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  • Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle novel by Sutton Moul

    Married To My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle novel by Sutton Moul

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    I was supposed to marry my fiancé, Kenan, the golden boy of the Sinclair family, tomorrow.

    Instead, I woke up drugged in a hotel bed, wearing a man’s shirt, with my fiancé’s disabled, supposedly ruined uncle, Beckett Sinclair, sitting in a wheelchair across from me.

    Before I could even process the horror, my future mother-in-law busted the door open with a pack of reporters.

    She pointed her finger at me, screaming to the cameras that I was a slut who cheated on her son with his crippled uncle.

    My fiancé texted me immediately.

    “You make me sick. We’re done.”

    Even my abusive adoptive family joined the firing squad, demanding I go crawl back and apologize to the man who just threw me away like trash.

    I was completely set up.

    My mother-in-law orchestrated this whole nightmare just to ruin me and replace me with a wealthy, pregnant heiress.

    I was stripped of my dignity, my future, and my reputation in the blink of an eye.

    But just as I was about to be swallowed by the scandal, the disabled uncle everyone mocked did the unthinkable.

    He took the blame for everything in front of the furious family patriarch.

    Then, he looked at me with calm, calculating eyes and handed me a lifeline.

    “Marry me. It’s your only way out.”

    I looked at the greedy faces of my family and the smug smile of my ex-fiancé’s mother.

    I took his hand, tore up my past, and became the new Mrs. Sinclair.

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    Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle Chapter 1

    Elianna POV:
    The room was spinning before I even finished the champagne.
    It wasn’t a gentle sway. It was a violent, lurching tilt that made the crystal chandeliers of the estate blur into streaks of aggressive light. I gripped the edge of the high table, my knuckles turning white, trying to anchor myself to the floor.
    “You look pale, dear.”
    Kena Whitehead’s voice was smooth, like velvet wrapped around a jagged rock. My future mother-in-law stood too close, her hand resting on my shoulder with a weight that felt less like comfort and more like a restraint.
    “I… I can’t find Kenan,” I managed to say. My tongue felt thick, heavy in my mouth. “He said he’d be right back.”
    “Kenan is busy with the team sponsors, Elianna. You know how important this contract is.” Kena smiled, but her eyes remained cold, calculating. She signaled a passing waiter with a sharp flick of her wrist. “Take Ms. Hayes to the guest suite. She needs to lie down. The champagne was evidently too strong for her.”
    “No, I just need fresh air—” I tried to pull away, but my legs betrayed me. They felt like they were filled with lead.
    The waiter, a man with a face as blank as a slate, took my arm. His grip was firm. “This way, ma’am.”
    He didn’t lead me toward the main staircase where the other guests were mingling. He steered me away from the warmth, down a corridor that grew quieter and colder with every step. The plush carpet swallowed the sound of our footsteps. The air changed, smelling less like expensive perfume and more like old cedar and rain.
    We were in the West Wing. The part of the estate Kenan always told me to avoid.
    “Wait,” I slurred, dragging my feet. “This isn’t…”
    The waiter didn’t answer. He stopped in front of a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. He opened it, the hinges groaning in protest, and practically shoved me inside.
    I stumbled, my knees hitting the thick Persian rug with a thud.
    “Kenan?” I called out into the darkness.
    The click of the lock turning behind me was the loudest sound I had ever heard.
    Panic flared in my chest, hot and sharp, cutting through the haze of the drug. I scrambled to my feet, swaying, and turned back to the door. I rattled the handle. Locked.
    “Help!” I screamed, but my voice was weak, absorbed by the heavy tapestries on the walls.
    A flash of lightning tore through the sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the room in a stark, blue-white burst.
    That’s when I saw him.
    He was sitting in the corner, a silhouette carved from the shadows. He wasn’t Kenan. This man was broader, darker. He was seated in a wheelchair, his hands resting motionless on the armrests.
    Beckett Sinclair.
    The fallen god of the ice. The legendary NHL captain. The man the family whispered about with a mixture of pity and disdain.Also Kenan’s uncle.
    He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just watched me with eyes that glinted in the dark.
    The drug surged again, a wave of heat that started in my stomach and clawed its way up my throat. It wasn’t just heat; it was a disorienting vertigo that made the world tilt on its axis. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I just needed safety. I needed Kenan. My confused brain superimposed Kenan’s face onto the man in the shadows.
    I stumbled toward him.
    “Kenan,” I whimpered, tears blurring my vision. “Please. It hurts.”
    I fell at his feet, my hands grasping his knees. The fabric of his trousers was cool against my burning palms. I could feel the rigid metal of his leg braces beneath the cloth, hard, cold, and unyielding against my touch.
    Beckett didn’t flinch. He didn’t kick me away, but he didn’t help me either. He sat there like a statue, a ruined king on a broken throne.
    “You’re in the wrong room, Elianna,” his voice was a low rumble, vibrating through the darkness. It wasn’t the voice of a weak man. It was the growl of something dangerous that had been chained up for too long.
    “Help me,” I begged, the heat becoming unbearable. I tugged at the neckline of my dress, desperate for air. “So dizzy… please…”
    I heard a sharp intake of breath from him.
    “Silas,” Beckett said into the empty air, his voice dropping an octave.
    A small earpiece I hadn’t noticed blinked with a faint blue light. “Lock down the wing. No one enters until I say so. Kena made her move.”
    I didn’t understand what he was saying. My head fell onto his lap. The scent of him—sandalwood, tobacco, and something uniquely masculine—filled my senses, drowning out the cedar smell of the room.
    I couldn’t make out the face of the man above me; I could only vaguely discern his features.
    His facial structure was sharply defined—handsome in a refined yet rugged, masculine way.
    A high, straight bridge of the nose…
    Large hands, with thick, prominent knuckles…
    “Relax a little…”
    “Baby, you’re so tense…”
    The man sighed in a low voice, his large hand firmly gripping mine and pressing it against the cold tiles.
    “…I can’t be gentle at all.”
    His sudden assertiveness made my body tremble; I nearly collapsed to the floor.
    I couldn’t handle it anymore; tears welled up in my eyes as I whimpered,
    “Wh… when will it end?”
    Beckett’s gaze darkened; his large hand, with its prominent veins, shifted to my waist and suddenly tightened its grip.
    “Mmph…” My mind went blank for a moment.
    The man kissed my earlobe, his low, husky voice resonating against my eardrum.
    “Be a good girl—five more times. You count them out, and then we’re done.”
    I let out a breath of relief and parted my lips, a voice full of grievance and frailty escaping them.
    “One… two… five… I’m done counting. Can… can we stop now?”
    “Heh.” Beckett chuckled softly, his deep, dark eyes fixed intently on me.
    “Sweetheart, that’s not the kind of counting I meant…”
    I froze, stunned; before I could process his words, a large hand clamped firmly onto my chin.
    His scent washed over me as he sealed my lips with his own, enveloping me completely in an intense, suffocating aura of raw masculinity.
    Steam billowed through the bathroom, thoroughly blurring my vision.
    Yet, my senses felt sharper than ever…
    Hours later, his hand hovered over my head for a second, hesitant. Then, with a sigh that sounded like resignation, his fingers brushed against my hair. His touch was electric, sending a jolt through my numb body.
    “Sleep,” he commanded softly.
    The last thing I remembered was the terrifying realization that the legs felt as cold and lifeless as stone, encased in their metal prison.

    Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle Chapter 2

    Elianna POV:
    The sound of a key grinding in the lock was violent enough to wake the dead.
    I gasped, shooting up from the pillows. My head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, like a slapshot ringing against the boards inside my skull. I was in a bed. A strange bed. The sheets were gray silk, cool and slippery against my skin.
    I looked down. My dress was rumpled, the strap hanging off one shoulder.
    “Stay down,” a voice commanded from the window.
    I snapped my head around. Beckett was there, his wheelchair facing the door. He had his back to me, his posture rigid. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket anymore.
    Before I could ask why, he whipped around, holding the tailored black jacket. He threw it at me with the precise accuracy of a former pro.
    “Cover yourself.”
    I barely had time to clutch the jacket to my chest before the door burst open.
    It wasn’t just Kena. It was a full-blown media circus.
    Flashes of light erupted like gunfire. Pop. Pop. Pop. The blinding white strobes from the sports paparazzi left spots in my vision. I screamed, pulling the jacket over my head, curling into a ball of shame.
    “Oh my God!” Kena’s voice was a theatrical shriek. “Elianna! How could you?”
    She stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth, flanked by three men with cameras and a handful of “concerned” VIP guests who looked more like vultures circling a carcass.
    “Get out!” Beckett roared.
    The sound was so powerful it physically shook the room. The photographers hesitated, lowering their lenses for a split second. Beckett wheeled himself forward, placing his body between the mob and the bed.
    “This is my private sanctuary,” he snarled, his face twisted in a mask of fury. “Get your cameras out of my face before I break them.”
    “Beckett,” Kena stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “We were just looking for Elianna. Kenan was worried sick. And we find her… here? In your bed?”
    “I… I don’t remember,” I sobbed, my voice cracking. “I felt sick. Someone brought me here.”
    “Likely story,” one of the tabloid reporters muttered, snapping another picture over Beckett’s broad shoulder.
    “She was drunk,” Kena declared, turning to the crowd. “Look at her. Disgraceful. Kenanis downstairs playing the heartbroken star captain, and she’s up here throwing herself at his crippled uncle.”
    The word ‘crippled’ hung in the air, heavy and cruel—a sharp, deliberate jab at the man who used to own the ice.
    Beckett’s hands gripped the wheels of his chair so hard I thought the metal might bend. He looked at Kena, then back at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools. For a second, I saw something flicker there—calculation? Pity?
    He turned back to Kena. “She didn’t throw herself at me.”
    The room went silent.
    Beckett looked down at his lap, his shoulders slumping in a performance of resignation that was terrifyingly convincing. “We have been seeing each other, Kena. For months.”
    My jaw dropped. “What? No, that’s not—”
    “Quiet, Elianna,” Beckett snapped, though his eyes warned me to shut up. “She came to me because she couldn’t stand the sight of your son anymore. She chose me. We thought we could keep it secret until after the franchise merger, but… clearly, we were careless.”
    Kena blinked. This wasn’t part of her playbook. She wanted me to be the villain, the gold-digging puck bunny preying on a helpless invalid. But Beckett painting himself as the secret lover? It made Kenanlook like a fool who couldn’t keep his fiancée in check, and it made the scandal a consensual, albeit messy, affair.
    “You… you beast,” Kena spat, recovering quickly. “You’re disgusting. Stealing your nephew’s fiancée?”
    “I am what this family made me,” Beckett said quietly. “Now get out.”
    Team security finally arrived, pushing the reporters back into the hallway. The door slammed shut, leaving us in a ringing silence.
    I stared at Beckett’s back. He was breathing heavily.
    “Why?” I whispered. “Why did you say that?”
    He turned his chair slowly. The vulnerability was gone. His face was a mask of stone again.
    “Because if you were the seductress who drugged herself, Kenan would sue you for breach of contract and destroy your family,” he said coldly. “If we are lovers, it’s just a scandal. A mess they have to clean up to protect the franchise’s stock price. I just bought you a lifeline.”
    “A lifeline?” I laughed hysterically, tears streaming down my face. “My life is over. Kenanwill never believe me.”
    “Kenan is the one who let this happen,” Beckett said. “Get dressed. Harrison is waiting in the study. The execution begins now.”

    Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle Chapter 3

    Elianna POV:
    The walk to the study felt like a funeral procession.
    I pushed Beckett’s wheelchair, my hands trembling on the rubber grips. Silas, his looming shadow of a bodyguard, had been barred from entering the main house by Kena. It was just us.
    Inside the study, the air was thick with the smell of old leather and judgment. Harrison Sinclair III sat behind a desk the size of a small car, polishing a heavy, silver-headed cane with a white cloth.
    Kenan was there.
    My heart leaped. I let go of the wheelchair and took a step toward him. “Kenan! Please, you have to listen to me. I was drugged. I would never—”
    Kenan took a step back. He looked at me as if I were something he had scraped off his skate.
    “Don’t come near me,” he sneered. “You smell like him.”
    The words were a physical blow. I stopped, my breath catching in my throat. “Kenan…”
    “My mother told me everything,” Kenan said, his voice flat. “You’ve been sneaking around with him? Behind my back? You’re even cheaper than I thought.”
    He gestured to Beckett.
    I looked at Kenan—really looked at him—and for the first time, I didn’t see the charming hockey phenom I thought I loved. I saw a coward standing behind Kena’s designer skirt.
    “Enough,” Harrison barked. He stood up, testing the weight of the cane in his hand. “You have brought shame on this franchise, Beckett.”
    Beckett sat with his head bowed. “I know.”
    “You are a waste of space,” Harrison said, walking around the desk. “A broken man with broken morals.”
    He raised the cane.
    I gasped. “No!”
    Thwack.
    The sound of the heavy wood hitting Beckett’s shoulder was sickening—a dull, wet thud. Beckett grunted, his body jerking forward, but his hands stayed white-knuckled on the armrests. He didn’t try to block it.
    Harrison raised the cane for a second strike, his face purple with rage.
    “Harrison, stop!” Kena intervened sharply, stepping between them. “Not in front of her. Think of the PR nightmare and the liability.”
    Harrison lowered the cane slowly, breathing hard. He glared down at Beckett, satisfied with the single, brutal blow that had left him trembling.
    “You are garbage,” Harrison spat.
    Beckett slowly lifted his head. His lip was bleeding where he had bitten it. His eyes were burning with a terrifying intensity.
    “I want to marry her,” Beckett said.
    The silence in the room was absolute. Even Harrison looked stunned.
    “What?” Kenan laughed incredulously. “You want my leftovers?”
    Beckett ignored him. He looked straight at Harrison. “The sports press has the photos. If you cast her out, the headline is Sinclair Golden Boy’s Fiancée Cheats with Disabled Uncle. It makes Kenan look weak going into the playoffs. It makes the front office look chaotic.”
    Beckett paused, wiping blood from his mouth.
    “But if I marry her… the narrative becomes a tragic romance. The star-crossed lovers who couldn’t help themselves. It creates a scandal, yes, but a romantic one. It protects the franchise’s public image and the team’s valuation.”
    Harrison narrowed his eyes. He was a team owner first, a patriarch second. He did the math in his head.
    “He’s right,” Harrison grunted. He looked at Kenan. “This solves the problem of Elianna.”
    “Fine,” Harrison waved his hand dismissively. “Take the trash. Marry her. But you’re cut off from the main accounts. And I am activating the exile clause. You get nothing but your medical stipend. And you don’t step foot in this arena or house again.”
    “Deal,” Beckett said.
    He turned his wheelchair toward me. His face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead from the pain, but his hand was steady as he reached out.
    “Elianna,” he said softly. “Get me out of here.”
    I looked at Kenan, who was already checking his phone, completely bored. Then I looked at the man nursing a bruised shoulder in the chair, the former hockey legend who had just taken a beating to save me from total ruin.
    I took Beckett’s hand. It was warm.
    “Okay,” I whispered.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

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

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel by Kinship

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    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!

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    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

  • 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!

    👉 READ NOW

    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

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    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.

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    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

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

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

    👉 READ NOW

    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.

    👉 READ NOW

    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

  • Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss by Mo Yufei

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss by Mo Yufei
    👉 READ NOW

    I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family’s social standing.

    During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me.

    I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn’t care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst.

    She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side.

    “Men get angry,” she told me coldly. “It’s your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house.”

    I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip.

    My heart went completely dead.

    So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn’t hesitate.

    I walked back into my parents’ house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table.

    “I won’t be apologizing to Preston. I got married today.”

