Catherine
17 Published Stories
Catherine's Books and Stories
The Three-Year Lie: Her Sweet Revenge
Romance The day I found out I was pregnant was the same day I learned my three-year relationship was a meticulously crafted lie.
I rushed to surprise my perfect fiancé, Anthony Holden, only to overhear him talking to his twin brother.
"I've endured three years of this farce," he said, his voice cold. "Not once did I touch the woman."
My entire life was a revenge plot for his childhood friend, a woman who bullied me relentlessly in college.
They left me to grieve my grandmother's death alone, subjected me to tortures designed from my deepest fears, and left me for dead-twice.
The man who swore to protect me became my villain, convinced I deserved every moment of pain.
On our wedding day, he stood at the altar, ready to deliver his final, humiliating blow.
He had no idea I was miles away, about to live-stream his confession to the entire world.
My revenge was just beginning. Rejected Bride: Now I Rule Your Family
Mafia I stood at the altar in my wedding gown when my assistant handed me the phone.
My fiancé, Devin, the heir to New York's most powerful mafia family, had just eloped with a waitress.
He didn't just leave me; he broadcasted a photo of them kissing at the airport to the entire high society.
A thousand guests whispered like a virus. Flashbulbs went off like gunfire.
My father panicked, begging me to flee through the side door in shame.
In the back room, the House family matriarch treated me like garbage, tossing her lesser, resentful grandsons at me to clean up the mess.
"Choose one of them, or scurry away," her daughter-in-law sneered.
If I compromised, I would be a permanent joke, a powerless hand-me-down bride for Devin to mock from his European paradise.
I had played the perfect, obedient fiancée for years, only to be publicly executed like a fool.
But I didn't shed a single tear. The humiliation froze into a sharp, calculated desire for vengeance.
I refused to be their victim. I wanted to make Devin bow to me for the rest of his life.
Lifting my heavy skirt, I walked straight to the center of the room, locking eyes with the terrifying man in the shadows.
"Since the heir ran away, the compensation must be of equal value," I declared.
I pointed past the furious matriarch, aiming directly at Devin's adoptive father-the ruthless, absolute Don of the House family, Brent House.
"I choose him." The Hundred Million Dollar Contract Wife
Romance The auctioneer's hammer fell, wiping out the Hayes family empire and leaving Elara with a crushing nine-figure debt and a critically ill mother.
Her last lifeline was her fiancé, Blake Sterling. But when his Bentley pulled up outside the auction house, he didn't come to save her.
"I can hardly marry a woman with a nine-figure debt attached to her name. Our family is a corporation, not a charity."
In front of flashing cameras, he publicly broke their engagement, looking at her with cold, dismissive contempt.
Stripped of her dignity, Elara returned the ring and walked out into a freezing blizzard until she collapsed in the snow.
Her tragedy didn't end there. Her mother's cognitive decline rapidly worsened, requiring a private care facility that cost an impossible sum.
Driven to an absolute dead end, Elara was forced to attend a humiliating "bride-finding" gala hosted by the elite Carlisle family, hoping to secure a rumored hundred-million-dollar settlement to save her mother's life.
She was fully prepared to sell her pride and be assessed like a mere commodity.
But she never expected the man sitting across the table to be Blake's legendary, ruthless uncle—the titan of Wall Street, Rhodes Carlisle.
Desperate, she offered to act as his fake fiancée in exchange for the money.
Rhodes calmly pushed a thick, leather-bound prenuptial agreement toward her.
"A fiancée is a temporary arrangement with no legal standing. We get married."
Elara picked up the pen and signed her name, instantly wiping out her debt and officially becoming her ex-fiancé's aunt. He Chose Her Over Our Dead Child
Romance Deidre went to the clinic and learned she was finally pregnant, but her failing heart meant carrying the baby would kill her.
Before she could process the grief, she received an anonymous photo of her husband, Danial, tenderly escorting a heavily pregnant woman into a VIP hospital.
The woman was his cousin, Daria.
