Eira_H
1 Published Story
You might like
Beyond Betrayal: Her Game Begins
Julian Reid The rain lashed against my office windows, a sudden storm mirroring the chaos that erupted when Dr. Chen' s call came, breathlessly telling me, "It's David."
My husband, David, was in an accident, and when I arrived at the hospital, the world shattered-he was holding another woman's hand, looking at me with cold, polite confusion.
"Can I help you?" he asked, as she, his executive assistant, Chloe, tightened her grip on his hand, a triumphant flicker in her eyes.
He then scoffed when I told him I was his wife of ten years, declaring, "Chloe is my girlfriend," dismissing me as "crazy" when I listed our shared memories, our dog, our wedding.
He even compared being married to me to being "a piece of sensible, well-designed, but ultimately unexciting furniture," a crushing blow that twisted every cherished moment of our life into a lie.
Then, the final, undeniable proof came: a video of David and Chloe, intimate in our bed, sent by Chloe herself, a trophy of her victory, after he refused to help my ailing mother.
The last ounce of love I had for David died, replaced by a cold, sharp resolve.
I called Mark, David's estranged best friend and an investigative journalist, who had looked at me with aching worry in the wake of David's betrayal.
I was Sarah Miller, celebrated architect, and David Thompson had just made the biggest mistake of his manipulative life.
I was done being the victim.
It was time to play his game. Serve Me, My Lord
Wo Ruo Emmett was a loyal footman at the wealthy Patterson estate, desperate to scrub the slum out of his blood.
He abandoned his family and gave his absolute devotion to the beautiful young miss, Clara.
But when the estate faced bankruptcy, Clara ruthlessly framed him for embezzlement to protect her family's wealth.
He was shoved into a police carriage in the freezing rain. Through the window, he saw Clara watching him with fake pity, looking at him like a stray dog being put down.
The judge slammed his gavel, sentencing him to a slow, agonizing death.
Because he had spent all his wages on tailored uniforms to fit in, his mother died in a cheap coffin from an untreated illness, leaving his siblings to starve.
As the thick, coarse rope crushed his windpipe, Emmett was filled with agonizing regret.
He didn't understand how the woman who smiled so sweetly could send him to the gallows without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening his eyes again, Emmett found himself back in the servant's quarters, exactly three days before the Patterson family's downfall.
This time, he wouldn't be their loyal dog. He was going to be their executioner.
He planned to watch Clara sell herself to the savage new heir, Kearney Bernard, just to keep her luxury.
But at the welcome dinner, the terrifying new master ignored Clara completely, locked his dark, obsessive eyes on Emmett, and whispered.
"You are mine. Nobody touches you." Fake Amnesia, Real Betrayal
Johan Gorski The call came at 7:05 PM on our tenth wedding anniversary.
My husband, David, was in an accident.
At the hospital, he was awake, but a young woman, his assistant Chloe, was holding his hand, acting like his wife.
When I walked in, he looked at me, a blank stranger' s stare, then asked, "Who are you?"
He laughed when I said I was his wife, then demanded security remove me, while Chloe, smiling, pretended to cry.
It wasn't just memory loss; it was a cruel, targeted erasure.
I tried proof, the marriage certificate, but he pushed it away as "just a piece of paper."
Then Chloe waltzed in with his favorite soup, and he defended her when I confronted her.
"She' s the only one who' s been here for me!" he screamed.
He snarled that I was "exhausted, haggard," compared to Chloe, who was "kind and gentle."
My wedding ring, a symbol of our forever, flew from my hand as he slapped it away, clinking under the bed.
"Don' t come back," he said, turning his back on me to comfort Chloe.
Later, I learned why: he had been having an affair with Chloe, his mother's 65th birthday ruined by his absence and her answering his phone.
My world shattered when Mark Johnson, David's estranged best friend, told me what David said: "The fake amnesia was a stroke of genius, right? A clean break."
My husband had faked a brain injury to throw me away.
A car hit me, sending me to the hospital, and I knew what I had to do.
