Ben Nan
14 Published Stories
Ben Nan's Books and Stories
Queen of Alaska: His Final Regret
Romance My life as a senator's daughter, filled with Hamptons summers and a proposal from my childhood sweetheart, Ethan, was shattered.
Facing financial and political ruin, my father forced me into an arranged marriage with rugged Alaskan oil magnate, Marcus Thorne.
Ethan, my supposed soulmate, dismissed my family's crisis, prioritizing his "fragile" confidante, Clara Vance, even suggesting a "nominal marriage" to her while I faced an abyss.
Heartbroken, I fled to Alaska.
But even there, betrayal followed.
During an assassination attempt, my new fiancé, Marcus, chose to save his assistant, leaving me critically wounded and abandoned.
Why was I always the one sacrificed?
Why did every man choose someone else over me, even when my life was on the line?
Saved from near-death by a loyal servant, I rose from the ashes, my heart cold but clear.
So when a gaunt, desperate Ethan crashed my Alaskan wedding, begging for me back, I faced him.
In front of everyone, I exposed his weakness and narcissism, severing ties to the past.
From that moment, I embraced my true power, transforming into the formidable Queen of Alaska, where unexpected strength and a different kind of loyalty awaited. The Disposable Lover's Revenge
Romance My life was an opulent lie, perched high in a Manhattan skyscraper as executive assistant and secret lover to Wall Street magnate Ethan Hayes.
He paid for everything, even covered my family' s past medical debts, binding me to him in an unspoken agreement of dependency.
Then, an email arrived: "Termination of Employment. Effective immediately."
Within hours, Ethan' s 'white moonlight' sweetheart, Chloe Davenport, flew back into New York, and suddenly, I was disposable.
He paraded Chloe publicly, their rediscovery splashed across Page Six, while I withered, my chronic autoimmune disorder flaring from the agonizing stress.
When Chloe' s furious friend shoved me, leaving me with a concussion, Ethan' s only concern was Chloe' s pristine image, demanding I lie to the police, his icy gaze warning me to "behave."
My golden cage had become a torture chamber.
How could the man I loved, the man who' d once saved my family, wield such casual cruelty?
Was my entire existence merely a debt to be repaid, my body and soul his to discard at will?
The pain was unbearable, consuming.
But the true breaking point came when he whispered, "Only death changes the terms."
He thought he had me trapped forever.
He didn't know I was ready to die to be truly free. His Defiant Ex-Wife: The True Luna Returns
Werewolf For three years, I was the silent bank account behind the Nexus Pack. My husband, Caleb, was the Alpha, but the empire was built entirely on my inheritance.
Then the mind-link went dead. Caleb walked into our penthouse smelling of cheap vanilla and betrayal, followed closely by his secretary, Kimberly. She didn't just walk in; she swiped a red keycard—my Luna clearance.
"She understands the Pack's needs," Caleb sneered, shielding his mistress while I stood there, trembling.
They called me "wolfless" and "broken" because I hadn't Shifted yet. But the betrayal didn't stop at cheating. Caleb planned to lock me in the Sanctuary—a prison for the insane—so he could declare me incompetent and seize my fortune. Kimberly even shattered my mother’s sacred Moonstone necklace, laughing as she called my legacy tacky.
I looked at the man I had elevated from poverty to power. He wasn't protecting me; he was planning a coup on my own life. He thought I was a weak, human-like liability he could discard once the checks cleared. He thought my wolf was dead.
He was wrong.
I didn't just sign the divorce papers; I froze every asset he had.
"An army marches on its stomach, Caleb," I whispered as his credit lines failed.
At his "victory" Gala, I didn't just expose his treason; I destroyed his world. And when he finally crawled back to beg for mercy, he didn't see a broken girl.
He saw the glowing silver eyes of the White Wolf. He Chose The Mistress, I Chose Freedom
Mafia "The child is mine."
My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, announced to the world, his hand resting protectively on his mistress's stomach.
He was lying to save her life, but in doing so, he signed the death warrant for the baby growing inside me.
Just hours before, I had finally gotten the positive test we had prayed for over five years.
But Dante chose to claim a traitor's bastard as his heir.
When I tried to confront him, he dismissed me cold-heartedly.
"It's a strategic lie, Elena. You aren't pregnant, so it doesn't matter."
He didn't know.
Later, when an accident left his mistress critical, he dragged me to the hospital.
He forced me to donate my blood to save her, ignoring my ghostly pallor.
He didn't know I was already bleeding out.
He didn't know I had just come from the clinic, where I had removed the "complication" he made me feel ashamed of.
He thought he was being noble.
He didn't realize he was killing his own son to save another man's lie.
On the night of the gala celebrating his "heir," I left a white box on his desk and vanished.
