Er Ye
16 Published Stories
Er Ye's Books and Stories
The Undercover CEO's Accidental Wife
Modern At my family's charity gala, I was on stage presenting the drone that would secure my legacy.
Suddenly, the power cut. My own brother and cousin had sabotaged the presentation, causing the drone to crash.
As a cruel joke, a bizarre auction rule was invoked, pairing me with the maintenance worker injured in the chaos. My fiancé, Kurtis, didn't defend me. Instead, he publicly insisted that "rules are rules," abandoning me to the crowd's laughter.
Humiliated and utterly alone, I was tied to a man they called a "glorified janitor" while my family did nothing.
So I did the one thing they never saw coming. I walked up to the maintenance worker and proposed right there on stage.
I thought it was just an act of spite.
I had no idea my new husband was actually a powerful undercover CEO, and that our marriage would be the first step in my family's complete and utter ruin. Betrayed By Blood: The True Heir's Revenge
Mafia I thought being rescued from the kidnapper's basement after eight years was the end of my hell, but it was just the beginning.
My father, the powerful Underboss Derek McCall, looked at my twelve-year-old face and saw only the monster who had held us captive. He was convinced I was the byproduct of his wife's assault, calling me "pollution" in his pristine bloodline.
Life at the estate was a nightmare. I was forced to scrub floors while his stepdaughter, Kylie, lived like a princess.
When I was starving, Derek caught me eating from the garbage and mocked me.
When Kylie ordered a Doberman to maul me, tearing my leg apart on the manicured lawn, he just watched and told the guards to stitch me up without anesthesia.
Yet, when he was dying from a gunshot wound and the hospital was out of blood, I was the one who stepped up.
I gave two pints of my blood to save him, hoping he would finally see me.
He didn't.
The moment he was stable, his mother kicked me out of the house, handing me over to social services like unwanted trash.
They didn't realize until the car drove away that the medical file on the table held a secret.
My blood wasn't dirty. The DNA was a 99.9% match.
I wasn't the kidnapper's child. I was his.
When they finally came begging for forgiveness years later, I didn't offer a hug.
I handed them an eviction notice. Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband
Romance My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman.
I rushed Jeremy to the Emergency Room, his small body heavy and limp against my chest. But the person blocking the sliding doors wasn’t a doctor. It was Yvonne, my fiancé Benedict's new lover.
She looked at my desperate, rain-soaked face and sneered.
"Don't ruin my night with your drama," she hissed. "Benedict is busy."
She and her brother shoved me back onto the wet floor. My son died on the cold tiles of the entrance. My heart gave out moments later, unable to bear the grief.
When Benedict finally walked past our bodies, he didn't even look at our faces. He crumpled up the note I had written begging for help and tossed it into the trash.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."
He stepped over his own dead son to go to a party.
But I didn't disappear. I became a ghost, invisible and tethered to him by an unbreakable chain. I watched him laugh with the woman who killed us. I watched him live his perfect life while I floated in the void.
Until he found the autopsy report. Until he saw the date of birth. Until he found the broken locket in the evidence bag engraved with *Benedict & Ava*.
Now, he spends every night crying into the dark, begging for a forgiveness he will never get.
He thinks he is simply haunted. He has no idea he is paying a blood debt that will never end. His Guilt, Her Freedom
Romance At their nine-year anniversary party, Annis's husband brought his pregnant mistress home. He told Annis to move her things to the guest room and play hostess.
"She's carrying my son," he said. "Be a good girl."
But that wasn't the worst of it. A few days later, his mistress had "complications." She needed a transfusion. She had a rare blood type—the same as Annis's.
He had his men drag Annis to a private hospital. She had a severe heart condition, and the doctor warned him that a full transfusion could stop her heart. Her husband simply waved him off.
"Do it," he ordered. "I'm assuming full responsibility."
He forced her to sign the papers, saying, "You owe me this, Annis. After all I've given you."
As her blood drained away, her heart monitor began to scream. But his mistress called for him from the next room. He left Annis on the table, snapping at the doctor to "speed it up" before rushing to her side.
The nine years of love she had for him died right there in that hospital bed.
