Gu Chen
14 Published Stories
Gu Chen's Books and Stories
The Surgeon's Revenge: My Ex-Husband's Regret
Modern The view from our twenty-million-dollar penthouse was stunning, but all I could see was the cracked screen of my phone. A single message from a contact named Sienna had just appeared: "Game On." For four years, I had worn the shapeless beige cardigans and played the quiet, submissive wife the elite Rutledge family demanded.
"Dorothea is back in the city," my husband Hunter said, refusing to meet my eyes as he pushed the divorce papers toward me.
He offered a "generous" settlement, patronizingly claiming that with my felony record and "creative resume," I’d be living on the streets without his charity. He had no idea that while he was rehearsing his breakup speech, I was already zipping up a duffel bag filled with cash and a passport in a name he didn't recognize.
His sister Kamala didn't even wait for me to pack before she was in our bedroom, calling me a leech and trying to destroy the only photo I had of my mother. I didn't cry or beg; I simply dropped Hunter’s favorite three-million-dollar Ming vase, watched it shatter, and walked out the door with a cold smile.
That night, I traded my sensible flats for a crimson silk dress and lethal heels, leaving Hunter’s jaw on the floor when he saw me at an exclusive club. He watched in horror as I smashed a vodka bottle over a harasser's head, still believing I was a broken woman who needed his protection.
He didn't know the truth until his grandmother finally revealed that I was the anonymous investor who had rescued their company from bankruptcy. I had gone to prison to protect his father's reputation, wearing the shame for years so their family name wouldn't implode.
Hunter fell to his knees in the driveway, begging for a second chance and promising to dump his mistress, but the anger in my heart had already turned to ice. The man I had sacrificed my life for was now just a stranger I used to know.
"The opposite of love isn't hate, Hunter. It's indifference."
I climbed into a purple supercar as my phone buzzed with a call from Mount Sinai Hospital. My medical license was reinstated, and a high-profile trauma case was waiting for my hands. Iris the housewife was dead, and Dr. Gutierrez was finally back in play. Betrayed Bride, Billionaire's Beloved Queen
Modern The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage. The Twin's Deception: My Heart, My Hell
Modern The day I found out I was pregnant, I also learned my entire three-year relationship was a lie. The man I loved, the father of my child, was actually a master manipulator orchestrating a cruel revenge plot. He and his twin brother had shared my bed, my life, and my heart, all to destroy me.
Erica, an ER nurse, was overjoyed with her pregnancy, believing she'd found true love and stability with corporate heir Anthony Holden. But this joy shattered when she overheard Anthony and his twin, Emmanuel, revealing their relationship was a "farce"—a three-year revenge plot against her for a forgotten college slight.
The man in her bed was Emmanuel. Her grandmother then died due to Anthony's cruel refusal of medical aid. They locked Erica in a dark closet, attempted to poison her, and Anthony stomped on her wrist, stealing her EpiPen. This relentless abuse led to the ultimate loss of her unborn child. Lying in agony, Erica realized this was systematic annihilation. What monstrous secrets fueled such calculated savagery?
From the ashes, a terrifying resolve ignited. The naive nurse died on that blood-soaked floor. Erica, now utterly devoid of emotion, would forge their gilded cage into a weapon and burn their entire empire to the ground. Betrayed By The Don: Rising From Ashes
Mafia I was guiding the blade through a slab of A5 Wagyu for our seven-year anniversary when a burner phone vibrated against my knee.
It was a photo of a manicured hand resting on the tuxedo I had bought for Dante three weeks ago. On the finger sat a massive diamond ring.
The caption read: Mrs. Isabella Gallo. Finally legal.
For seven years, I wasn't just his lover. I was the architect of his legitimacy, the woman who wrote the code that cleaned his dirty money. Yet, while I was here cooking his favorite steak, he had married a mob princess to secure her father's territory.
When Dante walked in smelling of expensive scotch and another woman's perfume, he didn't apologize.
"It's just politics," he said, loosening his tie. "You keep your allowance, your position. You just stay in the shadows a little longer."
He looked at me like I was a piece of high-end furniture. When I told him I was leaving, his face darkened.
"You can't resign from the Mafia, Seraphina," he sneered, blocking the door. "If you leave, I will burn everything you have."
He truly believed he was the King on the chessboard. He forgot that I was the one who built the board.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I simply walked out, opened my encrypted laptop, and dialed the number of the one man Dante feared most.
"I'm cashing out," I said. "And I'm bringing the entire Gallo empire with me." The Ruthless Don's Obsession: You Can't Run
Mafia I walked into the Thorn estate with another man's diamond on my finger, naive enough to think it could shield me from Marcus.
But the Don of the city’s underworld didn't even blink.
He called my engagement ring a "cute trinket" and introduced me to his own fiancée, Chloe, right then and there.