    👉 READ NOW

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 1

    “If you’re going to order the salmon, make sure they don’t overcook it. The last time I was here, it was practically cat food.”
    Caroline Thompson stared at the man sitting across from her. Preston Finch. Financial analyst. Ivy League graduate. The eighteenth blind date her mother had forced her into in the last two years.
    He wasn’t looking at her. He was using his silver fork to trace the menu like he was grading a flawed exam paper.
    “The wine list here is a joke,” Preston continued, snapping the leather bound menu shut. He finally looked at her, his chin tilted in perpetual judgment. “At my club in New York, we have a sommelier. Here? I wouldn’t trust them to open a beer.”
    Caroline’s fingers dug into the fabric of her dress under the table. This was her life now. Sitting across from arrogant men who thought a fat paycheck bought them the right to treat everyone else like peasants.
    “So, Caroline,” Preston leaned back, offering a smirk that was probably meant to be charming but landed closer to constipated. “My mother mentioned you’re a nurse?”
    “Intern nurse,” Caroline corrected automatically. “At Washington United Medical Center.”
    “Right.” The smirk deepened into outright dismissal. “Must be exhausting. All that cleaning up and taking orders. And the pay? Practically minimum wage, right? Honestly, a pretty girl like you should just find a guy who provides. Someone who makes enough so you don’t have to wipe up vomit for a living.”
    A muscle ticked in Caroline’s temple. She opened her mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his financial advice, but her phone buzzed.
    She never took personal calls on a date. But right now, it was the only thing keeping her from baptizing Preston with her ice water.
    She glanced at the screen. Her breath hitched. It wasn’t just the hospital. It was the direct emergency line from the Chief of Staff.
    She answered it right there. “Thompson.”
    “Caroline.” Dr. Alistair Cromwell never used her first name. His voice, usually dripping with academic condescension, was flat. Breathless. “Get back here. Now.”
    “I’m off the clock, Dr. Cromwell. Is something—”
    “I don’t have time to repeat myself.” The line crackled with background shouting. “This is not a drill. We are at Code Atlas. I say again, Code Atlas. Get here in ten minutes or don’t bother coming back at all.”
    Click.
    Caroline sat frozen, the dial tone buzzing against her ear.
    Code Atlas.
    In all her years of training, she had only heard that term whispered in break rooms like a ghost story. It meant catastrophe. Mass casualties. A high-level terror threat. It meant the world was falling apart.
    “I have to go,” Caroline said, already grabbing her coat.
    Preston scoffed, slamming his water glass down. “You’re joking. What kind of emergency could a nurse possibly have? We haven’t even ordered.”
    “It’s a Code Atlas,” she said, not caring if he understood. She pulled a fifty-dollar bill from her wallet and dropped it on his pristine white tablecloth. “This covers my share of nothing. Goodbye, Preston.”
    She didn’t wait for his face to finish flushing red. She turned on her heel and practically sprinted out of the restaurant.
    The Washington air hit her in a heavy, soaking downpour. Adrenaline washed away the lingering disgust of the date. She flagged down a cab dropping someone off at the corner, sliding into the back seat before the passenger was fully on the curb.
    “Washington United Medical Center,” she gasped. “Step on it.”
    By the time the cab screeched to a halt, the rain had slowed to a mist, but the chill in Caroline’s bones only deepened.
    She stepped out and stopped dead.
    The hospital had been turned into a fortress.
    The main entrance wasn’t blocked by ambulances, but by military police. Two armored Humvees idled across the driveway, their headlights cutting through the fog. Men in full combat gear, rifles strapped to their chests, stood behind concrete barricades.
    This wasn’t a mass casualty event. This was a federal lockdown.
    Heart hammering against her ribs, Caroline approached the nearest checkpoint, holding up her ID badge with a trembling hand. “Caroline Thompson. I was paged by Dr. Cromwell.”
    The guard, a soldier with eyes like flint, scanned her badge, checked a clipboard, and stepped aside. “Go straight to the main desk. Do not deviate from the hallway, ma’am.”
    Caroline slipped under the yellow tape. The lobby was unrecognizable. The usual chaotic symphony of the ER was gone, replaced by a suffocating, terrified silence. Doctors and nurses huddled in clusters. Armed soldiers lined the corridors like statues.
    “Thompson!”
    Dr. Cromwell was striding toward her. He looked like he had aged a decade since morning. His white coat was rumpled, a dark coffee stain splashed across his tie.
    “Listen carefully, I don’t have time for questions,” he snapped, his forehead gleaming with sweat. “You are assigned to ICU Room 3. You will monitor the patient’s vitals. You will not speak to him. You will not touch any personal effects in the room. If his heart rate fluctuates by more than ten percent, you hit this button.” He shoved a black pager into her palm. “Do you understand me?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Go.”
    Caroline walked briskly toward the private elevator bank. The air smelled different here—sharper, metallic, like ozone and gunpowder.
    As she turned the corner, the doors of the VIP elevator slid open. A group of people emerged, moving like a single, lethal organism. Men in dark suits. Military brass with medals gleaming.
    But they were just background noise.
    In the center, walking slightly ahead, was a man who looked like he had been carved from granite and violence.
    He was well over six feet, his shoulders straining the seams of his digital camouflage uniform. The rank on his chest—a silver eagle—demanded absolute submission. His face was a landscape of sharp angles and hard lines, his jaw set like a steel trap.
    As the group passed, the man turned his head.
    His eyes—a cold, piercing, impossible gray—swept the corridor. And for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked onto Caroline’s.
    It was like stepping onto a landmine.
    The air was violently sucked from her lungs. A jolt of pure, electric heat shot down her spine, freezing her blood. Those eyes didn’t just look at her; they stripped her down, assessed her threat level, and branded her in the span of a single heartbeat.
    “Colonel Romero,” an aide murmured, handing the man a classified tablet.
    The spell shattered. The man—Colonel Romero—broke eye contact, taking the tablet without missing a stride. He began firing off orders in a low, gravelly voice that vibrated down the hallway.
    Caroline let out a shaky breath, her knees suddenly weak. She hadn’t realized she was holding onto the wall until a hand grabbed her arm.
    “Are you breathing?” her friend Brenna whispered, pulling Caroline into a supply alcove. Brenna’s face was paper-white. “Oh my god, Caroline. Did you see him?”
    Caroline swallowed hard, her throat like sandpaper. “The Colonel?”
    “Jarrod Romero,” Brenna breathed, the name heavy with awe and terror. “Department of Defense. My cousin at the Pentagon says he’s the guy they call when the world is ending.” She clutched a medical chart to her chest. “He looks like he’d shoot you just for breathing his air.”
    Caroline rubbed the back of her neck, trying to dispel the lingering, phantom heat from that brief eye contact. “Where are you headed?”
    “ICU 3. Cromwell’s special assignment.”
    Brenna’s eyes widened, all gossip vanishing instantly. “Oh, God. Caroline, be careful. That patient… this whole thing is black-ops. The FBI tried to get in twenty minutes ago and Romero’s men turned them away at gunpoint.”
    “I just have to watch the monitors,” Caroline said, though her voice lacked conviction.
    She grabbed a supply cart and pushed through the double doors of the ICU wing. They hissed shut behind her, sealing her in a sterile, fluorescent-lit silence.
    Two MPs stood outside Room 3, their faces blank masks. They checked her badge twice before unlocking the door.
    The room was freezing. The steady beep-beep of the heart monitor was the only sound.
    In the bed lay a young man, motionless. His face was a swollen canvas of bruises, thick bandages wrapping his torso. Caroline moved to the bedside, picking up the chart.
    Alston Petersen. Lieutenant. JAG Corps.
    The list of his injuries read like a torture report.
    She set the chart down, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic spike of the heart monitor. Her pulse thrummed in her ears.
    She had told Brenna she just had to watch the monitors. But standing in the freezing room, looking at the broken soldier, Caroline knew the truth.
    She had just walked into the eye of a very deadly storm. And the man with the ice-gray eyes was the one holding the lightning.

