AtengKadiwa
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AtengKadiwa's Books and Stories
He Thought I'd Stay: His Mistake
Romance Today was my four-year anniversary with Chace. He told me to wear my white dress for a surprise he had planned. I spent all afternoon getting ready, practicing my "Yes," certain he was finally going to propose.
But when I arrived at the hotel ballroom, the banner read, "Congratulations, Chace & Karyn."
In front of all their friends and family, he got down on one knee and proposed to his childhood friend, Karyn Warren.
He used his mother's heirloom ring—the one he once showed me, saying it was for the woman he would spend his life with.
He then introduced me, his girlfriend of four years, as "a very good friend." His new fiancée smiled sweetly and told me their marriage would be an open one, giving me permission to stay on as his mistress.
I overheard him telling his friend his real plan: "Karyn is my wife for show, but Ember can be my woman on the side for fun."
He thought I would just accept being his toy. He was wrong.
I pulled out my phone and texted a number I'd never dared to call before—the executor of my estranged father's will.
"I need to claim my inheritance."
His reply was instant. "Of course, Ms. Ford. The stipulation is a marriage to me. Are you ready to proceed?"
"Yes," I typed back. My life with Chace was over. The Rat In Shadows: His Downfall
Modern I endured 121 needle marks on my stomach for the child my husband, Braden, and I desperately wanted.
But as I lay on the procedure table, moments from our embryo transfer, he walked out. He left me for his high school sweetheart, Isabella, who was hysterical over her son's scraped knee.
He paraded her around in public "family" photos while his own family shamed me at dinner for being too "stiff."
When Isabella's son shoved me to the floor, Braden rushed to comfort the boy, not me.
He looked at me with pure disgust.
"How can you possibly think you'd be a good mother when you behave like this?" he spat.
I looked him dead in the eye, my voice shaking but clear. "The funniest part is, Braden? I canceled the embryo transfer."
Then, in front of his entire family, I said, "I want a divorce. And this time, I'm not kidding." My Hellish Wife: A Second Chance
Romance The sharp, metallic scent of rain on asphalt filled the air, a smell I hadn't registered in thirty years. I opened my eyes not to a hospital, but to the familiar gray ceiling of the apartment I once shared with Olivia Hayes, the date on the calendar October 12th, 2024. My phone buzzed, her name, Olivia, lighting up the screen.
In my first life, I' d answer, and her panicked voice would tell me she' d made a terrible mistake, using company funds for a gift-not knowing then it was for her secret lover, Mark Jenkins. Without hesitation, I' d drain my savings and take out a high-interest loan to save her job and reputation. In return, she married me, and for the next three decades, she made my life a living hell.
I remembered everything: the constant belittling, her sneering at my passion and controlling every dollar I earned while lavishly spending on herself and Mark. I remembered the fights, the chilling silences for weeks, always her punishment for not being ambitious enough, for not earning more, for not being Mark Jenkins.
The worst memory was our daughter, Lily. I cherished her, gave her everything Olivia denied me emotionally, believing she was my reason to endure. But as she grew, Olivia and Mark poisoned her mind, twisting my sacrifices into control, my love into a cage. On her sixteenth birthday, after I' d worked months to buy her a car, she looked at Mark, calling him "Dad," shattering my world.
The phone kept buzzing, insistent, desperate. I remembered my death at fifty-eight, alone, my last moments filled with regret and Olivia telling paramedics not to hurry. This time, there would be no sacrifice, no bailing her out. This time, I wouldn't be the hero. I wouldn't be the fool. I swiped to decline. Then I called Richard Sterling, Head of Internal Audit.
"Mr. Sterling," I said, "this is Ethan Davis. I have reason to believe there's been a significant misappropriation of funds in the marketing department. I think you should look into Olivia Hayes." Heartbreak and a Hollowed Home
Modern "I need the money, Sarah," Mark said, his voice smooth and confident. "All of it. It's for us." He talked about a new business venture, a sure thing that would set them up for life. I believed him, loved him, and trusted him. The next morning, I withdrew our entire life savings for him.
A week later, our baby boy, Liam, started coughing. It quickly grew worse. His small body felt hot. The doctor said it was his heart; he needed immediate surgery. I called Mark, desperate. "Mark, it's Liam. He's sick. The doctor said he needs an operation right away. We need the money."
"The money's gone, Sarah. It's tied up in the investment." His voice was cold, distant. When I pressed him, he snapped, "Don't be so dramatic. He's probably just got a bad cold. You're overreacting." He hung up. Desperation took over. I worked three jobs, earning every dollar. But it was never enough. Liam's medical bills piled up.
