Ethelin Callow
8 Published Stories
Ethelin Callow's Books and Stories
Kneel Before Your Ex-Wife, Ruthless Boss
Mafia For seven years, I secretly funneled my family's wealth to build my husband's mafia empire, even paying exorbitant black-market fees to keep his dying mother alive.
But today, Julian threw annulment papers onto the mahogany table.
He wrapped a possessive arm around his mistress, proudly announcing to a room of armed men that she was carrying his heir.
"Sign the papers and walk away, or my men will consign your body to the river," Julian commanded.
He mocked me as a fruitless branch, completely useless to his legacy.
His mistress smirked, aggressively demanding I get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness.
The entire room of hardened killers erupted into coarse laughter, reveling in the ultimate humiliation of a discarded, barren wife.
They had no idea about the secret I buried.
Six years ago, a piece of shrapnel in a drive-by shooting had rendered Julian permanently sterile.
To protect his life and fragile pride in a brutal syndicate that despised weak men, I had sworn myself to absolute silence and taken all the insults.
I had given him everything, only to be thrown away for a child that couldn't possibly be his.
Looking into the cruel eyes of the man I had shielded for half a decade, my last vestige of naive hope withered.
I calmly signed the annulment without a moment's hesitation.
Then, I pulled out my phone to call the Consigliere of New York's ultimate Don—my father—ready to reduce Julian's holdings to ash. The Wife He Sold
Romance My fiancé, Mark, whispered promises of forever, of a family, as we lay in bed watching the sunrise.
He said he loved me, and I believed him with every fiber of my being.
I built my world around him, his happiness my only goal.
Then, I found his journal.
Page after page, he wrote about Chloe, his childhood sweetheart, with a desperate, passionate love he never showed me.
It was dated a week after he proposed to me.
I wasn't his love; I was a placeholder, someone convenient to fund his lifestyle and soothe his ego while he waited for his true love to be available.
The gentleness was a tool, his promises a means to an end.
My heart shattered into a million pieces.
Then Chloe' s husband died, and her family went bankrupt.
Mark brought her to our home, demanding she stay.
When I finally defied him, telling him she couldn't stay, he went into a rage.
The next day, two rough men arrived.
I thought they were there to evict me, but they grabbed me, dragging me from my home.
"A lesson in obedience, Sarah," Mark had said, adjusting my collar as they held me.
"You're tougher. Three days. I'll get the money and come for you. Just be a good girl."
But he never came.
I was thrown into a dark, reeking basement – an underground fight club.
There, I learned the true meaning of his betrayal.
He didn't just abandon me; he sold me, leaving me for dead, all to punish me for standing in his way.
I barely escaped, a ghost of my former self.
When I stumbled back home, I found him celebrating, bragging about how I had been "broken in."
Sarah Miller died that night.
Three years later, I faced him across a crowded ballroom, his gaze freezing on mine.
He rushed towards me, murmuring, "Sarah? Is that you? Do you know I've been searching for you for three years!"
But the broken girl was gone.
I leaned into the warm, solid figure beside me, a cool smile on my face.
"Mr. Stevens," I said, "we're not close. Please don't let my husband get the wrong idea." Love, Loss, And A Bitter Recipe
Modern The stage lights seared, the bitterness of defeat choking me.
Julian Vance, my mentor, my guide, held Chloe Davies' hand high in victory – my best friend, clutching my trophy, won with my family' s recipes.
Cameras zoomed in on her tear-streaked, happy face as I screamed accusations, met only with pity.
My desperate attempt at sabotage backfired, solidifying my reputation as a sore loser, my career over, my family' s legacy a joke.
Humiliation burned, consuming everything until nothing was left.
Then, I blinked.
Harsh fluorescent kitchen lights, the metallic scent of stainless steel, the sweet aroma of butter and sugar – I was back.
Back to the final patisserie presentation, clutching a piping bag, standing between Chloe and Julian.
He inspected our cakes, mine flawless, hers a rich chocolate raspberry torte – the first recipe she stole.
"Your technique is flawless, Ava," he' d said, "but it has no soul."
Then he' d turned to Chloe, his voice dripping with paternal pride, "This, my dear, has heart. A talent that cannot be taught."
Chloe had blushed, claiming it an "old family recipe." A lie. My family' s recipe.
He declared her the winner, his prodigy.
His proprietary gleam wasn' t just simple favoritism; it was calculated.