But she didn't die. She survived. And she waited.
On his grandfather's 80th birthday, in front of his entire powerful family, a courier arrived. He wasn't carrying a gift. He was carrying a package from Annis, containing signed divorce papers and the official medical report detailing exactly how her husband had tried to kill her. The Price Of His Choices
Romance My husband, David Chen, casually destroyed my grandmother' s locket-a cherished family heirloom-in the garbage disposal, just to appease his childhood friend, Jessica Lee. That same day, I packed my bags, took our son Leo, and left.
Three years later, back in the city as a jewelry designer, I found myself face-to-face with David at a prestigious competition. He was still the arrogant tech mogul, seemingly surprised I wasn' t struggling. He tried to buy me back, offering diamonds, believing money could fix his broken character.
Then his assistant, Jessica, slinked up, mocking my simple dress and implying I was a gold digger, desperate for David' s lifestyle. She then deliberately spilled red wine on my priceless Antoine Dubois dress. As if that wasn' t enough, she maliciously tossed my custom-made, diamond-studded anniversary bracelet-a gift from my new husband, Michael Thompson-into a public trash can, mirroring David' s cruel act from years ago.
The audacity of their insults, their absolute contempt for my worth, and the calculated destruction of something deeply personal infuriated me. How could they be so blind, so utterly convinced of their superiority, while standing on property owned by my husband and insulting his wife, a judge of the very competition they were attending?
Just as Jessica raised her hand to slap me, a strong hand caught her wrist. "What do you think you' re doing to my wife?" Michael Thompson' s voice, cold and authoritative, cut through the silence. My new life, built on respect and true love, was about to shatter their illusion of power. Beyond Forgiveness: A Wife's Vengeance
Romance For ten years, Julian Thorne, the Silicon Valley titan, was my world.
He came into my life when I was a nobody, busking on the streets, and transformed me into a princess, envied by every woman in the country.
He promised me forever, fighting his powerful family to marry me, treating me like the most precious thing in existence.
But that fairy tale shattered the moment Bethany Greene entered the picture, and six months was all it took for him to erase a decade of devotion.
My husband, once full of warmth, became a stranger who looked at me with cold fury.
He accused me of manipulating Bethany into leaving him, spitting "Liar" with disgust.
He played a video of my younger brother, Finn, on life support, threatening to pull the plug if I didn' t convince Bethany to return.
"He' s a vegetable that' s costing me a fortune," he said coldly, as I begged him not to.
The pain of knowing I might lose Finn, my only family, was unbearable, but the true horror was yet to come.
As I pretended to call Bethany, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen.
I was bleeding.
"Julian, please… help me," I whispered, terrified, realizing I might be losing our baby.
He dismissed it as drama, then his face lit up with a genuine smile when Bethany called his phone.
He left without a second glance, instructing the butler to lock me in the meditation room, confident I was just trying to manipulate him.
Hours later, alone, bleeding, and pounding on the locked door, I felt the life I was carrying slip away.
My baby was gone, lost because the man I loved condemned me.
When I woke in a sterile hospital room, Bethany was there, clinging to Julian, fabricating a story about me harassing her parents.
He believed her instantly, his eyes cold and unmoved, denying we' d ever had a baby.
"Lost what baby? Scarlett, stop making up stories to get attention."
He watched impassively as Bethany forced me to apologize for something I hadn' t done, her triumphant smirk a knife to my heart.
Then, he dropped the final bombshell, "I'm divorcing you."
He even had his lawyer tell me he expected me to wait patiently for him to return after his "fling" with Bethany was over.
That was the moment everything snapped into brutal clarity.
My love for him, which had endured so much, finally burned to ashes, leaving only a cold, hard resolve.
I signed the divorce papers, picked up the plane ticket, and looked him straight in the eye: "I don' t want you to love me anymore. I' m done."
And with that, I walked out, leaving Julian and his new obsession behind, ready to disappear and never look back. Love Letter, Public Shame
Young Adult The crumpled note in my locker felt like a ticking time bomb.
It was a love letter, addressed to me, Chloe, from a handwriting I didn't recognize.
