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  • The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel by NovaBlaq

    The Ex Wife's Revenge novel by NovaBlaq

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    My ex-husband’s mother never hid her contempt for me.
    She thought money could erase my existence and paid me five million to walk away from her son.
    “You’re beneath my son. Take the money and leave him.”
    She had no idea I was already sick of her cruelty. And even sicker of her spineless son.
    I accepted the money. Utterly devastated, of course.
    ~~~
    A month later, she was furious because I was dating her brother.
    “Ten million. Leave my brother alone.”
    I refused, intentionally trying to provoke her.
    She offered me twenty million this time and I accepted her offer.
    But she had no idea what I had in store for her. She had no idea what she started.

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    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 1

    Nadia’s POV:
    Today was my husband, Dorian’s twenty-third birthday.
    It should have been a happy day. But it wasn’t. Happy days didn’t really exist inside the Hargrove mansion… at least not for me, anyway.
    I woke up early. The morning sun came through the curtains and landed on my face, and for one single second, before I was fully awake, I thought: today might be different. Then I heard the voices outside my bedroom door and I remembered where I was and who I was married to and nothing was different at all.
    It was barely past seven when the stylists arrived.
    Vivienne had sent them. She always sent them before any Hargrove event, because she didn’t trust me to dress myself. I’m not sure she trusted me to do anything, if I’m honest. Except breathe, maybe. And even then she was probably watching to make sure I did it correctly.
    I was sitting at my vanity in my robe when the bedroom door opened without a knock. Three women walked in, carrying bags and cases. Vivienne walked in behind them. She was already dressed. She stopped in the center of the room and looked at me. She didn’t say good morning.
    She just looked at my hair.
    “Careful with her hair,” she said, to the stylist. “It’s a bit thin, isn’t it?” She tilted her head slightly, as if she were studying a problem that needed solving. “Add extensions. Lots of them. I won’t have her walking around today looking like a peasant. My son is turning twenty-three. This party matters. I won’t have guests thinking I let him marry a woman who can’t even grow a decent head of hair.”
    The stylist nodded. She didn’t argue. She just agreed, which was what everyone did around Vivienne.
    “Yes, Mrs. Hargrove. I see exactly what you mean. We’ll fix it.”
    I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and said nothing.
    What was there to say? I had learned, a long time ago, that saying anything only made it worse. Silence was my armor.
    I sat in that chair for four hours.
    My neck ached from holding still. My head felt heavy from all the pins and clips they were pressing into my scalp. Every time I opened my mouth to say anything… even something harmless, like asking for a glass of water… Vivienne found a way to cut me off.
    “Don’t move your mouth, Nadia,” she said at one point. “The lipstick needs to be set perfectly. If you keep moving, we’ll have to start over. And we don’t have time to start over.”
    Then she looked at my waist in the mirror. She pressed her lips together.
    “That dress,” she said. “Well. It’s the best we could do, given your figure. It’s a shame you haven’t managed to lose that extra weight I mentioned to you in August. The silk is pulling at the waist. It makes you look…” She paused, as if searching for a word that was just polite enough to say out loud. “…fat and desperate. But then, I suppose that’s always been your problem. You’ve always tried a little too hard to belong in spaces that weren’t built for you.”
    I stared at my reflection. There was absolutely nothing wrong with my figure.
    The woman looking back at me looked expensive. Her hair was thick and glossy, her makeup was flawless, her dress was simple but elegant. She looked like she belonged at an event like this.
    But her eyes were empty. She looked like a doll that had been dressed by someone else.
    I didn’t recognize her at all. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
    ~~~
    The party began at noon.
    The Hargrove garden had been decorated beautifully. The tables were covered in white linen and flowers that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Servers in white jackets moved between the guests, offering champagne and tiny food arranged on silver trays.
    It was beautiful. Everything about the Hargrove world was beautiful. That was the worst part of it.
    I moved through the crowd slowly, holding a small box wrapped in gold paper. Inside was a watch, a vintage one I had spent three weeks searching for. I heard Dorian mentioning it once, almost a year ago. I remembered because I always paid attention to him more than he ever paid attention to me. I had thought it would mean something to him. I had thought that maybe, on his birthday, he might actually pay attention to me a little bit.
    I found him near the fountain.
    He looked good. He always looked good. His tuxedo was perfectly fitted. I walked up to him and touched his arm.
    “Dorian,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended. “Happy birthday, honey. I got you something. I spent a long time finding it. I thought maybe we could find a quiet corner for a minute so you could open it?”
    He didn’t look at the box. He didn’t look at me. His eyes were scanning the crowd over my shoulder, searching for someone or something more important.
    “Not now, Nadia.” He said. “Don’t try making today all about you please.”
    “But it’s your birthday. I just…”
    “I said not now.” His voice was firm. “My mother is standing in the sun. She might get a headache. I need to bring her a drink before she asks me twice. Just put the gift on the table with the other ones.”
    I looked at him, and tried to keep my voice even.
    “Dorian, there are over fifteen people here in white jackets whose entire job tonight is to carry drinks. Can’t you stay here for one minute? It’s your birthday. I just want to give you your gift.”
    His face tightened.
    “Don’t be selfish,” he said. He lowered his voice, not because he was worried about hurting my feelings, but because he didn’t want to create a scene. “She’s my mother, Nadia. Now stop making this about yourself and move out of the way. You’re blocking the path.”
    He walked right past me.
    He didn’t even brush my shoulder. He just stepped around me like I was a potted plant.
    I stood there with the gold box in my hands, and I breathed. In, out. In, out. I had gotten very good at breathing through moments like this. It was either that or cry, and I refused to give this garden the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
    I turned around to go find somewhere to sit, and that’s when I saw her.
    Lena was standing about ten feet away, right where Dorian was heading. She was tall, with cheekbones. She had been introduced to Dorian by Vivienne a few months ago… a model from a good family, Vivienne had said, as if she were presenting a business proposal. I smiled at that introduction. Because I knew exactly what she was trying to do.
    Lena was laughing at something now, her head thrown back, her hand reaching out to touch Dorian’s arm. He was laughing back. He looked alive in a way I hadn’t seen in three years of being married to him.
    Something moved through my chest. And I walked over to them.
    I wasn’t going to stand in the shadows and watch my husband laugh with another woman at his birthday party. I wrapped my arm through Dorian’s and stepped in close. I made sure my wedding ring was visible.
    “There you are, honey,” I said. My voice was softer than I expected. “I was starting to wonder where you disappeared to.” I turned to look at Lena, still smiling. “Oh, hello, Lena right? I didn’t see you standing there. You look very… shiny today.”
    Lena looked at me like I was a bug on her shoe. Then she smiled and tilted her head.
    “Nadia. How sweet. I was just telling Dorian how great he looks.” She glanced at me from head to toe. “Some people just keep improving, don’t they? And others just… stay the same.”
    Before I could respond, a woman I didn’t know appeared at my elbow. She was older, elegantly dressed, and she was looking at my dress with a genuine smile.
    “Oh, my dear,” she said to me. “What a stunning color. That shade of blue is absolutely beautiful on you. Is it a designer piece?”
    I opened my mouth. But suddenly, Vivienne materialized from the left.
    I didn’t see her coming. She looked at my dress and then looked at the guest with a fake smile.
    “This old thing?” Vivienne said, touching the fabric of my sleeve with one finger, as though checking it for stains. “It’s a sweet little dress, isn’t it? We had it pulled together quickly. Nadia doesn’t really have a strong eye for fashion. She tends to gravitate toward things that look expensive but aren’t, if you know what I mean.” She laughed softly. “It’s difficult to teach taste to someone who didn’t grow up surrounded by it. Some women are just born with the instinct, and others have to try much harder and still don’t quite get there. Don’t you think, Lena?”
    Lena covered her mouth with her manicured hand. She made a sound that was supposed to be a polite laugh.
    “Absolutely,” Lena said. “Fashion is practically a language. You’re either fluent or you’re not.”
    The woman who had complimented me looked slightly uncomfortable. She glanced between me and Vivienne and said nothing else.
    I felt heat rise in my face, then I looked at Dorian.
    I waited for him to say something. To tell his mother to stop. To defend me, even once. To say: that’s my wife you’re talking about.
    Instead , he looked at the ground. Like he had nothing to say.
    I took a sip of my wine. “Actually, Vivienne,” I said. My voice was calm. I kept my smile exactly where it was. “Dorian chose this dress for me. He picked it himself. He told me it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in years.” I looked at her steadily. “So if you think the dress has no taste, perhaps the conversation you need to have is with your son. He might be the one with the fashion problem.”
    The silence that followed was deafening.
    The guest looked down at her champagne. Lena’s mouth fell open. Vivienne’s expression didn’t change exactly, but something in her eyes shifted. She went very still.
    Then I felt a hand on my arm.
    Dorian.
    He grabbed me just above the elbow, his fingers pressing hard into my arm. He didn’t pull me away properly because that would have been too visible. He just gripped me and leaned in, his face still arranged into a pleasant expression for anyone watching from a distance.
    “What is wrong with you?” he said against my ear. His voice was low and firm. “Do not talk to my mother like that. Do you understand me? This is her event. These are her guests. You do not embarrass her in front of them. Not tonight. Not ever.”
    I kept my eyes forward. I kept my smile in place.
    “She basically called me a peasant this morning, Dorian,” I said, very quietly. “In front of the stylists. She said the dress makes me look fat and desperate. I have been sitting and smiling through this all day.”
    “She’s trying to help you.”
    “That’s not helping.” My voice was still quiet but my jaw was tight. “She is cruel. And you stand next to her every time and say nothing. You have never once…”
    “Because she’s right!” he snapped. The words were out before he could take them back. He pressed his lips together. “She knows how this world works. You don’t. And instead of being grateful that she tries to show you, you stand here and make scenes and make me look like I can’t control my own household. Now you will smile, you will say nothing else, and at the end of the night you will apologize to her. Are we clear?”
    He let go of my arm.
    I looked down. There were red marks where his fingers had been.
    I didn’t say anything because I didn’t trust my voice.
    From across the garden, I heard my father in law, Richard’s voice cut through the music and the crowd noise.
    He was standing near the oak trees, at the head of a large table surrounded by men in dark suits. Richard himself was tall and broad, he was the kind of man who had never once in his life needed to raise his voice to be heard.
    He raised his glass.
    “A toast,” he said. “To my son, Dorian. Twenty-three years ago he arrived in this world, and I’m pleased to know that he’s become such a fine young man.” He smiled. “He has a great deal still to learn, about business and about life. But he is a Hargrove. And that means he will always have the best of everything.”
    The garden erupted.
    “To Dorian!”
    Everyone cheered. Everyone raised their glasses. I raised mine too, because I was very good at doing what was expected of me.
    Richard didn’t join the cheering, he didn’t immediately sit back down also. He stood for a moment, the glass still in his hand, and his eyes moved across the garden like he was searching for something.
    They moved past Past the fountain and the people who had come to celebrate his son.
    They landed on me.
    It lasted less than two seconds. He didn’t look at me with hate, or with contempt like the others did. His eyes were warm. It was the only warmth I had felt all day. Then, just as quickly as it happened, he moved his gaze away and went back to his business partners, raising his glass again to the men at his table.
    I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
    ~~~
    I walked to the gift table.
    I set the gold box down at the end of the row. It landed among the huge, perfectly wrapped gifts from jewelers and designers and the kinds of people who bought presents as statements. My box looked small and lonely. Just like me.
    Nobody would know that it was from me. Nobody would care.
    “I’m sick of this,” I said quietly, to nobody. My voice was barely a whisper. “I am so sick of all of you.”
    I turned around and looked at the party. I looked at Vivienne, who was standing with Lena’s mother now, deep in a conversation, probably planning a wedding that didn’t include me. I looked at Lena, who was at Dorian’s side again, her hand on his arm, her laugh rising above the music.
    Then I looked at Dorian.
    He was laughing. He was having, by all appearances, a wonderful birthday.
    I had given him three years. Three years of my life. I had given up the one thing I loved doing because his mother said it was beneath the family name. I had given up the friends who made me feel like myself because they didn’t fit the Hargrove social calendar. I had given up the person I was before I walked into this garden for the first time, on Dorian’s arm, believing that love was enough to make a life.
    It wasn’t enough. It had never been enough. It wasn’t even love anymore, if I was honest. I had no idea what we were doing anymore.
    I took a fresh glass of wine from a passing server.
    I didn’t care if Vivienne saw me drinking. I didn’t care if Dorian decided to grip my arm again. I stood in the middle of the beautiful, glittering Hargrove garden and I drank my wine and I watched the trees.
    They were beautiful. Everything here was beautiful. But it was so easy to mistake beautiful for good. It was so easy to look at marble and crystal and think: this must be a place where people are happy.
    I looked at Richard one more time. He was deep in conversation with one of his business partners, gesturing with his champagne glass. He didn’t look my way again.
    But he was the only one who had looked at me like I was a person.
    “Happy birthday, Dorian,” I said, under my breath.
    The party was supposed to run until 4pm. It was barely three o’clock.
    I had one more hour of standing up straight and holding my glass correctly and laughing at the right moments.
    I could do it for one hour.
    I had done it for three years. What’s one hour compared to that?

    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 2

    Nadia’s POV:
    The party ended around 4pm. The last of the expensive cars drifted down the long driveway and disappeared through the gates. The garden was suddenly quiet… just the sound of the catering staff collecting glasses and folding linens. I watched it all from the edge of the terrace, my heels in my hand because my feet ached too much to keep them on.
    My head was heavy. The extensions Vivienne had forced on me that morning were still pinned into my scalp, and the weight of them had been pressing down on me all day. I wanted nothing more than to reach my bedroom, pull every single pin out, and cry into a pillow until there was nothing left.
    I was already on my way there. I had made it to the end of the hallway, when I noticed the library door was open.
    I should have kept walking. But something made me stop and look.
    Vivienne was sitting behind the desk.
    She wasn’t doing anything. She was just sitting there, very still, with her hands folded in front of her. She looked directly at the door. And sat up when she saw me, like she had been waiting for me.
    “Nadia,” she said. “Come in. Close the door behind you. We are long overdue for a real conversation.”
    I walked in. The heavy wood door clicked shut behind me. The library smelled like old books and cigar smoke left behind by the men who had occupied it earlier. I stood in front of the desk, my heels still in my hand, my feet sore on the cold floor.
    Vivienne stood up. She walked around the desk slowly and stopped a few feet in front of me.
    “I have had enough,” she began. Her voice was still controlled. “I have been tolerant with you, Nadia. More tolerant than most women in my position would have been. But tonight at the party, you crossed a line that I cannot overlook. You spoke back to me in front of our guests. You implied that my son has no taste.” She tilted her head slightly. “Do you have any idea how much work goes into maintaining the reputation of this family? And in thirty seconds, you open your mouth and ruin it with your low-class attitude.”
    Something shifted in my chest. I felt my heart beating fast. Usually, I would just look at the floor and say sorry, but today something was different. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe I was just broken.
    “With all due respect, Vivienne,” I said, and I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded, “I am not the one who started that conversation tonight. You are the one who walked up to a guest complimenting my dress and told her I have no taste. You called me cheap. This morning, in front of three strangers you hired, you told me my hair was thin and called me desperate. You have been doing things like this since the day I moved into this house, and I have never once said anything back to you.” I paused. I made myself hold her gaze. “Today I said one thing. One sentence. And now I am standing in this library being told I have crossed a line. I have lived in this house for three years. And in those years, you have told me I am fat, or I am ugly, or I am poor, and I have no family. You treat me like I am a dog you found on the street. No, you treat your dogs better than me. but you make me feel like I shouldn’t even breathe the same air as you. I am the one who has been putting up with the disrespect, not the other way around. I am your son’s wife, but you treat me like a maid who isn’t even good at cleaning.”
    Vivienne looked at me for a long moment. There was no emotion on her face. “You have lived in this house for three years,” she said. “In those three years, I have housed you, clothed you, given you access to a life that a girl from your background could never have reached on her own. And you stand here and tell me that I have been disrespecting you?” She let out a short, clipped sound… not quite a laugh. “You are not his wife in any way that matters to this family, Nadia. You were a phase. A little experiment my son tried because he wanted to rebel against me. But even children eventually outgrow their toys.”
    I opened my mouth to respond but no words came out.
    The library door opened and Dorian walked in. His tie was undone and his jacket was gone. He stopped when he saw us, his eyes moving from me to his mother and back again.
    “What is going on?” he said. “I could hear voices from the hallway.”
    “Dorian…” I started.
    “What did you do now, Nadia?” He cut me off, and the ease with which he did it… the automatic assumption that I was the problem, before he had heard a word of it… was like a slap. “After what I told you at the fountain? I thought I told you clearly to watch your mouth around my mother. And now you are still in here trying to pick a fight with her? You are just… you are being impossible tonight.”
    “She is not fighting,” Vivienne said, calmly, from behind me. “She is speaking. Apparently she has quite a lot she has been holding inside.”
    “She has been saying horrible things to me all day, Dorian,” I said, turning to face him fully. “She has been mean to me for the last three years. I know you know that. I know you have heard it. And I am asking you, right now, in front of her, Don’t you care? Don’t you love me enough to tell her to stop? Even tonight?”
    Dorian looked at me. Then he looked at his mother, and looked at the floor.
    The clock on the wall ticked very loudly in the silence.
    “She is only telling the truth, Nadia,” he said. “You don’t fit in here. You never have. And instead of trying to adapt, you just push back and make everything harder.”
    “You are unbelievable!” I yelled.
    “Keep your voice down.”
    “You are standing right here listening to your mother call me a toy and all you can tell me is to keep my voice down?”
    “Because you love making a scene and this is not the time…”
    “Dorian.” Vivienne’s voice cut across both of us like a blade. She had moved back behind the desk, then she opened the top drawer and removed something I couldn’t yet see. She uncapped a pen and wrote. Then she slid a piece of paper across the surface of the desk and left it there, facing me.
    I looked down.
    A check. The numbers were printed in clean, precise figures. I counted the zeros once. Then again, because the first count didn’t seem possible.
    Five million dollars.
    “Take it,” Vivienne said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, and her expression was the expression of a woman who had just laid down the winning card and was waiting for the other player to accept it. “Take the check, Nadia. You’re beneath my son. Take it and get out of my son’s life right now. Before Richard comes home, I want you packed and gone before the sun comes up. Five million dollars is more money than your whole family will ever see in ten lifetimes. It is a very generous offer for a girl who brought nothing to this marriage but a few suitcases of cheap clothes. And it is the only one I am making.”
    I could not breathe. I stood there looking at the check and I could not breathe.
    I looked at Dorian.
    “Dorian,” I said. My voice came out barely above a whisper. “Look at what she is doing. She is trying to buy me out of your life. Tell her no. Tell her that our marriage means something. Tell her…”
    “Nad.” He said my name like he was tired of saying it. “Maybe… maybe it’s for the best.”
    I heard the words. But it still took several seconds for their meaning to arrive.
    “What?” I said.
    “I said maybe it’s for the best.” He shifted his weight. He still wasn’t looking at me properly. “Look at us, Nadia. Look at what we are. We argue constantly. My mother is always stressed because of the tension in this house. It’s not working. It hasn’t been working for a long time, and I think somewhere you know that too.”
    “I know that we have problems,” I said. “Every marriage has problems. That is not a reason to…”
    “It’s more than a problem,” he said.
    The certainty in his voice was a different kind of blow. 
    “Then tell me what it is,” I said. “The real reason. Not the version your mother rehearsed with you. Tell me yourself.”
    He was quiet.
    “Tell me, Dorian.”
    He looked up. His jaw tightened.
    “I don’t love you anymore,” he said. “I haven’t for a while. And I have met someone else. Someone who actually belongs in this world. Someone who makes me feel like myself instead of making me feel like I’m always doing something wrong.”
    There it was. All of it. Laid out clean and simple in the library of his father’s house.
    “It’s Lena,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
    Dorian said nothing. He just looked at the wall.