He never just witnessed her betrayal; he orchestrated it.
My ruin was his design, a deliberate elevation of her, a calculated dismissal of me.
This time, there would be no screaming. This time, I knew. Her Unanswered Messages
Romance Today was my 27th birthday, and also the day I buried my adoptive mother-the only family I' d ever known.
Standing in the silent funeral home, the heavy scent of lilies mixing with antiseptic, I clutched the cold urn, while my husband, Ethan Miller, was nowhere to be found.
Not a call, not a text, not even a presence at the hospital when she passed, or here now to say goodbye. The brutal realization hit me: my marriage was as hollow as this empty room.
Just as I resolved to leave, my life took a dark, unexpected turn.
His sister, Chloe, sauntered in with a smirk, calling me a "placeholder" for Sarah Chen, her eyes dripping with disdain for my simple black dress. Then Ethan walked in, beaming, with Sarah by his side, holding a bouquet of gardenias-her flowers, not mine.
He ordered me, his wife, to prepare the guest room next to his for his mistress, Sarah.
Sarah, a woman who looked eerily like me, then offered me her diamond bracelet as a "birthday gift" -a cruel, glittering symbol of my humiliation.
My refusal was met with Ethan' s seething rage; "Take the bracelet!" he snarled, as if my dignity was an inconvenience. My quiet compliance, my shell of a self, was not the reaction he expected.
Later that painful night, a chilling revelation struck me: his pet name for me, "Lily-flower," was never for me at all-it was always for her, for Sarah, the gardenia. I was just a substitute.
But the final blow arrived when Sarah staged a fake allergic reaction to my soup, blaming me. Faced with protecting Maria, our kind housekeeper, from their cruel lies, I took the blame.
And for that, Ethan forced a vile, burning liquid down my throat.
This was not just abuse; it was a twisted game orchestrated to break me. Lying on the floor, choking on the bitter taste of betrayal, I knew one thing: I would leave, and I would never look back. When Love Kills: A Calculated Revenge
Romance I stood at the altar, ready to marry Nicole, the woman I' d given up everything for-my pro-gaming career, my entire life savings, all poured into her dreams.
The priest' s words hung in the air, echoing across the Napa Valley vineyard: "Do you, Ethan Lester, take Nicole Anderson...?"
Suddenly, a disheveled figure stumbled through the guests – Ryan Clark, her college ex, the "one that got away," clutching his head and declaring he was dying of an inoperable brain tumor.
Nicole froze, her hand dropping from mine, her eyes wide with a horrifying mix of concern and sick romanticism.
She turned from me, from our wedding, from our life, helping him to his feet and disappearing among the grapevines, leaving me utterly alone.
A cold voice inside my head, belonging to the "pact" that governed my own dormant glioblastoma, clinically confirmed: "Condition check failed. Loyalty parameter at zero. Pact objective failed."
My blood ran cold, not just from her betrayal, but from the chilling reality that the lie he spoke was the exact truth of my own silent, ticking death sentence.
How could my entire sacrifice, my very life, be so easily dismissed for a transparent, manipulative sob story, when my own truth was far more devastating?
With only one week left to live and a "final wish" granted by the pact, I made the only choice that mattered: Ryan' s supposed tumor would be completely and miraculously cured. His Last Surprise
Modern My seven-year relationship ended with a deepfake, meticulously crafted to ruin my indie game developer career.
Then my mother's health rapidly declined, baffling doctors.
My childhood best friend, Liam, emerged as my rock, supporting me through profound grief.
Three years later, married and eight months pregnant with his child, I overheard a horrifying truth: Liam, my doting husband, orchestrated everything.
He had my mother murdered for a lung transplant for my stepsister, Chloe, and engineered the deepfake to isolate me.
I was just a pawn in his sick obsession with Chloe.
The man whose child I carried was a monster.
My life was a meticulously constructed lie.
Then, Chloe, the fragile invalid, confessed more: Liam had caused my two previous miscarriages and planned to give our baby to her.
When I confronted her, she staged a fake miscarriage, and my own father, encouraged by Liam, broke my hand for it.
My art, my solace, shattered.
The pain was unbearable, but a steel resolve hardened within me.
How could the man I trusted, loved, orchestrate such depravity?
Why was I, my mother, my children, mere collateral in his twisted game?
The injustice burned.
I ended my pregnancy, enduring unbearable agony, then placed the preserved fetus in an ornate gift box.