Inside was a medical report: *Termination of Pregnancy. 8 Weeks. Father: Dante Moretti.*
By the time he read it, I was already gone. The Monster Behind His Mask
Modern My husband Declan' s recklessness on a ski slope left me with chronic pain and unable to have children. He played the part of my devoted caretaker, but his perfect facade shattered when a stray cat, abandoned by our new neighbor, purred against his leg with a chilling familiarity.
That whisper of betrayal led me to her apartment, where I found his pregnant mistress, Bridgett. She smirked, calling me Declan's "perpetually ill wife" and flaunted the baby I could never give him.
When I demanded a divorce, both our families turned on me, calling me hysterical and greedy. Declan dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, but his "love" felt like a cage built on my pain and his lies.
The truth, however, was far more monstrous.
Bridgett later appeared on my doorstep, terrified, revealing Declan had forced her to lose their baby-a twisted "proof of love" meant to win me back.
As he pounded on my door, confessing his crime and screaming that I was his, I realized I hadn't just married a cheater. I had married a monster. The Painter's Unending Haunt
Horror My best friend, Noah, had my hands broken. He did it so I could never paint again. Then he told my wife, Olivia, that I had lost my mind and needed to be sent away for "rehabilitation."
They sent me to what was essentially a prison, where I was starved, beaten, and eventually died alone on a cold floor.
Now, I'm a ghost, haunting Noah's lavish party, a celebration of his stolen success. He' s exhibiting paintings that are eerily like my lost collection, while everyone praises him as an art mogul. Olivia, my wife, is there too, looking beautiful but with a shadow in her eyes. Noah's assistant, the one who helped break my hands, even lies to her face, saying I'm still "adjusting" at the center.
The arrogance is breathtaking. Olivia stands in the house my stolen art paid for, listening to the lies of the man who killed me. He even fakes an injury to garner her sympathy.
It was shocking when a call came through, revealing I' d been secretly flying every six weeks for a year to donate blood for Olivia's rare condition, saving her life. Then the news broke: the "rehabilitation" center I was sent to was a network of abusive prisons where patients died.
No one heard my silent screams. My wife even refused to believe the truth, preferring to cling to Noah' s comforting lies, even as she tried to salvage my shredded art from the attic. But then my real parents, billionaires who had been searching for me for decades, showed up. And Noah, my murderer, embraced them, pretending to be their long-lost son. He wanted to steal my inheritance, too.
"Mom? Dad?" he said, holding out the locket my birth mother gave me.
My wife's refusal of Noah's marriage proposal was a small flicker of hope, soon extinguished by his manipulative feigned heart attack. But then the funeral home called, asking Olivia to pick up my remains. My ashes scattered on the floor after Noah fumbled the urn, and my mother-in-law suddenly revealed I' d donated my kidney to Olivia.
That was the moment. She called 911, reporting a murder. My murder. He Said No, She Found Love
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold.
It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, mocking the thin dress you wore.
I was dying in a dark, abandoned warehouse, our son Leo trembling beside me.
Then, his voice.
Over the kidnapper' s phone, Harrison Hayes, the man I' d loved for years, flatly declared: "Wrong number. I don' t know them."
He didn' t know me.
He didn' t know Leo.
Five years of a miserable marriage dissolved into one brutal truth: he resented me, seeing my existence as the ruin of his life.
My death, simply a convenient erasure.
And then, nothing.
A profound, silent void.
Until, a voice, warm and familiar, broke through the darkness: "Ava? Happy birthday."
My eyes snapped open.
I wasn't in a warehouse.
I was at my 21st birthday dinner, staring at a younger Harrison, before the resentment carved lines around his mouth.
This was the night it all began, the night I confessed my desperate love.
But this time, the memory of his callous "Wrong number" burned.
The phantom ache of my son' s absence was a hollow void in my chest.
I would not make the same mistake.
I would not confess.
I would let him go.
I would let him have his perfect life with his perfect Charlotte.
When Charlotte Evans, his first love, walked in, I didn't fight.
I left.
I walked out into the cool night, hailing a cab, for the naive girl I had been, for the son who would now never exist.
The pain was immense.
But underneath it, a fragile seed of freedom took root.
I wouldn' t be a victim.
I would save myself.
My first call was to my parents' lawyer.
I was activating a forgotten betrothal agreement.
I was going to Daniel Thorne. The Architect's Shattered Heart
Romance For five years, I lived in a gray, quiet world, shattered by a tragic accident that claimed my fiancée, Amelia, and my three promising apprentices.
I became Ethan Miller, the brilliant architect who' d lost his touch, a hollowed-out recluse living with ghosts.