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 2

    The next twelve hours were a blur of checking vitals and adjusting IV drips. Caroline didn’t sit down once. Every time Lieutenant Petersen stirred, she was there, checking his pupils, measuring his output. He woke up briefly around 3 AM, his eyes glassy with pain.
    “Water,” he croaked.
    She held the cup with a straw to his lips, letting him take small sips. “Slowly, Lieutenant. You’ve been out for a while.”
    He looked at her, confused, then his gaze drifted to the guards outside the door. “Where is…” His voice trailed off, too weak to finish.
    “You’re safe,” Caroline said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself. “Just rest.”
    He closed his eyes and drifted off again. Caroline sank back into the chair, rubbing her burning eyes. She hadn’t heard anything from the outside world. No news on what Code Atlas meant, no updates on the lockdown. Just the hum of the machines and the muffled sound of boots in the hallway.
    Around 6 AM, the door swung open without a knock.
    Caroline jumped to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat. Jarrod Romero stood in the doorway. He looked exactly as he had the night before-immaculate, unyielding, and completely exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his posture was rigid.
    He stepped inside, followed by two men in suits who looked like they hadn’t slept in a week. Dr. Cromwell scurried in behind them, looking like a nervous chihuahua next to a pack of wolves.
    “Status report,” Romero barked. He wasn’t looking at Caroline. He was looking at the bed.
    “Vitals are stable, Colonel,” Dr. Cromwell said, stepping forward. “No signs of infection. The surgery was a success, though we won’t know about nerve damage for-“
    “I wasn’t asking you, Doctor.” Romero’s voice cut through the room like a blade. He shifted his gaze to Caroline, his eyes pinning her in place. “The nurse. Report.”
    Cromwell’s mouth snapped shut. He took a step back, his face flushing.
    Romero finally turned his full gaze to Caroline. Up close, his eyes were even more unnerving. They were a pale, stormy gray, fringed with dark lashes. They assessed her with a clinical detachment that made her feel like a specimen under a microscope.
    “Now,” he repeated.
    Caroline swallowed, her palms suddenly slick with sweat. She wiped them on her scrubs and forced her voice to stay level. “Lieutenant Petersen’s heart rate has been consistent, hovering around 72 BPM. Blood pressure 120/80. He woke briefly at 0300 hours, oriented but weak. I administered 2mg of morphine via IV at 0315 for pain management. Urine output is within normal limits.”
    Romero listened without blinking. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes stayed locked on her face. Then, his gaze dropped. It moved down her scrubs, past the name tag pinned to her chest, and landed on the chart in her hands.
    Specifically, on the signature line at the bottom.
    Caroline watched his face. There was a minuscule shift. A slight narrowing of his eyes. His jaw, already tight, seemed to clench even harder. He stared at the name “Caroline Thompson” for a beat too long.
    Then, just as quickly, the moment passed. He looked back up at her face, his expression once again a mask of stone.
    “Acceptable,” he said. He turned to Cromwell. “I want the security detail doubled. No one gets within fifty feet of this room without my explicit authorization. Not the hospital administrator, not the Joint Chiefs, not even God himself. Is that clear?”
    “Y-yes, Colonel,” Cromwell stammered. “But the board is already asking questions about the cost-“
    Romero took a step toward Cromwell. It was a subtle movement, but Cromwell flinched like he’d been struck. “I am not concerned with the board, Doctor. I am concerned with keeping this man alive. If you can’t manage that, I will find someone who can.”
    Cromwell paled. “Understood.”
    Romero turned back to the door. As he passed Caroline, he paused. He didn’t look at her, but his voice washed over her, low and cold.
    “Do your job, Nurse. Nothing else.”
    He walked out, his entourage trailing behind him. The door swung shut, and the oppressive weight in the room lifted.
    Caroline let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against the counter to steady them.
    “What an ass,” she muttered under her breath.
    But even as she said it, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had looked at her name. Like it meant something. Like he recognized it.
    The rest of the shift passed without incident. When Brenna came in to relieve her at 7 AM, Caroline practically ran to the locker room. She stripped off her scrubs, tossing them into the hamper, and stepped into the shower. The hot water sluiced over her, washing away the sweat and the antiseptic smell, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of those gray eyes.
    She dressed in the clothes she had worn to the date-the little black dress and the heels. She looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous.
    The cab ride home was suffocating. The morning traffic was a nightmare, and by the time the taxi pulled into the driveway of her parents’ house, her nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She paid the fare, then opened the front door, bracing herself.
    “Where have you been?”
    The voice came from the living room. Caroline closed her eyes for a second, gathering her patience, before walking in.
    Her mother, Mrs. Thompson, was sitting on the edge of the sofa. She was still in her housecoat, her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was a mask of barely contained fury.
    “I was working,” Caroline said, dropping her bag on the entryway table. “There was an emergency at the hospital.”
    “An emergency?” Her mother stood up, her voice rising. “Preston’s mother Brenda called me at six o’clock this morning. Do you know what she said? She said you walked out on Preston in the middle of dinner. You left him sitting there like a fool!”
    Caroline rubbed the back of her neck. “Mom, I had to go. It was a Code-“
    “I don’t care if the building was on fire!” Mrs. Thompson shrieked. “You do not walk out on a man like Preston! He makes three hundred thousand dollars a year, Caroline! He has a condo in Georgetown! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a man like that?”
    “He’s a snob,” Caroline said, her voice hardening. “He thinks nurses are beneath him. He told me I should just quit and find a man to support me.”
    “That’s called being a provider!” her mother shot back. “That’s what men do! Your father provided for me, and I provided him a home. That’s how the world works!”
    Caroline looked at her father, who was sitting in the armchair in the corner, hiding behind his newspaper. He didn’t look up. He never did.
    “I’m not having this argument,” Caroline said, turning toward the stairs. “I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours. I need sleep.”
    “You’re not going anywhere until we resolve this!” her mother snapped, stepping into her path. “Brenda is humiliated. Preston is humiliated. You have ruined our standing in the community!”
    “Your standing?” Caroline let out a bitter laugh. “Is that all you care about? What the neighbors think?”
    “It’s called respect, Caroline! Something you clearly know nothing about!” Mrs. Thompson’s eyes were blazing. “I have already spoken to Brenda. You are going to call Preston, and you are going to apologize to him. Personally.”
    Caroline stared at her mother in disbelief. “Apologize? For what? For having a job that matters?”
    “For being rude! For being ungrateful!” Her mother jabbed a finger toward the phone on the hall table. “You will call him, and you will make this right, or so help me God, I will call him myself and apologize on your behalf. Do you want that? Do you want your mother begging for your forgiveness?”
    The threat hit Caroline like a physical blow. The image of her mother groveling to a man like Preston Finch made her stomach turn. It was the ultimate manipulation, the one card her mother always played when she knew she was losing the argument.
    Caroline’s shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of her, leaving only exhaustion and a hollow ache in her chest.
    “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll call him.”
    She walked past her mother, not meeting her eyes, and trudged up the stairs to her room. She closed the door, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor.
    She buried her face in her hands. She’d just endured the kind of pressure at the hospital that felt like a gun to her head, and now she came home to face this. She was trapped. Work, family, the expectations of everyone around her—they were all chains binding her.