    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 3

    Nadia’s POV:
    His silence was the only answer I needed.
    “You are leaving me,” I said, slowly, “for a woman your mother selected for you. You are ending our marriage because Vivienne decided she wants someone different in this house, and you don’t have the backbone to tell her no.” I looked at him. “Three years, Dorian. Three years I was your wife. And this is what I get in return.”
    “It’s not like that…”
    “Then tell me what it’s like,” I said. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”
    Vivienne picked up the check and held it toward me again. 
    “Does it matter what it’s like?” she said. “He doesn’t want you. That is the only thing that matters. And if you stay and choose to fight this, I want you to understand very clearly what that will look like. If you fight us, I will make sure the story that comes out is not kind to you. I can tell the press you were unfaithful. I can tell them you were stealing. I can tell them anything I like, and I can make people believe it, and when it is all over you will walk away with nothing except a reputation that will follow you for the rest of your life.” She held the check a little higher. “Or you can take this money. Take it and go quietly, and I will say nothing about you to anyone.”
    I looked at Dorian one last time.
    “You are going to let her threaten me,” I said. “After everything. You are just going to stand there.”
    He put his hands in his pockets.
    “Take the money, Nadia,” he said. “Please. It’s a lot of money. You can start over somewhere. Find a nice place, find someone new. Just…” He exhaled. He sounded genuinely exhausted. “Just go. I don’t want tonight to get any uglier than it already is. It’s been a long day.”
    I looked at the check in Vivienne’s outstretched hand, and I took the check from her hand.
    Vivienne’s expression didn’t change. But I saw it… just for a fraction of a second, there was a flicker of surprise. She must have expected resistance. She must have been ready for tears, and begging.
    But I gave her none of that.
    “Good,” she said, recovering. She opened the drawer again and produced a document already prepared. A divorce agreement. “Sign this before anything else. I want everything settled before Richard comes home. He doesn’t need to be involved in this.”
    I looked at the papers, then at Dorian, who was staring at the window.
    I picked up the pen. Before I put it to the paper I looked up at Vivienne one last time.
    “The money first,” I said. “Not a check. A transfer. I want it confirmed in my account before I sign anything.”
    Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. Just slightly.
    “You are in no position…”
    “I am in exactly the position I need to be in,” I said. “You want me to go quietly. I want a confirmed transfer. Those are my terms. I’m sure a woman with your resources can arrange it in a few minutes.”
    The silence stretched between us.
    Then Vivienne reached for her phone.
    It took eleven minutes. When the notification arrived on my phone, I put the pen to the signature line without another word. I signed cleanly. Then I placed the pen back on the desk.
    Vivienne picked up the document and checked the signature thoroughly. Then she set it down, and a very satisfied smile moved across her face.
    I did not give her a reaction. I turned and walked out of the library.
    ~~~
    The staircase felt longer than usual.
    I went up the big stairs to our… no, his… bedroom. I found my suitcase under the bed. I started throwing my jeans and my t-shirts into it. I changed into a hoodie and sweatpants and left the silk dresses on the hangers. I left the expensive shoes in the closet. 
    I took off my wedding ring.
    I held it for a moment. It was beautiful. He had good taste in rings, at least. I set it on the nightstand next to the lamp and I did not look at it again.
    I zipped the suitcase and picked it up.
    I took one last look at the room. The expensive curtains and the artwork I had never been allowed to change and the bed where I had laid awake more nights than I could count, listening to a marriage slowly come apart.
    “Goodbye,” I said. I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.
    I walked downstairs.
    They were waiting in the hallway. Of course they were. Vivienne stood with her hands clasped, watching the bottom of the stairs. Dorian stood a step behind her, his jacket still off, his expression somewhere between guilt and relief. 
    I crossed the hallway toward the front door.
    At the door I stopped.
    I looked at Dorian.
    “I hope she makes you happy,” I said. My voice was even. “But if she isn’t… and she won’t, because no one is happy in a cage your mother built for them… I want you to remember standing here and letting her do this to us because I really did love you, Dorian. But you don’t deserve my love.”
    Dorian opened his mouth.
    Vivienne put her hand on his arm. She shook her head once and he closed his mouth.
    That was, in the end, the most honest image I would carry of my marriage. Dorian, with something to say, chooses his mother’s happiness instead.
    I opened the front door.
    The air was cool and clean, I breathed it in for a moment at the top of the steps. Then I walked down.
    There was a car waiting at the bottom of the drive. I loaded my suitcase and got in. The driver asked where I was going, and I told him the hotel near the park, and he nodded and pulled out through the gates without another word.
    I watched the mansion through the rear window as we drove away. 
    I put my hand in my hoodie pocket and felt the check.
    Vivienne thought she was paying me to disappear. She was proud of herself. I could see it in the set of her shoulders and the small satisfaction behind her eyes when I walked out. 
    She was wrong about what the money was.
    It was three years of silence and humiliation. 
    This was less than what they owed me. She could have written me a check ten times this size and still owed me something.
    But it was only the beginning.
    I had expected to be devastated. I had braced myself for it. But what was actually sitting in my chest as we drove through the dark was not grief. It was anger… the kind that didn’t make you cry or scream. The quiet kind. 
    “Enjoy it, Vivienne,” I thought, watching the city through the window. “Enjoy thinking you have won. Because this is not the end. This is not even close to the end.”

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  • Bride by Chance novel by Delight Write

    Bride by Chance novel by Delight Write

    👉 READ NOW

    On the day of her arranged wedding, Isabella Torres flees the altar, desperate to escape a loveless union her influential family is forcing upon her. Rumors say her groom, the powerful CEO of a multinational empire is a cruel, arrogant man with no capacity for love.

    Running through the streets in her bridal gown, Isabella throws herself into the car of a man she believes is a simple driver. In truth, he is Sebastián Alvarez, the very CEO she is running from abandoned at his own wedding only hours earlier. Hiding behind his second name, Sebastián listens as Isabella curses the man she believes destroyed her life. Instead of revealing the truth, he makes her a startling offer.

    Their scandalous union ignites outrage among both families. Enemies whisper, plots unfold, and secrets deepen. Isabella struggles to reconcile the tender, protective man she is falling for with the arrogant CEO she swore she would never love. Sebastián, torn between pride and passion, must prove his heart before his hidden identity destroys their fragile bond.

    In a world of betrayal, deception, and burning desire, their marriage of convenience becomes a dangerous game of love and destiny. What began as an accident may turn into the greatest love story of their lives.

    👉 READ NOW

    Bride by Chance novel Chapter 1

    It was her wedding day.

    The Torres house was filled with noise and frenzy. The smell of stew drifted from the kitchen, neighbors spilled into the compound, and borrowed plastic chairs clattered against one another as boys arranged them under the tent. From the outside, it looked like a celebration. From the inside, it felt like a prison.

    Isabella stood in her tiny bedroom, pressed against the wall as if the plaster itself might open and swallow her whole. Her chest rose and fell with frantic breaths, and the wedding gown which was a stiff lace and heavy satin felt more like a shroud than a dress. Her fingers itched to tear it off, but there was no time.

    Her father’s voice thundered from the living room.

    “Where is she? Bring her out! The priest has been waiting for hours!”

    Her mother’s sharp reply followed. “Isabella! Enough foolishness. Do you know what this marriage means for us?”

    Yes, she knew. It meant money. It meant her father’s debts would be wiped clean, her brothers would return to school, her mother would finally have respect in the neighborhood. It meant her freedom, her dreams, her life traded like goods in the market.

    For a man she had never seen.

    Sebastián Álvarez. His name carried weight like a curse. The CEO of Velasco Holdings, rumored to be older, proud, untouchable. Some said he had ruined men with a flick of his wrist. Others said he was cold as steel, incapable of kindness. To Isabella, it didn’t matter what the rumors said. He could be kind or cruel, young or old. The truth was the same: he wasn’t her choice.

    The doorknob rattled, her mother’s hand beating against the wood. “Isabella, open this door!”

    Her heart slammed against her ribs. If she didn’t move now, they would drag her out and force her to the altar like a goat tied for sacrifice.

    Her decision was made.

    She grabbed her small backpack, already hidden beneath the bed stuffed with nothing more than a water bottle, an old sweater, and a little money she had managed to save. With shaking hands, she shoved the window open. The wooden frame groaned in protest. The lace veil snagged on a nail and ripped, but she didn’t care.

    The cold morning air slapped her face as she pushed herself through. Her bare feet hit the earth.

    “Isabella!” her mother screamed as the door burst open behind her.

    But Isabella was already running.

    The gown tangled around her legs, her veil caught on a branch, her knees burned as she stumbled over stones. Still, she didn’t stop. She ran past children pointing and laughing, past neighbors gasping at the sight of a bride fleeing through the street. The sound of voices rose behind her-shouts, calls, curses.

    “Catch her!”

    “Don’t let her go!”

    But Isabella’s fear was stronger than their reach. She tore through alleys, her lungs aching, her throat raw, her vision blurred with tears.

    She didn’t know how long she ran, only that her legs screamed in protest and her body felt close to collapsing. She turned onto a wide avenue, and cars roared past, horns blaring as she darted across recklessly.

    Then she saw a sleek black car, parked at the corner with the engine humming softly.

    Without thinking, she yanked the back door open and flung herself inside. The smell of leather and cologne filled her nose. She slammed the door shut behind her, heart hammering.

    “Please!” she gasped, clutching the seat. “Drive. Just-just drive!”

    The man in the front seat turned his head.

    For a moment, Isabella froze. He wasn’t what she expected. Not scruffy, not ordinary. His suit was immaculate despite the loosened tie, his watch gleamed, and his eyes-dark, unreadable-stared at her in stunned silence. Too polished, too perfect to be just a driver.

    But desperation drowned her suspicion.

    “I’ll pay you,” she blurted, her voice trembling. “Any amount. Just take me far away from here. Please.”

    He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept over her-her wild eyes, the torn veil, the trembling hands clutching the gown. Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone before she could name it.

    “I…” he started to speak but stopped almost immediately.

    At last, without a word, he shifted the gear and pulled the car away from the curb.

    Relief flooded her body, and she sagged against the seat. The dress pooled around her like stormclouds, heavy and suffocating. For the first time that morning, she felt a breath of freedom.

    But his voice cut through the silence. Low, calm, steady. “Who are you running from?”

    Her laugh came out bitter, and broken.

    “My family. They want to marry me off. Today-right now-I was supposed to be Sebastián Álvarez’s bride.” She spat the name like poison. “They say he’s arrogant, merciless. I’d rather die than marry him.”

    His fingers tightened slightly around the wheel. Still, he said nothing.

    Isabella turned her face toward the window, tears streaking her cheeks.

    “Men like him think they can buy everything. Wives. Loyalty. Even love. But no money in this world can buy me.”

    The car was silent except for the hum of the engine. She wiped her eyes and glanced at him again, uneasy with his quietness.

    Bride by Chance novel Chapter 2

    The hum of the car was the only sound for a long while. Isabella sat stiff in the backseat, her fingers twisting the veil that had torn during her escape. At first, relief had washed over her. She had gotten away. She was free. But now, staring out at the streets flashing past, the truth dawned on her.

    She had nowhere to go.

    No relative she could run to, no friend bold enough to hide her. If her parents caught her, they would drag her back, bind her wrists if they had to, and throw her before the priest.

    Her throat tightened. Slowly, she leaned forward. “Gabriel?”

    His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. Calm, unreadable.

    “Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    The question made her blood run cold. She hadn’t thought this through. She had jumped into a stranger’s car without a plan. Now her hands shook with the weight of that mistake.

    “Anywhere you want, ma’am,” he said, calmly.

    Her voice broke as she begged, “Please… take me to the cheapest hotel. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere they won’t think to look for me.”

    He gave a small nod, not asking further questions. Relief loosened her chest, though it was short-lived.

    As the car turned, Isabella studied him again. The way his suit sat perfectly on broad shoulders, the way his hands gripped the wheel with quiet control. He didn’t look like any Bolt driver she’d ever seen.

    “You know,” she said softly, “you look too good to be a driver.”

    For the first time since she met him, his lips curved. Not a full smile, but close.

    “Thank you for the compliment.”

    She blinked, surprised at his answer. Most men she knew would have laughed or boasted. But before she could say more, he added, almost casually, “My bride abandoned me this morning. Left me standing at the altar.”

    Her jaw dropped. “What?”

    The corner of his mouth twitched again. “Hard to believe, I know.”

    Isabella let out an incredulous laugh. “Impossible. What kind of foolish girl would abandon a hardworking, decent man like you?”

    He didn’t reply, but his eyes flicked toward her briefly, as if weighing her words.

    “I mean it,” she went on, indignant. “That girl is blind, ungrateful. She deserves… she deserves someone like that arrogant CEO they wanted to force me on. Sebastián Álvarez. That kind of man should marry selfish, brainless girls like her.”

    The silence in the car thickened, but Isabella didn’t notice. She shook her head with fire in her eyes. “If I had a man like you, kind enough to help a stranger, responsible enough to keep his word, I would never run. Never.”

    He said nothing, though his grip tightened on the wheel.

    Minutes later, he slowed the car and pulled over in front of a run-down hotel, its neon sign flickering weakly in the dusk. Isabella sighed in relief.

    “How much?” she asked, fumbling with her backpack.

    His eyes met hers in the mirror. “Ten thousand dollars.”

    Her mouth fell open. “What?!”

    His face was unreadable. “That’s the fare.”

    “That’s outrageous!” she burst out. “Even if I saved for five years, I wouldn’t have that kind of money! I was planning to look for a job, not rob a bank.”

    He didn’t flinch. “That’s the price.”

    She threw her hands up, frustration spilling over. “What kind of driver are you? You think because I’m in a wedding dress I have money hidden somewhere?”

    This time he turned to face her fully. And in that moment, Isabella froze.

    She saw him clearly for the first time-tall, strikingly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a mouth curved in a way that could almost be called charming. His eyes held hers with a calm intensity that made her heartbeat stutter.

    And then he said it.

    “Marry me.”

    Her breath caught. She almost choked on the air. “What?”

    “Marry me,” he repeated, his voice even, steady.

    She blinked, stunned. Then anger flared hot. “Are you sick, Gabriel? Did you hit your head this morning? You can’t just-just-”

    He didn’t interrupt. He only waited, as if her outburst meant nothing.

    “You told me your bride left you, and I’m not that bride,” she said.

    “And you ran away from your husband. So marry me instead,” Gabriel replied.

    Her laugh was sharp, disbelieving. “Never. Do you hear me? Never!”

    The click of the locks echoed around the car. Isabella’s stomach dropped as she realized he had closed all the doors. Her pulse skyrocketed.

    “What are you doing?” she whispered, panic lacing her voice.

    He turned the key, the engine growling to life again. “If you won’t marry me, I’ll return you to your family.”

    “No!” she cried, leaning forward, grabbing at his arm. “Please don’t take me back there. Please!”

    “Then marry me.” His tone was calm, almost casual, but his eyes burned with something she couldn’t name.

    Tears welled in her eyes. “Gabriel, this is insane. We don’t even know each other!”

    His jaw set. The car rolled forward, turning back toward the main road.

    “Stop!” she sobbed. “Stop, I’ll do it! I’ll marry you-but on one condition.”

    His eyes flicked to her, curious.

    She swallowed hard. “It will be a contract marriage. Nothing real. Just an agreement between us.”

    The car slowed again, his expression unreadable.

    “Contract marriage,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words.

    She nodded, tears streaking down her face. “Yes. That’s the only way.”

    He watched her in silence for a long moment. Then his lips curved into that faint, disarming smile again.

    “Deal.”

    Bride by Chance novel Chapter 3

    Gabriel started the car and drive for what seems like hours. Finally, the car rolled to a stop on the quiet road, the hum of the engine fading into silence. Isabella glanced up, confusion tightening her chest. They were nowhere near the hotel now.

    “Why are we stopping?” she asked, wary.

    Gabriel’s eyes flicked to her, calm and steady. “We’re going to a church.”

    Her throat tightened. “A church? Why?”

    “Because we’re getting married today…you accepted to be my wife, right?” His voice was firm, no hesitation.

    Her mouth fell open. “So fast? You can’t be serious!”

    He turned slightly in his seat, his expression unreadable. “I want this done before my family ties me to another woman. Another arrangement I have no intention of honoring. You want freedom, Isabella. So do I. This is how we get it.”

    Her heart pounded. Everything about this was wrong, reckless, insane-but she was cornered. Slowly, she drew in a breath, gathering what little courage she had.

    “Fine. But if we’re doing this, then I have rules.”

    His brow arched, amused. “Rules?”

    “Yes.” Her chin lifted, though her voice shook. “No sex. We won’t stay together. We live our lives separately. Do you understand?”

    For the first time, he laughed-low, deep, almost mocking. “I never planned to have sex with you anyway.”

    The ease of his answer stunned her. He didn’t look embarrassed or offended, just amused, as though her declaration had been childish. Isabella’s cheeks burned, but she crossed her arms, determined not to show weakness.

    Before she could retort, he reached for his phone. She watched as he dialed a number, his tone shifting into something sharp and commanding.

    “Prepare the chapel,” he said. “I am getting married and I want the papers ready. We’ll be there within the hour. And no one is to know. Not a soul.”

    The voice on the other end seemed to protest, but his response cut like a blade. “Do as I say.” And with that, he ended the call abruptly.

    Isabella blinked, startled. The authority in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Too sharp. Too arrogant.

    “Too arrogant for a poor man,” she muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.

    His head turned sharply. “What did you say?”

    Her heart leapt into her throat. “I-I said you sound… too caring for a stranger. That’s all.” She forced a weak smile.

    He didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he returned his eyes to the road, the car gliding smoothly forward. Isabella exhaled, pressing her hands together to keep them from trembling.

    Minutes later, the car pulled into the courtyard of a small, dimly lit church. The building was old, its white paint peeling, its bell tower leaning slightly as though burdened by secrets. Isabella’s stomach knotted.

    “This is insane,” she whispered.

    Gabriel didn’t reply. He opened the door and stepped out with the quiet assurance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. She hesitated, but when he held the door open for her, she found her legs moving.

    Inside, the church smelled faintly of candle wax and dust. A priest stood waiting near the altar, his eyes flickering nervously between the tall man in the suit and the trembling bride in her torn gown.

    “Mr…” the priest started speaking, but Gabriel cut him off.”

    “No pleasantries, her name is Isabella Torres..go straight with the marriage.

    Isabella paused, staring at him.
    “How did you..?” she asked but he ignored her, as he held her hand and pulled her towards the altar.

    Two weary-looking witnesses, a young woman from the parish choir and an old man sweeping the floor were called to stand in.

    Isabella’s hands shook as the priest began.

    “In the name of God and this holy church, we are gathered here today…”

    Her ears rang. She barely heard the words as her mind screamed at her to run. But her feet wouldn’t move, and her heart wouldn’t obey.

    The priest’s voice droned on, the words both surreal and terrifying.

    “Do you, Gabriel Álvarez, take this woman-”

    Her head snapped up.

    Álvarez.

    The name sliced through her like a knife.

    Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Álvarez. Where had she heard it before? It clawed at the back of her mind, tugging at every whispered rumor, every late-night conversation she had overheard.

    “I do,” Gabriel said firmly.

    The priest turned to her. “Do you, Isabella Torres, take this man-”

    Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear herself whisper, “I do.”

    “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may sign here.”

    Her hand shook so badly the pen almost slipped. She scrawled her name across the page, her signature jagged and messy.

    Gabriel took the pen next, his movements calm, deliberate. She leaned closer, eyes darting to the paper.

    There it was.

    Gabriel Álvarez.

    The name rang a louder bell now. Her blood ran cold.

    She turned to look at him, her lips parting, but the words caught in her throat.

    Álvarez.

    Could it be-?

    Her knees felt weak, the ground shifting beneath her as the priest murmured a final blessing. Gabriel’s hand brushed lightly against hers as he closed the book, his eyes flicking to her face.

    “You’re trembling,” he said softly, almost like a taunt.

    “No, I’m,” she replied, adjusting her dress.

    “Yes, you’re,” he said coldly.

    And Isabella knew. Deep down, though she couldn’t yet piece it all together, something was terribly, terrifyingly wrong.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel by Kinship

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel by Kinship

    👉 READ NOW

    On the night before my wedding, I opened an anonymous message card, only to find out that my fiancé had been cheating on me with my maid of honor for four years.
    The engagement ring on my hand was actually a cheap reject that she didn’t want; her so-called “emergency business trip” was actually to cover up the fact that she had just given birth to his child last week.
    What sent the worst chills down my spine was that his entire family knew about this perfectly well, yet they still happily watched me meticulously prepare for this scam of a wedding.
    When I canceled the wedding and confronted them, his mother actually slapped me across the face.
    “You’re nothing but a poor girl clinging to my son. Camilla is the one he truly loves.”
    And my fiancé didn’t even defend me. Instead, he pushed me to the ground, causing me to hit my head, all just to comfort his crying mistress.
    I spent eight years by his side, accompanying him from having nothing to where he is now, only to realize I was nothing but a convenient placeholder.
    I took off that discarded ring, blocked all of them, and bought a one-way ticket to Oregon, USA.
    This time, I decided to leave forever and never look back.
    But now, he’s going crazy begging for my forgiveness!