When Mark came in, I looked at him, my face blank, then asked, "Are you… my husband?" Mummery
Gilbert Cannan This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1919 Excerpt: ...loss of humanity. Henceforth she must deal with realities, leaving him to his painted mummery.... She could understand his frenzy, his fury, his despair. \"That will do, Charles,\" she said very quietly. \"I will see what can be done about Mr. Clott, and whatever happens I will see that you are not harmed.... If you like, you can dine with Verschoyle and me tonight. You can come home with me now, while I dress. I am to meet him at the Carlton and then we are going on to the Opera.\" \"Does Verschoyle know?\" \"He knows that you are you and that I am I---that is all he cares about.... He is a good man. If people must have too much money, he is the right man to have it. He would never let a man down for want of money--if the man was worth it.\" \"Ah!\" said Charles, reassured. This was like the old Clara speaking, but with more assurance, a more certain knowledge and less bewildering intuition and guess-work. A Few weeks later, with Verschoyle and a poor relation of his, a Miss Vibart Withers, for chaperone, Clara left London in a 60 h.p. Fiat, which voraciously ate up the Bath Road at the rate of a mile every minute and a half.... It was good to be out of the thick heat of London, invaded by foreigners and provincials and turned into a city of pleasure and summer-frocks, so that its normal life was submerged, its character hidden. The town became as lazy and drowsy a spectacle as a field of poppies over which danced gay and brilliant butterflies. Very sweet was it then to turn away from it, and all that was happening in it, to the sweet air and to fly along between green fields and orchards, through little towns, at intervals to cross the Thames and to feel that with each crossing London lay so much farther away. Henle... No Second Chance With My Past
Hua Jian I thought leaving Hollywood, branded a plagiarist and heartbroken, would bury the past forever.
My film school dream, "Desert Bloom," was supposed to be my triumph, a shared vision with Isabella Hayes, my muse and first love.
Instead, it became my ruin, as Isabella, seduced by Julian Vance, the slick heir of a rival studio, coldly betrayed me.
She stood on stage, her voice trembling with feigned sincerity, publicly accusing me of stealing my own script, conceived in our golden days.
The humiliation was a physical agony, a death sentence for my nascent career, forcing me to flee to Europe a broken man.
How could the woman who once looked at me like I held the stars in my hands, surrender our shared dream, our love, for a manipulative con artist?
I rebuilt my life from the ashes, finding solace in a new career, a loving wife, Olivia, and our beautiful daughter, Lily, who became my anchor.
But now, years later, the past has crashed back.
I'm back at my old school, and Isabella, the architect of my ruin, is here too, brazenly trying to rewrite history.
She's publicly proposing we "reunite" to finally make "Desert Bloom," attempting to reclaim a story she deliberately destroyed.
She expects me to play along, to let her manipulate my narrative, to fall back into her toxic orbit.
She has no idea about the life I've painstakingly built, or how fiercely I will protect it.
Tonight, the ghost of my past will finally face the undeniable truth of my present. 
/0/43638/coverorgin.jpg?v=43af08ab80d9f5954c69791d9f18f038&imageMogr2/format/webp)
0
TOP UP
Reading History
Sign out
Get the APP
/0/85385/coverorgin.jpg?v=3651108766589d62809aabe2e255c1ce&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/42552/coverorgin.jpg?v=fa301c1e2c7e92c6483578fb1395f7b9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112795/coverorgin.jpg?v=098e690a8ff0f2720867b4204ba4080f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/32387/coverorgin.jpg?v=34c8436c3d0a89c42284a9fc021d4f1f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/26286/coverorgin.jpg?v=5a0ead025c2aa2a0aedd4cc942d21ccd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85107/coverorgin.jpg?v=d65e5b2d5f2fe3f5613006caeecf3742&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/13146/coverorgin.jpg?v=71d91c2c7b6ab957395df5a6448675a8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18152/coverorgin.jpg?v=9f51a20037240e9502142e9d3cb71d16&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/14398/coverorgin.jpg?v=bd6a13b919d0296ec88eb1c5ac0495c0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80885/coverorgin.jpg?v=a21bb7857b2500d128fe04aac5169053&imageMogr2/format/webp)