Evvie Foreman
12 Published Stories
Evvie Foreman's Books and Stories
Betrayed Heiress: A Storm Awakened Within
Modern I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. The Billionaire's Secret Heir In Hiding
Billionaires I woke up in a bed of cold marble and silk, lying next to Armond Emerson—the billionaire CEO who treats people like disposable assets. Five years ago, I escaped his world with a secret that could destroy me; now, a single night of desperation had put me right back in his crosshairs.
My nightmare was only beginning. My ex-boyfriend, Lucas, had me followed to the penthouse and was now using my family as target practice to force me back under his thumb.
Within twenty-four hours, my gallery was seized, my bank accounts were frozen, and my brother was left bleeding on a warehouse floor with his painting hands crushed. Lucas’s threat was clear: "Kneel and beg, or I’ll make sure your little bastard in Queens has an accident."
That "bastard" was Leo, my four-year-old son. He was the secret heir to the Emerson empire, and Armond had no idea he existed.
To protect him, I sold my soul. I walked into Armond’s office and offered a deal: I’d be his fake fiancée to stabilize his board of directors if he destroyed Lucas. He agreed, but his touch was a brand and his suspicion was a knife. He started digging into the five-year gap in my resume, hiring investigators to peel back the layers of my time in Switzerland.
I thought I could play the part of the harmless socialite until the danger passed. I thought I could keep my son hidden in the shadows of a crumbling Queens apartment while I played house with a monster.
But after a brutal attack in a parking garage, I collapsed in Armond's arms, my consciousness fading as I whispered the one name I should have kept buried.
As I lay sedated in his penthouse, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Armond answered it.
"Mommy? Are you okay? Uncle Nate said the bad man hurt you."
The silence that followed was the sound of my world ending. Armond stared at the caller ID, looking at the face of the son I had stolen from him, and finally realized exactly what I had been running from. He Faked Amnesia To Break Our Vows
Modern I was sealing our wedding invitations with crimson wax when I heard my fiancé through the slightly ajar study door.
Ethan wasn't reciting the poetry he’d written for me over the last seven years. He was outlining the logistics of his betrayal.
"If I fake amnesia after the 'accident' tonight, I can delay the wedding without the family stopping the merger," Ethan laughed, ice clinking in his glass.
"And Ava? The Canary?" his friend asked.
"Ava is property. You maintain property; you don't have fun with it. While she plays nurse, I get a medical exemption to sleep with Chloe."
My world shattered. I fled into the rainy night, blinded by tears, until headlights turned my world upside down.
I woke up in the wreckage, my arm shattered, tasting blood. Ethan arrived moments later.
But he didn't run to me.
He stepped right over my bleeding body to comfort Chloe, who had a minor scratch on her forehead.
"I've got you, baby," he cooed to his mistress, looking at me with nothing but cold annoyance. "Don't worry about her. She's tough."
He left me in the street.
By the next morning, the narrative was set: The tragic Don had lost his memory of his fiancée, but miraculously remembered his 'true love,' Chloe. He evicted me from our penthouse while I was still in surgery.
He thought he had won. He thought the Canary would just die in the cold.
He forgot one thing. I knew where he hid the bodies—literally.
I walked into his staged public proposal, slammed my ring on the table, and left a note under it.
*I remember everything. And so do you.*
Then I boarded a plane with his secret incriminating journal in my bag. The empire was about to burn. The Billionaire Widow's Redemption
Romance For three years, my husband Carter Hancock had erectile dysfunction. Or so he told me. I was the one who pulled him from a fiery car crash, and this marriage was his promise to cherish the hands that saved him.
But tonight, I overheard him with my sister-in-law, Jodie. He confessed his condition was a lie to avoid touching me, and that he' d always loved her. Our marriage was just a sham to appease his grandfather.
The betrayals kept coming. He claimed she was the one who saved him. He abandoned me during a landslide to rescue her. When I woke up in the hospital with broken ribs, he asked me to donate skin from my leg to fix a scratch on her face.
