Edik Brandwein
11 Published Stories
Edik Brandwein's Books and Stories
Reborn as the Villain's Wife
Modern I died in a mangled wreck of metal and fire, abandoned by the man I thought was my soulmate. But instead of the void, I woke up pinned against a cold marble wall, staring into the turbulent, storm-gray eyes of Damian Vincent.
This was the night I destroyed my life. In my past world, I spat in Damian's face and ran into the arms of Eddie, a parasitic loser who was secretly plotting with my cousin Jill to strip me of my inheritance.
My "escape" turned into a slow-motion suicide. My brother Donavan died in a horrific car crash while racing to save me from another one of my messes. Damian, consumed by a toxic mix of grief and vengeance, crushed the Nelson family empire until my father was a broken man. I spent years as a drugged-up social pariah, finally dying alone while the people I trusted laughed at my funeral.
The most bitter realization didn't hit me until the end. The "controlling monster" I spent years fighting was the only person who ever truly protected me. I had traded a man who would burn the world for me for a man who would burn me for the world.
Opening my eyes three years in the past, I find myself back at the airport, the rain lashing against the windows. My brother is pleading with me to run, and Damian is standing there, braced for the slap he thinks is coming.
But I don't strike him. I press my palm to his burning cheek and give him the only piece of my soul he couldn't buy.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dami. Keep this as my collateral."
The game has changed. This time, I'm not the victim-I'm the one holding the match. My Quiet Wife Is An Elite Genius
Modern I was the ultimate trophy wife, a polished ornament in Francisco Zimmerman’s billionaire empire. For three years, I perfected the "Zimmerman Wife Smile," playing the role of the devoted partner while smoothing the Egyptian cotton of his shirts.
The illusion shattered when I stood outside his study and heard him laughing with his mistress, Annalise.
"She’s just a vase that only knows how to smile," Francisco’s voice was cold, devoid of any warmth. "As long as I pay the maintenance fees on time, she stays obedient."
I walked out that night with nothing but a canvas bag and the clothes on my back. But Francisco wasn't finished with his "asset." He froze my bank accounts and used his massive influence to blacklist me from every interior design firm in New York. He tracked my phone, watching me struggle from the shadows, waiting for me to starve so I would crawl back to his mansion.
He even showed up at the dive bar where I was playing piano for rent money, mocking my desperation.
"You have technique, but no heart," he sneered, tossing a silver coin into my tip jar as if I were a beggar. "You're hollow, Iris. Just like your pride."
I couldn't believe this was the same man whose life I had saved during a bloody night in Macau. To him, I wasn't a wife; I was a stock price that needed stabilizing. The more I fought for my independence, the tighter he pulled the net, determined to break my spirit until I had no choice but to return to his gilded cage.
Then, the morning sickness hit. I realized I wasn't just carrying my own life anymore—I was carrying his heir. If Francisco found out, he would never let us go; he would turn my child into another "performance bonus" for his brand.
Looking at the sonogram, I knew a divorce would never be enough to escape a man who thought he owned the world.
"I'm not going back," I whispered, staring at his yacht moored in the harbor. "To save this baby, Iris Potter has to die." The High Price Of Father's Freedom
Romance I was at a high-end law school mixer, hiding behind a pillar and eyeing the shrimp buffet because my bank account was empty and my fridge contained nothing but expired milk. My father’s name was a national headline for all the wrong reasons, and my only goal was to survive law school without being recognized.
That’s when the room went silent for the arrival of Armond Woodward, the billionaire COO of a global media empire. I froze, because seven years ago in Paris, he was Armond Chevalier, the sweet art student I’d shared a life with. Now, he was a cold-eyed predator in a bespoke suit, and he was staring directly at me like I was a missing asset he’d finally located.
I tried to escape, but the walls were closing in. My tuition payment was forty-eight hours late, and my father was facing a new indictment that would keep him in prison for the rest of his life. While a rich classmate named Miles tried to "save" me by parading me around like a trophy, Armond was working in the shadows. He didn't just offer help; he bought my student loans and my father’s legal liens, effectively making himself my sole creditor.
The realization hit me like a physical blow when Armond cornered me in his private elevator. He knew about my broken apartment lock, my ramen-noodle dinners, and every cent I owed. He hadn't just found me by accident; he had been watching me drown for years, waiting for the exact moment I became desperate enough to be useful.
