Culp
10 Published Stories
Culp's Books and Stories
Reborn to Rewrite: The Heiress's Second Chance
Modern My 21st birthday was supposed to be a joyous occasion, a display of family pride and wealth as I chose my future husband.
But a horrifying secret simmered beneath the celebratory facade: I was reliving my life, and this very day, my previous choice of fiancé, Ethan Vanderbilt III, had led to my family’s empire crumbling and their agonizing death in a fiery jet crash.
The chilling memory of their screams, the inferno, and the realization that Ethan's charm was nothing but a weapon, clawed at my sanity.
How could I possibly explain to my loving, unaware parents that their perfect daughter had already lived a nightmare version of this life, where their trust in me—and my choice—had damned us all?
Trapped by a past only I remembered, with the venomous name of Ethan Vanderbilt still lurking on my pre-approved marriage list, I made a radical, desperate decision: I would choose a man entirely outside his orbit, defying fate and claiming my second chance to keep my family safe. The Rejected White Wolf and Her Lycan King
Werewolf On our third anniversary, I went to the Pack Registry to submit a design portfolio, hoping to surprise my husband.
The clerk looked at me with pity and whispered, "Honey, the system won't let me. Your Mate Bond was severed three years ago."
I stared at the screen in horror. Not only had Alpha Bennet quietly rejected me, but he had also registered a "Companion Contract" with Gianna—my former best friend who had maimed my right hand in an "accident."
I tracked them to the Sacred Lake. Hidden behind a tree, I heard Bennet laugh.
"I love that she's helpless," he told Gianna, pushing her on the swing he built for me. "I love that she can't Shift or draw. It makes me feel like a god."
He wasn't protecting me; he was clipping my wings to keep me in a cage.
When Gianna later framed me as a Rogue intruder, Bennet didn't recognize me in the dark. He whipped me five times with a silver lash, savoring every scream, unaware he was flaying his own wife.
He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die in that basement.
Instead, I severed the bond myself and vanished across the ocean.
One year later, I returned to Paris as a renowned architect with a mechanical arm and the Lycan King by my side.
When Bennet saw me and fell to his knees begging for a second chance, I simply turned my back and revealed the scars he gave me to the cameras.
"You didn't love me, Bennet. You only loved my pain." From Cliffside Betrayal to Unbreakable Love
Romance My husband of five years, Mark, told me he was taking me on a romantic clifftop picnic. He poured me a glass of champagne, his smile as warm as the sun. He said it was to celebrate our life together.
But as I admired the view, his hands slammed into my back. The world dissolved into a blur of sky and rock as I plunged toward the ravine below.
I woke up broken and bleeding, just in time to hear his voice above. He wasn't alone. It was his mistress, Chloe.
"Is she... gone?" she asked.
"She fell a long way," Mark's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "No one could survive that. By the time they find the body, it'll look like a tragic accident. Poor, unstable Clara, wandering too close to the edge."
The casual cruelty of his words was worse than the impact. He had already written my obituary, crafting the narrative of my demise while leaving me to die in the storm.
A wave of despair washed over me, but then something else ignited: a white-hot, furious anger.
Just as my vision started to fade, headlights sliced through the rain. A man stepped out of a luxury car. It wasn't Mark. It was Julian Thorne, my husband's most hated rival, and the one man who might want Mark destroyed as much as I did. Beyond Betrayal: A Wife Reborn
Billionaires The sharp, shattering pain was familiar. This was the eighth time. The eighth baby. My husband, Ethan, the perfect CEO, held my hand as grief suffocated me in the hospital bed. He looked like the picture of a devastated spouse.
But then, I heard voices from the hallway-Ethan' s and the doctor' s. "Mr. Hayes, why insist on… eliminating the one in your wife's belly? It's your own child!" the doctor strained. "Scarlett is particular, and she has needs. This is the safest method," Ethan replied, chillingly calm. Scarlett. His proclaimed "childhood friend." The words didn't make sense until their horrifying truth crashed down: my miscarriages weren't accidents. They were harvests, orchestrated by my loving husband to feed his mistress' s mysterious medical condition.
My love for him curdled into black hatred, my grief for our children blazing into a white-hot rage. I was an architect who designed buildings to withstand earthquakes; I wouldn't crumble. I closed my eyes, feigning sorrow, but inside, a new blueprint for revenge was being drawn. Then I heard the doctor's terrified whisper: "And the hysterectomy? Paralysis? Ethan, that's going too far. She's your wife." His voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the haze: "She's too strong-willed. This will keep her safe. And quiet." They were going to gut me, cripple me, take everything. They had no idea what they had just created.
Later, I overheard Ethan on the phone again, his voice a low murmur: "She's sedated. You can proceed with the surgery. The hysterectomy first. And make sure the nerve block is permanent. I don't want any surprises." Hysterectomy. Permanent. You bastard, Ethan, I thought as darkness pulled me under. You' re not just taking my children. You' re taking my future. You' re taking my body.