While I was scrubbing a stranger's floor, the hospital called. Liam had taken a turn for the worse. I raced to his side, but it was too late. My son died in a sterile hospital room. I couldn't even afford a proper funeral. They gave me his ashes in a plain cardboard box.
Days later, I saw Mark outside a high-end jewelry store, laughing, his arm around Jessica White. He bought her a glittering diamond necklace. The truth crashed down on me. There was no investment. There was only Jessica. He had taken our life savings, our future, our son's only chance at life, and spent it on her.
How could he? How could I have been so blind? My son was dead because of his lies. The man I loved betrayed me, destroyed everything, then protected the woman who mocked my dead child. I had nothing left to lose. The Scent of Betrayal, A New Path
Romance My life with Isabella was a dream, a meticulously crafted illusion of love and partnership, sealed with a unique cologne she commissioned for me.
Then, one Tuesday morning, that perfect scent, our scent, suddenly made her flinch.
She claimed an allergy, dismissed it as "too strong," and I, a fool for her comfort, stopped wearing it.
A week later, I found her clutching a worn hoodie in our laundry room, reeking of cheap deodorant and unfamiliar youth.
Her casual dismissal, "It' s Ethan' s. He' s that new intern I' m mentoring," struck a chilling chord.
The way she spoke of him, the hunger in her eyes I hadn' t seen in years, the word she used- "nurturing" -echoed a past life, a forgotten version of us.
I tried to confront her, publicly, thinking our history meant something.
I was brutally wrong.
She offered to buy me out with pennies from our pre-nuptial agreement, then surgically sabotaged my Wall Street career, ruining me financially.
When I had nothing left, she showed her true monstrosity: she kidnapped my kind, loving parents, tying them up in a dark warehouse.
Her demand was simple: sign the divorce papers, sign away everything, and they would live.
I signed.
The next day, the warehouse exploded. "A gas leak," the police report said. I knew it wasn' t.
I stood on the edge of my office building, ready to end it all, when I woke up.
I was in my bed, sunlight streaming through the window, my phone buzzing.
The date on the screen was the day I first heard the name Ethan Cole.
This was no longer about love or reconciliation. This was about survival.
This time, there would be no confrontation. This time, I would just disappear.
But first, I had to save the only people who mattered.
"Dad?" I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Listen to me very carefully. I need you and Mom to pack a bag. I' m booking you a flight. I want you to go on that world cruise you' ve always talked about. Tonight." He Played Her False: She Played Her Way Out
Modern My Juilliard cello degree was just background noise to the perfect smile I plastered on for my husband, Wesley' s, political fundraisers.
For eight years, I was "Mrs. Wesley Lester," a pretty prop, while my priceless 18th-century cello sat in its case, my only sacred space, untouched by him.
Then, he grabbed it-not the case, the actual instrument-and shoved it into the arms of Gabrielle, his childhood friend and campaign manager, without a single thought.
I watched in horror as her lacquered nails scraped a searing line across its varnish.
My husband, the man I sacrificed everything for, didn' t even flinch.
He handed my soul to another woman as if it were a coat, then fussed over her while I stood there, burning from his complete dismissal.
Later, burned by scalding coffee after he literally carried Gabrielle past my collapse, he still left me there, choosing her comfort over my agony.
Then, with my hands bandaged into useless clubs, he demanded I donate my rare blood for Gabrielle, claiming her life was "on the line" for a fabricated public sympathy play.
How could he ask this? How could he drain my life force to sustain his pathetic lie? Why was I, his wife, solely a biological resource, while Gabrielle, healthy as ever, lay next to me, sighing dramatically, soaking up his attention?
When she intentionally ruined my late mentor' s irreplaceable autographed music, something snapped.
And as chaos erupted, with a fire alarm blaring, I saw him choose her again, turning his back on me as I lay fallen on the marble floor.
But a strong hand pulled me up-a lifeline. This time, I wouldn't just leave; I would reclaim everything he had tried to bury. Second Chance at Yale
Romance My life was a perfect fairytale, or so I thought.
Born into old money, I was the golden girl who married Yale University's campus prince, Liam Vanderbilt.
Two years into our blissful marriage, I quit my job, ready to start the family we'd always dreamed of.
Then, Liam announced a year-long project in London, barely coming home to pack.
I missed him terribly, barraging him with texts, but only met with silence.
My best friend, Chloe, delivered the crushing news: Liam' s old flame, Serena Dubois, was back from Paris and working in his London office.