Following them, Deidre overheard Danial call her a "sterile decoration," promising to get rid of her while securing a Cayman trust fund for his illegitimate child.
The nightmare only worsened when Daria gloatingly confessed to a horrifying truth.
Daria had stolen the credit for saving Danial in a fire—a heroic act that had actually destroyed Deidre's heart.
Even more sickening, Daria had bribed a doctor two years ago to fake Deidre's ectopic pregnancy, tricking Danial into authorizing the surgery that murdered their perfectly healthy baby daughter.
When a grief-stricken Deidre attacked the murderer, Danial furiously shoved his wife to the ground.
Ignoring her heart spasms and gasps for air, he threw her out into a freezing New York blizzard to die.
Lying in the snow, Deidre's love turned to pure ash as she realized she had sacrificed her body and her child for a blind monster.
But she didn't die that night.
Rescued by Danial's biggest Wall Street rival, Deidre marched into her husband's office the next morning alongside New York's most ruthless divorce lawyer.
"Sign it, or I'll freeze your offshore trust and burn your empire to the ground." The Scars Behind My Golden Dress
Modern I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done.
He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place.
Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out.
I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything.
I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind. From Discarded Wife To The Don's Successor
Mafia I was tightening my husband’s tie for the photographers at the gala when my phone buzzed against my thigh.
A single notification stopped my heart dead.
Julius had just wired five million dollars—capital I had secretly stolen from my father to build his company—to an account named 'K. Drake'.
When I confronted him later that night, he didn't apologize. Instead, he lured me to an empty warehouse and detonated a rigged gas line.
I woke up in a hospital bed, my body broken and my mind racing.
Julius stood over me, checking his watch, looking terrifyingly calm.
"The baby is gone," he said dismissively, referring to the pregnancy I hadn't even told him about yet. "But Kenzie needs a bone marrow transplant. You're a match."
He was holding our daughter, Ava, hostage. He told me if I didn't give his mistress my marrow, I’d never see my child again.
He looked at me with total contempt. To him, I was just a boring, civilian housewife. A prop he had used and was now ready to discard.
He had no idea who I really was.
He didn't know that the "bank loans" I secured for him were actually laundered syndicate money.
He didn't know that the father I "didn't talk to" was Horacio Horton, the most feared Don on the East Coast.
I let them take the marrow. I let them believe they had broken me.
Then, as soon as Julius left the room, I reached for the phone and dialed a number I hadn't used in ten years.
"Papa," I whispered into the receiver. "Send the army."
The civilian Florence died in that bed.
The Mob Princess had just returned to take her throne. The CEO's Cruel Ultimatum, My Rise
Romance My fiancé, Connor, and I had a one-year pact. I'd work undercover as a junior developer in the company we co-founded, while he, the CEO, built our empire.
The pact ended the day he ordered me to apologize to the woman who was systematically destroying my life.
It happened during his most important investor pitch. He was on video call when he demanded I publicly humiliate myself for his "special guest," Jaden. This was after she'd already scalded my hand with hot coffee and faced zero consequences.
He chose her. In front of everyone, he chose a manipulative bully over our company's integrity, our employees' dignity, and me, his fiancée.
His eyes on the screen demanded my submission.
"Apologize to Jaden. Now."
I took a step forward, held up my burned hand for the camera, and made a call of my own.
"Dad," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "It's time to dissolve the partnership." The Divorce That Freed Her
Romance I made my husband the scallops he'd always loved, a special dinner in the home built from my designs.
But when he came home from the firm that runs on my talent, he recoiled from my touch. He sneered at the food, claiming to hate seafood now.
He told me I was stagnant, unlike his young intern, Bria, who makes a simple steak.
His parents, our dinner guests, agreed. They told me a man's tastes evolve and I needed to keep up.
As if on cue, Bria arrived at our door, holding a steak for him. They sat her in my chair, and his mother told her she would make a wonderful addition to the family.