    👉 READ NOW

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 1

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    The moment I read that anonymous card, my life instantly collapsed. It brought not wedding blessings, but Harding’s lies.
    It was the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. My bridesmaids and close friends were sitting around the table. My fiancé, Harding, the man I had loved for eight years, was at another table discussing business with his parents.
    As for my maid of honor, Camilla, she was supposedly unable to attend due to a sudden business trip.
    “Alright, Madam Bride!” bridesmaid Sarah excitedly held up a beautifully decorated box. “Everyone wrote a blessing card for you. Let’s see what advice they have to pass on!”
    Smiling, I reached into the box and pulled out a thick white card. I thought it would be sweet words, but as my eyes swept over the text, my smile instantly froze.
    “He and she have been secretly sleeping around behind your back for four years.”
    Right below it was a line: “Your maid of honor.”
    Camilla.
    That was my childhood best friend, the “sister” I had entrusted my life to.
    A freezing terror seeped into my bones. This had to be a prank. With sweating palms, I eagerly pulled out a second, light blue card.
    “The engagement ring he gave you? He actually bought it for Camilla first. But four years ago, she rejected him, saying she wasn’t ready for marriage. You are just his backup.”
    I instinctively touched my left ring finger. It turned out Harding had taken the ring Camilla didn’t want and pretended to carefully select it for me.
    I hurriedly pulled out a third, cream-colored card, trying to find evidence to refute this.
    “Remember your anniversary trip in college? You found suspicious texts on Harding’s phone and cried in the bathroom for hours. He wasn’t chatting with a client then; he was in the hotel room right next to yours, celebrating his one-month anniversary with Camilla.”
    The shame and pain of the past surged over me. That night, he comforted me as I cried, making me believe it was a misunderstanding.
    With trembling hands, I pulled out the last card, a thick, dark green one.
    “Camilla isn’t on a business trip. She is at the ‘Serenity Postpartum Retreat Center.’ She just gave birth to Harding’s child a week ago. They want to wait until your wedding is over to go public. Surprise.”
    My world completely overturned. They even had a child behind my back!
    I felt like I had fallen into an ice cave. I stared at the handwriting on the green card; it was Harding’s mother, Karen Frank. His entire family was involved in this scam.
    Eight years of dedication and compromise were nothing but a carefully woven joke. I took off that piece of trash that belonged to Camilla and threw it hard onto the table. The diamond hit a wine glass with a sharp clink.
    The surrounding conversations stopped. Everyone looked over in shock. Harding looked up, a smile still hanging on his face.
    I walked toward him. “Harding, what is Camilla Gillespie to you?”
    His smile instantly vanished. He glanced at his mother, then at me. “Isla, what are you talking about?”
    I held up the green card. “I’m talking about your child, Harding. The one born just last week.”
    The air froze. Harding’s face turned deathly pale, and Karen gasped. The relatives who were just laughing a moment ago now mostly stood with their mouths hanging open, and some even wore knowing smirks.
    I immediately shouted, “I announce that this wedding is canceled!”
    Harding walked over to the table, picked up the ring, and spoke in a low voice, “Isla, don’t be so dramatic. We can postpone the wedding and solve this problem. Don’t make a scene here.”
    “Solve what?” I sneered. “Solve you cheating with my best friend for four years, or your whole family helping you hide the truth?”
    He finally looked at me. There was no remorse in his eyes, only shrewd calculation. “It’s complicated. Camilla is very fragile right now; she needs my support.”
    “She’s fragile?” I raised my voice. “What about me? What about my eight years, my dignity!”
    “You’re strong, Isla. But Camilla has been through a lot, having a baby, keeping secrets…” He defended her casually.
    My hand swung out before my brain could process it. With a loud, crisp slap, Harding’s face was violently thrown to the side, a red mark surfacing.
    He didn’t fight back, but his eyes turned dark. “You think getting physical changes anything? Camilla is pregnant with my child. And you… are just you.”
    My rage was instantly replaced by despair. In his eyes, I was just a convenient alternative.
    “We are done.” I turned and walked away.
    “Isla, please, we can talk about this!” he shouted from behind, his tone still carrying that self-righteous desire for control.
    I ignored him. Walking past the flowers and tables I had spent months meticulously arranging, every detail now felt like a cruel joke.
    As I reached the door, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Camilla:
    “Isla, I’m so sorry! My business trip got suddenly extended. So sad I can’t attend your big day! I’ll contact you when I’m back!”
    I stared at the screen and typed a reply:
    “Enjoy your postpartum confinement. I hope the baby is healthy. Harding will be by your side to support you; he’s really good at that.”
    Hitting send, I blocked Camilla, Harding, Karen—blocked all of them, completely.

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 2

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    My phone vibrated all night long. I didn’t answer any calls, just stared numbly at the ceiling. The first rays of dawn spilled in. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but right now, there was only coldness.
    Urgent knocking came from the door. Then, the sound of a key turning in the lock.
    Harding pushed the door open, leading a team of florists and makeup artists. He was wearing a brand-new white shirt, acting as if nothing had happened last night.
    “Isla, what are you doing?” he asked impatiently. “The makeup artist will be here any second, you need to get ready.”
    I slowly sat up from the bed. “Harding, I told you last night. The wedding is canceled.”
    He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Stop messing around! You can’t break the contract a few hours before the wedding. You have to think about the guests, the expenses, and our reputation!”
    “Your reputation?” I scoffed. “Didn’t you lose your reputation when you cheated with my best friend for four years and had a baby with her?”
    “That’s not fair! It’s complicated. Camilla is in poor health, and she just had a baby.” He raised his volume.
    “So I should just pretend nothing happened, marry you, and fulfill this ridiculous fairy tale?”
    “We will fix this! You’re just too emotional right now.” He took a step forward, stubbornly insisting.
    Just then, the main door was pushed open violently. Camilla stood there panting, pale-faced, hair messy, wearing loose casual clothes. Her eyes were red and swollen, and a frantic desperation filled her gaze.
    “Isla!” She rushed over, trying to grab my hand. “Please listen to me, it’s not what you think!”
    I dodged her touch with disgust. “Then what is it? You slept with my fiancé and had his child. What else am I supposed to think?”
    “No! It was a terrible mistake!” she cried and begged.
    “A four-year mistake? Camilla, is that newborn baby at the ‘Serenity Postpartum Care Center’ a mistake too?”
    She jerked her head up, shocked that I knew such specific details, while Harding stood to the side, looking guilty.
    “How long have you been lying to me? Was there ever a single ounce of truth in our friendship?”
    She couldn’t make a sound, only shaking her head through her tears.
    At that moment, I caught sight of the gold bracelet on her wrist. It was exactly the same as the one Harding gave me for our fifth anniversary—he had sworn it was a one-of-a-kind design.
    I suddenly remembered two years ago, when Harding lost the leather bracelet I gave him and replaced it with a new one. Right now, on his other hand, he was wearing the matching couple’s bracelet to Camilla’s.
    It turned out he had already built a parallel reality for them long ago, and I was nothing but the smokescreen.
    Camilla was sobbing and trembling all over. Harding immediately walked over and pulled her into his arms, gently stroking her hair. He didn’t dare look at me, but his eyes were full of heartache for her.
    My gaze fell on the expensive limited-edition diaper bag on Camilla’s shoulder.
    “Harding, how much money have you spent on this secret life?” My voice was freezing, almost broken. “Am I just the cheap spare tire you kept around for stability?”
    “Enough, Isla!” Harding finally roared at me. “You’re going too far! Camilla is very fragile right now, and you’re agitating her!”
    “I’m agitating her?” I laughed out of sheer anger. “You two betrayed me, and somehow I’ve become the villain?”
    I stood up, forcing my trembling legs to walk toward the door. I had to leave this suffocating room.
    Just as I reached the entryway, the door was pushed open again. Karen Frank stood there in an elegant suit. She glared at me sternly. “What is going on here? The wedding cars will be here any minute, why aren’t you dressed yet?”
    “There won’t be any wedding cars, Karen. The wedding is canceled.”
    Karen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Did you just say you canceled the wedding? Do you have any idea how much of a scandal this will cause for Harding?”
    As soon as the words left her mouth, she finally noticed Camilla, who was sobbing and trembling, curled up in Harding’s arms, looking weak and in pain.
    Karen’s anger vanished instantly. She walked right past me, her eyes full of concern for Camilla.
    “Camilla, sweetheart! Why aren’t you resting at the retreat center?” Karen exclaimed, then turned to scold Harding. “Why is she so heartbroken? What did Isla do to her now?”
    Watching this utterly absurd scene, my heart turned completely cold. Harding, Camilla, his mother—they were all accomplices.

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 3

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    Karen Frank didn’t even look me in the eye. She pushed right past me, grabbed Camilla’s hand, her face full of artificial concern.
    “Sweetheart, why did you come running over here?” she chided hypocritically. “You just had a baby, you should be resting well. Harding, how could you let her run out?”
    Camilla whimpered softly, burying her face into Harding’s shoulder, but she quickly stole a glance at me, her eyes full of provocation.
    “Isla, what exactly did you do?” Karen spun around and interrogated me, her voice shrill. “What right do you have to upset her? She just gave birth!”
    “Whose child?” I asked coldly. “Isn’t it your son’s? Isn’t it the child your whole family knew perfectly well about, yet kept treating me like a fool while I planned a wedding?”
    Karen sneered with utter contempt. “Don’t play the saint. You’re nothing but a poor girl after money, latching onto my son. Camilla comes from a prominent family; she is the one truly worthy of Harding.”
    “I latched onto him?” I raised my voice in disbelief. “When he had nothing, I worked two jobs to help pay the rent for his rundown apartment! And now you’re telling me I latched onto him?”
    “You were never good enough for him.” Karen became even more vicious. “We only tolerated you back then because Harding found you somewhat novel. Camilla is the one who can give him a future, not some penniless girl from a single-parent home like you.”
    Her insult toward my mother stabbed me deeply.
    “He loves her, yet he wanted to marry me?” I retorted, suppressing my rage. “Loved her enough to let her secretly give birth outside while making me plan the wedding? That’s not love, that’s shameless!”
    Before I could finish speaking, a loud smack rang out. Karen slapped me hard across the face. My cheek burned with pain.
    “How dare you speak about my son that way!” she shrieked.
    “Mom, don’t do that,” Harding finally spoke up, though his tone was weak and powerless.
    “Mind your own business!” Karen snapped at him. “This is what happens when you let lower-class girls like this through the door—absolutely no breeding. Camilla is a true socialite; she would never cause a scene like this.”
    Camilla was still sobbing. She pulled back slightly from Harding’s embrace, looking at Karen with teary eyes. “Karen, please don’t. It’s not Isla’s fault. I… I made a mistake too.” Her voice was so low it could barely be heard, performing her frailty perfectly.
    Karen’s tone instantly softened. “Sweetheart, you’re just too kindhearted, that’s why you get bullied by this woman.”
    Camilla turned to me again, reaching out a hand, her voice perfectly mimicking fragile remorse. “Isla, I am truly, from the bottom of my heart, sorry. I never thought it would turn out like this.”
    I stared at this hand that had once promised me a lifelong friendship.
    “Are you sorry for getting caught, or are you sorry for destroying my life?” I asked coldly.
    She flinched. “I… I just wanted to be loved. Harding was too good to me.”
    “Now you’ve gotten what you wanted—him, and his child. Are you satisfied?”
    She shook her head, tears raining down. “No! I never wanted to hurt you!”
    I could no longer bear to watch this nauseating performance. I turned and walked toward the door.
    “Isla, wait!” Harding chased after me and grabbed my arm. “Don’t go. We need to fix this.”
    “Fix what?” I violently shook off his hand. “Your mother just hit me, humiliated me, and you stood there like a piece of garbage. We are done.”
    “She was just overly emotional!” he pleaded desperately. “She just wants what’s best for me.”
    “And who cared about me?” I fired back sharply. “When have you ever stood up to protect me?”
    He stared at the floor, speechless.
    “I spent eight years giving you everything. I trusted you, supported you. And what I got in return was betrayal, and a family that looked down on me from the very beginning.”
    I walked out the door without looking back, leaving Harding’s shouts, Karen’s roaring, and Camilla’s fake sobbing far behind me, completely walking out of those absurd eight years of my life.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • When Love Becomes A Monstrous Joke novel by Kora

    When Love Becomes A Monstrous Joke by Kora

    👉 READ NOW

    I spent three years, drained all my savings, and gave up my career as an architect, all just to help my husband Caden pay off his debts.
    Yet, at his residency appointment ceremony, I watched with my own eyes as he publicly thanked his “beautiful fiancée”-a wealthy heiress named Brianna.
    While I wore old clothes bought from thrift stores and survived on instant noodles just to barely cover his rent, he used my hard-earned money to buy her a brand-new BMW and gifted her a set of antique Cartier jewelry.
    Even the Montblanc pen I carefully selected and had engraved became a gift he gave to her.
    He kept our marriage a secret from the world, treating me like a nameless ATM, while using her family’s hospital connections to climb step by step to the peak of his career.
    The most ironic part was when one day, Brianna unknowingly took out that very pen of mine to show me.
    “These kinds of men are just leeches. They will drain everything from you and then throw you away, shattered.”
    Everything from my past three years had actually become an absurd joke.
    I blocked his number, tossed that cheap pawnshop wedding ring into the trash, and left this city to build a kingdom of my own.
    Later, Brianna also discovered his true colors, and together, we made sure he received the punishment he deserved.
    To think he actually ended up crying and screaming, kneeling down to beg for our forgiveness!

    👉 READ NOW

    When Love Becomes A Monstrous Joke Chapter 1

    Alyssa’s POV:
    Caden Barry’s chief resident pinning ceremony became the moment my world collapsed. For the past three years, I paid off his medical school debts and supported his life. Now, I watched helplessly as he stood on stage, affectionately thanking his “beautiful fiancée,” Brianna Vega.
    The auditorium lights dimmed, and my husband Caden stepped onto the stage, looking radiant in a custom suit. I sat in the corner of the fifth row, filled with pride. The hospital director passionately praised his outstanding talent and bright future.
    I clapped hard, my hands turning red. For today, I endured countless late nights doing architectural design side gigs, skipped meals, and sent every penny to him. All of this was for us.
    Caden walked up to the podium, his voice steady and magnetic. After thanking his mentors and colleagues, he paused, his gaze sweeping over the audience. My heart raced; our secrets and sacrifices were finally about to be witnessed.
    “Finally,” his voice was gentle, “I want to thank the most important person in my life. She is my pillar, my future.”
    I held my breath, anticipating the subtle nod that belonged to me.
    “My beautiful fiancée,” Caden continued, “Brianna Vega.”
    A stunning woman in the front row, wearing a haute couture gown, stood up. Brianna Vega. Caden flashed her a brilliant smile—a smile that in the past, only belonged to me when we were alone. Amidst the thunderous applause, Brianna happily blew him a kiss. A bone-chilling cold instantly submerged me.
    As soon as the ceremony ended, I immediately pushed through the crowd to head out. Fiancée? What on earth was going on?
    “Excuse me, I saw you clapping so enthusiastically for Caden just now. Are you his colleague too?”
    I turned around. It was Brianna. Her eyes were bright and friendly, and the massive solitaire ring on her left hand stung my eyes under the lights. I forced a smile.
    “Something like that,” I answered with difficulty.
    Brianna smiled brightly and extended her hand. “I’m Brianna, Caden’s fiancée. It’s so nice to meet friends who appreciate him.”
    I held her warm hand, though my own was freezing stiff. “Alyssa. Yes, Caden is indeed very talented.”
    “He’s truly amazing!” Brianna’s eyes were full of pride. “These past three years of residency have been so hard. I tried my best to support him, making sure he ate well and helping him manage his schedule. Plus, my father is the director here, so he helped us quite a bit with interpersonal connections at the hospital.”
    My brain buzzed. Three years, connections, director father. I knew Caden had been actively socializing, and this was clearly a calculated climb.
    “You are so sweet,” my voice was flat. Yet in my mind, the image of my three years staying up late drawing plans surfaced—the three years of exhausting all my savings to pay his rent and bills.
    “Oh, you can’t even imagine.” Brianna chuckled lightly. “My dad even helped us find a new apartment in Beacon Hill. Caden also bought me a new model BMW to make my commute easier.” She pulled out a set of keys flashing the BMW logo.
    That was the car Caden had dreamed of months ago. He said that once he finished, we would save up to buy it together. But now, my savings were already depleted.
    “A new BMW, what a nice gift.” My mouth was full of bitterness.
    “Right? He always says, ‘My career is our future.’ I even helped him handle some spatial planning for a few architectural projects, just some basic ideas. He really values details.”
    Spatial planning. The chill struck again. Caden once said that was his personal research project, that he paid someone to help, and rejected my professional involvement, claiming he didn’t want my opinions to influence his “vision.”
    “So, you’re not a doctor?” I asked, suppressing my emotions.
    “Oh, not at all! I majored in art history.” Brianna waved her hand casually. “I mostly manage my family’s investments. But Caden really values my aesthetic opinions. By the way—” She tilted her head to look at me. “You look a bit… unkempt, I hope you don’t mind me saying. Are you a student?”
    Her words felt like a slap to my face. I was wearing clothes from a thrift store, ate instant noodles most nights, and invested everything I had into Caden.
    “I am a designer.”
    Brianna’s eyes lit up. “That’s awesome! Caden did mention a designer was helping him with conceptual designs. He said she was very ‘practical.’ Is that you? He never mentioned your name, though.”
    His evaluation of me, his legal wife, was “very practical,” without even a name. I was just a tool.
    Just then, a video celebrating Caden’s promotion played on the screen in the hall. “Without the relentless support of my brilliant fiancée Brianna, I couldn’t have achieved any of this,” his voice sounded sincere from the screen.
    I wasn’t on the screen. I was invisible.
    Brianna clapped lightly, her face glowing with happiness. “He is so sweet, isn’t he? We’re both so excited. Once his residency ends, we’ll sign the legal papers. We had a commitment ceremony in Cabo last year, it was a dream come true. All white flowers, a live band, hundreds of guests. My dad arranged everything. It was so beautiful.”
    Cabo, a commitment ceremony, hundreds of guests. Just waiting for legal papers. A bitter laugh caught in my throat.
    Three years ago, rushing to get our marriage license at the courthouse, I wore a cheap dress, with only us and two strangers as witnesses. Caden insisted on keeping it a secret, saying that if people knew he got married during his busy surgical residency, it would “affect his career prospects.” He promised to make it up to me with a “real” wedding, a grand and beautiful one, once his career stabilized. That promise now sounded like a cruel joke.
    Brianna continued, “Sometimes I really worry about Caden. He’s so focused on his career that he easily attracts people who want to use him. Alyssa, you look like a very kind girl. Don’t let a man like that play you. If he doesn’t put a ring on it, if he doesn’t invest in you, then he isn’t worth your effort. Some men just take, take, and take.”
    She pointed at her diamond ring, reminding me of my own thin silver band, bought from a pawnshop because Caden said we needed to “cut expenses.”
    “You’re right,” I answered, surprisingly calm. “Some men are just like blood-sucking leeches.”
    Brianna nodded in deep agreement. “Exactly! I have a friend who used to date a surgeon, and the guy practically drained her dry and gave her nothing. Always talking about his ‘grand plans,’ but never delivering anything tangible. Always asking for money, favors, and connections. Disgusting.”
    I felt a profound sense of absurdity. With my money and time, I built a luxurious life for him and another woman.
    And this woman was now oblivious, accusing him of his parasitic nature right in front of me.
    The knot in my stomach suddenly dissipated, replaced by an ultimate clarity. I was going to end this.
    “I have to go.”
    “Oh, you look a little pale.” Brianna dug through her designer bag and pulled out a pen. “Take this. Caden gave it to me, but I already have one. Keep it as a lucky charm.”
    It was a Montblanc pen. Engraved on it were the intertwined initials “C.B.” and a caduceus symbol—the painstaking result of my frugality, custom-made to celebrate his graduation from medical school.
    He gave my gift to her. A cold smirk crept onto my lips.
    Brianna thought I was pleased. “Pretty, right? Caden said he personally picked the engraving style. He’s really thoughtful.”
    “Yes,” I took the pen, my fingers gripping it tightly like a weapon. “Truly… priceless. Thank you for the advice, Brianna. I wish you both long-lasting happiness.”
    The lie dripped with venom, while she remained completely unaware in her naive bliss.
    I turned and walked toward the exit, my steps firm. The sacrifices and love of the past three years were nothing but a sick game, and now, I would end it with my own hands.