"Love is a fairy tale for children, Ellie," he sneered. "And you are far too old for fairy tales."
I tried to leave with dignity, but the knife twisted deeper. I found my mother’s silver locket—the one he swore to protect with his life—buried in the mud like trash.
He hadn't just rejected me; he had erased me.
Broken, I fled to Florence to marry a man I didn't love, just to escape the suffocation of the estate.
But I couldn't outrun the heartbreak. I collapsed in a foreign apartment, burning with fever, while my fiancé worried more about wedding seating charts than my life.
I thought I was going to die alone.
Until I woke up in a sterile clinic room.
My fiancé was gone.
Standing by my bed, looking like a vengeful god who had just burned down a city to get to me, was Marcus.
He trapped me against the mattress, his eyes dark with a terrifying mix of rage and possession.
"Did you really think you could run from me?" he growled.
"I returned the locket," I whispered, trembling. "We are even."
"Fuck the locket," he said. "You belong to me, Ellie. And I am not leaving without you." His Mafia Queen, My Substitute Heart
Mafia My perfect marriage to Don Dante Moretti, the most powerful man in the New York mob, ended the moment my father died. I was twenty-four, pregnant with his heir, and I believed I was his queen.
But for two days, while I planned a funeral alone, my husband was unreachable. Then a friend sent me a photo. Dante in London, his hand tangled in the hair of the woman beside him.
It was my cousin, Valentina.
He came home with lies about a dead phone and a difficult summit. That night, I found his private journal, and my world disintegrated.
He had married me because I had "Valentina’s eyes." I was a substitute.
Our unborn child wasn't a product of love. It was a project. A girl he planned to name Elena, after Valentina, calling her a "perfect, tiny piece of the woman I can never truly possess."
I wasn't his wife. I was a stand-in. The love I felt for him didn't just die. It was murdered.
The next morning, I slid a folder across the kitchen island. "Donation forms," I said. He didn't even look before scrawling his signature on what were actually our finalized divorce papers.
His arrogance was my weapon. As he slept beside me that night, smelling of lies and my cousin, I made an appointment at a private clinic. He wanted a legacy?
I would give him nothing. The Wife I Refused to Save
Modern My wife was dying, and I refused to save her. That's what everyone in the hospital believed, and what the headlines would scream. The hospital called; Sarah, my wife, was in critical condition after a severe car accident, needing a specialized, uninsured procedure costing half a million dollars.
I said no. The word hung heavy in the air. This wasn't just Sarah's life; it was a choice between her, and the future of my company and hundreds of employees. My terrified in-laws pleaded, "You're comparing your company to your wife's life? To the mother of your child?"
My six-year-old daughter, Lily, tugged at my pants, her innocent eyes filled with tears. "Daddy? Is Mommy going to die?" I told her I had to protect the company for our future, a necessary cruelty. My mother-in-law shrieked accusations, calling me a monster, flinging accusations of how Sarah sacrificed everything for me.
The crowd gathered, their judgment a palpable weight. They whispered, "He won't pay to save his own wife. What a scumbag." A part of me smiled behind my mask of indifference. Let them judge. They were watching the wrong movie, completely unaware of the real plot.
Then, my daughter held out her pink piggy bank, offering all she had. "Daddy, I have money. You can use my money to save Mommy." I knew this was the part I dreaded most, the collateral damage of a wicked plan. This entire tragic drama was meticulously orchestrated, but not by me. And I was about to expose every single one of them. From Appalachian Dirt To Tech Heiress
Modern My first life ended abruptly, with the screech of tires and the brutal impact of a car driven by my younger sister, Stella.
I had always been the compliant one, funding her endless "mistakes" and even giving her the man I loved, Matthew.
As I lay dying, the last thing I heard wasn't an apology, but my parents' voices telling the police, "She was the older sister; she should have been more understanding."
Their words, not the collision, were the ultimate betrayal.
Then, darkness. But not oblivion.
I woke up, seventeen again, surrounded by the familiar scent of pine and damp earth in our Appalachian home.
The horrifying map of my future, burned into my memory, was now a chance for a different path.
This time, I would never again seek their love. This time, I would live only for myself. The Pentagon's Fury
Billionaires My life was perfect. I had a loving husband, Andrew, and our bright, energetic five-year-old son, Caleb. We lived happily in Chicago, a normal American family.
Then, in a screech of tires and a thunderous crash, a low-slung, obscenely yellow Lamborghini, driven by rich kid Barney Hughes, stole them from me. One moment they were alive, the next, crumpled on the asphalt.
But the nightmare didn' t end there. Barney' s father, a powerful real estate magnate, bought off the police, made surveillance footage vanish, and had my family' s bodies illegally cremated.
Every lawyer I approached laughed me out of their office, warning of "professional suicide" against the Hughes empire.
I lost my job, and then Barney sued me for harassment. My world crumbled.