In that moment, I understood. After eight years of my name being erased from every blueprint, of being gaslit and belittled, I was being replaced. They didn't see me as family; I was just a tool that had become obsolete.
When my husband dismissed my breakdown as a "tantrum," something inside me went cold.
After they left, I packed my bags and my encrypted design portfolio.
Then I texted his biggest competitor: "I've left Donte. I'm looking for a new job. I have my portfolio." My Fiancé Chose His Ex On Our Wedding Day
Modern My hands were my entire career, the key to my life as one of New York's top hand models. My fiancé, Chase, had plucked me from a small town and given me a world of glamour. I thought I owed him everything.
Then his high school sweetheart, Karis, gave me a "luxury" treatment at her salon that left my hands with chemical burns, destroying my ten-year career overnight.
Chase called it an "accident" and defended her. He told me Karis was so upset she might have to join him on our honeymoon to St. Barts to feel better. At our rehearsal dinner, when Karis suggested I'd hurt myself for attention, Chase publicly shamed me for upsetting her. His bachelor party turned out to be a private date with her.
I found the prenup he wanted me to sign: if we divorced, I'd get nothing. But the final blow came the night before our wedding. As he slept, he grabbed my arm and whispered her name.
"Karis... don't go."
I realized then I was just a stand-in, a warm body in the dark. My love for him had been a survival strategy in a world he built for me, and I was finally suffocating.
The next morning, on our wedding day, I didn't walk down the aisle. I walked out the door with nothing but my passport and made a call I hadn't made in fifteen years. An hour later, I was on my way to a private jet, leaving my old life to burn behind me.
Her Envy, My Unbreakable Heart
Fantasy My life was perfect, or as close to it as an art student could dream.
I was the top candidate for the prestigious Atherton scholarship, a full ride that would launch my career, my paintings getting noticed, my grades stellar.
Then my roommate, Chloe, pressed a tarnished silver locket into my palm, a "good luck" charm to secure my future.
From that day, my life inexplicably soared, every creative block vanished, every anxiety quelled.
Until the day the scholarship was announced.
The gallery was packed, my paintings front and center, proud and beaming.
And then, a searing pain, blinding and brutal, tore through my abdomen.
I collapsed, screaming, the world blurring into a chaotic nightmare of pain and blood.
Right there, under the bright lights, I gave birth.
The scandal was instant, absolute, splashed across every headline: "Miracle Birth or Immoral Hoax? Art Student' s Public Scandal."
The university revoked my scholarship, my parents disowned me, and my friends vanished.
My future shattered, the baby taken away, I found myself alone in a cheap motel, walking to a bridge, looking at the dark, swirling water below.
I only understood why everything happened after I died.
The locket wasn't for luck, but a cursed object.
It drained life essence and transferred stolen pregnancies.
And the mastermind was Chloe, consumed by envy, orchestrating my downfall to claim my scholarship and my baby' s wealthy father.
My soul screamed with a rage that transcended death.
Then, a violent pull.
I gasped, my eyes flying open.
I wasn' t falling into cold water.
I was back in my dorm room, the smell of oil paint thick in the air.
Chloe stood before me, hand outstretched, the antique silver locket gleaming.
"For good luck," she said, her voice dripping with the poison I could finally hear.
I was back, and this time, the ending would be different. The Dark Side of Celebrity Love
Modern The first sign of trouble wasn't a call or a whisper. It was a photograph.
I was in my office, lights of downtown LA sprawling beneath me, when I saw it: my pop princess wife, Olivia Reed, wrapped around a notorious talent manager, Liam Stone. His hand was possessively splayed on her bare waist, his thumb stroking intimately.
"It' s just for the cameras, Ethan," she' d said, dismissing my concern with a shrug when she finally came home hours later. But the image of his touch burned hotter than the city lights outside.
Then came the anonymous message. Five words, a blank profile, and a grainy photo: Olivia and Liam, leaning in, their faces inches apart, his hand high on her thigh. This wasn't smoke and mirrors. This was raw, undeniable betrayal.
