishonesty, and sorrow. Will they be able to reunite in the midst of the storms of disloyalty and concealed facts, or will the burden of their past errors separate them for eternity?

As the price of gold soars, my late mother, Eleanor Hutchinson, appears to me in my dream. She tells me she has left a gold bangle on my nightstand. If I wear them, they'll bring me wealth and bless the child I'm carrying. But after I find the bangle, I give it to the rabid dog the neighbors keep locked up. In my previous life, my younger sister, Irene Owens, and I marry two brothers and become pregnant at the same time. During a prenatal checkup, the doctor says Irene's baby appears to have severe birth defects and recommends terminating the pregnancy. She doesn't take it seriously at all. That very day, Mom comes to me in my dream, and I find the gold bangle on my bedside table. After I tell Irene about it, she slips the bangle onto my wrists. She says, "You always say Mom favors me. But after she dies, you're the first person she thinks of and approaches. Just wear them." I do exactly as she says and never take the bangle off. But on the day we give birth, Irene delivers a healthy baby boy with rosy cheeks and a loud, vigorous cry. My baby, however, is born with two sets of reproductive organs. The child isn't breathing the moment it's delivered. Before this, every prenatal exam has shown that my baby is healthy. I realize Irene and the bangle must have something to do with it. The sight of my horribly deformed baby drives me insane. In a fit of rage, I dig up Mom's grave and confront Irene. "Why does Mom keep paving the way for you even after she's dead?" She has me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I waste away in despair until I die. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Mom first appears in my dream.

My boyfriend belonged to the untouchables among the capital's elite, with a family fortune worth tens of billions. To "test" me, he spent seven years never buying me a single gift, never spending a cent on me. Even a stop at a convenience store for condoms had to be split down the middle. Then, my mother fell critically ill. I borrowed from every friend and relative I could, but I was still two thousand short to cover the surgery fees. No matter how much I pleaded, he refused to lend me the money. I arranged my mother's funeral on my own. When I went back to pack my belongings, I accidentally found a list of gifts he had bought for the young woman next door. A private luxury estate. Designer handbags. Jewelry worth hundreds of millions. There was also a voice chat with his friend. "Caleb, is it true Jessica actually humbled herself and begged you for two thousand?" Caleb Brooks let out a low, amused laugh, his tone lazy and indifferent. "Nevaeh wasn't wrong. Anyone who goes around begging over two thousand — what else is she if not a gold digger? "We've only been together seven years and she's already trying to get money out of me." So that was the truth. Seven years of so-called testing, it seemed, had been sparked by nothing more than a few manipulative words from a young woman next door. However, it no longer mattered. The moment my mother passed away, I had already decided to leave him.

I was a brilliant artist. But I crushed my right hand saving my mafia husband, Vincent, and my ability to create died with it for three years. Vincent promised he'd make me whole again. Our private doctor swore he was doing everything he could. But my hand remained numb, useless. Then, one day, I overheard a conversation that shattered my world. "Make sure she can never create again," Vincent told the doctor. "I can't have Isabella threatening Sophia's place in the art world!" "But, Mr. Torrino, another procedure might... she could lose the hand for good." "I don't care what happens to her! Sophia saved my life. I will not let her down!" It turned out my husband was the one who had destroyed me. And the assassin, Sophia, was the woman he truly loved. He let her claim my designs, turning her into the art world’s new darling while I was trapped in a broken body. When I confronted him, pregnant with our child, he slapped me in public and told the world I was losing my mind. That night, I burned everything that bound me to him. Then I dialed an encrypted number I hadn't used in what felt like a lifetime. "Grandpa. In three days, I need to disappear."

I've been caught in a relationship with a divorced man for eight years. We've broken up and reconciled too many times to count. In the end, I tallied ninety-four breakups and five divorces between us. One more would make it an even hundred, but I'm too exhausted to continue this cycle. The first breakup happened when I was giving him my virginity. Halfway through, his ex-wife called asking him to pick up some bread, and he simply left. The fifth breakup occurred when he abandoned me, newly pregnant, on the highway to comfort his ex-wife who was having complications with her own pregnancy. I ended up in a car accident and miscarried. He arrived at the hospital with his clothes disheveled. Despite all the pain he caused me, I could never bring myself to truly leave him. Our most recent divorce happened for an equally absurd reason. His ex-wife and their child were participating in a family reality TV show that required them to appear as a complete family unit. To protect his ex-wife's public image, he divorced me yet again. When filming wrapped, he called to discuss remarrying. This time I refused, because I'm going to marry someone else.