    When Love Becomes A Monstrous Joke Chapter 2

    Alyssa’s POV:
    I was heading toward the lobby exit when my phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a text from Caden.
    Caden: “Don’t forget, I need you to attend the hospital’s charity gala tonight. Dress decently, and don’t talk to anyone important. Just smile and look pretty.”
    My blood instantly ran cold. “Don’t talk to anyone important.” He only cared that I stood next to him like a quiet accessory, never stealing the spotlight.
    Just then, a familiar voice came from an alcove nearby: “Honey, I’m almost there. Just dealing with something.” Caden had his back to me, talking on the phone.
    Brianna walked around the corner, her smile radiant: “Caden! I just met a lovely lady, Alyssa.”
    Caden turned around, and his eyes briefly met mine. A trace of impatience flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a gentle smile. He pulled Brianna close and kissed her forehead.
    “My beautiful Brianna,” he whispered, then lifted his phone. “It’s fine, Mom. I’m with Brianna, and we’re about to enjoy a romantic dinner. No, of course I’m not going to the gala. I have to accompany my fiancée.”
    He wasn’t going to the gala. The very gala he had just texted me to “dress decently” for.
    I remembered our third wedding anniversary last year. I cooked his favorite meal, wore a blue dress I usually saved for special occasions, and bought a bottle of cheap sparkling wine to pretend it was champagne. Caden came home late at night and didn’t even glance at the dining table.
    “Don’t you know I have an important presentation tomorrow? I don’t have time to play these boring games with you.” He waved his hand and knocked over the wine glass. Cheap liquor and glass shards scattered across the floor, and he walked into the study without looking back.
    Such a contrast shattered my heart into pieces.
    Brianna took out an exquisite jewelry box from her tote bag: “Look at the gift Caden gave me today! As a thank you for helping him plan the proposal. It’s an antique Cartier bracelet, very expensive.”
    The fine gold chain sparkled under the light. I stared blankly at that bracelet. I had seen it on a top-tier antique jewelry website; it cost a fortune. And I knew exactly where that money came from.
    How disgusting!
    Two months ago, a hundred and fifty thousand dollars was transferred out of my savings account. Caden said it was to buy “emergency research equipment” and that he would pay me back once his funding was approved.
    He had sworn to me, “This is for our future, Alyssa.”
    That was my blood, sweat, and tears! Now it was all worn on the wrist of another woman.
    Brianna noticed my silence and tilted her head. “Are you still thinking about that man who doesn’t cherish you? My grandma used to say, where a man spends his money is where his heart is. If he’s not willing to spend money on you, just tell him to get lost.”
    My phone buzzed again. Another text message.
    Caden: “Make sure you transfer the rent tomorrow. Also, my dry-cleaning bill went over budget, remember to send a bit extra.”
    I stared at the screen, astounded by his shamelessness. While planning a romantic dinner and showing off a gift bought with my money, he was still limitlessly demanding more from me.
    Brianna caught a glimpse of my screen. “Is it him? Still asking you for money? He’s just a pathetic parasite, absolutely disgusting. Cut ties with him clean and just block him!”
    This was advice for a stranger, yet it accurately pronounced the verdict on my reality. Cut ties clean, block him.
    “You’re right,” I said, my voice not trembling in the slightest. “Thank you, Brianna. Thank you for making me see everything clearly.”
    I turned and left, no longer looking at the “engaged couple” immersed in their sweetness. My legs, which were weak just minutes ago, were now filled with strength.
    I strode out of the dazzling lobby, thoroughly leaving Caden’s lies behind me, and walked toward my own future.

    When Love Becomes A Monstrous Joke Chapter 3

    Alyssa’s POV:
    I was almost at the exit, my heart beating a steady, resolute rhythm in my chest.
    A hand suddenly touched my arm. I whipped around. It was Brianna, who had chased after me again, panting slightly, holding a small package in her hands.
    “Alyssa, wait!” Her voice was bright and rushed. “I almost forgot, this is something Caden made for me last week. He’s always so busy, but he still wanted to make a special gift. A little leather pouch for my paintbrushes.”
    She smiled as she opened the package, her laughter full of affection. “Even though the stitching is clumsy, he made it with so much heart.”
    Inside was a rough leather pouch sewn with thick thread. The dark brown leather was incredibly soft, yet it made my heart feel indescribably cold.
    “He said he made this from some old scrap leather he had lying around,” Brianna said, handing the pouch to me. “Although it’s not perfect, the thought is what counts.”
    I took the leather pouch, tracing the crooked stitches. This wasn’t some “old scrap leather lying around.” This was the leather from my late grandfather’s cherished old armchair!
    After my grandfather passed away, I cut a piece of leather from it as a keepsake. Caden knew perfectly well how precious this was to me. He was the one who helped me cut it back then, promising he would make a memory box for me out of it.
    Yet months later, he nonchalantly claimed he “lost it” when we moved, even scolding me for being “too sentimental” over a piece of old furniture. And now, my grandfather’s relic, my grief, had all become his “sweet gift” to please Brianna.
    “This is truly… precious.” My voice was tight as I handed the pouch back to her.
    Brianna tucked it away, unbothered. “Precious? Maybe it was just something he bought for a few bucks at a flea market. What matters is the intention.”
    Next, she pulled out her phone and showed me a photo. “Look at this! Last month, Caden took me to a special charity gala. The board members from my dad’s hospital were all there. Everyone said we were the perfect couple. He’s especially good at mingling with everyone, really charming. All the ladies absolutely loved him.”
    In the photo, Caden was holding Brianna’s arm, laughing radiantly among a crowd of VIPs. This was his glamorous life—the world he desperately hid and kept me out of.
    His countless warnings echoed in my head: “Alyssa, we can’t be seen together in public. A married resident will make people think I’m not focused enough. Once my career is stable, we’ll go public.”
    Her phone suddenly rang, and a sweet smile bloomed on her face: “It’s Caden!” She answered the call, her voice light. “Honey? I’m almost there. I know you miss me, see you in five minutes!” After hanging up, her cheeks were slightly flushed. “He just gets so anxious whenever I’m not around. Always worrying over nothing.”
    Yet I had never received a call like that from him. When my grandmother was hospitalized, he told me to “handle it quietly” and not disturb his studying; when I was bedridden with a high fever, he only texted me to get well soon because no one was there to do his laundry. He never cared if I lived or died, only whether I could continue to serve him.
    “Really, Alyssa,” Brianna said earnestly, “don’t waste any more time on that man who is just using you. You deserve true happiness.”
    Her words were like the final push I needed to make up my mind. Looking at the text from Caden demanding money still on my screen, I calmly pulled up his contact and decisively hit “Block.”
    His needs, his lies, vanished in an instant. Next, I switched my phone to airplane mode.
    “You’re right.” A smile of sheer relief surfaced on my lips. “From now on, I won’t waste any more time.”
    “That’s the spirit! Don’t let anyone step all over you ever again.” Brianna checked her watch and waved goodbye. “Caden is waiting for me, I have to go!”
    I watched her jog briskly toward the entrance, running straight into the trap Caden had meticulously designed for her.
    Gripping that Montblanc pen tightly, I turned and walked toward the subway station. The cold wind brushed my face, but it made my mind clearer than it had ever been before.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes by Xiao Wang

    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes by Xiao Wang

    👉 READ NOW

    I have a deadly peanut allergy, but my fiancé Jason’s childhood best friend Kelly thinks I’m just making a big deal out of nothing.
    Under the guise of “treatment,” she deliberately poured peanut oil into my soup, sending me straight to the ICU in anaphylactic shock.
    And Jason didn’t defend me at all — instead, he emotionally manipulated me, saying she “meant well.”
    While I was fighting for my life, they secretly moved away and stole my multi-million-dollar matcha café brand, putting Kelly in charge.
    When I went to confront them, Jason’s family surrounded me and threatened me — I couldn’t leave unless I ate a bowl of noodles with peanut oil.
    I was forced to eat that bowl of noodles, which resulted in a stomach perforation, and I nearly died again.
    I couldn’t understand how the man who once supported my dreams could watch me struggle in agony and still call me “hard to please.”
    In his eyes, my love and my life were worthless — nothing compared to his sick loyalty to her.
    After the surgery, I didn’t shed another tear.
    I called my lawyer. Let the full-scale legal battle begin!

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    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes Chapter 1

    Arielle Fischer’s POV
    My throat felt like it was closing up, my lungs burning, the world around me blurring into flickering gray shadows.
    The doctor’s words echoed in my ears: peanut oil. This wasn’t an accident — it was deliberate. I knew who did it. And what hurt even more, I knew Jason would defend her.
    Jason is my fiancé, yet our lives were built on fundamentally different foundations, especially when it came to food. I have a severe peanut allergy.
    I carry an EpiPen with me everywhere, my diet is carefully curated, every ingredient meticulously checked. Jason, on the other hand, grew up in a family where food was meant to be explored.
    He always treated my caution like some kind of quirk, which caused constant friction between us.
    His mother, Mrs. Davenport, always tried to be thoughtful when I visited their home. She once prepared a separate dish just for me at a family gathering. She never seemed to fully grasp how serious my allergy was. She’d say things like, “Just a little bit, it won’t hurt, right?” but back then, I still gave her the benefit of the doubt.
    Kelly Cruz, Jason’s best friend since childhood, often came over to our place. At one family dinner, as I carefully picked at the steamed chicken on my plate, Kelly leaned forward, her gaze sharp and judgmental.
    “Still on that strict diet plan, Arielle?” Her voice was sickly sweet. “Don’t you think life is just… too limited that way?”
    I forced a smile. “It’s not a diet plan, Kelly. It’s a medical necessity.”
    She snorted. “Oh right, the peanut allergy. Jason told me you used to eat peanuts as a kid. Are you sure you’re not just overreacting?”
    My stomach twisted, but I chose not to respond. Jason, sitting beside me, cleared his throat — and said nothing. He always hated conflict, especially with Kelly.
    Kelly clearly wasn’t done with me. She took a loud bite of her stir-fried peanuts. “Honestly, I don’t know how you two make it work. Food is such a huge part of life, especially around here. What if you have kids someday? They can never try a good bowl of peanut butter?”
    There was something pointed about her words, as if my dietary restrictions were an obstacle between Jason and me.
    That night, Jason’s father hosted a barbecue in the backyard. The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat and rich spices. Trying to be “accommodating,” Jason handed me a drink.
    “Try this, honey,” he said, a little too eagerly. “It’s my dad’s signature bourbon. Everyone loves it.”
    I hesitated. “Is it… safe? You know how sensitive I am to allergens.”
    He waved impatiently. “It’s just bourbon, Arielle. There’s no peanuts in alcohol. Stop being so paranoid. It’s a special batch, really smooth.” Kelly and his parents were all watching. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I took a small sip.
    It was spicy at first, then a strange sweetness spread across my tongue. Before I could process it, my throat started itching. My vision began to swim.
    Terror washed over me. I clutched my throat, eyes wide with fear, trying to gasp — but I couldn’t draw a single breath.
    The world tilted. I stumbled, knocking over a tray of drinks. Jason rushed over, confusion on his face.
    “Arielle? What’s wrong?” he asked urgently, a sudden edge of panic in his voice.
    I couldn’t speak. I just grabbed at my throat, fighting to breathe. My EpiPen, my bag — where was it?
    Everything blurred. Only the suffocating fear consumed me. Jason finally realized how serious it was and frantically rummaged through my bag.
    He found the pen and administered the shot. Adrenaline surged into my bloodstream, a sharp sting that gradually restored my breathing. I gasped for air, each breath a small victory. The ambulance arrived, its siren shattering what should have been a pleasant evening.
    At the hospital, after the emergency passed, Jason sat beside my bed, looking genuinely shaken. He held my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle.
    “Arielle, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I really had no idea. I thought it was just bourbon. My dad sometimes adds his own spices… maybe he used a batch with some peanut residue.”
    “I promise it’ll never happen again. From now on, I’ll personally prepare all your food.” He squeezed my hand, his eyes filled with a fleeting look of remorse.

    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes Chapter 2

    Arielle Fischer’s POV
    Hospital food was bland and tasteless, like a bowl of unappetizing mush. After weeks of it, weakness and exhaustion had pushed me to the brink.
    That day, Jason walked in carrying a picnic basket. The aroma hit me, and my empty stomach growled.
    “Look what I brought!” he announced cheerfully, setting the basket on my nightstand. “Your favorite! Kelly helped me make it.”
    Despite my hunger, my stomach immediately rebelled. Kelly. Always Kelly. The moment her name left his lips, the enticing aroma turned nauseating. I felt sick — not from hunger, but from disgust.
    “Kelly? The Kelly who doesn’t take my peanut allergy seriously?”
    Jason’s smile froze. “Oh, Arielle, don’t be like that. She feels terrible. She just wanted to do something nice for you.”
    The scent drifted over — roasted chicken, aromatic herbs. It did smell good, but beneath it all, I could smell betrayal.
    “No, thanks,” I said, pushing my hospital tray aside. “I’m not hungry.”
    Jason looked genuinely hurt. “But it’s your favorite roast chicken! The one you taught me to make, remember? That special marinade.”
    I gave a bitter laugh. “Of course I remember. I taught you every step. From picking the freshest herbs to balancing the spices so the skin comes out crispy and fragrant. I spent hours teaching you how to debone it properly, how to truss it.”
    “Are you trying to tell me Kelly somehow mastered my unique techniques out of nowhere?”
    Jason shifted uncomfortably. He avoided my gaze. “Well, she tried, really tried. She watched me do it, chopped some things. But… I did most of it in the end. She almost cut herself during the deboning.” He gave a dry laugh. “But it’s the thought that counts, right? She really wanted to make you happy.”
    “So you’re saying Kelly, who can barely be bothered to open a jam jar, genuinely wanted to learn how to replicate my signature dish?” I pressed.
    He sighed, his patience wearing thin. “Arielle, what does it matter? It’s just a chicken. Why do you have to be so difficult?” His tone was dismissive, completely indifferent to what I was going through.
    Anger and exhaustion left me too weak to argue. Tentatively, I picked up my fork. The chicken was still warm, wrapped in foil, and it smelled wonderful.
    As I ate, Jason rambled on about Kelly’s kitchen disasters. “You should’ve seen her, Arielle! She almost set the kitchen on fire trying to sauté the herbs. And she kept complaining the chicken was ‘too raw’ when I’d barely seared it. It was hilarious.” He laughed — that easy, carefree laugh I hadn’t heard in weeks. The way he described Kelly’s clumsiness with such fondness made my chest ache.
    He seemed genuinely amused by her mistakes, but he’d never laughed like that when I messed up. I felt more and more like an outsider.
    Every bite of perfectly cooked chicken — the dish I’d taught him myself — became a symbol of his betrayal. Food that was meant to comfort me was now impossible to swallow.
    Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number — a video. I opened it and trembled with rage.
    The video was shot in Jason’s kitchen. Kelly, her hair casually tied up, was holding a camera, filming Jason wrestling with the chicken. Her voice came through, dripping with sarcasm.
    “Aww, look at Jason, playing chef for his ‘sickly’ fiancée. How domestic! You know, she’s always saying no to this and no to that with food — so high-maintenance, it’s unbearable. Can’t she just eat normal food like the rest of us?” She laughed shrilly, and on camera, she poured some peanut oil onto the plate, then winked at the lens.
    My spoon clattered against the plate. My hands were shaking, and I nearly dropped my phone.
    “Jason!” My voice was hoarse and trembling, full of anger and disbelief. “What is this?” I held the phone up to him. The video was still playing, Kelly’s smug, vicious face filling the screen.
    He watched the video, and the color drained from his face. “That… that can’t be… Kelly wouldn’t…” he stammered. Then his expression shifted, a flash of anger crossing his features. “Who sent you this? This is an invasion of privacy! It’s slander!” He tried to grab my phone — clearly more concerned about Kelly’s image than my safety.
    “Slander?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Isn’t what she did obvious enough?” I pushed the plate away. The thought of taking another bite made me sick.
    Jason slammed his fist on the nightstand. “God, Arielle! You always blow everything out of proportion, it’s exhausting! Can’t you just let it go? Kelly made a mistake! She apologized! Why do you always have to make everything so complicated? You’re impossible to please!”
    Those words hurt more than any physical blow. I was the victim, yet somehow I was the one who was always in the wrong.

    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes Chapter 3

    Arielle Fischer’s POV
    A heavy feeling settled over me. Jason’s words echoed in my mind: “so picky it’s unbearable.” It wasn’t just criticism — it was a weapon. It negated my fear, my pain, even my right to exist safely.
    I remembered when Jason was different. Back then, he was my staunchest supporter. When my “Refined Matcha Wellness Café” was just getting started in the city, when investors questioned the concept, Jason stood by my side, his hand steady on my shoulder, advocating for my business.
    He helped me draft proposals, stayed up late tasting new matcha blends, and celebrated every small win like it was his own victory. My parents were initially skeptical about my choice to start a business, but it was because of his unwavering support for me and my dreams that they gradually accepted him.
    But that Jason was gone. In his place was a man blinded by a twisted childhood bond. He couldn’t see Kelly’s malice. His judgment had vanished, leaving only a near-pathological need to protect his “old friend.”
    I stared at him, saying nothing. My silence wasn’t weakness — it was a deliberate choice. There was no point arguing with someone who refused to listen.
    His mind was made up. In his eyes, Kelly was the innocent friend, and I was the problem.
    That night, lying in my hospital bed, I posted a brief message on my private social media: “The taste of betrayal is more bitter than losing your sense of taste.”
    Minutes later, Kelly’s name appeared on my screen. She messaged me directly:
    “What’s that supposed to mean, Arielle?” Her tone was feigned innocence. “Are you still blaming me? I apologized. I made a mistake. You’re being so dramatic. You should apologize to Jason — you’re the one stressing him out.”
    Furious, I replied: “Kelly, you’ve tried to set me up more than once!”
    She shot back immediately: “C’mon, you’re fine. Stop being so sensitive. Listen, I’m having a barbecue at Jason’s parents’ place tomorrow night. Everyone’s coming. Why don’t you come? We can hash it out face to face. You can tell everyone what a ‘monster’ I am, and I can tell them how hard I tried to help you. Let’s see who they believe.” She added: “Unless you’re too scared to face me, right?”
    She knew I was weak, yet she provoked me anyway. I didn’t have the strength to deal with Jason and his parents’ stares.
    But then a sense of shame — of being labeled “cowardly” — washed over me. The thought of Kelly “winning,” of her painting me as the villain, was unbearable. I wouldn’t let her get away with it anymore. I had to face her.
    “I’ll be there,” I typed, my resolve hardening.
    Minutes later, Jason called. His tone was impatient: “Arielle, Kelly said you’re coming to the barbecue. Why? You just got out of the ICU. Why are you causing trouble?” He sighed, exasperation in his voice. “It’s just a small gathering. Why do you have to make everything so complicated? Your… picky eating is already going to be an issue. Don’t make it worse.”
    His words hit me like a sledgehammer. He didn’t care about my health — he cared about his friends’ “vibe.” He’d reduced my life-threatening allergy to “picky eating,” nothing more than an inconvenience that would “ruin everyone’s mood.” His friends’ opinions mattered more than my safety, my health, even my existence.
    I was done.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge by Star Cruiser

    The Penthouse Wife's Ultimate Revenge by Star Cruiser

    👉 READ NOW

    One week before my wedding, I walked into the master bedroom of my fully-paid penthouse apartment and caught my fiancé cheating with my best friend.
    They were laughing about his fake “insomnia”—the lie he’d used to trick me into sleeping in the guest room so they could have the master bedroom to themselves.
    Gage was a top surgeon, and I’d sacrificed almost everything to care for his supposedly fragile health. I’d even brewed essential oils from my late mother’s precious collection to steady his hands.
    But behind my back, they were planning to pretend to marry me, then slowly push me out and take over my home.
    When I confronted them, they didn’t show a single ounce of guilt.
    Gage deliberately destroyed the essential oil my late mother had left me, then violently shoved me against the wall and locked me in the room to suffer the pain and bleeding alone.
    I had poured everything into building a safe harbor for this man, and in his eyes, I was nothing but a convenient stepping stone.
    I didn’t even bother shedding a single tear.
    I took out my phone, canceled our honeymoon trip, and listed the penthouse on the market—cash sale, 24 hours.
    Time to take out the trash.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 1