When I confronted her, she sneered, "I'm suffocating. I'm married to a man so insecure, so boring, he can't handle his wife being successful." She accused me of sabotage, of jealousy, and then dropped the bombshell: "We need to talk about a divorce."
My world crumbled. Everything I' d built, every memory in our home, tainted. But the devastation quickly hardened into a cold resolve. She wanted a war? She wanted to ruin me? Fine. Let her try. His Betrayal, Her Fiery Rebirth
Sci-fi The air still reeked of scorched metal and something sickly sweet, even as I stood on the gantry, watching the heat waves rise from the test pit below. My husband, Liam, stood beside me, his face impassive as he held out a pen.
"Sign the papers, Ava," he demanded, his voice flat.
Suspended beneath us, held by a massive industrial claw, were my parents-pale, terrified, and renowned NASA scientists. Liam' s new mistress, Scarlett, was pregnant, and he needed a "real home" for his new family.
I had laughed, a raw, broken sound, when he told me, then confronted him, only for him to offer divorce papers and a blank check.
"Take it. It' s more than you deserve," he' d said.
My refusal led to broken legs, a vicious smear campaign, and then, he took my parents.
Now, he offered the pen again: "Sign. Or they' re gone."
My parents' eyes screamed, though their mouths were taped. My father shook his head, a desperate plea for me not to comply.
But I couldn' t let them die. My own life was already over.
"I' ll sign," I whispered, tasting ash. "Just let them go."
Liam nodded to the operator, but the claw didn' t rise. It opened.
My parents fell, their screams swallowed by an inferno. The stench of burning flesh hit me, and I vomited.
Liam watched, his eyes empty.
The world dissolved into grief and fire. There was nothing left. I turned, and with a final look at the man I once loved, I threw myself into the flames.
And then I woke up.
My legs were whole. The date on my phone was yesterday. It wasn' t a dream. It was a second chance. Love's True Reckoning
Billionaires The sterile scent of disinfectant was my daily reminder: my parents were gone, killed in a car crash, and my brother, Alex, was paralyzed.
Just seventeen, his vibrant blue eyes had dimmed, and our tiny apartment reeked of medical bills we could barely afford.
I, Lily Reed, a waitress barely making rent, was all he had left.
Then, like a mirage, Mark Thompson reappeared.
Alex' s childhood best friend, vanished since the accident, now a polished, wealthy man.
He swept into our lives as a savior, moved us to a luxurious apartment, hired nurses, paid our debts.
His charm was intoxicating; I believed he was everything I needed, everything I thought I wanted.
So, when he proposed, I said yes, feeling like the final piece of a perfect puzzle had fallen into place-a second chance at a real family, a real life.
But at our wedding reception, a low, drunken conversation twisted my stomach: "He had to... it was the only way to keep her quiet about the accident. He owed her."
Then, a whisper from Mark on a balcony, meant for his former girlfriend, Sarah: "This marriage is just a means to an end... I got rid of the obstacles, just like I promised."
Obstacles.
My parents.
Alex.
The world crashed around me.
It wasn't an accident.
It was him.
My husband, the man I' d given everything to, was the monster who had destroyed my family.
I had willingly walked into my own gilded cage.
Rage, cold and sharp, ignited within me.
He thought he had bought my silence, that I was a naive fool to be gotten rid of.
He thought he had won.
He had no idea what he had just unleashed.
I would play his game, be the perfect wife, and wait.
And when the time was right, I would destroy him. When The Dead Come Knocking
Horror Thanksgiving was supposed to be quiet this year, just me wrapped in a blanket, the Macy' s Parade playing to an empty house. My mom and brother, Maria and Leo, died a week ago, leaving me utterly alone.
Then my phone buzzed. It was Mom's number. I answered, terrified, and a thin, distorted voice whispered, "Sweetheart, we're almost home."
And there they were, knocking on the door. Pale, stiff, holding grocery bags. They acted normal, but their movements were jerky, their eyes hollow. They even removed their own memorial photos from the mantelpiece.