But you haven' t taken my mind. And it will be the instrument of your destruction. Betrayed By My Savior Husband
Modern The champagne shimmered, my fiancé Daniel was by my side, and my parents, pillars of the tech world, beamed with pride. It was my engagement day, perfect as a movie scene.
Then, the screens behind us, meant for happy memories, flared to life with my face, but not my body-a horrifying deepfake, accompanied by a torrent of our company' s most intimate client data, all pinned on my mother.
The ballroom erupted. Whispers turned to shouts, Daniel recoiled as if burned, and my mother, the renowned ethicist, was swarmed by reporters, branded a fraud and criminal. My father, director of Miller Security, clutched his chest, watching his wife' s ruin and his daughter' s humiliation before collapsing-dead, on the polished floor.
The Vance family patriarch declared our engagement off, leaving me standing alone, my world shattered into a million pieces. In ten minutes, I lost everything: my reputation, my family, my future, and my father's life.
Three years later, I was married to Ethan Vance, Daniel' s brother, a man I believed was my savior, gently rebuilding my life in a quiet, gilded cage. Until I overheard a chilling conversation between Ethan and his best friend, Mark.
"Shouldn't you take down those awful deepfakes? Now that Tiffany is happily integrated into your family, why keep tormenting Chloe?" Mark' s voice was laced with anger I'd never heard.
Ethan's reply, calm and cold, made my blood run cold: "The Miller family's influence was too strong. As long as they were respected, how could Tiffany feel secure?"
My parents, his mentors, had been destroyed for Tiffany, Daniel's new wife. Every tender word, every protective gesture from Ethan had been a carefully orchestrated lie. My husband, my rescuer, was the monster who had meticulously planned my family' s ruin and profited from my humiliation.
I had been sleeping beside my father' s murderer for three years. The realization hit me like a physical blow, stripping away every illusion. I had to make him pay for everything he had done. The Truth Set Her Free
Romance The long shadows of the late afternoon stretch across my perfectly curated living room, a silent testament to the lie my life has become.
My husband, Liam, a rising star, values perfection-a facade we' ve painstakingly built.
Our marriage is a stable, respectable union on paper, a performance, with me, a talented architect, as his willing partner.
Then he died, swiftly, unexpectedly, at forty-five.
Buried within his belongings, a locked box in his study, I found it: the truth.
Letters, photographs-a hidden life with Chloe, his childhood sweetheart, his true love for decades.
My entire marriage, my twenty years, was an elaborate charade for his reputation.
The pain was a physical entity, suffocating, extinguishing my will to live.
I died too, then woke up.
Not in a hospital, not in an afterlife, but here, in this cold house, two years into my marriage, twenty-four again.
The ghost of a twenty-year lie lived inside me, but it brought a cold, hard resolve.
I would not let it happen again, not waste another two decades as a supporting character.
I will live for myself this time.
The key in the lock, Liam' s flat voice: "I'm home."
This time, I remained seated.
His brow furrowed, unused to my stillness.
"Is something wrong?"
"Just tired," I replied, my voice as level as his.
He was a stranger now, every gesture filtered through future knowledge, every polite smile a calculation, every question a check on his investment.
He funded Chloe' s art studies abroad, a fortune spent while I pinched pennies.
That money, even now, was for her.
The rage was cold, sharp.
Then, he dropped the bombshell: "Chloe is coming back… she could stay with us for a while."
My heart stilled.
It was happening again.
In my past life, I agreed, eager to please, starting my slow erasure.
This time, I looked directly at him, seeing the feigned concern, the carefully constructed lie.
"No," I said, the word a slammed door.
His eyes, cold and dark, narrowed.
"What did you say?"
"I said no," I repeated, my voice gaining strength.
"She can't stay here."
A strange power surged.
He was dealing with a different woman now, a woman who knew all his secrets. The Underestimated Wife's Revenge
Billionaires The heavy scent of grilled meat and expensive cologne filled the private room at Harris' Steakhouse.
My tech CEO husband, Mark, called it a "boys' night out," but I was there, a silent fixture at the dark wood table, habitually ignored.
His tech bro friends, Kevin and Josh, flanked him, their laughter growing too loud.
Then, in a momentary lull, I calmly stated, "I' m thinking about it too," referring to getting a divorce.
The entire table erupted, not in surprise, but in loud, condescending laughter, Mark' s the loudest of all.
He wiped a tear from his eye and sneered, "You? Divorce me? What do you have without me, Sarah? You dropped out of Vassar, remember? For me. You think you can survive for a week without my money?"
His friend Kevin, already flushed from too much wine, then slurred a public dare, "If you actually divorce Mark, I swear, I' ll live-stream chugging a blended concoction of the grossest things!"
They truly believed I was a fragile, dependent ornament, easily controlled.
