George B
10 Published Stories
George B's Books and Stories
He Built Two Families, I Was Only Half of One
Romance Mia Hayes thought her life was perfect, eight years married to Ethan Miller, living a glamorous Manhattan life she believed was built on deep love.
Then, at a Central Park fundraiser, a small boy called my husband, Ethan, "Daddy," shattering my illusion of marital bliss.
His flimsy explanation about his assistant's orphaned son crumbled when I unearthed hidden photos and emails, revealing a secret family—a pregnant Jessica Vance and five years of Leo’s life—that ripped apart our perfect illusion.
When I confronted him, his facade shattered, replaced by a desperate rage that turned our opulent penthouse into a cage, where he brutalized me, claiming it was to "save us."
The horror escalated when his mistress, Jessica, unlocked my prison, not to rescue but to kidnap me, dragging me to a dilapidated motel where she orchestrated my public degradation to destroy my reputation.
How could the man I loved, the partner I trusted implicitly, be living a double life for years, with a child he denied me, only to subject me to such unspeakable violence and public humiliation?
But with the unwavering support of my family and lawyer, I fought back, opting for memory suppression to wall off the trauma, only to have it brutally resurface when Ethan, now a desperate shell, tried to force his way back into my life.
This time, empowered by a painful truth, I chose to face him, not as a victim, but as a woman reborn, ready to utterly erase him from my world and build a future free from his monstrous shadow. Death of a Love, Birth of a Ghost
Horror My sister Ivanna's son was dying. His leukemia had returned, and he needed a bone marrow transplant immediately.
My husband, Jaimen, didn't hesitate. His cold eyes landed on our five-year-old daughter, Lily, playing in the corner.
"Use Lily's," he said. "Her marrow is a perfect match."
When I refused, he and my own sister pinned me to the floor. They ignored my screams as doctors held down my terrified daughter and performed the extraction.
They took too much. Lily died the next day of cardiac arrest. Then, they had me beaten and dumped my body in a dark alley, leaving me to die alone.
For three years, Jaimen believed I had run away out of spite. He cursed my name, telling everyone I was a venomous woman who had murdered our daughter to get back at him.
Now, Timothy's leukemia is back, and Jaimen has launched a massive, city-wide manhunt. He is threatening to torture my mother to force me out of hiding, vowing to break my legs and make me kneel.
He has no idea his search will lead him to two graves.
And that my ghost is watching his every move, waiting for the moment he finally learns the truth. Done Being A Shadow: The Wife's Escape
Modern On the day I finally pried open the locked drawer in Marcus’s study, I didn't find a surprise anniversary gift.
I found a shrine to my father's business partner, Izzy.
Photos of a woman who looked exactly like me stared back.
That was when I realized my marriage was nothing more than an expensive lie. I wasn't his wife; I was a customized substitute for the woman he couldn't have.
The nightmare worsened when scalding soup was spilled at a restaurant.
Marcus didn't hesitate.
He threw his body over Izzy to shield her, leaving me to take the full force of the burns.
Later, while I lay in the hospital bandaged and in agony, he didn't come to comfort me.
He came to demand I donate a kidney to save Izzy.
"If we both needed a kidney, who would you choose?" I asked him, desperate for a lie.
"Izzy," he said instantly. "She has so much more to do."
He didn't know I was pregnant.
He didn't know that while he was begging me to save his mistress, the stress was killing his unborn child.
I wiped my tears and laughed.
"Okay," I said.
I signed the divorce papers and left them on his desk.
On top of them, I placed a medical report dated that morning: *Spontaneous Abortion.*
Then, I boarded a one-way flight to Montana and vanished, leaving him to wake up to a world where he had saved his mistress but killed his family. His Obsession, Her Agony
Romance "I want a divorce, Ethan."
The words came out, quiet but steady, hanging in the sterile air as my husband, Ethan, stopped swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He didn' t look at me, but at my reflection in the dark, floor-to-ceiling window.
"No," he stated, his eyes cold and empty, "You' re my wife, Autumn. You don' t get to leave."
I clutched my suitcase, my knuckles white, heart a frantic drum. He smiled, a slow, cruel curve of his lips, a monster I now saw clearly. "Aren' t you? I own this house. I own the clothes you' re wearing. I own your career, what' s left of it."