My dread deepened when they insisted I drink a strange concoction, a glass of cider or eggnog with a sinister black ash residue at the bottom.
What was going on? Why were they here, yet so unnerving? Were they trying to hurt me, or was something far more twisted at play?
Just as I felt a strange connection fading, a chilling reflection in a window revealed the impossible truth: the reflection wasn't mine. It was the face of the boy who killed me. It wasn't their accident. It was mine. And they had brought me back. The Day I Chose Differently
Fantasy A sharp gasp. Cold air filled my lungs as my eyes snapped open. I was in the familiar leather armchair of the Vanderbilt library, sunlight streaming in. June 10th. The day I was to choose my bride.
Just moments ago, or so it felt, I was pushed from a penthouse balcony.
The rain slicked my face; Seraphina' s sneering expression, Leo' s hands, then her final, venomous whisper: "You shouldn't have chosen me, Ethan. You were always too weak."
Then, darkness swallowed me whole.
I remembered every manipulated moment-the fake accidents, the endless lies, the plundered fortune, my shattered heart.
I had chosen her, Seraphina Ashworth, only to be left a hollow shell, betrayed by the woman I loved and her conniving lover.
To die such a humiliating, lonely death.
Why was I back?
Was this some cruel trick of fate, an unfathomably twisted joke from the universe?
Could I really be reliving the very day my misery began, the day I picked the woman who would destroy me?
The bitterness was overwhelming, the injustice absolute.
But my hands, strong and steady now, confirmed it.
I was reborn.
And this time, I wouldn't be weak.
I wouldn't be a fool.
I would choose differently, decisively, and ensure my betrayers paid every last penny. Her Regret, My Horizon
Romance It was our seventh wedding anniversary.
Seven cars, seven apologies, one for each endless week she spent with him.
My wife, Olivia, hummed, zipping up a suitcase clearly packed for Julian.
"Don't forget to check out the new car, Ethan. It's a beauty," she said, her usual dismissive, cool kiss brushing my cheek.
But this year was different.
Julian called, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He explained Olivia had cut their trip short because he was "unwell." Then, he flashed his phone at me: Olivia, sun-kissed and laughing, vigorously rubbing sunscreen onto his bare back on a yacht.
The date stamp on the photo? The exact day I was in the hospital with a stab wound and a concussion, after waiting hours for her to call. She was unreachable, I now knew, because she was with him. Every shiny apology car, every yearly 'trip' she took, suddenly felt like a cruel, calculated mockery.
I wasn't her husband.
I was her conveniently understanding placeholder.
A gilded cage, built around my dreams of freedom.
Yet, this time, there was no sting, no usual pain, just a flat, dull line.
Three months ago, I' d booked a one-way ticket to Austin.
Divorce papers lay signed on the dining table, waiting for her.
My new life began the second her Uber pulled away. Jilted Ex-Wife? Billionaire Heiress!
Modern My mother-in-law, Diane Thompson' s relentless Facebook posts, mocking my inability to conceive and celebrating "real grandchildren," had chipped away at my self-worth for two agonizing years, each jab a sharp reminder of my perceived failure, amplified by my husband, Mark' s, deafening silence as he merely dismissed her cruelty as "old-fashioned."
Then, a thick envelope arrived, containing divorce papers already signed by Mark, offering a pittance of a settlement that barely covered a security deposit on a tiny apartment, followed by his chilling phone call casually confirming his colleague Brittany Evans was pregnant and demanding I sign the papers "quickly, no fuss."
His cold dismissal, pushing me out of our home for an insulting pittance and a supposed "miracle," left me reeling from years of unacknowledged sacrifice and devotion, as I had quietly carried the heavy secret of his congenital azoospermia, enduring his mother' s endless interrogations about my fertility to salvage his pride.
A simmering knot of suspicion tightened, confirmed when I followed his car one night, only to find him lovingly embracing a visibly pregnant Brittany Evans outside a women' s health clinic, proving their orchestrated ploy to utterly discard me for a faked pregnancy.