Then Liam' s assistant confirmed: the new Vice President, familiar with Europe, accompanied him – a woman.
My worst fears confirmed, I lay in bed, the realization hitting me like a punch: Liam's private Instagram account, a shrine to a girl from his prep school, Serena.
He didn't just leave, he left for his first love, the jet named after me presumably carrying her.
I was suffering through fertility treatments, waiting for him, while he was with her.
My dream of a baby, our perfect life, shattered by his betrayal.
Why marry me if he only truly loved her?
Then I woke up, sweating, to a message from Liam.
My desperate "I want a divorce" text received only one two-word response: "Fine."
He didn't beg, he didn't explain.
He just agreed.
The only jet available to follow him to London was 'The Hailey,' the one he gifted me.
Then I collapsed.
When I opened my eyes, I was back on Yale's Old Campus, the day I first tried to ask Liam out.
He stood before me, arrogant and young, wearing the Rolex I knew was Serena' s gift.
I remembered his cutting rejection from my past life, and the thought of reliving that humiliation made me sick.
But this time, I wouldn't let him break me.
This time, I was getting off this rollercoaster before it even started. My North Star Rising
Romance My dream of studying at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris was finally within reach, a Golden Whisk nomination sparkling on my laptop screen. My life as a rising pastry chef was just beginning. And then, my phone buzzed. It was Ethan, my charming boyfriend, the heir to the prestigious Vance Family Vineyard.
His voice was wrecked, thin and cracking as he pleaded, "Mia, we're going to lose everything. The vineyard is gone. I'm ruined." My heart squeezed, imagining his family's legacy in Napa Valley crumbling. Without a second thought, I clicked off my scholarship application. "I'm coming, Ethan," I promised, "On the next flight to California."
For three years, I buried my pastry dreams under layers of grease and exhaustion, flipping burgers at Dusty' s Diner, a greasy spoon in a dusty Central Valley town. Every spare cent went into a battered shoebox, saving fifty thousand dollars to save his "family legacy." Ethan constantly complained about our "dump" rental and the "disgusting" food, but I ignored him, focused on our goal. My sacrifice was complete when I finally deposited the last bundle of cash in the bank.
But then, I heard it: a news segment blaring about "dynamic young investor Ethan Vance" and his thriving Napa winery, his acquisition of a tech startup, and even his personal interest in "the popular Dusty's Diner." My blood ran cold, but the final blow came from Ethan's unwitting pocket-dial. "The full fifty K," his smug voice chuckled. "That diner girl? Still slaving away for me. Bless her little cotton socks. Enough for the down payment on that new Porsche 911. And Brittany will love that little diamond thing I saw." Not for a vineyard. Not for us. For a car. For another woman.
My breath hitched, the world tilted. Every word, every sacrifice, every hopeful dream of a shared future shattered into a million pieces. The humiliation was a physical ache. As he walked into the diner, feigning concern, I didn't cry. Instead, I calmly pulled out my checkbook. It was time for him to pay for his lies. The Impossible Pregnancy
Romance For ten years, I was the loyal, devoted husband, pouring everything into our co-founded tech company, Innovatech Solutions.
I underwent a vasectomy, a permanent sacrifice for my wife Chloe, who claimed a rare genetic condition prevented us from having children.
Then, Chloe was miraculously pregnant.
My doctor's discreet call confirmed the impossible: the child wasn't mine.
Hours later, I found Chloe's secret online profile, revealing a seven-year double life-a hidden husband, Sebastian, two children, and "Miracle #3" on the way.
Chloe admitted everything, unapologetically claiming my vasectomy was "necessary" for her ambitions.
Then, she brought her lover and their children into my home, forcing me out.
Worse, she publicly demoted me at Innovatech, relegating me to a dead-end job reporting to her con-man boyfriend.
A decade of my life, my loyalty, my very body, all leveraged for her elaborate deception.
The sheer audacity, her cold pragmatism and complete lack of remorse, left me reeling from a betrayal beyond comprehension.
That moment, something snapped.
I publicly resigned from Innovatech, severing ties with the broken remnants of my past.
I called Michael, my old friend and a powerful VC, who, upon hearing the full, sordid truth, promised not just my future, but Chloe's downfall. Shattered Light: A Queen's Vengeance
Xuanhuan I woke up back in my old novitiate room.
The sunlight was weak, my head ached, but it wasn't physical pain. It was the crushing weight of a whole life, stolen, crashing back into me.
Years of sacrifice, of pouring my heart into others-Ethan, Maya, Mr. Henderson-all ripped away.