Then, a familiar laugh broke the silence from a room I hadn' t entered in years-Jake' s old room.
It was Amelia' s voice. And with it, Olivia' s, Sophia' s, and Jake' s.
"It was a necessary sacrifice," Amelia purred, her voice chillingly confident. "We needed him to be completely broken. The firm is just sitting there, waiting for me to take over."
My blood ran cold as I heard their twisted plan: fake deaths, my engineered grief, all to seize my company.
They had let my mentor, Mr. Davies, waste away; they had let me suffer for five years, all for a long con.
The love I felt, the grief that defined me-it was all a vicious lie.
They thought I was broken, a pathetic fool they could manipulate.
They were wrong.
A furious, cold rage ignited within me, burning away the sorrow.
They wanted my legacy, built on my ruin.
They would never get it.
My steps were steady for the first time in forever.
They had a plan. Now, so did I. Too Late, Mother: I Am Reborn
Sci-fi My eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a fresh start, "Lottery Day" for the Life Path Augmentation (LPA) program.
My toxic mother, Susan, was desperate for me to get the Support Role Optimization (SRO) LPA, reducing me to the compliant trophy wife I was in my first life before it all ended in tragedy.
But then, my older sister, Jessica, whose insatiable greed for an "easy life" was legend, bizarrely elbowed her way forward, only to be ironically assigned the very SRO meant for me.
As I stepped up, the machine hummed, then announced its shocking verdict: I received the High-Potential Innovator (HPI) LPA, the burden that had led to Jessica' s ruin in our previous timeline.
My mother' s carefully constructed world imploded; Jessica' s triumphant smirk dissolved into furious disbelief.
They immediately launched their counter-attack, determined to crush this "dangerous" potential.
My Caltech scholarship, my lifeline to a real future, was brutally yanked away, deemed a distraction from my "duty" to support Jessica's floundering attempts at social climbing.
Every penny I earned from grueling dead-end jobs was siphoned into their bottomless pit of familial exploitation.
"Family comes first," my father would drone, a chilling echo of their manipulation from a past I desperately sought to rewrite.
This was it – the same old cage, just with new bars.
But they fundamentally misunderstood.
Their betrayal only fueled the quiet revolution brewing within me.
As their carefully laid plans crumbled around Jessica, I wasn't just enduring; I was processing, learning, plotting.
And soon, the architect of their downfall wouldn' t just be a thought, but a force. She Died for Her Son's Future
Billionaires My days were a silent decay, confined to a dark wing of my husband Ethan' s sprawling estate, a place as forgotten as I had become.
Once a celebrated musician, now I was a ghostly presence, my body frail, my spirit hollowed by isolation.
Then, they came for me: two brute men pulling me from my stained mattress into the blinding opulence of Ethan' s main living area.
My husband stood there, a king with his pop star queen, Chloe, and my own son, Leo, whose face was a mask of coldness.
They demanded a public apology, accusing me of sabotaging Chloe' s career with vicious lies, lies my son' s small voice echoed, tearing me apart.
Within moments, the charade intensified: Chloe dramatically collapsed, feigning a sudden, fatal heart condition, and the physician Ethan controlled declared a desperate need for a transplant.
Ethan' s eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on me with a horrifying intent: I was to be sacrificed, my healthy organs harvested for Chloe' s fictional illness.
The ultimate betrayal wasn't just my stolen songs or the car crash that left me paralyzed; it was this barbaric desecration, driven by Ethan's monstrous, deluded love, all to secure Chloe' s fame.
How could I, a mother, a wife, who had given everything, be condemned to such a gruesome, public death for a lie?
Just as the clinic room prepared for my end, I made a choice, a whisper to the voice inside my head, the System, to simply "vanish."
Sarah Thompson was dead, leaving only an empty shell behind.
But a flicker of hope, the image of my ailing sister and my son, still tangled in their web of deceit, ignited a desperate resolve.
I would return, step back into the inferno, and for the first time, not be their victim.
I would expose their monstrous truths, redeem my son, save my sister, and make Ethan, the man who destroyed me, truly pay for every single sin.
This time, I was ready to demand: "Die for me, Ethan." When The Charity Case Buys The Empire
Billionaires I was the Bradford family's charity case, groomed to be Liam Bradford's wife, endlessly cleaning up his messes.
Discreet calls to pharmacies, quiet payoffs – that was my life, a familiar, suffocating routine.
Then, Eleanor Bradford's chilling call: "Ava, the penthouse. Now."
I walked in to find Sophia Hayes, Liam's high school sweetheart, artfully tear-streaked and clutching her stomach.
"It's her, or me and our babies!"
Liam didn't even look at me. "It's Sophia. She's pregnant. Twins."