He wanted to mutilate my body for the woman who stole my life, the woman carrying his secret child. My love was a burden, my sacrifice a joke they laughed about behind closed doors.
Then I found the final, soul-crushing truth: our marriage certificate was a fake. I was never his wife, just a placeholder.
That night, I picked up my phone and called the one person he' d warned me away from.
"Alex," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I need to leave. Can you meet me in Europe?" Her Vengeance, His Ruined Life
Modern My son was dead. The official report called it a suicide, a drug overdose. But I knew it was a lie. I was a Crime Scene Investigator, and I had processed his body myself. The evidence screamed murder.
I appealed, seven times, each time presenting irrefutable proof. Each time, District Attorney Bentley Shannon slammed the door in my face, dismissing my grief as delusion. The system I had served for twenty years was protecting a killer.
So, I took the law into my own hands. I kidnapped the District Attorney's daughter, Dallas Shannon, and broadcast my demands to the world. For every chance he wasted, I would use a forensic tool on her, permanently disfiguring her.
The world watched, horrified, as I stapled her arm, then cauterized it, drawing thin red lines on her skin with a scalpel.
My former mentor, Dr. Hooper, and my son's girlfriend, Alexandra, were brought in to convince me, to paint my son as depressed, to present a fabricated suicide note. For a moment, I wavered, the pain of being a "bad mother" crushing me.
But then I saw it—a hidden message in his "suicide note," a secret code from his favorite childhood book. He wasn't giving up; he was crying for help. They had twisted his plea into a lie.
My grief burned away, replaced by an unbreakable resolve.
"I do not accept this note," I declared, pressing the cauterizing pen to Dallas's leg as the FBI swarmed in. Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: The Doctor's Verdict
Modern It was our eighth wedding anniversary, and nine hundred and ninety-nine imported orchids, courtesy of my husband Ethan, filled the ER breakroom, a suffocating monument to his wealth and our utterly hollow marriage. My name is Sarah, an ER doctor, and just a month ago, I lost our baby – our second child – alone, terrified in the hospital. That night, Ethan was at a "critical work dinner" with his assistant, Chloe, claiming he couldn't leave my side. His grand gesture of impersonal flowers was a chilling reminder of how little he truly cared, or how little he bothered to know me anymore.
When I finally called, his voice was impatient; he dismissed my desperate plea to talk, sighing about my work stress before hanging up. Later, at our cold, modern penthouse, he offered an expensive diamond necklace, likely chosen by Chloe, ignoring my quiet but firm demand for a divorce. He scoffed, calling me "dramatic," bragging about the "best" orchids. Worse, his family, led by his domineering mother Eleanor and always-present Chloe, began using our son, Leo, as leverage, subtly painting me as emotionally unstable.
Why was the man who once gave me a single, dollar-pink carnation, a symbol of genuine, selfless love, now so utterly incapable of seeing me at all? How could he respond to the agonizing loss of our child with a callous remark about me being "stretched thin with my career?" His profound indifference, coupled with his family' s insidious manipulation, transformed my deep grief into a cold, unwavering fury.
After years of swallowing my anger and enduring their polished cruelty, I finally reached my breaking point at their opulent Connecticut estate. I was done being ignored, done being dismissed. It was time to shatter their perfect, miserable charade and reclaim every piece of my life. The Thong in My Bed
Modern My daughter's relentless tantrums finally broke me. It was for a week-long soccer tournament in Orlando, Florida, a "once-in-a-lifetime opportunity" according to her "cool" new coach, Sabrina. Exhausted, I agreed, believing my husband, Matt, couldn't come due to a massive work project.
But one night in our hotel room, I woke to an empty bed. My heart pounded as I tiptoed to the balcony, where Maddy was whispering into her expensive new smartwatch – a gift from Sabrina. "Daddy," she murmured, "is Coach Sabrina feeling better now? You need to make sure all her stuff is out of our house before Mom gets home!" The world stopped. His "critical work project" was a lie. He was at our home. With her.