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 3

    The next morning, the drive to the hospital was a blur. Caroline’s mind was numb, stuck on a loop of Preston’s “good girl” and her mother’s triumphant smile. She felt like a puppet, her strings being pulled by everyone around her.
    When she walked into the hospital, her phone buzzed. A text from Brenna.
    More suits today. ICU is locked down tight. Be careful.
    Caroline sighed and headed for the elevator. The ICU wing was even more tense than the day before. The guards at the end of the hall were different-bigger, meaner, carrying heavier weaponry. They checked her badge three times before letting her through.
    She pushed open the door to Room 3 and stopped.
    Dr. Simon Adler, the attending physician, was standing by the bed, whispering urgently with the Colonel Jarrod Romero.
    Romero was in the same combat uniform, but today he looked even more on edge. His hands were clasped behind his back, the knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle was jumping in his cheek.
    They both looked up as she entered.
    Caroline froze in the doorway. The air in the room felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension. Dr. Adler looked nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Romero just looked dangerous.
    “Nurse Thompson,” Dr. Adler said, clearing his throat. “The Colonel was just reviewing the patient’s progress.”
    Caroline nodded, not trusting her voice. She walked over to the monitors, keeping her eyes on the screens. She could feel Jarrod’s gaze on her, heavy and assessing. It was the same feeling she had gotten in the hallway yesterday-like being caught in a searchlight.
    “The medication schedule needs to be adjusted,” Jarrod said, his voice low. “He’s too sedated. I need him lucid by 1800 hours.”
    “Colonel, if we reduce the sedation, his pain levels will be-” Dr. Adler started.
    “I am aware of the risks, Doctor,” Jarrod cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Adjust the dosage. That is an order.”
    Dr. Adler swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
    Jarrod turned and walked toward the door. As he passed Caroline, he stopped. He was close enough that she could smell him again-cedar, gunpowder, and something distinctly male. Her pulse skipped a beat.
    He looked down at her. His gray eyes were unreadable, but there was an intensity in them that made her breath catch.
    “Watch your back, Nurse,” he said quietly. “The walls have ears.”
    Then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and Caroline let out a shaky breath.
    What did that mean? She looked around the room, suddenly paranoid. The walls have ears? Was he warning her about something? Or someone?
    She turned back to the bed. Lieutenant Petersen was watching her, his eyes clearer than they had been the night before.
    “We all trust the Colonel,” Petersen rasped, his voice weak. “He’s… decisive. You just do your job, and he’ll handle the rest. Please, be careful. This world… it isn’t for civilians.”
    Caroline stared at him, confused, but Petersen had already closed his eyes, his breath evening out as sleep reclaimed him.
    She stood there for a long moment, her mind racing. Standing in this room with a wounded soldier and a cryptic warning from a terrifying colonel, she realized she might be drawing closer to something far more dangerous than her stubborn mother and that ill-mannered Preston.

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  • Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini
    👉 READ NOW

    Chloe had just given birth to twins, lying exhausted in a cramped, bustling hospital ward.

    When she called her husband, Julian, he was busy partying with his actress mistress. He coldly hung up on her, having already drafted a brutal divorce agreement that would leave her with a pittance.

    Strangers in the next bed loudly mocked her pitiful state, gossiping about how Julian was dumping her. For years, Chloe had erased her own identity to fit into his elite world, only to be thrown away like garbage. She was completely alone, clutching her helpless babies, bracing herself to sign the cruel papers just to survive.

    She couldn’t understand why her absolute devotion was met with such chilling indifference. Why did she have to suffer this ultimate humiliation while he celebrated with the woman who ruined her life?

    But then, a senior doctor noticed a unique mole on her wrist and ran a secret DNA test. The results were staggering: Chloe was the long-lost daughter of the billionaire Beaumont family. With her fiercely protective parents and three powerful brothers suddenly forming an impenetrable fortress around her, Chloe picked up her phone and texted her arrogant husband.

    “City Hall tomorrow at 10 AM. If you don’t show up, my lawyer will handle everything. And trust me, you won’t like their terms.”

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    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 1