"I've been waiting for you to hit bottom, Rose," he whispered, using the private name from our past as he trapped me in the back of his black SUV.
With the threat of a two-million-dollar restitution fee hanging over my father's head and the prosecutors closing in, Armond laid out his final terms. He didn't want an apology or a second chance at love; he needed a wife to secure his family trust and defeat a hostile takeover, and I was the only person with enough debt to be completely controlled.
"Marry me, Abbey. A three-year contract, and I make all of this go away."
I looked at the man who had destroyed my life just to own it and realized that to save my family, I had to walk straight into the golden cage he had built for me. The Wife They Broke
Romance My husband and son were pathologically obsessed with me, constantly testing my love by showering attention on another woman, Kassandra. My jealousy and misery were their proof of my devotion.
Then came the car accident. My hand, the one that wrote award-winning film scores, was severely crushed. But Jacob and Anton chose to prioritize Kassandra' s minor head injury, leaving my career in ruins.
They watched me, waiting for tears, anger, jealousy. They got nothing. I was a statue, my face a placid mask. My silence unsettled them. They continued their cruel game, celebrating Kassandra' s birthday lavishly, while I sat in a secluded corner, watching them. Jacob even ripped my deceased mother' s gold locket from my neck to give to Kassandra, who then deliberately crushed it under her heel.
This wasn't love. It was a cage. My pain was their sport, my sacrifice their trophy.
Lying on the cold hospital bed, waiting, I felt the love I had nurtured for years die. It withered and turned to ash, leaving behind something hard and cold. I was done. I would not fix them. I would escape. I would destroy them. His Cruel Test, My Broken Heart
Modern The hospital air was cold, the envelope in my trembling hands heavy with the thirty thousand dollars – every penny my mother and I had scraped together to save her.
But the bed was empty. The nurse' s soft words, "She' s gone," shattered my world.
Then came the note, her shaky handwriting revealing a truth more devastating than death: She' d endured unbearable pain, not for a cure, but to save money for Jake, for my freedom.
Clutching her ashes, I arrived at Jake' s office, the "good man who' d just lost his way."
Then I heard it-voices from the conference room: my creditor, Chloe Adams, and Jake' s cold, analytical voice.
"You can' t have a gold digger for a wife," Chloe purred.
And Jake' s reply, chilling me to the bone: "Next, I need to know if she' s truly devoted to me… If she still loves me and not my money, then I' ll marry her."
My mother died for a lie.
His "struggle," our sacrifices, our love – it was all a cruel, elaborate test.
A game.
He was the CEO of Miller Corp, a billionaire, and I was just a lab rat in his sick experiment.
I walked out, leaving him, his lies, and the ruins of my life behind.
I will never look back. Leaving the Billionaire's Shadow
Billionaires I woke up to the sterile silence of my master bedroom, 27 again.
This wasn' t a dream; it was my second chance to escape a life everyone else called a fairytale.
On my wife Olivia' s side of the king-sized bed, the sheets were undisturbed.
She was Olivia Hayes, the tech mogul, a name that carried weight.
To the outside world, I was Ethan Miller, the lucky architect married to a billionaire, but looking at our family photo, a chilling emptiness consumed me.
I saw a stranger with a forced smile standing next to a woman who was never there, and two children whose affection I' d lost to Liam Thorne, Olivia' s childhood sweetheart.
Years of being a shadow, my efforts ignored, my presence taken for granted-I wouldn' t live that life again.
I found the file I was looking for: Divorce_Agreement.pdf.
After printing two copies, I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name that haunted my previous life.
Liam Thorne.
He picked up on the third ring, his voice thick with sleep. "Who is this?"
"It' s Ethan Miller," I said, devoid of emotion.
A confused pause, then. "Ethan? Do you know what time it is? Is Olivia okay?"
"Olivia is fine," I replied. "I' m calling about something else. I have divorce papers here. I' m ready to sign them. I want to give you everything. Olivia, the children, this house. It' s all yours." Second Love on Snow Mountain
Romance The hum of the projector was a victory song, my architectural proposal a masterpiece, and the biggest deal of my life was firmly in my grasp.
Then, the screen flickered, and my home security feed astonishingly replaced my presentation, broadcasting my husband Liam, in his meditation room, hands caressing another woman.