    Eliza Anderson’s POV:
    One week before my wedding, I noticed the master bedroom door was slightly ajar.
    Then I heard their voices—my fiancé Gage and my best friend Caroline. They were laughing about their secret relationship, how they’d been together behind my back!
    Gage Morrison was a top cardiovascular surgeon. In public, he was quiet, brilliant, compassionate.
    The media praised his steady hands and calm demeanor on the operating table. He spoke softly, always looking at you with that focused, concerned gaze. He cultivated an aura of sensitivity and thoughtfulness, and everyone around us fell for it.
    Gage claimed he suffered from severe insomnia. He said even the slightest sound or light would disturb his sleep. To deal with it, he needed to lock himself in the master bedroom every night.
    He needed absolute darkness and silence, no distractions whatsoever. And I believed him. I made sure the house stayed quiet. After nine o’clock at night, I always tiptoed around, terrified of disturbing him.
    I made so many sacrifices for Gage. His health became my top priority. I moved into the guest room, sharing it with Caroline. A few months earlier, she’d needed a place to stay after a bad breakup, and I’d taken her in without hesitation.
    I bought a special white noise machine for his room, installed blackout curtains, and prepared soothing herbal tea for him every night. I thought I was supporting the man I loved, helping him through a difficult condition.
    Seven days before the wedding, I was in the living room adjusting the wedding guest list when I heard a faint sound coming from the master bedroom.
    Gage always kept the master bedroom door locked tight, but now it was cracked open. I quietly approached the door and heard soft laughter, followed by Gage’s deep chuckle.
    My mind went blank. I pushed the door open a little more and peered through the crack.
    Caroline was sitting on the bed, wearing one of Gage’s oversized shirts, her hands casually draped over his shoulders. They looked far too intimate.
    Caroline spoke first, her voice teasing. “So, my dear heart doctor, how long do you plan to keep up this ‘insomnia’ act after the wedding? Eliza will get suspicious sooner or later.”
    Gage laughed. “Not too long. Just until she’s used to you living here. Once we’re married, my ‘insomnia’ will miraculously clear up. Then we can slowly talk her into moving out on her own. She’s so used to accommodating me, she’ll never suspect a thing.”
    Caroline leaned in closer. “And then? Just the two of us? In our penthouse?” She emphasized “our” with a possessive, triumphant tone.
    I held my breath. The penthouse was mine. I’d bought it with my own money.
    Gage leaned in and kissed her hair. “That’s right. Once she’s gone, we can really enjoy our lives. No more sneaking around, no more sharing the guest room with your fake best friend.”
    The world tilted. My vision blurred. My body went rigid. Their sweet words and cruel laughter filled my ears.
    His “insomnia” was a lie. His “insomnia” was an elaborate ruse. It had all been just to cover up their affair.
    I walked back to my room, and the first thing I did was take out my phone. I canceled the honeymoon trip—the Bora Bora vacation we’d always dreamed of.
    Then I opened the real estate app on my phone. The penthouse—I’d bought it outright, all cash. I listed it as “For Sale by Owner,” looking for a buyer who could close fast.
    I wanted them out. I wanted everything cleaned out. A notification popped up on the screen: “Listing successful. Expect high interest.” A cold satisfaction rose in my chest.
    I picked up the carefully blended essential oil from my nightstand. It was a soothing oil I’d specially formulated for Gage, using a precious plant essence my late mother had left me. I’d poured my heart into that tiny bottle with love, thinking it would ease his stress and steady his surgeon’s hands.
    It was a symbol of my care, my love, my devotion. I walked to the trash can and dropped it in. The small bottle hitting the plastic made a soft sound, but it felt like a gunshot.
    Just then, my phone vibrated. A message from the real estate agent: “Cash offer accepted. Closing in 48 hours.”
    I heard Gage and Caroline coming out of the master bedroom, their laughter still echoing. Caroline, as innocent as ever, walked into the kitchen and ran straight into me.
    She gave me a bright, fake smile. “Good morning, Eliza! Sleep well?”
    Gage followed behind, looking refreshed. The moment he saw me, he flashed his signature gentle, charming smile. “Good morning, Eliza. Sorry I’m up so early—another emergency. How did you sleep last night?”
    He walked toward me, reaching out to put his hand on my shoulder, and I felt a surge of revulsion. His touch used to comfort me, but now it sickened me like poison.
    I caught a faint, unfamiliar scent on him—sweet and cloying, Caroline’s cheap perfume, barely masked by Gage’s cologne.
    “Fine, Gage,” I answered calmly, betraying no emotion. Caroline was busy making coffee in the kitchen, humming a little tune.
    Then she turned around, looking at me with feigned innocence and concern. “Eliza, you look a little tired. Everything okay? Gage got a call last night, and we were just talking about his surgery.”
    Gage nodded, meeting my eyes. His gaze held that usual sincerity, like he’d practiced it a thousand times. “Yeah, honey, just a quick briefing. Caroline really understands my work. You know, I have to be ready for surgery.”
    He added a little apologetic shrug. His charm was still intact, a weapon he wielded at will. A flicker of unease crossed his eyes, but it was quickly masked by his usual calm. He was so good at pretending, it was terrifying.
    “It’s fine,” I said again, forcing myself to smile, not a single emotion showing on my face.
    Gage leaned in closer, his voice low and soft. “You know, this job… it’s really exhausting. But knowing you’re waiting for me—that’s what keeps me going.” He finished with a gentle squeeze of my hand and a smile.
    “I understand. Your work is important,” I replied perfunctorily.
    Gage smiled, satisfied. He picked a fresh rose from the vase on the counter and tucked it behind my ear. “Thank you for being so patient, my love. You’re the best.”
    There was a sparkle in his eyes. He was still so handsome, so perfect—but it felt like a cruel mockery, laughing at the trust I’d once had.
    Caroline stepped forward and took my arm. “Eliza, you know, sometimes you need to relax. Gage needs you to stay strong and happy. Maybe you should take a little trip, clear your head before the big day.” She patted my arm, smiling like a harmless little bunny.
    Gage looked at me with adoration in his eyes. “Yes, darling. You work so hard, you deserve a good rest. Your presence helps me so much—you’re my rock.”
    And then I saw it. A tiny, almost invisible fleck of glitter on the left lapel of Gage’s suit. It was Caroline’s.
    The last thread of my self-deception snapped completely. The so-called perfect life had all been a lie.
    My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, trying to look casual.
    It was an email from a private investigator I’d quietly hired a few days ago, out of desperation as Gage’s behavior grew stranger.
    The subject line read: “Caroline Stafford Pregnancy Confirmation Report.” My hands trembled slightly as I opened it.
    Attached was an ultrasound image and a doctor’s diagnostic report confirming Caroline was twelve weeks pregnant. At the bottom of the report, the doctor’s signature read: “Dr. Gage Morrison.” My world crumbled.

    The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 2

    Eliza Anderson’s POV:
    My phone vibrated again, and I clenched it tighter. Gage glanced at my trembling hand, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face.
    He met my gaze, and his smile faltered for a split second, almost freezing.
    “Eliza, is everything all right?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of concern—or was it wariness? He picked up his phone from the kitchen counter and swiped through notifications with practiced ease.
    “Just work emails,” I lied, my voice flat and emotionless, my face immediately shifting into an apologetic, charming smile.
    “Ah, these late-night emails. I’m so sorry, darling, for disturbing our morning.” He walked over, slipped an arm around my waist, pulled me close, and his lips brushed lightly against my forehead.
    “Actually,” he whispered in my ear, “I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you.” He pulled out his phone again and showed me the screen. It was a booking confirmation.
    “Bora Bora, first class, for two. Just us.” His eyes sparkled with feigned delight. “I know you’ve always wanted to go there. A little pre-wedding trip, just the two of us—my way of making up for being so busy with work.”
    He shook his head and laughed self-deprecatingly. “My job is absolutely crazy, but I carved out this time. Just you and me, away from everything.”
    He held the phone out to me, waiting for my reaction. I stared at the booking information, the text blurring. Bora Bora. The honeymoon I’d just canceled.
    The honeymoon he’d planned with Caroline. My stomach churned. The taste of irony was bitter in my mouth. “That’s wonderful, Gage.”
    I forced the words out, my voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “I’m so looking forward to it.” This was the game I had to play, and I’d play it well. I wouldn’t let them see me break.
    The next morning, the penthouse was filled with the aroma of coffee and freshly baked croissants.
    Surprisingly, Gage was in the kitchen, wearing a crisp white apron over his perfectly pressed shirt. He hummed a cheerful tune as he flipped pancakes.
    Caroline sat at the breakfast bar, drinking orange juice, glowing. “Good morning, Eliza!” she greeted cheerfully, looking up from her phone screen. “Gage made us a feast!”
    Gage turned around with a gentle smile. “Good morning, darling. Caroline specifically requested her favorite French toast. And you, my love—your usual berry smoothie.”
    He set the smoothie in front of me, then turned to Caroline and gently pushed a plate of French toast toward her. “Eat up, baby. You need your strength.”
    He came over to me and kissed my forehead. “Eliza, I’ll be working late at the hospital tonight. Big surgery, complex case. Don’t wait up for me.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
    “Of course, Gage,” I said softly. I reached up and smoothed his hair—a gesture I’d practiced a thousand times. “Be careful. Try to rest when you can.”
    I watched him leave, his handsome figure disappearing down the hallway. Caroline followed him to the door, waving goodbye. Then she turned around, a smug expression on her face, and walked back into the kitchen.
    Once they were both gone, I headed straight for Gage’s master bedroom. I pulled a small metal key from the bottom of my jewelry box. The lock clicked softly and swung open with a dull thud.
    I pushed the door open. The room was spotless, a perfect reflection of his obsession with tidiness. It smelled of Gage’s cologne, mixed with a hint of Caroline’s cheap perfume.
    I walked straight to the bed—the luxurious king-sized bed where they’d carried out their betrayal. I lifted the heavy mattress. Beneath it, a small velvet pouch was hidden. I found it. Caroline’s diary. Filled with her elegant handwriting, documenting every sordid detail.
    I started reading. Her words leaped off the page, each one a stab to my heart.
    “Gage’s ‘insomnia’ is such a brilliant excuse. Eliza is so naive! She actually believes it. She even buys him special tea! Haha! While she’s sleeping peacefully in the guest room, I’m in her master bedroom, in her bed, with her fiancé.” My hand tightened around the diary, fury rising.
    “Poor thing, always trying to be the perfect girlfriend, the supportive partner. Doesn’t she know Gage needs excitement, not some tame little perfumer? I’m what he really wants.”
    “He says I’m lively, fun. He says Eliza is… comfortable. Boring. He can’t wait for the wedding so he can finally be rid of her. Then this penthouse, his career, our baby… it’ll all be mine. All mine!”
    The more I read, the colder I felt. I recalled countless conversations with Caroline—her subtle barbs, her fake compliments.
    “Eliza, you’re so lucky to have a man like Gage. He’s so handsome and successful. But you know, men sometimes need a little passion. You’re just so calm, so grounded.”
    At the time, I’d brushed it off, thinking it was her own insecurity talking. Now I saw the truth behind her words. She wasn’t envious of me—she was studying me, waiting for her chance to take everything. She wanted to take everything from me.
    I was about to tear the diary to shreds when something else caught my eye. Hidden beneath the diary was a snow-white envelope with my name scrawled across it in hurried handwriting.
    I opened it. Despite my resolve, my fingers still trembled. Inside was a medical report.
    And an ultrasound photo. “Patient: Caroline Stafford.” Date: two weeks ago. “Estimated gestational age: 12 weeks.”
    My vision blurred. On the signature line, clearly visible: “Attending Physician: Gage Morrison.”

    The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 3

    Eliza Anderson’s POV:
    I stumbled out of the master bedroom, clutching the diary and the ultrasound photo tightly in my hands.
    I needed to be alone. I retreated to my own room, closed the door, and the lock clicked shut, as if sealing off the entire world.
    My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, my back against the cold wall. I bit down hard on my lower lip—the taste of blood was the only thing that made me feel real.
    I slowly stood up and walked to the mirror. I tried to smile, to give myself some comfort, but my lips wouldn’t obey. The corners of my mouth trembled, then fell. I closed my eyes.
    In that moment, I knew—the Eliza I used to be was gone forever.
    A few hours later, I heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. Gage and Caroline were back. Their voices drifted down the hallway, light and cheerful.
    Gage walked in first, carrying a large insulated bag. “Darling Eliza, I’m home. I hope you ate something. I brought your favorite Thai curry, to make up for my recent absences.” He gave me that deliberately practiced apologetic smile.
    He opened the bag, and the rich aroma of coconut milk and spices filled the room.
    “I know there’s always something pulling me away lately,” he continued, arranging the containers on the dining table, “but I really want you to know how much I care.”
    “I’m not hungry, Gage. I don’t feel well.”
    “Oh, Eliza, you really should eat something,” Caroline chimed in, her voice laced with concern. She gestured toward the food on the table. “Gage went all the way out there just for you.”
    I ignored her. I pressed “send” on my phone, and a notification popped up on the screen: “Penthouse sale confirmed. Cash buyer, closing within 24 hours.”
    Gage’s smile froze. Caroline’s eyes widened. They both stared at my phone, then at me. Their usual composure was cracked with shock and confusion.
    “What… what is this, Eliza?” Gage’s voice was tight, with obvious anger.
    “I sold the penthouse,” I said calmly and clearly. “Cash buyer, closing tomorrow morning.” I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.
    I walked past their stunned faces and back to my room. As I passed the living room sofa, I saw it—my engagement ring, sparkling in the light.
    I remembered the day Gage proposed. He knelt before me, his eyes full of what I’d thought was love. “This ring,” he’d said, holding up the dazzling diamond, “is a symbol of my endless loyalty, my promise to spend my life with you, Eliza.” Those vows I’d once cherished now sounded like hollow lies.
    The next morning, I woke up early. My phone vibrated. A notification from Caroline’s social media. A photo. Her hand intertwined with Gage’s, my engagement ring glittering on her finger. The caption read: “Finally got the ring that’s mine! And a little one on the way! Can’t wait for our future, my love @GageMorrison.”
    I felt that familiar rage rise up again, but then my phone rang. It was Gage.
    “Eliza, what is the meaning of this?” His voice was tight with anger.
    “What meaning, Gage?” I asked calmly.
    “Caroline’s post! And the ring! Why is she wearing your ring?” he demanded.
    “She’s carrying your child, Gage,” I stated the obvious. “Maybe she feels entitled to it. Or maybe you gave it to her.”
    He stammered for a moment, then forced himself to sound composed. “Eliza, don’t be ridiculous. She… she’s just emotional. I let her try it on to calm her down. You know how sensitive women get when they’re pregnant.” His tone was condescending, dismissive. “It’s nothing. I’ll buy you a bigger one, a better one.”
    “That’s fine, Gage,” I said in a voice so cold it could freeze. “You two keep it. I don’t need it.” I hung up before he could say anything else.
    I looked at the email on my laptop. The penthouse closing documents. “Transaction complete.” A cold, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. His promises of bigger rings, better lives—they all meant nothing. I’d cut everything off. He could keep those material possessions; I didn’t need them.
    I crumpled the engagement ring receipt into a ball and tossed it in the recycling bin. Then I called a taxi.
    Time to take back what’s mine.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal by CHRISTINE ROBINSON

    Guest User: My Marriage's Betrayal by CHRISTINE ROBINSON

    👉 READ NOW

    I sacrificed my career and endured agonizing IVF treatments, all just to give my husband’s wealthy family an heir.

    But when I checked the smart ring app his company had launched, I discovered my personal profile was labeled as a “Temporary User”—all data automatically wiped every 90 days.

    And positioned right above me, the name of his junior employee, Katerina, was glaringly listed as the “Primary User,” complete with a detailed log tracking her 24-week pregnancy.

    When I confronted him, Calvin didn’t apologize. Instead, he brought his pregnant mistress home.

    He actually demanded that I act as her caretaker, while his mother sneered, calling me a disposable ornament and ordering me to leave the marriage with nothing.

    My husband had merely used my painful fertility struggles to beta-test his algorithms, while secretly using our marital assets to fund his new family.

    In this marriage, I was nothing but a temporary data point.

    They thought I would silently accept being treated as a disposable “guest.”

    But I handed over the evidence of his severe data privacy violations to a shrewd, ruthless lawyer, and then decisively exposed the truth to the world.

    👉 READ NOW

    Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal Chapter 1

    Allison Benson’s POV

    The doctor’s appointment was scheduled for ten in the morning. I needed to download my three-month health report from the smart ring app. Dr. Chen specifically requested a detailed data report covering my menstrual cycle regularity, sleep patterns, and stress levels.

    Calvin, my husband, had insisted I wear his company’s prototype product—the “Aura” smart ring—claiming it was to “support my IVF journey.” He said my data was crucial for optimizing their women’s health algorithms.

    I opened the Aura app on my tablet. The company’s logo flashed on the screen, a glowing, stylized feminine symbol. My finger hovered over the “Download Report” button. Right at that moment, an unexpected window popped up on the screen—”User Selection.” It listed two names: my name, Allison Benson, and right below it, another name: Katerina Copeland.

    Katerina Copeland. The name struck me like a bolt of lightning. She was a junior product manager at Calvin’s company, AuraTech.

    I had seen her at a few company events. Young, smart, and always impeccably dressed. But why was her name on my app? This was my ring, my data. An icy wave of unease washed over me.

    Almost involuntarily, my finger tapped Katerina’s name. A brand-new page loaded. It was her personal profile, detailed and comprehensive.

    My eyes scanned the data: cycle records, sleep scores, activity levels. Her data logs stretched back for months, continuous and complete, far exceeding what I saw in my own account.

    I kept scrolling, past various charts. The final entry was highlighted in a glaring green. It wasn’t a standard cycle log, but a status update, clear and piercing—”Pregnancy Log: Week 24.” My vision began to blur. Week 24, six months, a baby. Her baby, Calvin’s baby.

    My hands shook violently. I quickly navigated back to my own profile page. My data was there, but sparse and fragmented. A few weeks here, a few days there, leaving massive blank gaps.

    My cycle logs, my desperate attempts and efforts to get pregnant, had been reduced to these incomplete fragments. I noticed a nearly invisible little tag under my name: “Temporary User. Data auto-clears every 90 days.”

    A Temporary User, a temporary placeholder.

    My mind was in utter chaos. He gave me the ring, saying it was for us, for our shared dream of a family. But in reality, he was just treating me as a temporary data tester, a disposable account that could be tossed aside at any moment.

    And Katerina was the “Primary User.” All the way to delivery. His system had clearly defined our roles. I was the temporary guest, and she was the permanent resident.

    It was absolutely sickening!

    Calvin’s late nights at work, his sudden “business trips,” the absent-minded look in his eyes whenever I talked about IVF treatments.

    They had planned it all along, how they were going to replace me.

    The doctor’s appointment now felt like a sick joke. I grabbed my phone, found the appointment, and deleted it without hesitation.

    An intense urge to flee surged within me; I wanted to escape this life.

    I looked around the luxurious living room. Every piece of furniture, every decoration felt tainted; I stood up, walked into the bedroom, pulled a small duffel bag from the closet, and haphazardly stuffed a few clothes inside. I had to leave. I needed air.

    The sound of the front door opening echoed through the silent house. Calvin was back, earlier than usual. My heart raced, like a drum pounding wildly against my ribcage. He never came home this early unless he thought I wasn’t here.

    “Allison?” His voice sounded light, tinged with surprise. “You’re home?”

    He walked into the living room, briefcase in hand, and stopped. His eyes swept the room and finally landed on me and the half-open bag. He frowned slightly. “What’s going on? Did you miss your appointment?”

    “No.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I canceled it.”

    He took off his coat and casually draped it over a chair. “Why? Is everything okay? Weren’t you really anxious about this checkup?” He didn’t wait for my answer, walking straight into the kitchen and tossing his keys onto the marble counter with a sharp clink. “I’m starving. I’ve been busy all day, didn’t even get to eat lunch.”
    He opened the fridge, looking down to rummage for food, and hastily took a few bites; I watched him. This man was actually sleeping around with another woman!

    He returned to the living room holding a bottle of water. “I need a shower, today’s meetings were exhausting.”

    A few minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, drying his hair as he walked. He looked refreshed and completely oblivious. “So,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair, “ready to go get some dinner? I was thinking we could try that new Italian place.”

    “Calvin,” I started, my voice perfectly calm, without a single ripple of emotion, “are you going to come with me to my next IVF checkup?”

    He paused, the towel still in his hands. His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Another checkup? Allison, we just did one last week. You know how swamped I am right now; the Series C funding is urgent.” His voice was gentle, but I could hear the underlying impatience. “This is a critical time for AuraTech, you understand that, right?”

    “This is critical for us too.” I raised my voice slightly. “This is for our baby, Calvin. This is our last cycle, and if it fails, we have to re-evaluate everything. You promised you’d be there for me.”

    He walked over and placed a hand on my arm. “Of course, honey. I’ll try to make time. I’ll see if I can rearrange my schedule, it’s just… work is absolutely crazy right now. You understand, right?”

    “No, Calvin. I don’t understand why Katerina Copeland is listed as the ‘Primary User’ on the Aura app, and why her profile says ‘Pregnancy Log: Week 24,’ while I am just a ‘Temporary User’ whose data gets wiped every 90 days.”

    Calvin froze. A flash of panic crossed his usually confident eyes. He took a step back.