But just as total defeat threatened to consume me, a strange calm descended, ignited by an unexpected phone call from a private investigator revealing my true identity as a wealthy lost heiress, and the shocking discovery of my adoptive mother's sealed envelope containing the undeniable proof: Mark's original medical report, detailing his infertility-the ultimate weapon against their meticulously constructed web of lies. You might like
Pampered By The Ruthless Biker Boss
Anywho After six years away, I returned to my hometown with a single suitcase and a picture of my fiancé tangled up with my stepsister.
I thought it was just a simple, disgusting betrayal, but when I planted a bug in their private suite to get a confession, I heard a truth that froze my blood.
My fiancé, Leo, laughed about how my own father had already signed over my mother's legacy—The Nightingale Ranch—as collateral to his powerful family.
"Once this is all done, Claire will have nothing. And the woman you marry will be me," my stepsister Jenna cheered.
Leo cooed back, calling me a stray dog he'd kick to the curb once he was bored, a worthless woman who couldn't even hold onto her family's land.
My family had sold me out, and the man I loved was planning to leave me with absolutely nothing.
I didn't cry. The pain burned away into a cold, hard hate. How could my own father conspire with them to destroy the only thing I had left of my mother?
I crashed their prestigious charity auction and played their filthy recording over the speakers for the entire town to hear.
But when Leo charged at me in a murderous rage, a wall of leather and muscle stepped in front of me.
Kade "Chaos" Peterson, the terrifying President of the rival motorcycle club, crushed Leo's wrist and announced to the stunned room, "She's with me now." Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress
Paula Gardini 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." The Runaway Wife: Hiding His Secret Triplets
Hen Bu Five years ago, I stood in the freezing rain at my mother's funeral, waiting for my husband.
Blake Knight, the billionaire NHL superstar, was two hours late. When he finally showed up, he brought his rumored girlfriend, the woman he had just rented a hotel rooftop for to celebrate her birthday.
Watching him defend her fake tears, my heart completely died. I took off my diamond wedding ring, placed it on my mother's headstone, and walked away from my marriage forever.
I fled to London, changed my name to Ava, and secretly raised the triplets he never knew existed. I thought I was finally safe from him.
But today, my kids vandalized a silver Aston Martin in our apartment's parking garage, and the owner caught my youngest daughter.
My phone rang. The voice on the other end was Blake's.
He had moved into my building, and he was holding my little girl in his penthouse, demanding her mother come get her immediately.
Panic suffocated me. If I walked through that door, my five years of hiding would be instantly destroyed. He would recognize me, realize I didn't get rid of our child like everyone thought, and he would use all his power to take my babies away.
I couldn't let him ruin my life again.
"I'm just her nanny," I lied through my teeth.
I frantically begged my best friend to go upstairs and rescue my daughter in my place. He bought the disguise, but now, the King of the Ice is dangerously obsessed with investigating my new identity. THREE-YEARS CONTRACT MARRIAGE WITH THE HOT BILLIONAIRE
Ashley Ray "Sign the contract, or lose everything."
I stared at the papers that would seal my fate-a three-year marriage to Julian Blackwood, the ruthless billionaire they call the Ice King.
My family didn't ask. They demanded. My father's company was drowning, my stepsister's engagement had exploded, and I was the replacement bride they could sacrifice. Just another transaction.
Julian made it clear on our wedding day: "Don't expect affection. Don't expect companionship. Certainly don't expect love."
He refused to kiss me at the altar. He gave me a bedroom down the hall and told me to stay out of his way. I was Mrs. Blackwood in name only-a contract, a convenience, a means to an end.
I accepted it. I had survived twelve years of abuse in my own home. I could survive three years of indifference in his.
But then Nate, Julian's best friend, showed me kindness, and suddenly my cold husband became possessive. When my sister attacked me, he became protective.
Now the man who promised me nothing is fighting his own father to keep me. The marriage that was supposed to be fake is becoming terrifyingly real and the secrets about my mother's death are threatening to destroy everything.