They saw only a trophy wife, utterly incapable of independent thought or action.
They didn't see the cold, hard knot of pure resolve tightening inside my gut.
They certainly didn't know about the countless hours I'd spent in our Atherton mansion's library, diligently studying California community property law.
A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips as I met their gazes.
"No, Mark," I said, standing slowly, my voice cool and even, "I don' t think I will apologize; in fact, I've already had divorce papers drawn up."
My lawyer would be in touch with his.
Weeks later, when his young intern, Tiffany, smugly tried to announce her fake pregnancy at a family dinner, I exposed Mark's zero sperm count to his horrified mother and everyone present.
They had utterly underestimated me, and my meticulously researched plan to reclaim my life had just begun. The Miscarriage Plot
Horror The tiny screen showed a pulsing heartbeat, and Doctor Ramirez smiled.
I was pregnant, overjoyed, ready to build our perfect family with Michael, my loving husband, and my rock-solid best friend, Chloe.
It felt like a dream come true after years of trying.
Then Chloe gifted me an antique locket, a seemingly thoughtful "protection charm."
But soon after, my baby's heartbeat grew alarmingly erratic.
The doctor warned me, while a chilling encounter with an eccentric antique dealer sparked a horrifying thought: Was the locket cursed?
Could it be a "vessel of sorrow" meant to "rebalance fates"?
His ominous words echoed as Chloe, who’d struggled with IVF, began showing surprising "positive signs."
Desperate to protect my child, I tried to banish the locket's influence.
That’s when I overheard the insidious truth: Michael’s voice, hushed, conspiring with Chloe.
“The locket’s influence is definitely working,” he whispered.
“Her inevitable breakdown will make things easier.”
“The trust fund... it’ll all be sorted.”
Betrayal ripped through me, cold and agonizing.
My husband, the man I trusted with my life, and my best friend, were actively orchestrating my ruin.
The “curse” wasn’t supernatural; it was a calculated scheme of psychological torture and subtle drugs.
It was all designed to induce my miscarriage and drive me mad, all for my family’s trust fund.
Every loving glance, every comforting word, a horrifying lie.
The terror was instant, quickly followed by a searing, ice-cold fury.
They thought I was collapsing, but their vile deception simply ignited a dormant strength within me.
They wanted to tear down my world.
I wouldn't just survive; I would meticulously expose their every deceit.
I would dismantle their entire wicked plot.
And I would ensure they faced justice for the monstrous theft of my peace, my future, and my baby. Her Quiet Vengeance
Modern My husband, Michael, stumbled home one day, not with a briefcase, but a bundle. A baby, he claimed, "found" at a gas station. His too-loud voice, his darting eyes, the wads of cash he pressed into my hand—I saw through the charade immediately. My suspicions, honed by years of his subtle lies and secret Vegas trips, solidified. He wanted me to raise this child, a "blessing" he called it, while he preened as a selfless savior.
For eighteen years, I endured Michael's arrogance, his mother’s thinly veiled disdain for my childlessness, and his endless stream of deceit. He believed me a naive, devoted wife, blissfully unaware of his true connections to the baby's birth mother, a woman named Jessica. He bragged about Ethan, "his" son, never knowing I was painstakingly uncovering every detail of his betrayal—the secret payments, the fabricated narratives, the hidden identity of Ethan’s real father, a man with dangerous ties.
The injustice of his blatant lies, how he’d used me to build his perfect family facade, fueled a cold, quiet rage within me. I smiled, I nodded, I played the part of the perfect mother to Ethan, the brilliant son I adored. But beneath that placid surface, I was a strategist, meticulously gathering my evidence, waiting for the opportune moment.
When Ethan was accepted into Yale, Michael decided it was time for his grand reveal: divorcing me to "reunite" with Jessica and "his" long-lost son at a lavish party. He thought he was orchestrating his ultimate triumph. He had no idea he was stepping into a meticulously crafted trap, two decades in the making, set by the wife he completely underestimated. You might like
Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." First Lady Out, Your Majesty In
Asher Wolfe For three years, Allison played the perfect First Lady in a marriage that never gave her love back.
Nolan handed her divorce papers, sneering at her background while his mother mocked her as barren and his pregnant mistress claimed her place. So Allison walked away.
On the very day she left him, the royal family reclaimed her as their lost princess.
Crown, fortune, power, three terrifying brothers, and a handpicked royal consort now stood at her side.
Her eldest brother-the world's most feared arms dealer-pushed a black card across the table. "Go on. Spend whatever you like."
Her second brother-the genius doctor-twirled a scalpel between his fingers. "Tell me, sis. How many cuts do the ones who hurt you deserve?"
Her third brother-a global martial arts superstar-stormed into her ex-husband's lair. "Who made my sister cry? Time to face the music."
When her regretful ex begged for another chance, Allison only smiled.
It was too late. She was no longer his wife. She was his worst mistake. 
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