    “What are you talking about, Allison? What app? Are you snooping through my things again? That is company property, you have no right to look at internal data.”
    My heart was beating frantically, but a strange calmness settled over me. This was his playbook. Manipulate, deflect.

    He had always done this, but today was different. I recalled the countless times he accused me of being paranoid or overreacting whenever I questioned his overly intimate texts with Katerina, or the necessity of him “mentoring” her late at night. He always brushed me off like this.

    “She’s new, Allison. She needs extra guidance.”

    “She’s smart, Allison. I need her on this project.” That was his explanation when I found Katerina’s name repeatedly popping up on his personal phone.

    And I, like a fool, always apologized for my “insecurities,” thinking it was my problem.

    “No, Calvin, I was just checking my own health report—the data report on the ring you gave me specifically for the IVF. And I found Katerina’s profile, a ‘Primary User’ account, logging 24 weeks of pregnancy.”

    His eyes narrowed as he tried to find any sign of wavering on my face. “Allison, that… that’s a system glitch. I can explain it to you.”

    I let out a cold laugh, heavy with sarcasm. “A glitch? A ‘glitch’ that turns a wife who has poured everything into realizing our dream of a family into a ‘Temporary User,’ while making your subordinate the ‘Primary User’?”

    He ran a hand through his hair. “Allison, stop talking nonsense. You are my wife. This is just… a technical error. It has nothing to do with us.”

    “Does it really have nothing to do with us?” A wave of nausea hit me. “Does your ‘technical error’ also include bringing Katerina home? Into our house?”

    His eyes darted around the room, as if looking for hidden cameras. “She… she wasn’t feeling well, she got dizzy suddenly. I just brought her back to rest for a bit before taking her home.” He stammered.

    “And are the ‘special notes’ in her pregnancy log about ‘high risk, continuous monitoring required’ and ‘prenatal care expenses paid from shared account’ also technical glitches, Calvin?”

    He exploded. “Allison, you’re crazy! This is internal company business! You are clearly unstable and making things up!” He pointed at me, his face flushing red. “I have a board meeting tomorrow, I don’t have time to listen to your baseless accusations!”

    He turned to leave, fleeing to his usual safe haven—”work.” “We’ll talk when you calm down. Maybe you need to go see Dr. Evans again and get your stress levels adjusted.”

    I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “There won’t be a ‘later,’ Calvin. And I won’t ‘calm down.’ I am leaving you!”

    He tried to push past me. “Allison, move! You are being utterly unreasonable!”

    I stood my ground, unmoving, but inside, I had completely woken up!

    Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal Chapter 2

    Allison Benson’s POV

    The next morning, Calvin left, slamming the door hard. He didn’t even look at me.

    His usual routine of a hurried morning kiss on the cheek and a mumbled “love you, honey” was gone. He just walked straight out, leaving behind an empty silence and the lingering scent of his cologne.

    Right before walking out, he had paused, turned around, and put on a forced smile. “Listen, Allison, about Katerina. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’ve been too invested. I’ll keep my distance. It really is just work-related, you know how crucial the company is right now.”

    He made a placating gesture with his hands. “Let’s just stop obsessing over the past, okay? Focus on our next steps. That’s what really matters.”

    “Our next steps? Is that the plan where you expect me to keep trying to get pregnant? While in the meantime, you’ve already gotten her pregnant?”

    I took a step forward, staring right at him. “Tell me, Calvin, who is the father of Katerina’s baby?”

    His eyes widened, then narrowed again, and he shifted his stance uneasily. “What does that matter, Allison? She is an adult, her private life is her own business.”

    “Then why would you list her pregnancy logs as a ‘Primary User,’ and why are her prenatal checkup fees listed under our ‘marital assets’ expense reports? Are you really standing there telling me you don’t know who the father is?”

    He was visibly annoyed now. “Allison, you’re being irrational. This isn’t how we communicate.” He was trying to regain control of the narrative, trying to make me doubt myself. “You’re losing control of your emotions. You need to calm down.”

    I laughed again. “Irrational? Losing control of my emotions?” I slowly shook my head. “Tell me, Calvin, what role did you want me to play in this meticulously woven farce? The loyal, understanding wife? Or the ‘barren woman’ who silently accepts her husband’s illegitimate child? What exactly do you want from me?”

    He didn’t answer. He just stood there, jaw clenched, avoiding my gaze. The silence was like a massive boulder, heavy and suffocating.

    “Allison, you’re just too stressed out, it’s the hormones from the IVF. You aren’t yourself right now.”

    I wanted to scream, wanted to smash something, but I held back, continuing to stare at him, never looking away for a second. He couldn’t face my anger; he just wanted me to go back to being the quiet, submissive wife.

    He sighed. “I have to go. We’ll talk later.” Saying that, he turned and left, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.

    Talk later? There would be no “later.”

    The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, as if narrating a broken story.

    I walked back to the tablet. The “Aura” app was still open. I clicked on Katerina’s profile again. Her diet, moods, and doctor’s appointments were all meticulously detailed, clearly having taken up a lot of time.

    I recalled the day he first brought the ring home. “This is state-of-the-art tech, Allison. My team did a fantastic job. It tracks everything—sleep, heart rate, ovulation. It’s going to revolutionize women’s health. And it will help us too, honey. For our baby.” He had slipped the ring onto my finger with such ceremony.

    But it was just a prototype, a data collection device. And I was just a convenient, temporary test subject. I was the “Guest User” whose data would “automatically clear every 90 days.”

    The doorbell suddenly rang, interrupting my thoughts. I jumped, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. Calvin’s mother, Bobbie Brooks, stood on the porch, her designer bag looped over her arm, a dark expression on her face.

    I slowly opened the door. Without even a greeting, she pushed her way in, her eyes scanning the living room. “Allison, what is this mess? Why is the house so quiet? Where is Calvin?”

    “Calvin went to work.” I replied calmly, my tone flat.

    She turned around, her eyes boring into me. “And you? Why didn’t you go to the doctor? Dr. Chen called me and said you canceled your appointment. What’s going on, Allison? Are you giving up? I told Calvin ages ago that this IVF nonsense wasn’t reliable, you need to give the Brooks family an heir.”

    I looked at her, this woman who had tormented me for years over my fertility issues, who constantly humiliated me for “failing” to give her a grandson. This woman who secretly enabled her son’s affairs and supported his plan to replace me.

    “I canceled it,” I said in a low but firm voice. “I have stopped the IVF treatments. There is no longer a need.”

    Her eyebrows shot up, her face twisting into a mix of shock and anger. “Stopped? What do you mean, Allison? You can’t just give up! You have a duty to this family! What about our heir?”

    “You already have an heir, Bobbie.” I looked her straight in the eye, my voice calm but sharp. “Katerina Copeland is twenty-four weeks pregnant, and Calvin is the father.”

    The color instantly drained from her face, her jaw dropping slightly. In that split second, I saw pure panic in her eyes, which confirmed my absolute worst suspicions.

    She knew everything all along.

    Quickly, she regained her composure, the mask of anger slipping back into place. “Allison, what kind of nonsense are you spouting? Are you crazy? Katerina is a bright young thing, yes, but there is absolutely nothing between her and Calvin. They are just colleagues.”

    “Really?” I asked with a cold smirk. “Then why were you so desperate to ensure the ‘Brooks name’ was carried on? Why were you so obsessed with making me have a baby when you already knew Calvin had a child with Katerina?”

    “You cannot cause a scandal, Allison.” Bobbie’s voice held a threat, her eyes ice-cold. “It would ruin Calvin and destroy the Brooks reputation. That child will be a Brooks. You must accept it and remain silent.”

    My blood ran cold. “Accept it? Remain silent?” I slowly shook my head, my movements resolute. “What am I in this house, Bobbie? A breeding tool that gets tossed aside because she can’t conceive? An insignificant guest in my own home?”

    She stared at me, confusion written all over her face. “What are you talking about? A guest? Allison, what nonsense are you babbling?”

    I picked up the tablet. The screen still displayed Katerina’s profile. I pointed at the “Primary User” label, then to my “Guest User” status. “This is how Calvin’s system defines me, Bobbie. Temporary, disposable. While Katerina is permanent. The mother of the heir.”

    Bobbie looked at the screen, then back at me, her eyes filled with disgust. “You’ve lost your mind. You are completely crazy. I will not tolerate this. You will not ruin my son’s career because of your hysteria. You have until Calvin gets home to pack your things. You will leave quietly. Otherwise, you will regret it!”

    She marched toward the door, her heels clicking furiously against the hardwood floor. Without waiting for a reply, she threw the door open and stormed out, leaving me alone once more.

    I stood in the middle of the living room, gripping the trembling tablet with both hands. My knees gave out, and I slumped onto the floor. Tears finally cascaded down my face. All these years of sacrifice, and I was nothing but a temporary stand-in.

    My parents had warned me about the arrogance and prejudice of the Brooks family, the hubris born from generations of wealth. But I loved Calvin then, and I believed him.

    And now, I saw the truth. I had never truly been accepted by them.

    However, the tears dried quickly, replaced by a cold determination. I absolutely refused to be a “Guest User” in my own life.

    They wanted me to leave quietly? They wanted me to accept the betrayal? Never! I wouldn’t cover for them anymore. I was going to fight for myself!

    Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal Chapter 3

    Allison Benson’s POV

    Calvin didn’t come home that night. Around midnight, I received a text: “Very busy today. Staying overnight at the office, don’t wait up.”

    I thought about all those other similar nights. The nights I lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind doing backflips guessing where he was and why he had grown so distant. Now, it all made sense.

    “Allison, you just don’t understand my stress. This company is everything to me. It’s all for our future.” And I had always believed him, always trying to play the supportive wife, suppressing my own anxiety. I had learned to bury the loneliness deep inside, carrying the weight of our supposedly shared dreams all by myself.

    But it was different now. His absence actually felt like a release.

    I went into the bedroom, pulled out my largest suitcase, and started packing. Not just clothes, but documents, financial statements, my old work laptop… everything that proved my independence outside of “us.”

    Just as I zipped up the suitcase, I heard a key slide into the lock.

    My heart jumped, and for a fleeting moment, I actually felt something akin to hope. Had he come back for me? Had he realized his mistake? My brain had momentarily reverted to the past, to the “old Allison” who longed for his affection and desperately wanted to believe in his love.

    The front door opened. Calvin stood there, his clothes rumpled, but he didn’t look exhausted. He looked anxious. A second later, Katerina Copeland stepped out from behind him.

    Her hand rested lightly on his arm. She was pale, her eyes slightly red, and she was wearing one of Calvin’s oversized dress shirts, draped loosely over her pregnant belly.

    My breath caught in my throat, the air suddenly turning thin. The image of them standing there shattered whatever lingering doubts and hopes I had into a million pieces.

    Calvin’s eyes landed on my packed suitcase. He grew even paler. His gaze darted back and forth between the suitcase, me, and Katerina.

    “Allison, I… I can explain. Katerina… she fainted again. The doctor said she needs complete bed rest. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. I just brought her here to stay for a few days until we figure something out.”

    Katerina took a small step forward, her lips trembling. She looked up at Calvin, unshed tears welling in her eyes, looking like a frightened fawn, totally helpless.

    Calvin turned to me, his tone pleading. “Allison, please. She needs help. And you… you’ve always been understanding and compassionate. Can you just… take care of her for a few days? Just a few days, until I figure things out.”

    “You expect me, in my own home, to take care of your pregnant mistress, and look at the belly carrying your child?” This was so far beyond my imagination.

    “Allison, don’t say that!” he snapped suddenly, a sharp edge to his voice. “She isn’t my mistress. She is a colleague who needs help. Yes, she is pregnant with my child. But she’s in a dangerous condition right now, she needs a stable environment, a home.”

    Katerina let out a soft sob, leaning her face slightly against Calvin’s shoulder as if seeking comfort, sneaking a glance at me with feigned vulnerability.

    “You actually expect me to take care of the woman who stole my husband and my future?” My voice rose, filled with incredulous fury. “Do you think I’m crazy, Calvin?”

    “Allison, calm down.” He stepped closer, trying to grab my arm. “You don’t have a job right now, you have plenty of time. It’s just temporary, for the health of the baby.”

    I forcefully shook off his hand, my movement full of disgust and anger. “No,” I said, my voice shaking, speaking through gritted teeth. “Absolutely not. I will not be your pregnant mistress’s nanny. Get her out of my house, Calvin. Right now!”

    Katerina let out a soft whimper and pulled away from Calvin slightly. “Maybe I should just go,” she said in a weak, frail voice, taking a step back, pretending she was going to leave.

    “No, Katerina, you are staying!” Calvin’s voice suddenly boomed. He pulled her back to his side, shielding her protectively. He turned to me, absolutely furious. “This is my house, Allison! My family! I decide who gets to stay!” He pointed at my suitcase. “If you can’t handle it, then you can leave!”

    Those words hit my heart like a massive boulder, heavy and final. “My house, my family, my decision.” His words were a knife twisting deep into my chest. The pain was excruciating, as if I had been hollowed out.

    Katerina looked up, a smug smile barely playing at the corners of her lips. “Allison, I am so sorry. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

    Calvin let out a cold laugh, mocking. “She never meant for it to turn out this way? Allison, this is all your fault! You’re the one being unreasonable! Now, are you leaving or not?”

    I sneered. “Oh, I’ll leave, Calvin. And when I do, I am taking every single thing that belongs to me. Don’t think you’ll get to keep a dime. Sooner or later, you will pay for what you’ve done!”

    I walked right past him toward the bedroom and grabbed my packed suitcase.

    He didn’t try to stop me. He just stood there, Katerina clinging tightly to him, a hint of fear in her eyes.

    As I headed for the front door, Bobbie Brooks suddenly stepped out from the shadows of the hallway.

    She shot a glance at my suitcase, a gleam of satisfaction flashing in her eyes, before quickly looking away and walking straight toward Calvin and Katerina.

    “Oh, sweet Katerina, are you feeling better, darling? Don’t worry. You are safe here now. This is your home.”

    She put an arm around Katerina’s waist, pulling her closer. “Katerina, you are carrying our heir. You are part of our family now. I will protect you, we will all protect this child.”

    I stopped at the threshold, her words echoing in my ears. “You are part of our family now.”

    That phrase, which I had so desperately craved, now sounded like the death knell of my old life.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace by Miaomiao

    Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle's Embrace by Miaomiao

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    Hollis stumbled into her family mansion, soaked in rain and wearing a strange man’s oversized shirt after a traumatizing night.
    But instead of offering comfort, her stepmother and stepsister ambushed her.
    They framed her for offending a powerful billionaire, demanding she pay a massive settlement.
    When her fiancé Aris arrived, Hollis thought she finally had an ally.
    Instead, he looked at her with pure disgust.
    “We’re over. I’m marrying Kyla now,” he sneered, wrapping his arm around her stepsister.
    To force her submission, her stepmother canceled her college admission and threatened to leak degrading photos of her to the press.
    That night, they even spiked her dinner and handed her over to thugs to be delivered to the old billionaire’s bed.
    Betrayed, humiliated, and stripped of everything, a white-hot rage burned through Hollis’s despair.
    Why did the people she lived with want to destroy her so ruthlessly?
    Using her last ounce of strength, she escaped the thugs and stumbled into a random hotel room.
    The next day, Hollis crashed Aris and Kyla’s lavish engagement party, holding the arm of a mysterious, imposing man.
    “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my new fiancé,” she announced with a victorious smile.
    Aris stared at the man, his face draining of all color as a terrified whisper escaped his throat.
    “Uncle Alaric?”

    👉 READ NOW

    Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace Chapter 1

    The key trembled in Hollis’s hand.
    It took three tries before it finally slid into the lock. The heavy oak door of the Buchanan mansion swung inward, spilling golden light onto the porch.
    She stumbled across the threshold, her body a wreck of trembling limbs. A man’s white dress shirt, far too large for her, was the only thing she wore. Its hem barely grazed her upper thighs, and the collar carried the unfamiliar, sharp scent of tobacco.
    The living room was brightly lit.
    Her stepmother, Beverley, and stepsister, Kyla, were seated on the velvet sofa. They looked as if they had been waiting for her.
    Kyla’s lips twitched, a flicker of triumph she couldn’t quite hide as she took in Hollis’s disheveled state.
    Beverley set her porcelain teacup down on its saucer. The sharp clink echoed in the silent room. Her eyes, cold and sharp as splintered glass, raked over Hollis’s body.
    “Look who’s finally home.”
    Her voice was smooth, but laced with ice. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back tonight.”
    Kyla rose from the sofa, her face a mask of false concern. She moved toward Hollis, reaching out as if to help.
    “Hollis, what happened to you? That shirt… Aris will be so upset.”
    The mention of her fiancé’s name was a deliberate twist of the knife.
    Hollis flinched away from Kyla’s touch, a wave of nausea rolling through her. The dull ache in her body and the fractured, nightmarish images in her head made her stomach churn. She braced herself against the wall of the foyer, fighting to stay upright.
    Her gaze locked onto Beverley.
    A bitter laugh escaped her raw throat. “My drink,” she rasped, her voice hoarse with hatred. “You tampered with my drink, didn’t you?”
    A flash of panic crossed Beverley’s perfectly made-up face before it was replaced by practiced indignation. She elegantly crossed her legs.
    “Hollis, what nonsense are you talking about? I think you partied a little too hard and your brain has gone to mush.”
    Kyla chimed in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Sister, how can you say that about Mom? She was just worried you’d drink too much and embarrass yourself at the party.”
    Hollis ignored Kyla. Her eyes remained fixed on Beverley, a predator stalking its prey. She pushed herself off the wall and took a shaky step forward.
    “Worried about me? Was sending me to an old man’s bed also for my own good?”
    The accusation hung in the air, thick and poisonous. Beverley’s composure finally cracked. Her eyes darted away for a second, a telltale sign of her guilt.
    She raised her voice to cover her unease. “If you say one more slanderous word, I swear I will tell your father!”
    Just then, a phone vibrated violently on the coffee table. The screen lit up, displaying the caller ID: Clay Thorne.
    Beverley’s face went white.
    Her hand shot out, a reflexive move to silence the call, but it was too late. She snatched the phone, trying to move away to answer it privately.
    Hollis lunged.
    With a burst of adrenaline, she closed the distance and slammed her finger down on the speakerphone button just as Beverley answered.
    A greasy, furious man’s voice erupted from the phone’s speaker.
    “Beverley! What the hell are you playing at? I waited all night! Where’s the girl you promised me? Are you screwing with me? Do you still want that investment or not!”
    A dead silence fell over the living room.
    Kyla’s face was a mask of chalky horror. She stared at her mother, her mouth agape.
    Beverley froze, looking like a strangled duck, the blood draining from her face.
    Hollis’s heart plummeted. A tidal wave of grief and rage washed over her. The proof was there, undeniable. But as the man’s grating voice echoed in her memory, a more terrifying thought surfaced.
    The hazy figure from her nightmares—tall, powerful, with an oppressive presence—did not match the voice on the phone. Not at all.
    Beverley’s plan had failed.
    She had been sent to the wrong room.
    Delivered to the wrong man.
    Looking at her stepmother’s panicked face, Hollis felt no thrill of victory. Only a profound, chilling emptiness and a terrifying confusion.
    Beverley finally snapped back to reality. She shrieked, lunging for the phone. Hollis stepped back, letting it fall onto the plush rug.
    Frantically, Beverley jabbed at the screen to end the call. She then glared at Hollis, her eyes filled with pure venom, like a cornered animal.
    “You ruined it! You ruined everything!” Beverley’s voice was distorted with fury.
    Hollis pressed her fingers to her temple, a fresh wave of dizziness washing over her. The drugs hadn’t fully worn off.
    She didn’t want to speak to them, didn’t want to even look at them. She turned to go to her room.
    Beverley’s hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. Her nails dug into Hollis’s skin.
    “Where do you think you’re going? You think this is over?” Beverley hissed through clenched teeth.
    Hollis tried to pull away, but her body was too weak. She couldn’t break the grip.
    Kyla stood by, her expression a complex mix of shock and something else, something unreadable. She made no move to help.
    A grotesque smile spread across Beverley’s face. “Hollis, since you refuse to be obedient, you can’t blame me for what comes next.”

    Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace Chapter 2

    Beverley’s fingers were like a vise around Hollis’s wrist. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for Hollis’s ears.
    “Clay Thorne’s suite is 803. You’re going to go up there right now and ‘apologize’ properly. Otherwise, you can prepare to find five hundred thousand dollars to compensate me for my loss.”
    Hollis stared at her, stunned. The audacity was breathtaking. Five hundred thousand dollars? She was a student. She didn’t have that kind of money.
    With a sudden surge of strength—more a frantic reflex than real power—she ripped her arm free and stumbled back, putting distance between them.
    “You’re insane! I’m not going!”
    Beverley smoothed down her expensive silk robe, a cold smile playing on her lips. “No money? What about the trust fund your dear mother left you? You’re almost old enough to access it. Or, you could always call the police. Let’s see who they believe—a disgraced Buchanan girl with a ruined reputation, or me, a respected philanthropist.”
    Hollis’s body trembled with rage. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the 9-1-1 icon. It was her only weapon.
    Seeing the motion, Kyla shrieked. “Sister, don’t do something stupid! Think of the family’s reputation!”
    Just then, the butler’s voice echoed from the foyer. “Ma’am, Miss, Mr. Baird is here.”
    The name Aris Baird struck the room like a bolt of lightning. The three women froze. Hollis’s finger remained suspended over her phone screen.
    Aris. Her fiancé. What was he doing here at this hour?
    A cold dread washed over her as she saw the matching, triumphant expressions on Beverley’s and Kyla’s faces. She understood instantly. This was part of their plan.
    Aris Baird strode in, tall and impeccably dressed in an Armani suit. His handsome face was a blank mask, his deep blue eyes sweeping across the room before they landed on Hollis.
    When his gaze fell on the wrinkled man’s shirt she wore, her messy hair, and her pale, bruised face, his expression curdled into one of pure, undisguised disgust.
    Hollis’s heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. The comfort and protection she had desperately hoped for were not there. Only judgment. Contempt.
    He walked past her as if she were invisible, settling his attention instead on the two women who stood waiting—Beverley with her practiced smile, Kyla already drifting toward him with a familiar ease that made Hollis’s stomach turn.
    Beverley’s voice cut through the air, smooth and deliberate. “Aris, dear, I’m so sorry you had to see this… unpleasantness. Some things are better left unseen.”
    Hollis watched them—the way Kyla’s hand found its way to Aris’s arm, the way Beverley positioned herself as the matriarch of a scene she had written herself. The three of them stood together, a closed circle that had no room for her.
    Aris’s gaze finally landed on her—cold, dismissive, as if she were a piece of trash he had just noticed on the floor.
    Aris’s looking down at her from his great height.
    He reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a checkbook and a Montblanc pen. With a few swift strokes, he wrote, tore out the check, and tossed it down in front of her.
    It fluttered to a stop near her feet.
    “Take it. It’s a breakup fee,” Aris said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “We’re over.”
    Hollis slowly lifted her head. Her bloodshot eyes stared at the man she had loved for three years.
    She didn’t look at the check. She just asked, “Why?”
    Aris let out a cold laugh, as if she’d just told the world’s most pathetic joke. “Why? Hollis, you have the nerve to ask me why? The future wife of a Baird cannot be a shameless woman who fools around with strange men.”
    “I wasn’t!” Hollis scrambled to her feet, her voice rising with desperation. “I was set up!”
    Kyla immediately shrank behind Aris, feigning fear. “Aris, she’s scaring me…”
    Aris shielded Kyla, his expression hardening with even more revulsion. “Shut up. Stop acting. It only makes me sicker. You’re not a virgin anymore, are you? That’s a fact!”
    The cruel words struck Hollis’s deepest wound, the raw, secret shame she was still grappling with.
    “So”—Aris paused, delivering the final blow—”I’ve decided to cancel our engagement. My fiancée… will be Kyla.”
    The world stopped. Hollis stared at Aris, then at the triumphant, hypocritical face of her sister peeking out from behind his arm.

    Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace Chapter 3

    The world stopped. Hollis stared at Aris, then at Kyla’s triumphant, hypocritical face peeking out from behind his arm.
    Aris’s words hung in the air like a death sentence. The silence in the room was absolute.
    But then, something flickered in Hollis’s chest. Not grief. Not more shock. A tiny, sharp spark of disbelief that refused to be extinguished.
    She looked at Aris again—really looked. Not at the handsome face she had loved, but at the man standing before her, the man who had just pronounced her “used goods” and replaced her with her sister in the space of a single breath.
    And she heard it.
    Not what he had said—but how he had said it.
    “You’re not a virgin anymore, are you?”
    Not “Did you sleep with someone else?” Not “What happened to you?” Not even “Who was that man?”
    He had stated it as fact. As if he already knew the outcome. As if he had expected it.
    Hollis’s blood turned cold.
    Her voice came out slow, barely more than a whisper. “How did you know?”
    Aris frowned. “Know what?”
    “That I wasn’t a virgin anymore.” She held his gaze. “I never told you that. I never said a word about what happened last night. You walked in, saw the shirt, and you didn’t ask—you just knew. How?”
    A flash of something crossed his face—too quick to read, but it was there. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
    “It’s obvious,” he said, but his voice had lost some of its edge. “You’re wearing a strange man’s clothes. Your hair is a mess. You look like—”
    “Like someone who was drugged and dragged to a hotel room,” Hollis cut him off. Her voice was rising now, a tremor running through it, but not from weakness. “Like someone who doesn’t remember half of what happened because her drink was tampered with. Like a victim, Aris. Not a cheater.”
    She stepped closer to him. He did not step back, but his eyes darted away for a fraction of a second.
    “You didn’t ask me what happened. You didn’t give me a chance to explain. You just pronounced me guilty. Because—”
    She stopped. The words formed in her mind like ice crystallizing.
    Because you already knew what was supposed to happen.
    The phone call. The wrong room. Clay Thorne’s furious voice demanding the girl he was promised.
    And Aris, her fiancé, standing here in the early morning, acting as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.
    “You knew,” Hollis said. Her voice was flat now. Empty. “You knew about the drink. You knew about the plan. You knew they were going to send me to someone else’s bed—and you let it happen.”
    Kyla’s face went pale behind Aris’s shoulder. “That’s ridiculous—”
    “Shut up,” Hollis snapped, her eyes never leaving Aris. “I’m talking to him.”
    Aris’s composure cracked. Just a hairline fracture, barely visible—but she saw it. The way his lips pressed together. The way his hand, the one not holding Kyla’s, curled into a fist at his side.
    “You’re hysterical,” he said, but it came out too fast. “You have no proof of anything.”
    “I have you,” Hollis said, and her voice was ice. “I have the way you just answered me. You didn’t say ‘I didn’t know.’ You said ‘You have no proof.’ That’s not a denial, Aris. That’s an admission.”
    He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
    And in that silence, everything clicked into place.
    Her stepmother’s scheme. Her sister’s eager complicity. And her fiancé—the man who had kissed her goodnight a hundred times, who had promised to love her forever—standing here, waiting for her to fall so he could catch Kyla instead.
    He had not been betrayed by her.
    He had been waiting to betray her.
    Hollis let out a breath. It came out shaky, but she did not break.
    She reached into her pocket and pulled out the check he had thrown at her. She had picked it up without thinking, an instinct to not leave anything of his lying on her family’s floor.
    She unfolded it slowly, looked at the number, and then let it fall from her fingers.
    It drifted down and landed at his feet.
    “That,” Hollis said, her voice as cold as a tombstone, “was for my dead love.”
    “Keep your filthy money,” she spat. “Buy your new fiancée some candy.”
    She threw the confetti of paper into their faces, then turned and ran out of the house without a backward glance.
    Hollis ran blindly through the New York streets. The cold wind whipped at her face, but it couldn’t cool the fire of rage and despair in her heart. She was homeless.
    The next day, exhausted and numb, she made her way back to her dorm at New York University, seeking a moment of peace.
    She was stopped by her academic advisor before she even reached the building entrance. The advisor’s face was etched with pity and discomfort.
    She was told that her stepmother, Beverley, had come to the university that morning. Acting as Hollis’s “guardian,” she had filed the paperwork for a mandatory withdrawal.
    The news hit Hollis like a physical blow. NYU was her escape. The one thing she had earned all by herself.
    She ran to the registrar’s office, but the answer was the same. The withdrawal was processed. It could not be reversed without her guardian’s consent.
    Hollis called Beverley. Her stepmother’s voice was smug and victorious on the other end of the line.
    “I gave you a chance, Hollis. Now, you only have one path left.”
    The threat was clear.
    “Eight o’clock tonight. The St. Regis, suite 803. Mr. Clay Thorne is waiting for you. If you’re not there, photos of you with your ‘wild man’ will be on the front page of every gossip magazine tomorrow morning.”
    Beverley hung up.
    Hollis listened to the dead tone, feeling as if the entire world had gone dark.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! by wheat globe

    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! by wheat globe

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    When Natalie’s hearing returned, betrayal was the devastating truth waiting for her.

    She repaid the cheating pair with sharp slaps, then took her sister’s place in an arranged marriage.

    Her groom, Nathan, was rumored to be frail, vicious, and unable to satisfy a woman.

    Their wedding night, however, demolished every warning when he pinned her against the glass and challenged the rumor himself. Three relentless days proved the gossip laughably wrong.

    Later, her groveling ex begged her back. Nathan asked for a knife to deal with the “pest.”

    Everyone saw a monster. Natalie alone knew his madness hid a love that burned only for her.

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    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! Chapter 1 I’ve Changed My Mind

    “You seriously brought your adopted sister home, Ryan? What do you think Natalie will do when she finds out?”

    For the first time in a year, Natalie Phillips could hear clearly again. She stood outside the club’s private room when those words reached her. The smile disappeared from her face, and she suddenly couldn’t move.

    Caylee Edwards had returned?

    “If none of you says anything, Natalie won’t know,” Ryan Edwards replied without concern. “Caylee has been away for more than a year, and she wanted to come home.”

    “She didn’t miss home. She missed you.”

    Knowing laughter broke out among the people inside.

    “Stop talking nonsense. Caylee is my sister.”

    “Your sister? Come on, Ryan. I watched her kiss you earlier, and there was nothing sisterly about it. She acted more like your girlfriend!”

    Ryan frowned. “She surprised me, and it was over before I had a chance to stop her. Caylee is still young, so she doesn’t always understand where the boundaries are. I’m not going to turn one foolish kiss into a serious issue.”

    Then Ryan seemed to remember something, and a warning entered his voice. “Nobody mentions this again. Natalie will arrive soon, so be careful what you say around her.”

    Someone cleared his throat before asking in a sober tone, “You’re honestly going to ignore what happened, Ryan? Caylee paid someone to run Natalie over. Natalie nearly lost her life, and she still hasn’t regained her hearing.”

    “Caylee was only nineteen at the time,” Ryan responded coldly. “She acted without thinking and made one honest mistake. She was overseas for an entire year, and she has already suffered the consequences. She won’t do it again, so why are we still talking about it?”

    One honest mistake?

    Disbelief swept through Natalie as she listened from the hallway.

    Nothing about his excuse made sense to her.

    One year ago, Caylee’s obsession with Ryan had taken a violent turn. His rejection had pushed her over the edge, and she hired someone to strike her with a car. That crash had taken her hearing from her.

    Back then, Ryan had been furious beyond reason. His punishment left Caylee so badly injured that she nearly died. Eventually, his parents intervened and arranged for her to be sent overseas.

    Throughout the following year, Ryan spent an enormous amount of money bringing specialists from every corner of the world to treat her hearing loss. He even stepped away from his career so he could remain with her throughout the entire recovery.

    Months of treatment brought her unbearable pain and exhaustion. Whenever she felt too overwhelmed to continue, Ryan would become teary-eyed. He always pulled her into his arms and whispered that he wanted Caylee dead for destroying her life.

    For a long time, she had carried nothing but bitterness over what happened. Still, she had seen Ryan travel anywhere necessary to find the right doctors, and he had never left her side through all those difficult days and nights.

    Somewhere in her heart, she had begun to believe that despite everything she had suffered, she had at least found a man who truly treasured her.

    Her hand moved to the small velvet box inside her pocket before she even realized what she was doing.

    Hidden inside was a custom-made ring for Ryan that she had secretly ordered.

    Their wedding had faced one delay after another because of that pointless tragedy.

    With her hearing restored, she had believed she could finally marry Ryan and begin the life she had waited so long for. Instead, he had welcomed Caylee home and dismissed everything she had done as though forgiveness should come easily.

    What a cruel joke.

    While resentment settled in her chest, a sudden vibration came from the phone inside her pocket.

    Several minutes passed before Natalie regained enough composure to check the screen. Kathleen Phillips had sent her another lengthy message. Her mother repeated the same request as before and begged her to return to Klimery. She wanted Natalie to replace her stepsister Aimee Phillips in an arranged marriage.

    Only an hour had passed since Kathleen sent the first message, yet this was already her second attempt to reach Natalie.

    Marriage was supposed to unite the Phillips and the Warren families, but Aimee had somehow escaped rather than honor the arrangement.

    Within Klimery, few families could rival the Warrens in wealth or influence. Nathan Warren was the man chosen to marry Aimee, and rumors painted him as someone merciless enough to ruin anyone who crossed him.

    Once Nathan learned that the Phillips family planned to abandon the engagement and humiliate him, nothing could stop him from destroying them in a single night.

    Out of options, Kathleen finally called Natalie and pleaded, “Natalie, Robert and I don’t know what else to do. Please come back and save our family. I’m begging you.”

    Years earlier, Kathleen had married Robert Phillips with Natalie beside her. Never once during all that time had her mother begged her for help.

    Although her stepfather had treated them reasonably well, she understood how much effort her mother had spent earning a secure position in that household. Nearly all her mother’s attention had gone toward caring for her husband and Aimee over the years.

    For that reason, she had always behaved exactly as Kathleen expected and had done everything possible to avoid causing problems.

    Only twice had she ever gone against her mother, and Ryan had been the reason both times.

    The first time happened years ago when Natalie left Klimery alone to be with him.

    The second happened earlier that day when she refused to take Aimee’s place at the wedding because she still planned to marry him.

    Thinking back on her reply to Kathleen brought a weak and bitter smile to Natalie’s face. She had proudly announced that her hearing had returned and that Ryan loved her more than anyone else. Natalie had also promised they would marry soon and insisted that he would help settle the Phillips family’s crisis.

    Her faith in Ryan had been absolute.

    Pain tightened around Natalie’s heart when she closed her eyes. Her fingers gripped the ring box inside her pocket, while she struggled to keep the ache in her throat from breaking into a sob.

    Reality had finally shown itself. The everlasting devotion she trusted and the love that had become the center of her life were nothing more than lies. One painful discovery had torn the entire illusion apart.

    Looking back, she could no longer tell which tender moments had been genuine. Had Ryan cared for her because he loved her, because guilt drove him, or simply because he wanted others to believe he was devoted?

    After drawing a steady breath, Natalie entered her answer one word at a time. “Mom, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take Aimee’s place and marry Nathan Warren.”

    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! Chapter 2 She Can’t Hear Anything We Say

    Once the message went through, Natalie pushed open the private room door.

    Every conversation ended at the same time, and the laughter vanished with it.

    Dim lights cast a hazy glow across the room. Cigarette smoke, liquor, and heavy perfume had blended into a stale odor that filled the air.

    Several sharply dressed men and women occupied the room. Some sat while the others stood, but every one of them looked toward the entrance.

    Natalie stopped at the edge of the light. Her long gown followed the graceful lines of her slim body, while the soft glow made her skin appear almost radiant.

    Usually, her beautiful eyes shone with warmth and energy. Tonight, however, something dark concealed every emotion behind them.

    Ryan sat in the middle of the sofa with a clear view of the entrance. Smoke rose from the cigarette between his fingers and drifted across the sharp angles of his face.

    Before anyone else could react, Ryan noticed her and briefly panicked. Then he saw that her hearing aids were missing, and the strain left his body. He rose from the sofa and walked toward her while signing, “Baby, why did you take so long? We’ve all been waiting for you.”

    Disgust twisted Natalie’s stomach.

    Before she could answer, someone behind her called out, “Well, this looks like quite the party.”

    Each word carried a playful sweetness that sounded forced enough to make anyone uncomfortable.

    Everyone instinctively turned toward the doorway to see who had interrupted them.

    Caylee waited beneath the warm hallway light in a fitted red slip dress. Its high slit revealed nearly the full length of her thigh. Loose waves of hair covered her shoulders, while perfect makeup and bright red lipstick completed her striking appearance.

    She rested against the doorframe and slowly surveyed everyone in the room. When her attention reached Ryan, a secretive smile appeared on one side of her mouth.

    Something changed in Ryan’s expression. Natalie’s failure to react convinced him that she couldn’t hear anything, and some of his unease faded. After facing Caylee, he spoke quietly. “Why did you come in here? I told you to stay in the room next door.”

    Every trace of tension in his voice reached Natalie clearly.

    Caylee laughed. “I didn’t want to be so far away from you. I’ll just stay near the doorway for a little while. Natalie won’t know I’m here unless she turns around, and she can’t hear what we’re saying. So why are you acting so nervous?”

    Her words helped everyone in the room relax.

    Someone muttered in agreement, “Shit, I completely forgot she can’t hear us. She nearly scared me to death!”

    “Exactly. For one second, I thought everything was about to come crashing down.”

    Soon, everyone stopped caring about what they said around Natalie, and their voices took on a cruel, mocking edge.

    Natalie curled both hands into tight fists beside her body. Her fingernails dug so deeply into her palms that the sharp pain became impossible to ignore.

    Each word cut into her.

    She could hear them.

    Every single word.

    Caylee’s smile became even more pleased as she lifted her voice. “You can’t hear me, can you, Natalie? That terrible crash failed to kill you, but at least it left you deaf. How tragic.”

    “Knock it off,” Ryan snapped in a low, stern voice. He glanced nervously at Natalie and seemed afraid that she might somehow understand what they were saying.

    His anger didn’t bother Caylee in the slightest, and her grin only widened.

    Leaving the doorway, she walked into the room and stopped directly behind Natalie. Affection filled her eyes when she looked at Ryan, and she made sure everyone could hear her. “Weren’t you just worried that Natalie might learn I’d come back, Ryan? You can relax now. She can’t hear anything we say. I could call her a bitch right in front of her, and she still wouldn’t…”

    Before Caylee could finish, Natalie turned around and struck Caylee hard across the face.

    Every sound inside the room disappeared at once.

    Everyone present could only stare at Natalie in disbelief.

    What had just happened? Had Natalie heard Caylee? That was impossible. She had lost her hearing.

    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! Chapter 3 Her Head Is Bleeding!

    Color quickly spread across Caylee’s cheek in the shape of Natalie’s hand.

    Disbelief widened her eyes as she pressed one palm against the burning skin. Several seconds passed before she managed to say, “You… You really had the nerve to slap me!”

    When Caylee tried to strike back, Natalie reacted first and caught her wrist before the blow could land.

    Before Caylee could pull away, Natalie slapped her across the face again.

    Its force snapped Caylee’s head sideways, while her carefully arranged curls tumbled loose and covered part of her face.

    Even after being struck twice, Caylee remained frozen in shock and seemed unable to understand what had happened.

    Inside the private room, nobody dared make a sound.

    Everyone stared at the two women without blinking.

    Ryan recovered before the others, though he didn’t move from his place. Alarm briefly crossed his face.

    Had Natalie’s hearing returned?

    Unease jolted his heart, and his attention shifted toward the liquor cabinet without conscious thought.

    Warm light from the wall sconces reflected across the cabinet’s mirrored doors. Moving shadows passed over the glass.

    Of course. Natalie must have spotted Caylee’s reflection in the mirror.

    Relief allowed Ryan to breathe again. He still sensed that something wasn’t right, but before he could figure it out, Caylee erupted and screamed, “You bitch! I’m going to rip you apart!”

    With her nails pointed toward Natalie’s face, Caylee charged at her.

    Both women grappled for control and clawed at each other’s hands.

    Natalie’s quicker reflexes gave her the advantage. She seized Caylee by the hair and pulled so hard that Caylee screamed in pain.

    “That’s enough!” Ryan roared as he rushed between them. He used one arm to force them apart before grabbing Natalie’s wrist. “Stop fighting. Both of you.”

    Caylee immediately took advantage of the opening and lifted her hand once more.

    Panic tightened Natalie’s stomach, and she twisted her arm in an attempt to escape Ryan’s grasp.

    Ryan’s fingers held her like a steel clamp. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t free herself.

    Natalie opened her mouth and tried to order him to release her, but only a faint and raspy noise left her throat.

    Yesterday’s high fever had somehow restored her hearing, yet it had made her voice disappear.

    Desperation drove her to keep trying, yet she couldn’t force out even one clear word.

    Her wordless struggle finally made Ryan uncertain, and his grip weakened for the briefest moment.

    Caylee’s hand was already flying toward Natalie during that instant of hesitation. Natalie instinctively pulled her head aside. The slap failed to land, but Caylee’s pointed nails still scraped across her cheek and left behind a painful sting.