They said Julian Blackwood destroys everything he touches. What they didn't tell me... is that sometimes destruction is exactly what you need to be reborn.
With a pregnancy involved, how was I going to end this three-year marriage peacefully?
Jilted Ex-Wife? The Secret Billionaire Heiress!
Hei Baidong I was in the hospital, enduring the agonizing pain of labor, while my husband, a famous hockey captain, refused to show up.
When I called him for the twelfth time, begging for him, he lost his patience.
"Giving birth is a woman's job, don't bother me with this stuff."
Then, I heard my stepsister's sweet voice offering him a drink, and he immediately softened before hanging up on me.
I gave birth to twins all by myself.
The nurses treated me with cold indifference, and the family in the next bed loudly mocked me as a pathetic "Puck Bunny" who was just an adopted orphan about to be dumped.
They were right. A month ago, my husband had thrown divorce papers at me, demanding I make way because my stepsister was pregnant with his child.
I thought my life was a joke. I was just a discarded prop he married to satisfy his grandfather, a fake daughter my adoptive parents only used to elevate my stepsister.
I was completely alone, ready to sign the papers just to protect my two babies.
But then, the head of the hospital rushed in, transferred me to the top-floor VIP suite, and handed me a DNA test.
It turned out I wasn't an unwanted orphan, but the long-lost daughter of the ultra-wealthy Sinclair family who had been searching for me for twenty years.
Looking at my billionaire parents and three powerful brothers who just flew in on their private jets to protect me, I picked up my phone to call my arrogant husband.
This time, I was going to make him leave with nothing. The Jilted Biker Heiress's Spectacular Comeback
Out Of Town "From tonight on, Farrah is my one and only Old Lady! As for you, Sloane... you're just my personal bed-warmer."
In the deafening roar of the crowded motorcycle club, my boyfriend of five years hauled another woman against his chest, publicly stripping me of my title.
The entire room erupted in laughter, waiting for the "helpless orphan" to break down and cry.
His bloodsucking mother and sister smirked in the crowd. For five years, I had served their family like an unpaid maid, secretly bleeding my dead father's legacy dry just to pay off their debts. Now, they were thrilled to see me thrown into the dirt.
Beau pinched my chin, offering his mercy like a king to a beggar. "As long as you know your place and stay in the basement to do the chores, I'll generously let you be my secret baby mama. It's the greatest mercy a cursed orphan with a dead bloodline will ever get."
They thought they had stripped me of everything. They expected me to crawl on my knees and beg for their scraps.
The very next morning, I broke into their safe, took back my stolen inheritance and the keys to my father's legendary motorcycle, and rode straight to the National President-the man who held the absolute power of life and death over the entire outlaw world.
When Beau smugly swaggered into the President's office, fully expecting to find me begging on my knees for him to take me back, he was instead slapped in the face with a wax-sealed document of formal severance.
"She is a free agent now. Anyone who touches her answers to my gavel."
I straddled my father's roaring heavy chopper, looking down at my ex's humiliated, panicked face.
"This is just the beginning, Beau. I'm going to make your family bleed out everything you stole."
But what I didn't realize was that the moment I took my first step toward revenge, the dangerously wild man I collided with in the dark the night before-the one wearing the forbidden insignia of the absolute royal bloodline-had already locked his sights on me like a predator claiming his prey... The Billionaire I Slept With Became My Husband
Apache I went to my stepsister's birthday party, foolishly hoping for a family truce.
Instead, she drugged my drink and had me shoved into a dark hotel suite, where a stranger took my innocence.
When I sneaked back home the next morning, battered and humiliated, I overheard my stepsister and stepmother laughing in the hallway.
They had orchestrated the whole trap to destroy my reputation so I would be forced to marry a thrice-divorced, abusive butcher.
"And don't forget the little extras we've been putting in her food," my stepmother gloated. "She'll never lose the weight. That fat Miss Piggy is meant to be your backdrop."
The revelation chilled me to the bone.