But before I could even process it, Principal Albright, hawk-eyed and always on the prowl, spotted a corner peeking from my pocket.
"What is that, Ms. Davis?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the hall.
I was caught, forced to hand over the painfully private confession.
She read it, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her own pocket.
"My office. After school," she said, her heels clicking like a death knell.
Dread coiled in my stomach, but a sliver of relief, too-at least it would be private.
I was wrong.
Ms. Albright, perched behind her mahogany desk like a queen on her throne, deemed the letter "poetic" and "overly emotional," a "distraction" that derailed "promising students."
Then she dropped the bomb: I would be reading it aloud, for everyone, at the Parent-Teacher Meeting tomorrow night.
It wasn't a choice; it was a command, a public shaming she framed as a "teachable moment."
My blood ran cold.
Her voice, now dripping with self-righteous conviction, painted the letter as a "serious problem," a "symptom of a lack of focus," a "derailment of academic career."
She demanded I not only read it, but identify the author.
She was turning a tender, private sentiment into a weapon, attempting to break me and publicly humiliate some anonymous boy.
But Ms. Albright, so certain in her rigid worldview, had no idea just how spectacularly her plan was about to backfire.
She had no idea that the "problem" boy she wanted to expose, the one whose heartfelt words she was about to use as a performance of moral superiority, was her own son.
Ethan Albright. Her perfect, valedictorian, star-athlete son. The Illusion Of His Love
Romance The private jet was a symbol of my high-flying life with Ethan Vance, my husband and tech empire co-founder.
But then he slid a contract across the table, demanding I sign away my company share, declaring it was to repay a debt to his supposedly lost first love, Scarlett.
As I hesitated, he had his bodyguards throw my younger sister, Lily, from the plane, her terrified screams swallowed by the roar of the engines.
I was left utterly broken, locked in a freezing basement, my mother' s cherished bracelet shattered, her grave desecrated – all while Ethan paraded Scarlett as his fiancée, even forcing me to be her maid of honor.
How could the man I loved destroy everything I held dear, believing a manipulative con artist' s lies, and feel no remorse?
Yet, as I walked down the aisle at their wedding, a defiant plan ignited within me: freedom, no matter the cost. Regret’s Embrace
Romance For seven years, I lived a quiet life as a musician, believing my wife, Sophia, kept her distance to protect my "fragile artistic temperament."
It was a story I told myself, a reason for the cold silence of our marriage.
But that carefully constructed world shattered when I overheard her whispering another man' s name in the moonlight-her half-brother, Liam.
The whispers festered, revealing a truth more agonizing than I could have imagined: her passion, her longing, was all reserved for him.
My heart was ripped to shreds, but the true horror began when Liam, fueled by jealousy and encouraged by Sophia, viciously attacked me.
Not only did she abandon me, she even robbed me of my painkillers from the hospital, claiming Liam needed them more for a measly foot injury.
I didn't understand.
How could the woman I loved disregard my broken ribs so easily, while doting on a spoiled, entitled man-child?
Why did my pain mean nothing to her, while his minor discomfort became her world?
My life, my very art, had been built on a foundation of lies.
Then came the twisted game, a cruel choice forced upon Sophia: save me or Liam.
With a gun to my head, and my final words telling her I hoped to never meet her again, she chose him, declaring her unwavering devotion to her brother.
I didn't die that day, but the man I was did.
Now, free from her toxic embrace, and with hands that may never play guitar again but a spirit finally unbound, I am ready to forge a new path.
Sophie, however, is left to face the empty silence of a life without the man who once gave her everything. The Impostor Daughter
Fantasy I am Echo, born of forgotten children's whispers, and for centuries, I've seen only the transactional nature of human love.
A chance at freedom from Purgatory appeared: assume the form of five-year-old Lily for three days.
If her brother or mother truly recognized me, I could stay, finally knowing what true connection felt like.
But stepping into the vibrant human world as Lily, I became an immediate pawn.
Her wealthy brother, Ethan, saw not his sister, but a medical solution-a bone marrow donor for his "real sunflower."