Shaking, I checked Sabrina's Instagram. Her 'close friends' story opened to a picture of her in my bed, a man' s arm, identified by Matt's anniversary watch, wrapped around her. And right there, on my nightstand, a framed photo of me. It clicked. She wasn't just having an affair; she had paraded it in my home, documenting her conquest for me to find. The ultimate insult.
Then, the true horror: Maddy. My sweet, innocent daughter. The tantrums, the desperate need for this trip – it was all a setup. My own child, a tiny accomplice in her father's monstrous betrayal. They needed me out of the house. The realization that my entire life had been a carefully orchestrated lie, using my own daughter as a pawn, curdled my blood.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. A chilling calm settled over me. There would be no second chances. There would be no return home. My lawyer would be in touch. The Dog's Vengeance: An Heiress Returns
Modern For five years, my best friend Elyse and I hid our elite identities, pouring our hearts and our immense resources into building my boyfriend Ethan and his brother Wesley' s media empire.
Then, just as success was within reach, Ethan's voice, devoid of all warmth, flatly demanded my entire life savings, mirroring the cold betrayal he and his new socialite partner, Sabrina, launched against us.
The final blow came when Wesley cruelly sold our beloved dog, Buddy, to a research lab for mere cash, an act of sheer barbarity that forced Elyse to stage her own death to escape their clutches and activate her family' s power.
How could these men, whom we believed in and loved, dismiss us as simple baristas, exploit our hidden connections, and then destroy everything we held dear, even celebrating our presumed tragedy for their gain?
But as they boasted of their triumphs and prepared to conquer Washington D.C., little did they know the "barista" they thought they'd destroyed was merely shedding her disguise, a powerful Heiress now returning to her home turf, ready to unleash a vengeance they could never comprehend. Stolen Motherhood, Shattered Lives
Modern I woke up in my own bed, familiar yet foreign.
Everything that had shattered my first life flooded back.
Years of Mark, my husband, shrinking me, and Tiffany, his high-school flame, twisting the knife.
I remembered my miscarriage, the doctors' pronouncement: "You can't have more children."
Then, our adopted son, Leo. My beautiful boy.
But the crushing truth: he wasn't just "ours." He was theirs.
They orchestrated it all, letting me pour my broken heart into raising their child, smirking behind my back as their free nanny, their convenient fool.
That ultimate, horrifying betrayal had quite literally killed me.
It wasn't just an affair; it was the audacious theft of my motherhood, the calculated destruction of my identity.
How could they do it, believing I' d never uncover their lie?
The injustice burned, an icy inferno.
But now, I was back.
It was the evening before Mark would tell me Tiffany was moving in, a moment that once broke me.
This time, no tears, no desperate pleas.
Only cold, silent calculation.
And they were completely unprepared for the storm I was about to unleash. The Divorce He Filed Himself
Modern My husband Mark called, his voice a whip crack in my ear, furious that I was in Napa enjoying wine instead of fretting over his mistress, Jessie.
For seven years, his world revolved around Jessie' s endless dramas, her "fragile" state always prioritized over my needs, my feelings, or even the memory of my late father.
I quietly drafted dissolution papers, shifting the names from generic "Jane Doe" to "Sarah Miller vs. Mark Thompson," a silent vow of freedom.
He dismissed my pain, gaslighted my reality, and funneled our marital assets into Jessie' s lavish lifestyle, casually buying her a $15,000 designer bag when I couldn't get a few hundred for a work suit.
The ultimate betrayal came during a scuba trip off La Jolla: he shoved me, his wife, directly into a shark's path to save Jessie, then abandoned me, celebrating with her on the boat while I gasped for air, bleeding.
How could anyone be so utterly blind, so consumed by another's manufactured crisis, that they would sacrifice their own spouse and then, beaming, personally file divorce papers thinking they were for their mistress?
He proudly signed away his future, thinking he was liberating Jessie, not realizing he was cementing my escape and sealing his own downfall.
The game was on, and watching his oblivious delight, I knew I would win. Love's Toxic Echo
Romance I woke in a hospital bed, my head throbbing, a void where seven years of my life should be.