My deepest devotions, twisted by a dark ritual, a "Charm of Transference," meant to siphon my spiritual credit to my sister, Seraphina.
She was lauded for my true work, celebrated for my love, while I was publicly shamed, exiled, and left to die, broken and alone.
Now, I' m back, and the game is already in motion. Alistair is setting the stage for Seraphina's rise, forcing me down familiar paths of betrayal.
I tried to change things, to build something real with Kai, to honor Mr. Henderson. But again, Seraphina claimed every ounce of my effort, my love, my sacrifice as her own, leaving me stripped bare, exiled, deemed "unworthy."
Each repeated betrayal, a fresh cut, compounded the rage that had settled deep within me.
How could they keep stealing my life, my essence, transforming my pure intentions into their glittering lies?
The injustice was a living thing, purer and more potent than any "Grace" they pretended to embody. It burned away the last vestiges of the hopeful girl I once was.
No more. I died once, broken and alone, with anger as my only companion.
This time, my pain is my power, my rage a crucible. On the eve of Seraphina' s coronation, I won' t just endure.
I will shatter their illusion, severing the very source of their stolen power, even if it means destroying myself in the process.
The game has changed. I am back, and this time, I play to win. The Annulled Bride's Billionaire Husband
Romance My wedding day was supposed to be the start of everything.
Three hours after I married my college sweetheart, Ethan Hayes, my world imploded.
He raised his glass for a toast, but instead announced, "This is an end."
Publicly, brutally, he annulled our marriage, leaving me shattered and ridiculed in front of hundreds.
My love, my hope, my very reputation-all destroyed on that glittering ballroom floor.
Five years later, a new, quiet life had begun; I was secretly married to Alexander Sterling, New York' s reclusive tech billionaire.
I thought I was finally safe, finally happy.
Then, I saw Ethan again, with his cruel accomplice, Brittany, their smug faces a painful reminder.
He mocked my simple life, then insultingly offered me a cleaning job.
When I quietly revealed I was married, they erupted in disbelieving laughter.
Brittany snatched the unique signet ring Alex had given me, screaming "Thief!"
Ethan, fearing for his ambitious plans, brutally slapped me, dragging me from the cafe into a dark alley.
He imprisoned me, then, to protect his image, hauled me onto his gala stage, accusing me of stalking.
My life felt ruined all over again, consumed by pain and utter injustice.
In front of society's elite, he twisted my hand with a sickening crunch, deliberately breaking it.
My screamed agony was swallowed by the crowd, my humiliation complete.
Just then, a hush fell as Alexander Sterling himself walked in, casting a long shadow.
Brittany, holding my broken ring like a trophy, boasted about punishing the "thief."
Then Alex' s eyes found mine, lingering on my mangled hand, and his face contorted with ice-cold fury.
He walked straight to me, and with a voice that silenced the room, asked Ethan, "What have you done to my wife?" Mr. E: The Silent Architect
Billionaires My wife, Victoria, was the glamorous face of AuraLife, her wildly successful lifestyle brand.
Everyone saw me as a quiet man, perhaps a little lost, living comfortably off her fame.
What they didn't know was that I secretly bankrolled her entire empire, meticulously guiding every strategic move from the shadows.
All I ever truly wanted was quiet and anonymity.
That peace shattered when her executive assistant, Chad, and his drunk friends, hijacked my private yacht.
They trashed it, openly mocked me, and then, in a cruel impulse, Chad shoved my younger sister, Chloe, into the water, just hours before her crucial Ivy League scholarship interview.
I pulled a terrified, sputtering Chloe from the waves, bruised and furious.
But the real blow came when Victoria arrived.
Seeing her defaced yacht and her soaked, shaken husband and sister, her only concern was how we were "embarrassing" her.
She then dismissed Chad's vile advances on Chloe with a chilling smile, telling my sister to "be a sport."
That was the breaking point.
The casual cruelty, the utter betrayal from someone who claimed to be my wife, was too much.
They believed they knew me – a meek, submissive husband.
They had no idea who they were truly dealing with.
With a silent press of a hidden button on my watch, the sky filled with the deafening thrum of black helicopters and the roar of tactical boats.
My private security force, Sentinel Group, swarmed the island, ready to obey my every command.
Victoria's carefully constructed empire, built on my money and her lies, was about to crumble spectacularly.
And Chad?
He was about to learn the true, devastating cost of trifling with "Mr. E." You might like
He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises
Rabbit My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool.
For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office.
The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation.
My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order.
Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve.
Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one. Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir
Shirlee Melnick Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit.
The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena.
This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone. 
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