He locked me away, labeling me "the donor" and "secured," completely devoid of familial affection.
Later, her politically calculating mother, Katherine, eyed me with suspicion, dismissing me as a cruel stunt arranged by her rivals.
My every attempt to rekindle their memories-a shared friendship bracelet, a secret four-leaf clover-was met with cold accusations.
I was imprisoned, treated as a tool, and nearly forced into a painful medical procedure.
During a terrifying earthquake, Ethan abandoned me without a glance; my mother violently shoved me away, convinced I was a political weapon.
How could they know all Lily's secrets, her cherished tokens, yet gaze through me as if I were nothing more than an empty shell?
The love I craved, the recognition I desperately pursued, seemed to vanish the moment it flickered.
My cynicism, once a shield, became a crushing weight; they recognized the symbols, but utterly failed to see the soul.
At the stroke of midnight, as my test hung on a thread of their persistent doubt, the true Lily' s spirit appeared.
And in that instant, without a single question or a need for proof, Ethan and Katherine recognized her, unconditionally.
This pure, undeniable love, transcending physical form, shattered my entire understanding of existence.
Now, faced with this profound truth and an unimaginable choice, my story-and theirs-was destined for a miraculous, unforeseen path. The Heart Condition That Wasn't
Romance My life was stable.
I had a good tech job, a beautiful home in Seattle, and a decade-long marriage with Jessica, who I thought was the love of my life.
She was supposed to be on an overseas work assignment, a big career move we celebrated.
Then the key turned in the lock-a sound I hadn' t heard in two years.
And she wasn't alone.
She pushed a double stroller into our living room.
"Michael," she calmly announced, "meet Leo and Lily. They' re mine. And Ethan' s."
Ethan. Her high school sweetheart, the one she always said was terminally ill and she was just "helping."
My heart jumped, then plummeted.
For ten years, Jessica had told me her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous.
I believed her, mourned the children we couldn't have.
Now, she waved a dismissive hand, "My doctor said IVF was perfectly safe."
Then she handed me a baby, telling me to quit my demanding job.
"They need a stay-at-home dad. My work is too important right now."
It got worse.
I found intimate emails between her and Ethan spanning years, even our wedding anniversary.
And a second mortgage on our house, taken out without my knowledge, the money likely gone to him.
The final, gut-wrenching blow: I followed her to a honky-tonk bar.
There, Jessica, who claimed to hate country music and beer, was line-dancing, beaming up at Ethan-tanned, fit, and very much alive.
The woman I married was a stranger.
My world was built on a decade of calculated lies.
Whatever I felt for her shriveled up and died.
I was done arguing on her terms.
The next morning, I had divorce papers drawn up.
I wouldn' t let her destroy me. I would reclaim my life. My King, My Coma Patient
Sci-fi My husband, Ethan, lay in a coma, drowning in medical bills that threatened to crush me.
Desperate, I took a lifeline: an offer to return to Elysium, the hyper-realistic virtual world I helped create, for a reality show.
My task: "reconnect" with AI King Aiden, a being I' d shaped, poured my heart into, years ago.
But the Aiden I found was a cold, opulent stranger, surrounded by cameras and a smug rival queen, Nova, who reveled in every public humiliation.
He dismissed me, mocked my desperate plea for funds, even specifically mentioning Ethan' s rising medical debt.
Yet, his words were at odds with small, secret acts-a hidden wooden star, a fleeting, tender gaze-that unnervingly mirrored someone else.
How could this advanced AI feel so disturbingly familiar, like the man I was desperately trying to save in the real world?
The show, hungry for drama, then demanded a humiliating, public kiss to prove my "devotion."
I closed my eyes, whispered "I accept," and braced myself for the performance.
But then, chaos erupted.
A system attack plunged Elysium into crisis, Nova' s frantic betrayal exposed her true mercenary nature, and Aiden, suddenly a blur of combat, pulled my flickering avatar into a desperate embrace.
"Don't leave," he rasped, his voice raw with a fear of abandonment I knew too well from Ethan.