My years of punishing diets, the brutal exercise, the deep self-hatred—none of it was my fault.
It was poison, fed to me daily by the family I trusted.
I packed a single bag, took the commemorative coin I had stolen from the stranger's nightstand as a reminder of my lowest point, and vanished into the city.
One year later, having lost ninety pounds and transformed into a completely different woman, I agreed to attend the blind date with the butcher they arranged.
But because of a flipped brass table number, I sat down in front of the wrong man.
It was Julian Sinclair, the billionaire stranger from that dark room, and he looked at me and proposed a contract marriage. 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. The Ex-Wife's Return: His Child, Her Reckoning
A. N. Cruz Ivanna had everything: a stable marriage, a promising career, and the love of the man she had fought for, even against his own family.
But when she finally managed to conceive, fate tore her happiness away in the most heart-wrenching way imaginable. Her husband had wanted a child... just not with her.
She made the hardest decision of her life: signing a divorce agreement that left her with nothing. She left without looking back, her heart shattered, carrying a silent promise never to return.
Until now.
Four years have passed, and she's back in Boston, the city where her dreams were once shattered-with a new life, newfound strength... and a secret that will change everything.
She is no longer the same woman who left in silence. And her ex-husband isn't prepared to uncover what she's been hiding.
What will happen when the ex-wife returns with the one secret that might ruin him... or redeem him? 
/0/97676/coverorgin.jpg?v=7e70c4d63c9e14c5b5db45bc944cb0f8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/123080/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cd677d784b84614692d5db184edf4dd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/117489/coverorgin.jpg?v=810832ebf6179fc1abc6a12be164f5f8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113310/coverorgin.jpg?v=0253ca8830bde5ee2f8ba883b1ddbfea&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106332/coverorgin.jpg?v=7f51cf5661ad7c74d61b7b5a80bc0adb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104952/coverorgin.jpg?v=9cf343627d663fa2bdaedc52d8416873&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/97557/coverorgin.jpg?v=f2f04ae5d18400cd0e9e042cf2fb32fe&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/91017/coverorgin.jpg?v=845a71ff557211c2a025ddc9f4c92ff7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/90054/coverorgin.jpg?v=d2f54031e570e62bdb478270e14ce941&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86240/coverorgin.jpg?v=76a63cda6f43adf0c4a3d0a9b6f909ce&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85446/coverorgin.jpg?v=bbe4deb43a4ca0b1779749fec90cac84&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84992/coverorgin.jpg?v=d99d207265b6321d90e1fd1c3b808c41&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84597/coverorgin.jpg?v=9e06a6708b432d145dc8d3e832c83514&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83464/coverorgin.jpg?v=78231925339858d8fe2db764d383e945&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83047/coverorgin.jpg?v=7f0d3670fec053b1c3688b0474379c6a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81408/coverorgin.jpg?v=7a3b42cdb2d191fb13bda4c18d273259&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81155/coverorgin.jpg?v=f11cbc32ebe4619ffefd03a40be53569&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/127010/coverorgin.jpg?v=66e5aea9e00c9d9a2f5c8845b1c504da&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/126929/coverorgin.jpg?v=558d826508fdae5ba71548b2a6a55428&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/122068/coverorgin.jpg?v=cbc3426c74c960d9b7067c33ce0c802a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/126346/coverorgin.jpg?v=f38614d162a35de2a99991f66de49b24&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/117347/coverorgin.jpg?v=de20990b4c70907f2f9e27e5baa266ac&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/125737/coverorgin.jpg?v=3cbe9c23a9d0a53cbf2f611eefea02a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/127457/coverorgin.jpg?v=307dca9319ee30a62c70f5cc1f2e96bb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/123564/coverorgin.jpg?v=286b75f19a0062437ccca170959ceb27&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106591/coverorgin.jpg?v=7112ffc44f6337f03a03bec3d6824a38&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/127017/coverorgin.jpg?v=8b4cd20e039b757e593b2b98d7ed5b87&imageMogr2/format/webp)