I donned a prosthetic belly, began divorce proceedings, and secured a new identity.
On the day of my "delivery," I walked away, leaving him a chilling surprise, ready to forge a new life as Grace Jordan, a survivor reborn. His Betrayed Wife: A Vengeful Return
Romance Savannah, an oil heiress, gave up everything for love, marrying Sheriff Brady and settling into a seemingly perfect ranch life in Kansas, pregnant with their first child.
However, the idyllic bubble burst the moment her daughter, Lily, was born when the doctor revealed an impossible truth: her four closest friends, cohabiting with them, were all pregnant by Brady.
He dismissed it as a mere "accident," while his mother, Martha, brazenly declared it a divine blessing for the family’s legacy.
Savannah’s demand for a divorce was met with a brutal slap from Martha, who scorned her as barren and labeled Lily a "useless girl."
Soon after, baby Lily inexplicably died, only for Savannah to discover her tiny daughter had been secretly buried in their backyard like a discarded secret.
Then, Martha was poisoned, and Savannah was cruelly framed for the murder, leading to her committal to a grim state mental asylum where Brady seized control of her entire inheritance.
Trapped, medicated, and despairing, Savannah wrestled with the unfathomable betrayal by the man lauded as a hero, questioning how her life had devolved into such a waking nightmare.
But a flickering ember of hope ignited when a new nurse delivered a cryptic signal—a small, silver X—leading to a dramatic escape from a staged asylum fire with the help of Ethan, the man she once abandoned.
Vowing to reclaim her name and avenge her child, Savannah embarks on a relentless path to expose Sheriff Brady’s monstrous truth, whatever the cost. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." He Broke My Spirit, I Soared
Deeply Engaged I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession. My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. Carved From My Body, His Regret
Ive Gutterson My eyes struggled open, but a heavy weight held them shut. I was paralyzed, trapped in a cold hospital room, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor a cruel reminder of my mother's death. I, Elena Vitiello, who controlled everything, was now helpless, reduced to a slab of meat.
Then I heard his footsteps. Dante. My husband, my anchor. But his voice was chillingly devoid of warmth as he ordered, "Do not increase the dosage. I will not risk damaging the organ's viability." The organ. My mind went blank, ice filling my veins.
Trapped and unable to move, I realized Dante saw me only as a "political placeholder," never loving me. He was having my kidney removed, carved from my body like livestock, to save his mistress, Sofia-the woman whose messes I'd cleaned for ten years. His hand, usually my comfort, smeared away my tear with sheer disgust.
The scalpel tore into my flesh, a blinding, white-hot agony. Every tug and pull hollowed me out, stripping away my potential, my love, my future. How could the man I bled for reduce me to a mere object, a spare part for his true love? The sheer insult of it fueled a volcanic rage.
As my kidney was lifted out, the final illusion of our marriage shattered completely. My fear dissolved, replaced by a chilling, absolute calm. The darkness that embraced me was not defeat, but the coiling silence of a viper preparing to strike. This kidney was not a sacrifice. It was the down payment for Dante Moretti's life. Phoenix Rising: My Doomed Supreme General Husband
Sea Quest Arden Monroe was locked in a sterile psychiatric room by her own flesh and blood.
Not long after, her brother Delmar arrived with a cold ultimatum.
He demanded she publicly break her engagement so her fiancé Brenden could marry her half-sister Kallie.
If she refused, the doctors would declare her legally unstable, and she would rot in this asylum forever.
In her previous life, Arden fought back desperately.
As a result, her family froze her trust fund and completely destroyed her reputation in high society.
They even framed her fiercely loyal assistant, Jennie, throwing her into a terrifying concrete cell to silence her.
When Arden had absolutely nothing left to take, they orchestrated a tragic accident.
She was left to burn alive in an abandoned warehouse, feeling her own bones turn to ash.
Until she died, she didn't understand. She was a Monroe, her father's legitimate daughter.
Why did her father and brother hate her so much?
Why did they collude with political enemies to slaughter her maternal grandfather and uncles just to strip away her protection?
Opening her eyes again, the suffocating smoke was gone, and she was back on the day Delmar came to force the breakup.
"I'll do what you want," Arden whispered, perfectly masking her cold, murderous resolve.
This time, she would inherit the secret Beaumont wealth, ally with the dying General Donovan Mathews, and burn their world to the ground. 
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