The boardroom went from buzzing with ambition to a suffocating silence, every corporate shark' s eyes boring into me as my perfectly crafted life shattered.
I didn't flinch, my professional calm a mask over the searing pain of betrayal, as I coolly ended the meeting, securing the contract with a hand that barely trembled.
But once in my car, my first call wasn\'t to Liam; it was to my lawyer, a swift command issuing from my lips: "Start the application for my permanent residency in Switzerland. Immediately." The Wife Who Came Back To Kill
Modern My life as Evelyn Reed, the quiet wife to the ambitious Senator Harrison Bishop III, was finally complete - I was pregnant, a joyful secret I' d just shared with my husband.
But Victoria, my beautiful, cruel stepsister, offered me a "special herbal tea" for the baby. Soon, searing pain tore through me, a fire in my belly that turned to a spreading, deadly cold.
My hands clutched my stomach, trying to protect the tiny life, our baby. It was useless. Victoria stood over me, her smile a crimson slash, while Harry, my own husband, remained a silent shadow behind her. "You were always just a placeholder, you and that little mistake," Victoria whispered, her voice the last sound before darkness swallowed me whole.
I died, betrayed by the man I loved and the sister I trusted, my unborn child ripped from me. The injustice burned hotter than the fire in my belly, leaving behind a cold, endless void.
Then I gasped, eyes snapping open to blinding sunlight. I was in my doctor's office. "You' re about six weeks along. Congratulations, Evelyn." I was back. Back to the very day it all began, their treachery branded onto my soul. This time, I knew their game. And this time, they would pay – a debt of vengeance as cold and sharp as broken glass. Where the Snow Falls Soft
Romance My life with Mark was perfect, or so I thought.
Seven years together, a cozy apartment in Chicago, and a baby on the way.
Then a car accident stole our future.
I lay on the pavement, bleeding and terrified, dialing Mark, only for him to answer with an annoyed shrug-off from his 'client'.
Just minutes later, I saw him drive by, him in the passenger seat, his intern Jessie at the wheel.
The hospital confirmed my biggest fear: I'd lost the baby.
That night, alone at home, I found expensive lingerie, definitely not for me, hidden in our closet.
It was for Jessie.
The next betrayal came wrapped in buttercream: Mark asked me to bake an elaborate birthday cake for his "important agency client."
It was Jessie.
And if that wasn't enough, at her lavish party, Jessie flaunted my anniversary bracelet, telling me Mark said it was "just something old lying around."
My heart turned to stone as I grasped the depth of his cruelty and indifference.
To lose our baby, only to uncover this twisted deception, the public humiliation, and his utter contempt for my feelings.
How could one person be so callous, so utterly devoid of empathy?
Enough was enough.
At that party, I handed him a document-the termination of our shared lease.
As he scribbled his name, oblivious, I knew my decision was final.
I walked out of that party and his life forever, ready to reclaim my power and start anew.
But first, he had to pay. A Mother's Curse, A World Undone
Fantasy For fifteen years, silence was my shield, a vow I kept to prevent my "disaster prophecies" from unleashing chaos into the world.
My six-year-old son, Noah, was my entire universe, the one shining star in my muted life.
But then my ex-husband, Kevin, and his new, beautiful girlfriend, Jessica, sent Noah—who was terrified of dogs—to a brutal ‘discipline’ camp filled with vicious Rottweilers.
Soon after, the camp director curtly informed me that Noah "didn’t make it," handing me a small bag containing his torn shirt and a muddy sneaker.
When I confronted Kevin with the devastating truth and the remnants of our son, his response shattered my very being.
He laughed, callously dismissing Noah's last belongings as "trash," then threw the sacred fragments to his own German Shepherd, watching as the dog tore at them.
The familiar sting of my silence, always a weapon against me, now became an unbearable agony, a fire raging inside my soul.
But in that moment, as the last shred of my world crumbled, the dam broke, and a raw, hoarse sound ripped from my chest.
My voice, silent for a decade and a half, returned with a chilling clarity.
"Kevin," I hissed, "you will pay for this. Everything you value will turn to dust."
And to Jessica, shielding her pregnant belly, I declared, "Your child will not live, and fire will consume your beauty for the rest of your miserable life."
This was no longer sorrow; this was a mother’s curse, freshly spoken, and the world would soon discover its terrifying power. You might like
The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" 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." The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." 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. Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." 
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