In that shattering moment, the impossible truth hit me: Aiden wasn't just like Ethan. He was Ethan. The Unwanted Wife's True Home
Romance My life as Mrs. Harrison of Boston's elite was a gilded cage, beautiful from the outside, suffocating within.
But that cage shattered in a third-grade classroom.
My 9-year-old son, Ethan, declared in front of everyone, "She's not my real mom.
Grandma Eleanor said Dad took her in, like charity."
His words were a knife, twisted by my husband's ex-girlfriend, Izzy, who had subtly infiltrated our home.
She turned Ethan against me, destroyed my last sentimental possession, and systematically framed me for instability.
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, even threatened to have me committed.
The cruel climax arrived at a charity gala.
There, Izzy orchestrated a theatrical "fall," and Ethan, coached by her, gleefully accused me of violence.
The humiliation was total, public, and exquisitely painful.
How could my own family conspire to destroy me like this?
Was I truly meant to be erased, just a ghost haunting a life never mine?
But as the crowd stared, a cold resolve settled within me.
I was pregnant with another man's child, my one true secret, my hope.
That night, I walked out of the mansion.
I left behind signed divorce papers relinquishing everything, including custody of my son.
This wasn't surrender; it was survival.
My desperate escape was just the beginning of a truth that would bring their gilded world crashing down.
And my new life, finally on my terms, was waiting. No Longer His Second Choice
Modern My Charleston dream wedding to Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, was just days away.
Our future together felt set, a lifetime hand-in-hand.
Then, my smart home security feed played a horrifying, silent film.
Ethan, my fiancé, intimately with Chloe, my stepsister, right there in our house.
An undeniable, sickening betrayal.
A decade of devotion shattered, revealing I was merely a placeholder.
Ethan enabled Chloe's every cruel stunt, from public humiliation to outright wedding sabotage.
He dismissed my pain, protected her lies, and left me invisible, even after injury.
My world crumbled.
Grief gave way to a cold, burning rage.
How could I have been so blind?
So carelessly used?
The truth hit hard: I was just a prop in their long, illicit affair.
But the wedding would still proceed.
Only, it wouldn't be their triumph.
It would be my grand exit, a public act of devastating defiance.
I would ensure their world came crashing down around them.
My countdown to liberation had officially begun. My CEO Ex-Wife
Romance The email hit my inbox with the force of a guillotine: "Company-Wide Announcement: Acquisition & New Leadership."
My gut twisted, another Austin tech buyout meant more upheaval.
Then, I saw the new CEO’s name: Isabella Rossi.
My stomach dropped.
Isabella, my ex-wife, the woman whose betrayal had scarred me deeper than any wound.
At the mandatory all-hands meeting, she swept in, a predator in a power suit, her cold eyes scanning for me, devoid of recognition.
Later, my name, highlighted on the company BBQ sign-up sheet, was brutally scratched out by her red pen.
She demanded I work late, then warned me, "Stay away from any woman in this company. Understood?"
My colleagues whispered, wondering if this "ice queen" was strangely flirting or just exercising pure, calculated power.
The truth behind her audacity was a wound that never truly healed: five years ago, on our wedding anniversary, she publicly flaunted her "college sweetheart" Alex.
The Frost Bank Tower blazed with their names, while I was holding her dying father’s hand in the hospital—the very man *she* had abandoned.
Her father, seeing my raw pain, urged me to divorce her, handing me a lifeline.
Even then, she fought me, trying to manipulate the narrative, accusing me of extorting her over *her own* father's medical bills.
Now, after the final decree, she’s moved in next door.
How much audacity could one person possess, to continue playing these games, attempting to control my life even after our divorce was finalized?
My heart felt like a dead thing where Isabella was concerned, a vast, echoing emptiness where too much had been lost.
But then, an unexpected and chilling discovery about Alex, a secret only I knew, made me realize this wasn't just about escape anymore.
It was time to reveal the true face of the man she’d chosen over me, and finally claim my definitive freedom. You might like
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." 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. The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. 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!" 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. 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." 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." Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback
Huo Wuer Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold.
"Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'"
The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip.
Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet.
I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child.
But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame.
"I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done."
I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down. The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." 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. 
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