    A sharp, piercing cry sliced through the sterile air of the delivery room, followed immediately by another.
    Chloe Hayes’s vision swam. Sweat pasted strands of hair to her temples. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing down on her bones, but the sound of her babies’ cries was a tether to life. Tears, hot and thick, blurred the already hazy lights above her.
    With a kind expression on her face, the midwife placed the two warm little babies on Chloe’s chest. The weight was surprisingly solid. A tiny, thumping heartbeat pulsed against her own exhausted one. A wave of love, so fierce it felt like a physical blow, crashed over her, stealing what little breath she had left.
    The midwife ’s voice a soothing balm. “You gave birth to a pair of adorable boy and girl twins . Both perfectly healthy.”
    Chloe smiled weakly, trying to look at the two babies surrounded by the midwives.
    Outside the delivery room, a nurse cried out, “Where’s Chloe Hayes’s family? Where are Chloe Hayes’s parents?”
    She called out again and again, but no one responded.
    On the hospital bed, Chloe’s face turned even paler at the sound.
    Had Julian really not come?
    Even though they were divorcing, he was still the children’s biological father. So before entering the delivery room, she called him.
    She lay in the hospital bed, completely exhausted and weak.
    The doctor and nurse quickly took her to the ward.
    However, she wasn’t taken to the private VIP ward that Julian had promised her, but rather an ordinary multi-person room.
    There were many people in the ward. Besides her, there were also pregnant women lying in the other three beds. Each of them was attended to by several family members.
    Some were taking care of their wives, some were leaning over the baby cribs to watch their children, and there were also new dads holding their babies and comforting them. Everyone had a happy smile on their face.
    A sense of icy humiliation swept through Chloe’s entire body.
    She gave birth suddenly, and now there was no one to take care of her. She was unable to care for the baby on her own, and the nurses couldn’t help all the time. So, she decided to call Julian for help.
    A nurse handed Chloe her phone. Her trembling fingers fumbled across the screen until she found Julian Sterling’s name in the contacts. The sharp-looking business photo he used as his profile picture seemed to mock her from the screen.
    She took a deep, shaky breath and pressed the call button.
    The sound that answered wasn’t his voice. It was the cacophony of a party-loud music, the clinking of glasses, a swell of laughter.
    Then, his voice, sharp and impatient. “Chloe? What is it? I’m busy.”
    The coldness in his tone was a familiar ache. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. “Julian, the babies… have been born. “
    A beat of silence on the other end. Just long enough for a sliver of hope to flicker in her chest.
    Then it was extinguished. “Okay. Send the details to my assistant.”
    Before she could form a reply, a woman’s laugh, high and melodious, echoed close to the receiver. It was a laugh she recognized from countless celebrity news segments. Amelia Hayes.
    Julian’s voice returned, layered with a dismissive politeness that was worse than outright anger. “I have to go. We’re celebrating Amelia’s new movie deal.”
    The line went dead.
    The dial tone buzzed in her ear, a relentless, mechanical sound that felt like it was drilling into her skull. Chloe’s hand fell limp, the phone slipping from her grasp onto the starchy white sheets.
    The tears finally came. Not loud, hysterical sobs, but silent, wracking tremors that shook her entire body. She curled onto her side, facing the wall, pressing her face into the thin pillow to muffle the sound. She couldn’t bear the thought of the woman on the other side of the curtain hearing her.
    A boisterous family spilled in, their happy chatter filling the small space.
    “Look at the one in the next bed,” a middle-aged woman said, her voice a stage whisper. “So pitiful. Gave birth and her husband isn’t even here.”
    A younger girl replied, “Isn’t that Chloe Hayes? The one who married into the Sterling family.”
    “That’s the one!” the woman confirmed, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The papers are saying Julian is going to divorce her for that actress, Amelia Hayes.”
    “I heard Amelia’s pregnant too,” the girl added. “This is going to be some drama.”
    Each word was a fresh cut. Pity and malice, a cruel cocktail served by strangers.
    In fact, not many people knew about their marriage, as Julian always refused to bring her into his life.
    Occasionally, a few people might have seen her through certain channels and learned who she was. But so what? She smiled bitterly. Even if she became an actress like Amelia and was exposed to everyone, it was also possible that no one would recognize her as Julian’s wife.
    Chloe clamped her hands over her ears, but she couldn’t block them out. She squeezed her eyes shut, the darkness a welcome relief.
    A gentle squeak of wheels broke through her misery. A nurse was pushing a clear, plastic bassinet towards her bed, then another. The two sleeping infants were placed beside her.
    Chloe’s sobs caught in her throat. She pushed herself up, her sore muscles protesting, and gazed at her children.
    Their faces were so new, so perfect. The boy had her brow, a serious little frown even in sleep. The girl had a delicate nose that was an exact replica of Julian’s.
    She reached out a hesitant finger, her nail bitten and short, and gently stroked her daughter’s cheek. The skin was impossibly soft.
    In that moment, something shifted inside her. A foundation of steel began to form where only rubble had been. She was no longer just a wife, waiting for a man who would never love her.
    She was a mother.
    She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her gaze, once filled with despair, now held a new, hard-edged resolve.
    For her babies, she had to be strong.
    She picked up her phone again. Not to call Julian. She scrolled through her contacts, a desperate search for a friend, a lifeline. Her finger swiped past business contacts for the Sterling family, past numbers for caterers and florists from a life that was no longer hers.
    The scrolling stopped. The screen glowed with the names of people who were not her people. She had spent years trying to fit into Julian’s world, and in the process, she had erased her own.
    She was utterly, completely alone.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 2

    The early morning sun cast long, pale stripes across the floor. Chloe hadn’t slept all night. Her eyes burned with a dry, gritty exhaustion that went deeper than the physical toll of childbirth.
    She watched the gentle rise and fall of her son’s chest, the tiny flutter of her daughter’s eyelids. And as she watched them, a memory, sharp and unwelcome, surfaced.
    Six months ago, Julian, who hadn’t been home in ages, suddenly returned and handed her a divorce agreement.
    The terms were a public execution on paper. She was to relinquish all claims to any Sterling assets. She would receive a one-time payment, barely enough to cover a year’s rent in a decent neighborhood. In return, she had to sign a non-disclosure agreement so ironclad it would prevent her from ever speaking about their marriage, his family, or even the existence of the agreement itself.
    “Sign this,” he had said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze fixed on the skyline outside his window. “Amelia is the partner I should have had from the beginning.”
    “What about the babies?” she had asked, her hand instinctively going to her swollen belly.
    He had finally turned to look at her then, his eyes filled with a chilling indifference. “The Sterling family will provide for their financial needs. But don’t think you can use them as leverage for anything more.”
    She didn’t want to agree at all. She even thought that she’d be willing to endure this situation for the rest of her life. She refused to get a divorce. Even if his heart belonged to Amelia, she would still keep his wife’s title, ensuring that Amelia could never be anything more than a mistress.
    But she was willing to risk her entire life, yet she lost to his ruthlessness.
    He threatened her with the children—if she didn’t sign, the babies in her womb had to be aborted!
    She couldn’t give up her children.
    The doctor said that she had a special physical condition. If she aborted the babies, she might not be able to get pregnant again in the future.
    She had no relatives left. Her children were her only hope.
    For the sake of her children, she ultimately signed the divorce agreement.
    But she never expected that this man would be so heartless as to wouldn’t even take a look at his own children.
    Was it just because she was only a foster daughter of the Hayes family, while Amelia was the biological one?
    Twenty-two years ago, her adoptive parents, who had been unable to have children after years of marriage, adopted her from an orphanage. But no one expected that just a few months after adopting her, the adoptive mother became pregnant and gave birth to their own daughter, Amelia. From then on, she became the daughter whom the family didn’t really care for. Her adoptive parents always favored Amelia.
    Three years ago, Julian was in a car accident and fell into a vegetative state. In their own interest, the Hayes family put her forward as Julian’s wife in exchange for investment from the Sterling family.
    A year ago, Julian woke up unexpectedly. She thought that at last, after all the hardships, sweetness would come. But to her surprise, her sister Amelia fell in love with him at first sight.
    Throughout her life, she had already given in to Amelia far too much. She didn’t want to let her husband go to Amelia as well. In the end, she cut ties with her adoptive parents, because she truly loved him.
    But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t win Julian’s heart.
    Now, back in the stark reality of the hospital room, her nails dug into her palms. They signed the divorce agreement last time, but they haven’t officially gone to the civil affairs office to get the divorce certificate. So, legally speaking, they’re not yet divorced. She was determined to put an end to this as soon as possible.
    For her children, she had to. She had to take the money and get them as far away from the Sterling name as possible.
    A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
    A man in a crisp white coat entered, a warm, professional smile on his face. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with kind eyes and a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the rushed nurses. His name tag read: Dr. Quentin Beaumont, Head of Obstetrics.
    He was the department head. She wondered why he was doing routine rounds in a shared ward.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Sterling,” he said, his voice gentle. He asked about her recovery, his questions precise and his manner so genuinely caring it caught her off guard.
    Chloe answered politely, a wall of practiced courtesy around her.
    Quentin’s gaze drifted to the bassinets. His friendly expression tightened, just for a second. His eyes narrowed slightly.
    He turned back to her, his tone casual. “The children resemble you. Are your family coming to visit soon?”
    The question landed like a stone in her stomach. Chloe’s gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “I don’t have any family,” she said, the words tasting bitter.
    A fleeting, elusive expression crossed Quentin’s face. He noticed a small, light-brown mole on the inside of her left wrist, just below the pulse. That mole was identical to the one his sister-in-law Eleanor Beaumont had.
    His heart trembled violently. An idea, a hope that he had buried for over twenty years—a wild and seemingly impossible hope—struggled to surface in his mind.
    His heart gave a sudden, violent lurch. That was exactly why he came here. Confirm the birthmark.
    Yesterday, when he accidentally saw Chloe, he was shocked. Her appearance was too similar to his sister-in-law’s. There was even a faint resemblance to his brother Richard Beaumont in the girl’s features. He immediately thought of her niece who had gone missing 22 years ago.
    In the end, he couldn’t resist and secretly took a sample of the girl’s blood for a paternity test.
    The test results would be available today, and he would know the answer soon.
    “Get some rest,” he said, “I’ll make sure the nurses take good care of you.”
    Quentin returned to the office with steady steps, ready to endure the wait for the test results.
    The wait was agonizing. He paced the confines of his office like a caged animal. Every tick of the clock on the wall was a hammer blow against his nerves.
    An hour later, an email notification pinged. The subject line was stark: “99.99% Match.”
    Quentin’s hand shook so badly he could barely control the mouse. He clicked open the email. He stared at the report, at the undeniable, scientific proof on the screen.
    The doctor who had delivered thousands of babies, who had faced life and death with unwavering composure, felt his eyes burn with tears.
    He had found her.
    He had found Richard’s daughter.
    He grabbed his phone, his fingers punching in a number he knew by heart.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 3