He ignored my whispered pleas, stroked my hair, then grabbed my arm, fingers digging in. "After what you did? After you killed your sister?" The old accusation, his favorite weapon, slicing me open. "You drove her to it. She' s dead because of you. And you will spend the rest of your life making it up to me."
Tears burned my eyes as he yanked me closer, the smell of whiskey on his breath. "You belong to me. In this life and the next. Did you forget your vows? Till death do us part." His hand connected with my cheek, a sharp crack, and I fell, tasting blood.
He loomed, not a trace of remorse. "This is your fault, Autumn. All of it." He nudged my suitcase. "Unpack. We' re having dinner with my business partners tonight. Wear the blue dress. And smile."
Lying there, a plan began to form. He was right about one thing. Only death would part us. So I would die. His Wife's Deadly Deception
Romance The memory of our eighth anniversary was burned into my mind, a perfect image of how my life fell apart.
My wife, Olivia, tearfully confessed to a one-night stand, blaming her assistant, Leo.
She even picked up a shard of broken wine glass and dragged it across her arm.
I loved her, and consumed by my own pain and desperate to save our marriage, I chose to believe her.
Two years later, Leo sat across from me in a coffee shop, smug, and ready to shatter my world.
"She played you for a fool, Ethan," he said, sliding a thick manila envelope across the table.
Inside were photographs: Olivia and Leo, together, smiling, happy.
Three years. A timeline that meant she was with him even before she "confessed."
Then came the final blow: "Our son, Ethan. He's a year old now. Looks just like me."
My world tilted, every intimate moment, every shared smile, every "I love you" of the past three years twisting into a grotesque lie.
When I confronted Olivia, her response was chilling, laced with a casual defiance that curdled my blood.
"The Hayes family doesn't do divorce," she said, her voice dropping to a low, chilling tone. "We only get widowed."
The woman I loved was a monster, seeing me as a tool, an obstacle in her elaborate scheme.
Trapped, I knew I couldn't fight her family's power.
There was only one person who could help me disappear so completely she would think I was dead.
I dialed the number to my estranged sister, Sarah, the family ghost. The Outcast's Wife: A Clarkson Reclaimed
Romance They say everything' s bigger in Texas, and in my family, that included our legacy: the Clarkson golden bloodline, a unique line of genetically superior cattle that made us legends.
I was raised to see the world through that lens, to spot vitality and prime breeding stock not just in our herds, but in the men I was expected to marry.
In my last life, that precise skill failed me.
It led me straight to Ethan Scott, the epitome of peak genetic fitness, and it led me to my death.
He drained me of my "vital blood" to save his frail girlfriend, Jennifer, leaving me bleeding out on a stable floor, our unborn children dying with me. His face, handsome and utterly unconcerned, was the last thing I saw before darkness took me.
He took everything. My life, my future, our children. And Jennifer died anyway, making my brutal sacrifice utterly meaningless.
My only witness, my only mourner, was Caleb Hughes, the broken outcast of the badlands, who found my body and gave me a quiet burial.
Why him? Why would the man marketed as perfect, with flawless genes, be capable of such chilling, casual cruelty? How could I have been so wrong?
But now, I am reborn.
I'm standing in our grand living room, my parents beaming, and before me stand six men-the "finest young men in Texas"-including Ethan Scott, smiling his same charming, deadly smile. My mother says it' s time to choose.
This time, I' ve already made my choice. And it' s not him. The Gala of Lies: A Paternity Unveiled
Billionaires My son, Leo, basked in victory's glow, surrounded by the city's elite. As a self-made billionaire, this night was entirely his.
Then, my wife, Seraphina, drifted into the ballroom, her conniving lover, Damien, trailing.
With an Oscar-worthy performance, she silenced the room, dropping a bombshell: "Marcus is infertile," she declared, trembling. "Leo is Damien' s son, conceived through secret IVF!"
Gasps, whispers, scorn washed over me. Leo, my proud son, reeled, angrily defending me. Seraphina, playing the martyr, insisted a DNA test, due any minute, would prove her "sacrifice." Every eye focused on me, waiting for my world to crumble.
Humiliation burned, but beneath it, a cold certainty.
They thought they had me exposed as a deceived husband, my legacy a lie. How could I possibly recover from such a meticulously planned, public betrayal?