He casually outlined his plan: Sophia would live in our penthouse, I'd be a godmother, then a sham wedding for appearances.
My antique locket, a treasured gift, was tossed carelessly towards a trash bin.
Later, Liam announced my custom wedding dress would be live-streamed as a charity donation for "good PR."
"You were taken in out of charity," he sneered. "Be eternally grateful."
The final blow: a legal document demanding I sign away any future maternal claims, ensuring Sophia's twins were the undisputed Bradford heirs.
My value, reduced to a barren placeholder.
When I refused, Sophia staged a dramatic fall, screaming I'd tried to harm her babies.
Liam, in a furious rage, threw my suitcase, then shoved me out of the penthouse.
"Go back to the gutter where we found you!" he roared, slamming the door.
Cast out. Alone. But a cold, steel resolve ignited.
My trembling hand dialed a name I hadn't called in years: Jax Cole.
"Is that offer... does it still stand?" I choked out.
"Always, Ava," he replied. "For you, always."
My only way out.
Boston City Hall. Three days. Nine AM. I would be there. His Wife's Last Lie
Romance My life was perfect. I was Ethan, a successful architect, seven blissful years into marriage with my high school sweetheart, Olivia. We were talking about starting a family; life was good. Then Liam walked into the cafe.
"You' re Ethan, right? Olivia' s husband." The young guy smirked. "I' m Liam. Her boyfriend. She' s pregnant with my kid." My world imploded.
Olivia arrived, slapped Liam, and swore he was a nobody. I wanted to believe her, desperately. But his relentless DMs chipped away at my sanity: photos of her arm wrapped around him, her distinctive bracelet, a new guitar she bought him. Then, the sickening truth: Buddy, the golden retriever I adored, was actually Liam' s dog, given to me as part of her elaborate deception.
The final blow came when I overheard her. She wasn't just abandoning me for him in Maine; she' d been secretly drugging my protein shakes for weeks, actively sabotaging my lifelong dream of having children. The betrayal was malicious, beyond comprehension. Why? What monstrous game was she playing?
Watching Olivia passionately kiss Liam in Maine sealed it. I was done. I left my wedding ring, a note, and my phone, Liam' s taunts still blazing on the screen. As I walked away into the cold, clean air, I knew this wasn't just an escape. This was the start of uncovering the raw, brutal truth behind every lie. No More Miss Nice Wife
Modern My husband Ethan and I had built a life together.
Ten years of marriage, my career and inheritance poured into his rising tech venture, Innovatech, all from our beautiful Hamptons home.
On our tenth anniversary, a young woman named Chloe Washington arrived, her words like a knife: "I'm pregnant.
It's Ethan's. You need to divorce him." She had photos.
Ethan confirmed it, unapologetically stating he needed an "heir" due to my infertility.
He publicly paraded Chloe, even setting her up in an Innovatech office next to his.
When I confronted him, Chloe feigned a fall, and Ethan, in a fit of rage, threatened to call security on me, the woman who built his empire.
My decade of sacrifice—my youth, my money, my identity—all dismissed as he gaslit me, calling me "hysterical."
How could he betray me so utterly, then demand I remain "reasonable" while he erased me from our life?
As Ethan extended his hand for the phone, a chilling calm replaced my heartbreak.
The broken wife was gone.
I dialed the only number that mattered, initiating a battle he never saw coming. You might like
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. 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. 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. 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.
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. After My Husband Cheated, I Married His Greatest Rival
Rabbit The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost.
Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal.
This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline.
I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war. The Disowned Wife's Revenge: Buried Secrets and Billionaire Love
Rabbit Eleanor Vance had spent a lifetime trying to earn her family's love, offering them her heart, her talent, and her quiet devotion. But on Cassandra's birthday, her peace offering was met with a vicious lie and a stinging slap across the face. In that single, shattering moment, Eleanor realized she had been buying tickets to a bus that would never come, and something inside her snapped.
Her adopted sister, Cassandra, always commanded their parents' adoration, leaving Eleanor a perpetual shadow. So when Cassandra theatrically dropped Eleanor's painstakingly restored emerald brooch, blaming her, Eleanor's mother, Vivian, lashed out with a stinging slap. Her father, Robert, coldly demanded an apology, choosing a manipulator's tears over his own daughter's truth. The familiar ache in Eleanor's chest confirmed their twisted love was not for her.
A quiet, terrifying resolve settled within her. She knelt, not in humility, but with chilling purpose, tossed the emerald brooch into the roaring fireplace. ""You don't deserve it,"" she stated, devoid of warmth. Later, from a hidden compartment, she pulled out a sleek, black burner phone. ""It's time,"" Eleanor whispered. ""Initiate Phase One. Prepare the assets."" 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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