    In a sprawling corner office atop a skyscraper in New York City, Richard was concluding a transatlantic video conference. His voice was a low, commanding rumble, and the executives on the screen listened with rapt attention. He was a man accustomed to absolute control.
    Suddenly, his private, encrypted cell phone vibrated against the polished surface of his desk. It was a frantic, insistent buzz. The caller ID showed a single name: Quentin.
    Richard knew his younger brother. Quentin would never call this line, at this time, unless it was a matter of life or death.
    He held up a hand to the screen. “Meeting adjourned.” He didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, plunging the screen into darkness.
    He answered the phone, his voice tight with apprehension. “Quentin, what’s wrong?”
    The voice on the other end was choked with an emotion Richard hadn’t heard in years. It was a raw, trembling mix of shock and elation.
    “Richard… I found her. I found your daughter. Her name now is Chloe Hayes.”
    The words struck Richard like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis. He shot up from his leather chair, the heavy, gold-plated fountain pen in his hand clattering to the floor.
    “Are you sure?” he demanded, his voice a strained whisper. “One hundred percent?”
    “DNA match. 99.99%,” Quentin’s voice cracked. “She’s here, Richard. In my hospital. She just gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.”
    Richard stumbled back, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. Twenty-two years of hollow anniversaries, of his wife’s silent tears.
    He took a deep, shuddering breath, the titan of industry forcing himself back into the role of the patriarch, the protector. “Don’t let anyone near her,” he commanded, his voice now laced with steel. “I’m on my way.”
    He hung up and slammed a small, red button concealed on the underside of his desk.
    Within seconds, his chief of staff burst into the office, his face pale with alarm.
    “Get the jet ready. We’re flying to Massachusetts. Now,” Richard ordered, his voice leaving no room for questions. “And get Eleanor, Alexander, Sebastian, and Nicholas on a conference call. Immediately.”
    The assistant, sensing the seismic shift in his boss’s universe, simply nodded and vanished.
    Minutes later, the Beaumont family’s emergency protocol was activated.
    On a screen in Richard’s office, four faces appeared. His eldest son, Alexander Beaumont, the formidable lawyer, was in his chambers, a court recess just beginning. His second son, Sebastian Beaumont, the hardened police detective, was at his desk in a bustling precinct. His youngest son, Nicholas Beaumont, the maverick film director, was on a chaotic movie set in California.
    Richard looked at his sons, his composure a thin veneer over a raging sea of emotion. “We found her,” he said, his voice thick. “Your sister is alive.”
    A stunned silence fell over the call. It was broken by a collective gasp, a chorus of disbelieving voices.
    At a charity luncheon on the Upper East Side, Eleanor was gracefully holding court. An assistant discreetly handed her a phone with an urgent message. Excusing herself with a serene smile that betrayed none of the sudden panic in her heart, she stepped into a private powder room and joined the call.
    When she heard her husband’s words, the regal composure she had maintained for decades shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed a silk handkerchief to her mouth, her perfectly applied mascara threatening to run for the first time in public memory.
    “She’s in a hospital in Massachusetts,” Richard continued, his voice firm, a general rallying his troops. “She needs us. Everyone, drop what you’re doing. We’re going to get her back.”
    The response was immediate and absolute.
    “Cancel all my appointments for the next week,” Alexander told his assistant off-screen.
    Sebastian was already on his feet, grabbing his keys. “Family emergency, cover for me!” he yelled to a bewildered colleague.
    On the film set, Nicholas ripped off his headset and bellowed into a megaphone, “Wrap for the day! Everyone go home!” The entire production ground to a halt, leaving a crew of hundreds standing in stunned silence.
    The vast, powerful machinery of the Beaumont family, an empire that spanned continents and industries, stopped on a dime. All for one girl.
    Back in Massachusetts, Quentin had already set his own plans in motion. He walked with purpose down the hospital corridor, his white coat a banner of authority. He stopped outside the door to multi-patient wards.
    He took a deep breath. His first job was to get his niece out of this public, undignified room. He was going to take her to a place where she would be safe, cared for, and treated like the princess she was.
    He raised his hand and knocked gently on the door, composing his features into the kindest, most reassuring smile he could muster.

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