But as Seraphina triumphantly ripped open her "proof," her smile froze. "He's excluded," she stammered. My moment arrived.
I pulled out my own, immaculately prepared documents, ready to reveal not just my true paternity, but the unbelievable truth about Leo's biological mother-a secret I'd guarded for years. This wasn't a defeat; it was a trap, and they'd walked right into it. The Surrogate's Ordeal
Sci-fi Sarah Miller believed in her perfect marriage to Michael Thompson, a kind, strong former Army Ranger.
He gifted her a silver locket, a cherished heirloom for "protection," a symbol of their unbreakable love.
But Michael's attention increasingly shifted to Chloe Ashford, a fragile D.C. power broker's daughter, whom he claimed he had to protect.
Sarah felt a growing unease, unaware the locket he gave her was covertly monitoring her, its hidden circuitry linked directly to Chloe.
One night, Sarah overheard Michael on a secure line: "Protocol Seven is active... Pre-emptive measures for the Surrogate."
Immediately, she was ambushed, abducted, and brutally tortured.
As her locket snapped, it exposed its true, sinister purpose, broadcasting Michael's cold, professional directives to her tormentors.
He was using her agony as a "diversion" for Chloe's "stabilization."
Her entire marriage was a calculated lie, her role a disposable "Surrogate" for the mysterious "Aegis Initiative."
The ultimate betrayal struck when she realized she was pregnant with his child, a life imperiled by his monstrous orchestration.
How could the man she loved, her protector, willingly destroy her and their baby for another?
Then came the tearing pain; her baby, sacrificed for Chloe, was gone.
With her last agonizing breath, Sarah hid truth-telling evidence, ensuring her story, though tragic, would become Michael' s chilling reckoning.
This was the prelude to a terrifying cascade of events where love became a weapon, and secrets refused to stay buried. The Face In The Footage
Sci-fi My name is Sarah Miller, and I’m reliving the worst day of my life.
I’ve already lived this nightmare once: my five-year-old daughter, Emily, gone.
She’s found drowned, and chilling security footage shows *me* pushing her into the pond.
The first time, I was branded "Monster Mom," a "Child Killer," and died in prison, screaming my innocence.
My parents withered under the shame.
But I woke up, back on that same Tuesday.
I vowed to change everything, locked every door, kept Emily home.
Yet, she vanished from our locked house.
And the footage? It still shows *me* pushing her.
My husband, Mark, erupted in rage, my mother-in-law shrieked accusations as I was arrested.
How can this be happening again? I changed everything! The house was secure!
Who is doing this? Who is truly framing me in this impossible loop?
As the handcuffs clicked, a desperate, insane lie tore from me: "It wasn't me! It was my parents! They’re the killers!"
This shocking accusation, born of raw anguish, bought me precious time.
It forced the police to look beyond the obvious, leading them to a fake preschool setup and the terrifying truth: my identical twin sister, Jessica, thought long dead, was alive.
And she wanted my life. You might like
Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. The Billionaire's Regret: My Tortured Ex-Wife
Rum Runner My husband stood by the window of his Manhattan office, his silhouette cutting through the storm like a blade. He didn't even look at me as he tossed the divorce papers onto the desk, his voice a cold baritone. "Sign it," Isaiah commanded, "or your brother’s dialysis treatment ends today."
He believed the lie that I had pushed his pregnant mistress down a flight of stairs in a jealous rage. To save my dying brother, I signed the confession and accepted the role of a murderer, trading my freedom for a life of disgrace.
At the funeral, Isaiah forced me to crawl on my knees through the freezing mud to the grave while a mob of mourners spat on me and cursed my name. When I went to prison, his influence followed me into the showers, where inmates told me the King wanted me to "remember my crime" before they used rusty shears to hack off my finger.
Five years later, I was a ghost living in a damp basement with the son Isaiah never knew I had, hiding my mangled hand under a leather glove. When he eventually tracked us down, he didn't show mercy; he tore my son from my arms, calling me an unfit monster and swearing I would rot in a cage.
I couldn't understand how the man I once loved could look at my broken body and see only a criminal, never realizing that every scar I carried was a gift from his own hatred.
As he walked away with my child, I swallowed a bottle of pills to end the nightmare, leaving Isaiah to rip the glove from my hand and discover the mangled truth just as my eyes finally closed. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
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