One night, Barney and his thugs broke into my home, beat me mercilessly, shattered every photo of my family, then committed the ultimate desecration: they opened the box of ashes, the stolen remains of my husband and son, and dumped them over my head. "Buy yourself a new kid or something. Get over it," he sneered, before urinating on the floor beside me.
How could this happen in America?
How could a family of heroes, dedicated to service, be murdered and then have their memory so brutally insulted by a corrupt system?
Lying broken on the floor, covered in dust and urine, I suddenly remembered two Medal of Honor recipients and an old promise: "The United States Army does not forget its own." I packed the medals and made a silent vow. My fight had just begun. The 99th Time We Fell Apart
Romance My first life ended alone in a hospital room, not with a bang, but with the quiet hum of an IV.
My husband, Ethan Lester, had spent months tearing me down, flaunting an affair, and relentlessly pursuing a divorce.
It was only after death, in an empty void, that the shattering truth unfolded: Ethan had pancreatic cancer, a secret burden he bore alone.
His cruelty was a desperate, twisted act of love, a brutal attempt to push me away so I wouldn't witness his agonizing decline.
He even took his own life after my funeral, convinced I'd find happiness with my ex.
Then I woke up, alive, the familiar scent of our apartment filling my lungs.
Across from me sat Ethan, divorce papers clutched in his hand, his eyes a mask of indifference.
"This is the 99th time, Jocelyn," he said, "Sign them. My girlfriend is pregnant."
In my past life, those words broke me.
But this time, seeing the subtle tremor in his hand, the deep circles under his eyes, I knew I was facing the same painful charade.
Why would he go to such lengths to push me away?
What kind of love forces such a cruel deception?
I picked up the papers, slowly, deliberately, and tore them in half.
I knew his secret.
And this time, I wouldn't let him die. Don't Mess With The MIT Heiress
Young Adult The car horn blared, a familiar sound mirroring a day that once ended my world. My eyes snapped open to the rain-streaked window – SATs morning, a date etched in my memory, not for the test, but for the beginning of my ruin.
Last time, it began with my 'friend' Jessica' s sweet smile, offering food after the exam. Then, the peanuts. My throat closed. My boyfriend, Liam, sided with her, dismissing it as 'an accident.'
That 'accident' spiraled. Online posts branded me a monster, my tech CEO mother' s reputation shredded, her company attacked by Jessica' s followers. The worst? Dying, isolated and vilified, knowing Jessica orchestrated it all for revenge-her father fired for embezzlement-and for social media clout.
The bitter betrayal still burned. How could I have been so easily destroyed by a calculated lie? I died a villain while she won. But this time, the script was about to flip. I wouldn't be a victim.
An MIT early admission letter, a full scholarship, sat on my desk, secured weeks ago. The SATs, once my undoing, now meant nothing to me. But they meant everything to them. The past was a horrifying ghost, but its lessons were concrete. I was ready to make them pay. My Hand, My Song, My Freedom
Modern The smell hit me first, thick, choking smoke, then Lila' s terrified scream ripped through the festival noise.
Jax, my fiancé, was a blur beside me, his face tight with a desperate need to save her.
He started towards The Swamp Shack, towards the hungry flames devouring the old wooden walls.
My body wanted to lunge, to grab his arm, to scream, "No, Jax, don't!"
But this time, I didn't.
Because I remembered.
I remembered the searing pain as burning wood crashed down, crushing my left hand, destroying my music, obliterating my future, in another life.
I remembered Jax' s face, twisted not with concern for me, but with fury, after Lila was dead and my hand a useless, mangled thing.
"It's your fault, Scarlett! You should have saved her, not me!" his words, a brand on my soul.
His family' s money, a weapon that bled me dry, blackballing me from every gig, every chance I had.
I remembered the suffocating silence of his plantation, the cold dismissal in his eyes every day of our sham marriage.
Oh God, and the smokehouse.
Locked in, the Louisiana summer sun beating down, the air so thick I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, utterly alone.
I gasped, the memory so real I could taste the ash and the terror.
Now, in this life, Jax was yelling Lila' s name again, ready to play the hero, just like before.
But this time the script was mine.
This time, I stepped aside.
I just watched him charge into the inferno, pure indifference a cold comfort.
My hand, my precious hand, was safe.
My music was still mine. CEO's Absurd Love: Limitless Passion
Romance Claire, a pharmacy clerk, was framed for making a mistake, which brought her into Henry’s world. She even ended up having to marry him to compensate for his loss.
Regardless of how hard she tried to explain herself, he just took her words as more trickery, or a part of her evil plan to marry into a rich family.
However, before he knew it, he had already occupied her heart.
Finally, as the misunderstandings are cleared up, and all the hurt became sorrowful echoes of love, where should her love turn? 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. 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." 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. 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!" 
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