Doctors explained it was retrograde amnesia, specifically targeting emotional connections.
My best friend, Liam, looked devastated when I asked, "Cassie? Who's Cassie?"
Apparently, she was everything to me for seven long years, a love so deep it was almost painful.
Yet, when I finally encountered this forgotten love, Cassie Vanderbilt, she was shockingly cold.
She showed no concern for my accident, only annoyance, casting me aside for her ex-fiancé, Damian Pierce.
Her dismissive eyes and cutting words instantly confirmed her indifference, echoing the tales of unrequited devotion from a private blog I found.
She publicly validated Damian over me, humiliated me at a party, and even threw coffee in my face.
When a fire erupted, she inexplicably chose to save Damian, leaving me to the flames.
And later, when Damian brazenly stole my revolutionary tech project, AuraConnect, she stood by him, publicly discrediting me.
Each fresh injury, inflicted by a woman I no longer remembered, compounded my confusion and pain.
How could I have so desperately loved someone utterly devoid of compassion, even for a victim of severe memory loss?
The weight of her constant betrayals, for a past I couldn't access, was a sickening burden.
This constant cycle of humiliation left me bewildered, questioning the very essence of my forgotten self.
I knew then: this forgotten past was toxic, and I would consciously choose to leave it behind.
I fled Boston for Austin, embracing a clean slate and finding genuine happiness with Maya.
But just as I started to build a new life, the darkness of my past, in the form of Damian and Cassie's schemes, roared back.
They came for me, forcing a final, brutal confrontation that tore open old wounds and revealed a truth far more agonizing than I could have imagined. You might like
Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Reilly Mcardle For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. Flash Marriage to the Tycoon, I'm Spoiled Rotten
Hollow Echo Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town.
They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done."
Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me."
As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world.
When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?" 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. 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. 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. Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge
Xiao Hong Mao I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband's aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason's coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go.
The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason's mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside.
The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal.
I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate.
But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone.
"Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands."
The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I'm starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak. 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 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. 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." 
/1/114027/coverorgin.jpg?v=398114b2a7bed8fb5c13d15c0abc3a61&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/108033/coverorgin.jpg?v=b727eb316b3410002613da85f225f781&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101765/coverorgin.jpg?v=2fd08178c2c5e3a9dbadcb6f6f10453c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/97560/coverorgin.jpg?v=de57e8a5f772d6f1e0ed34224d80619e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/90451/coverorgin.jpg?v=853a3eeddad27930047c9631b77c3f34&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84425/coverorgin.jpg?v=dfe38f84a59a7468e1f95cdd65e134da&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84201/coverorgin.jpg?v=3876260c24ceb7bae604d8e43c9a0b1b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84040/coverorgin.jpg?v=4c384056703be1cbff7269afa0d44f85&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83091/coverorgin.jpg?v=e5c9427943d44b7276ebbd85919b0b4c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81259/coverorgin.jpg?v=436aa62da71495b20cc01e2928f551b0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80775/coverorgin.jpg?v=eee8a1657d56e79fe57016214ee071ea&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/60611/coverorgin.jpg?v=8da50d497663e8efae6e3b5e2b60ebc5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110901/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef824f8e74525d02a808de96a1088564&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113362/coverorgin.jpg?v=5efb20621f255e262e29bdba5df38f3b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112008/coverorgin.jpg?v=2b0abcab944971bf058c4d3da02bb538&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110343/coverorgin.jpg?v=cd4e8269a7b208ebe8c7a769a0d2faaa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107820/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e86399a40b4939055e49bc447825466&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107720/coverorgin.jpg?v=6d6583f21b392ea7c76b778b0308381b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106644/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f787171070b7af5eaf9c58a1495a6bd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/78663/coverorgin.jpg?v=b705411c5144e51405caa1dd738aa5d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106609/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e9e182824bef37bb03be668963bc105&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106447/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f3287a2d4b0f0bdd81f9c491b55fa4b&imageMogr2/format/webp)