    Blood appeared along the fresh scratches on Natalie’s face, and Ryan froze when he saw it. Then rage took over. He released Natalie’s wrist and shoved Caylee backward. “Caylee, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

    The sudden push sent Caylee stumbling several steps until her shoulder struck the liquor cabinet behind her.

    A loud crash rang out.

    Violence from the impact made the cabinet sway. Several expensive imported bottles tipped over and slid from the shelves. Liquor sprayed everywhere before the bottles shattered against the floor.

    Through the confusion and shouting, Ryan rushed toward Caylee and shielded her with his body.

    Several bottles crashed against Ryan’s back with heavy thuds while splinters of glass scattered across the room.

    Nearby, Natalie barely managed to shield her head and face with both arms before a bottle crashed against her shoulder. Fierce pain tore through her immediately. More bottles followed before she could move away.

    Only a weak groan escaped her throat.

    One of the blows knocked Natalie onto the floor. Freezing liquor soaked her clothes as small pieces of glass rained over her. Blood trickled from the wound near her temple and blended with the alcohol around her.

    Natalie curled into herself while numbness spread through one side of her body. Heavy pain throbbed through her shoulder, back, and the bottom of her skull. Her ears buzzed so loudly that the frightened screams around her became difficult to separate.

    “Ryan, help me!” Caylee cried as tears streamed down her cheeks. “My foot hurts so badly…”

    Despite the pain in his back, Ryan quickly pushed himself off her. “Where are you hurt? Show me what happened!”

    “It’s my ankle… It really hurts…” Caylee whimpered. Tears filled her eyes as she pointed to the injury.

    Several glass fragments had sliced her ankle and left behind a few narrow lines of blood. The wounds appeared minor, yet Caylee wept as though her life were in danger.

    Not far away, Natalie remained sprawled on the floor while darkness repeatedly swept across her vision.

    With trembling fingers, she struggled to raise her left arm toward Ryan. Her lips silently shaped his name, but her voice couldn’t produce a sound.

    By then, Ryan had already lifted Caylee into his arms and turned toward the exit.

    “Ryan, Natalie looks hurt too,” someone called out while pointing toward the floor.

    For a moment, Ryan stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

    Still cradled against him, Caylee sniffed and pressed her face against his neck. “Ryan, it hurts so much. What if one of my bones is broken?”

    Ryan’s brow tightened before he turned away from Natalie. “One of you stay with her. If she isn’t badly injured, take her home. Caylee needs to get to the hospital now because she has a low tolerance for pain.”

    The man who had warned him hesitated and seemed ready to object, but he eventually answered, “Fine.”

    Without any hesitation, Ryan hurried out of the private room with Caylee in his arms.

    Behind him, his friends traded uneasy looks. Several wanted to approach Natalie, but none seemed willing to take the first step.

    “Natalie, can you hear me? Are you able to stand?”

    “Man, she’s deaf. Calling out to her won’t help. Does anyone here know sign language?”

    “Shit, why would I know how to do that?”

    At that point, Natalie’s surroundings had begun to blur, and every voice sounded distant and unclear.

    Moving lips surrounded her, but she could no longer understand what anyone was saying.

    Blood continued flowing from her forehead and spilled into her eyes until a dark red haze covered everything.

    Even the simple act of shaking her head required more strength than she had left.

    She could feel nothing except cold.

    The chill seemed to rise from somewhere deep within her body.

    Soon, the room spun around her, and every person nearby faded into a shapeless shadow.

    Then someone cried out, “God, her head is bleeding! There’s blood everywhere!”

    Her hearing kept disappearing before briefly returning again.

    Darkness closed around Natalie and grew heavier with each passing second. Before long, she could barely keep her eyelids open.

    “Call an ambulance right now!”

    “Damn it, why won’t Ryan answer his phone?”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess by Star Dust

    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess by Star Dust

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    Leyla sacrificed her face to save Kristopher, only to endure three years of humiliation in a loveless marriage.

    Her last hope died when she learned the “vitamins” he gave her were contraceptives-and watched him lavish money on his returning first love.

    She demanded a divorce and walked away with nothing. Then her true identity stunned everyone: she was the cherished daughter of a royal-level dynasty, backed by three powerful brothers.

    On the very first day of her divorce, a limo picked her up. her second brother had worked his magic-her scarred face was restored to its former radiance. And at the first banquet she attended, she made such a stunning entrance that jaws dropped across the room.

    As for her ex-husband-the one who’d never given her a second glance-he was completely blindsided. For the first time in his life, Kristopher felt the sharp bite of regret. Now, he was desperate to win her back.

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    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess Chapter 1 Betrayal

    At the hospital, Leyla Thorpe tightly clutched her test results as she handed them to the doctor. “Am I pregnant?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

    The doctor scanned the report, his brows knitting together. “Of course you’re not. You’ve been taking birth control regularly. There is no way you could get pregnant.”

    A wave of cold swept through Leyla.

    Birth control?

    Every month after they slept together, her husband, Kristopher Gordon, would give her what he claimed was a multivitamin pill.

    He would always say, “You’re too fragile. You need to take better care of your health.”

    For three years, she had been touched by his thoughtfulness.

    Only now did she realize the truth—he had been giving her contraceptive pills.

    An invisible hand seemed to squeeze the air from Leyla’s lungs, making it hard for her to breathe. Trembling, she pulled out her phone and called Kristopher.

    The call went unanswered.

    Just then, a breaking news notification popped up on her screen.

    The bold headline read, “The Gordon Group CEO Kristopher Gordon Spends 100 Million on ‘Angel’s Heart,’ Winning It at an Auction for His Girlfriend!”

    Leyla stared blankly at the words, her pupils contracting.

    Beneath the headline was a photo taken at the auction.

    Dressed in a tailored black suit, Kristopher sat in the front row. His sharp features and composed expression gave him an air of effortless elegance.

    He was looking at the woman seated beside him, his attention fixed entirely on her.

    She wore a pale yellow evening gown, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, while a faint smile softened her delicate profile.

    It was Phoebe Brooks—Kristopher’s friend since childhood.

    She had gone overseas to study three years ago and, according to rumors, had only recently returned.

    Leyla blinked against the burning sensation in her eyes, yet there were no tears in them.

    A hollow laugh escaped her lips.

    She found the situation ridiculous.

    Phoebe was the woman Kristopher truly cherished, while she was nothing more than the wife he had hidden away from the world.

    Three years ago, when Kristopher had been in danger, she hadn’t hesitated to shield him.

    She had taken a knife meant for him, getting her face ruined in the process.

    Even as the blade sliced through her skin, she never cried out in pain.

    Afterward, he had promised to marry her and take care of her for the rest of her life.

    True to his word, they had become husband and wife.

    Yet throughout their marriage, he remained consumed by the heartbreak of Phoebe leaving the country.

    For three long years, she devoted herself to being the perfect wife, believing that one day, he would finally notice her devotion, understand her suffering, and perhaps even come to love her.

    She had foolishly believed that having a child might finally bring them closer.

    Instead, he had quietly made sure she would never have that opportunity.

    Now, watching him openly shower another woman with affection, she finally accepted the truth. His heart had always belonged to someone else.

    There had never been a place for her in it.

    The realization tore through Layla bit by bit, each moment more agonizing than the last.

    She made up her mind. She was going to divorce him.

    ***

    Leyla returned to Prime Estate, her home with Kristopher.

    The moment she walked through the front door, the housekeeper, Helen Miller, approached her with a frosty expression. “Mrs. Gordon, you’re becoming quite impossible. You’ve stayed out for so long.”

    Though she was only the housekeeper, she had taken care of Kristopher since he was young and had always considered herself above the rest of the household staff.

    Leyla knew exactly why Helen dared to speak to her so disrespectfully; Kristopher allowed it.

    In the past, desperate to win Kristopher’s affection, she had gone out of her way to please everyone around him.

    But not anymore.

    Leyla’s palm struck Helen’s face with a sharp slap, her voice as cold as ice. “You’re nothing more than a servant. What gives you the right to speak to me that way?”

    Helen covered her burning cheek, staring at Leyla in stunned disbelief. “H-how dare you hit me? I practically raised Mr. Gordon, you know! You should show me some respect!”

    “I am his wife,” Leyla shot back, every word crisp and unwavering. “Whatever your history with him may be, you’re still a paid employee of this household.”

    Helen shook with fury but didn’t dare utter another word.

    Without sparing her another glance, Leyla turned and headed upstairs.

    Behind her, Helen muttered venomously, “What’s there to be so proud of? Now that Miss Brooks is back, it won’t be long before she becomes Mr. Gordon’s wife.”

    Leyla paused for the briefest moment when she heard that.

    Even the housekeeper knew who truly held Kristopher’s heart.

    It seemed everyone knew except her.

    For the past three years, she had been the only fool deceiving herself.

    But none of that mattered anymore.

    She was the one choosing to leave Kristopher now.

    Back in her bedroom, Leyla opened the wardrobe and pulled out a small suitcase she had prepared long ago.

    After three years of marriage, everything she owned fit inside this single suitcase.

    Her gaze swept across the room.

    She had personally decorated every inch of it, yet not a single thing truly belonged to her.

    Pressing her lips into a thin line, she scrolled to a phone number she hadn’t called in years. She tapped the call button and lifted the phone to her ear.

    “I want to go home now.”

    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess Chapter 2 Let’s Get A Divorce

    A faint sound from the entryway shattered the stillness of the night.

    Leyla had just stepped out of the bathroom, droplets of water clinging to her damp hair. Looking toward the door, she said softly, “You’re back.”

    Kristopher stood in the doorway with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.

    Instinctively, Leyla gripped the sleeve of her nightgown. “I need to talk to you about something—”

    Before she could finish, Kristopher strode over and seized her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

    The scar that ran from her left eyebrow to her cheek caught the light, its jagged edges standing in stark contrast to the delicate beauty she had once possessed.

    “You want to talk?” Kristopher’s voice was quiet, but every word carried a chilling edge. “Leyla, since when did you learn to play these little games with me?”

    “I wasn’t…” Leyla tried to explain.

    She never got the chance to finish. Kristopher caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. She lost her balance and slammed into his chest.

    With his free hand, Kristopher grabbed the collar of her nightgown and tore it open. Buttons flew in every direction, bouncing across the polished floor.

    Startled, Leyla shoved against him with all her strength. “What are you doing? Stop!”

    “Enough with the performance.” Kristopher’s lips curled in disdain as he looked at her as if she were beneath him.

    “Why else would you insist on me coming home tonight? Isn’t this exactly what you’ve been after? One night with me every month—that’s what you’ve asked for, isn’t it?”

    Leyla froze.

    So, that was what the matter meant to him. Just another monthly obligation.

    Three years of swallowing her pride and sacrificing everything, yet she had never earned even the smallest trace of his affection.

    If this was all their marriage amounted to, there was no reason to keep holding on.

    “Kristopher,” Leyla said quietly, her eyes meeting his, “let’s get a divorce.”

    Kristopher’s movements stilled for a second. A faint crease formed between his brows. “What did you just say?”

    Without wavering, Leyla repeated, “Let’s get a divorce.”

    Kristopher tugged impatiently at his tie, annoyance flashing across his face. “A divorce?” His voice was emotionless, almost mocking. “Leyla, what ridiculous stunt are you pulling this time?”

    “I’m being serious.” Leyla’s tone remained calm and unwavering. “The woman you truly love is back. I’m giving you your freedom. You can be together with her.”

    Kristopher’s expression darkened instantly, his eyes turning dangerously cold. “Stop pretending. You don’t even have the courage to walk out of this house. If we divorce, where exactly can you go?”

    His words struck with brutal precision.

    To everyone else, she was nothing more than the scarred woman he kept hidden from the public—someone locked inside a gilded cage.

    She had no career, no social life, no financial independence.

    She didn’t deserve to be with him at all.

    Leyla lowered her gaze before answering evenly, “That’s my concern, not yours.”

    Kristopher narrowed his eyes.

    For three years, she had always been gentle and obedient.

    This composed, distant version of her was completely unfamiliar to him.

    “Leyla,” Kristopher warned, his tone growing colder, “this little game of playing hard to get has gone on long enough.”

    Leyla didn’t reply.

    Just then, the sharp ring of a phone cut through the suffocating silence.

    Kristopher glanced at his phone screen. The frost in his eyes melted away in an instant. He answered the call immediately. “Phoebe? What happened?”

    The concern in his voice was unmistakable. As he listened, his expression softened even further. “Don’t be scared,” he said gently. “I’ll be there right away.”

    The call then ended. Without sparing Leyla so much as another glance, Kristopher turned and walked out of the room.

    He was convinced Leyla would never leave him.

    After all, for the past three years, she never had.

    The bedroom door slammed shut behind him, leaving Leyla alone in the space.

    She sat motionless on the edge of the bed, staring into the emptiness for what felt like an eternity.

    Then, her phone suddenly vibrated.

    A message from an unknown number lit up her screen.

    “He came to see me again.”

    Attached was a candid photo of Kristopher.

    A gentle smile curved his lips, and his eyes brimmed with warmth—a tenderness Leyla had never once seen directed at her.

    Before Leyla could process it, another message popped up.

    “I told him there might be reporters outside, and he rushed over without a second thought. He was so worried about me. Oh, and he bought me ‘Angel’s Heart’ at today’s auction. I even suggested he pick out something for you, but he said there was no need. I suppose he is right. Only beautiful women should wear jewelry. With a face like yours, it would only go to waste. Leyla, he only married you because he had no choice. I’ve always been the one he truly loves.”

    Leyla stared at the message, and a cold laugh escaped her lips.

    Every sentence was another knife twisting in her wounds. It finally dawned on her that the man who had treated her with indifference for three long years could be so gentle and attentive to another woman.

    Without the slightest hesitation, Leyla typed a reply.

    “You want Kristopher? A used man like him suits you perfectly. The two of you deserve each other—two shameless people cut from the same cloth. Do everyone a favor and stay together forever, so neither of you gets the chance to ruin anyone else’s life.”

    She sent it, then immediately blocked the number.

    “Kristopher…” she murmured with a bitter smile. “From now on, we are even.”

    The next day.

    Leyla placed the signed divorce agreement on the bedside table.

    She wasn’t taking anything from Kristopher. All she wanted was a clean end to their marriage.

    With nothing but a small suitcase in hand, she walked out of Prime Estate.

    Three years had passed, yet she had never managed to earn Kristopher’s love.

    It was time to stop trying.

    The moment she stepped through the estate’s front gate, a limited-edition extended Rolls-Royce glided to a stop before her.

    The rear door swung open, and a tall figure stepped out.

    The instant Leyla saw her eldest brother, Damien Holden, tears rushed uncontrollably into her eyes. “Damien…” Her voice trembled. “I’ve signed the divorce papers.”

    For three years, she had buried every grievance, every humiliation, forcing herself to endure a loveless marriage. But the moment she saw her brother, all her emotions came crashing down.

    “Leyla, congratulations on getting your freedom.” Damien wrapped her in a warm embrace, his voice filled with concern. “It’s time to be yourself again.”

    He gently stroked her hair before smiling. “Welcome home.”

    In truth, Leyla was the youngest daughter of the prestigious Holden family, one of Wrafham’s most wealthy and influential households. Since childhood, she had carried her mother’s surname.

    Now that she had left the divorce papers for Kristopher, she was finally returning home.

    Before leaving, she had already hacked into the Gordon family’s surveillance system and erased every trace of her existence from their records.

    From this day forward, the so-called “Mrs. Gordon” no longer existed. Only Leyla Thorpe, the cherished daughter of the Holden couple, remained.

    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess Chapter 3 Returning Home At Last

    Kristopher stayed away the entire night.

    By the time he finally returned to Prime Estate, it was already noon the following day.

    The moment he entered the bedroom, his gaze settled on the divorce agreement left atop the nightstand.

    One clause stated, “The wife voluntarily relinquishes all claims to the couple’s joint assets and will leave the marriage without receiving anything.”

    Kristopher’s fingers curled around the pages until his knuckles whitened.

    Pulling out his phone, he called Leyla.

    Her phone had been switched off.

    He tried once more.

    The result was the same.

    “Helen!” Kristopher barked, his voice sharp with fury.

    Helen came hurrying over from the kitchen. “Mr. Gordon, you’re home.”

    “Where’s Leyla?” Kristopher asked.

    Helen faltered beneath his stare. “She… she left first thing this morning with a suitcase. A luxury car worth tens of millions picked her up… The man inside the car was incredibly handsome. He looked very rich, too.”

    A layer of frost seemed to settle over Kristopher’s expression when he heard that.

    He strode back into the bedroom and called his assistant, Derek Carter. “Track Leyla down. I want to know her whereabouts before the end of the day.”

    After ending the call, he stopped before the window as a pulse hammered at his temple.

    So, Leyla had truly dared to leave him.

    He had assumed her demand the previous night was nothing more than a fit of temper.

    For the past three years, she had relied on him for every part of her life.

    How long could she possibly survive in the city without him?

    It would only be a matter of days before she came back in defeat.

    Drawing in a sharp breath, Kristopher crushed the divorce agreement in his fist and tossed the wad of paper into the trash can.

    There was no chance he would sign it.

    It wasn’t that he was unwilling to lose her; it was just that no one had ever dared walk out on him like that.

    Leyla had demanded a divorce the previous night, then left in a luxury car that morning. Clearly, she had planned everything in advance.

    She had never loved him. Otherwise, how could she have left so resolutely with another man?

    Kristopher let out a humorless chuckle. His jaw clenched as he muttered, “Leyla, you’ve really got some nerve!”

    ***

    A Rolls-Royce eased onto the grounds of Holden Manor.

    Looking out the car window, Leyla took in scenery that felt both familiar and strange. For reasons she couldn’t explain, her pulse began to race.

    After three long years, she had finally returned.

    Her parents, Gregg Holden and Jayde Thorpe, were already waiting for her at the entrance.

    The car door swung open.

    “Leyla!” Jayde ran forward and gathered her daughter into her arms. Tears spilled down her face as she said, “You’re finally home. We’ve waited so long for you to come back.”

    Leyla rubbed her mother’s back in gentle strokes. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry I put you through so much worry.”

    Even Gregg, a formidable titan of industry, felt his vision blur. His voice came out rough with emotion. “Having you home safe is all that matters.”

    Jayde finally loosened her embrace and brushed the tears from her cheeks, only to go rigid when her gaze landed on the scar marring Leyla’s face.

    “Leyla, your face…” A flash of concern crossed her features.

    She had spent all those years believing her daughter was happy.

    Leyla had rarely gone outside, and every phone call with her parents carried the same assurances. She spoke only of the good and concealed every hardship.

    Yet this was what had truly become of her?

    Leyla had gotten her face ruined to save Kristopher, hidden her privileged identity, and taken care of him for three years. But in return, he had held another woman at an auction and spent recklessly just to please her, completely ignoring Leyla’s feelings.

    Damien moved closer. “Mom, don’t worry. Collin is one of the best reconstructive surgeons in the world. He’ll be able to erase Leyla’s scar.”

    A spark of hope brightened Leyla’s gaze as she nodded. “Yeah.”

    Collin Holden, her second brother, was an exceptional surgeon.

    Her third brother, Felix Holden, had built a celebrated career as a jewelry designer.

    “Mom, Dad, I’m all right. It’s all in the past.” Leyla’s voice softened as she tried to reassure them. “From now on, I’ll stay right here with you, always.”

    Only now did she realize that being with Kristopher had been a huge mistake. Loving him had brought her a disaster.

    Gregg sighed heavily. Thinking of his daughter’s past choices left him torn between anger and heartache.

    “Take a few days to rest,” he told Leyla. “The Pearl Charity Gala is coming up next week. You’ll attend with Damien.”

    Gregg knew his family had made one critical mistake in the past.

    They had kept such a low profile that ignorant fools believed they could mistreat his daughter without facing any consequences.

    Gregg’s words stirred complicated feelings within Leyla.

    The Pearl Charity Gala ranked among the most exclusive gatherings in Wrafham.

    Despite being Kristopher’s wife for three years, she had never attended the event. She had not been considered worthy of an invitation.

    Gregg continued, “Since you’ve chosen to reclaim your true identity, it’s time to let everyone know that you are my daughter.”

    Leyla was silent for a moment before giving a firm nod.

    Three years ago, she had defied her parents and concealed her identity to marry Kristopher. Her decision had enraged them so deeply that they had nearly cut ties with her.

    Now, she owed it to them to make amends.

    “Okay,” she replied.

    “Now that’s my daughter,” Gregg said with approval.

    He then extended a sleek black card edged in gold toward her. “The card has no spending limit. The Holden family has more than enough money, so you can buy anything that catches your eye.”

    Leyla studied the black card, and a faint smile touched her lips.

    Only minutes earlier, she had been completely penniless. Did this mean she had suddenly become wealthy?

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