Gu Mumu
13 Published Stories
Gu Mumu's Books and Stories
Shattered Vows And The Heiress's Revenge
Romance I married Alistair Montgomery out of duty, enduring five years of his coldness and his mother stealing my son, hoping my love would eventually warm his heart.
Then, his "dead" first love, Cordelia, returned.
The second he heard her voice on the phone, he ordered me out of his car on a deserted dirt road and left me in the dust to rush to her side.
She faked a suicide attempt and framed me. Alistair didn't even give me a chance to explain.
"If she doesn't survive this, I will destroy you."
He roared those words over the phone, openly declaring he would spend the night guarding her hospital bed.
The very next day, Cordelia's secret son publicly attacked me and my child at the kindergarten gates, pointing at me and screaming that I was a thief who stole his father.
For five years, I swallowed my pride and let his family strip me of my dignity, only to realize I was nothing but a temporary placeholder for a ghost.
He actually thought he could just toss me the empty title of "wife" while giving his heart and his nights to another woman.
I finally woke up from this pathetic joke.
I didn't shed another tear or beg him to look at me.
Instead, I calmly opened my tablet and searched for the most ruthless divorce lawyer in New York.
The war was about to begin. The Neglected Wife's Secret: Genius Designer Aria
Modern I sat in the sterile silence of a VIP fertility clinic, clutching my Chanel purse and praying for good news after three years of trying for a baby.
But as the doctor told me my body was "pristine," my phone lit up with a Page Six headline: "Garold Chandler Spotted with Mystery Woman at OB-GYN—Heir on the Way?"
The "mystery woman" was Jenilee Shaw, and the man in the charcoal suit was my husband.
That night, I waited up to show him the news, but he didn't even offer an apology.
When I asked if he ever wanted children, he pried my hands off him and looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"Not with you," he said, before walking away to take a shower.
I packed my bags and left a divorce agreement on his nightstand, but Garold wasn't about to let his "perfect" wife go that easily.
He shredded the papers and froze every one of my credit cards, leaving me stranded with forty dollars and a crumbling family estate.
He even mocked me when I accidentally texted him for a loan, telling me to come home and beg for my allowance like a child.
He thought he had me cornered, but he forgot one thing: I wasn't just his trophy wife.
Years ago, I was "Aria," the anonymous design genius the fashion world had been hunting for.
I didn't need his money—I had a secret offshore account and a lead designer job at his biggest rival.
As I walked into Twelve Bridges for my first day, I ran into his mistress and smiled.
"Keep him," I told her. "I'm bored of the three-minute disappointments." A Mother's Fury Unleashed
Fantasy On my daughter Lily' s sixth birthday, her only wish was to go to the amusement park with her dad. But my husband, Liam, sent tickets instead of showing up, only for us to find the park closed for a private event.
That event was for Tiffany, Liam' s ex-girlfriend. He was there, kissing her, their arms wrapped around each other. The entire park, a thousand happy sounds, was just for her.
Then, Lily, pure and innocent, ran through a gap in the fence, calling for her dad. Liam' s face twisted into rage, and he kicked our six-year-old daughter to the ground. He snarled at me, blaming me for Tiffany' s miscarriage, and accused me of bringing Lily to upset her.
He strapped our crying daughter onto the tallest ride, despite her tiny size, and instructed the operators not to stop it. He and Tiffany walked away, their laughter echoing, as Lily' s screams faded against the roar of the machine. I smashed the control room window, bleeding, and hit the emergency stop, but it was too late. Lily' s broken body fell into my arms, splattered with blood.
At the hospital, Mark, Liam' s assistant, blocked our way, saying no Miller family members were allowed. Liam had transferred every doctor in the city to Tiffany' s luxury hotel. Then, a delivery guy arrived, sent by Liam, with band-aids. "Bleeding isn' t dying," he' d said. My hope turned to ice.
Why was I, the one who rebuilt his company and bore his child, reduced to begging for my dying daughter's access to medical care, while he celebrated with the woman who betrayed him and potentially ruined his family? How could he deny Lily' s death, blaming me for her existence, even as he subjected me to physical and emotional torture.
With Lily' s cold body in my arms, and my father-in-law weeping beside me, I calmly told Liam on the phone, "You killed my child. I want a divorce." My war had just begun. Love's Betrayal, Revenge's Spark
Romance I was supposed to be happy. Three years of marriage, a baby due in a month, and a husband everyone said adored me. Liam was my childhood friend, my rock, my supposed happy ending.
But that illusion shattered in a hospital parking lot when I overheard Liam confess to orchestrating my mother's car accident-a murder meant to secure her heart for my dying stepsister, Chloe. He then married me to keep me out of the way, a tool in his twisted obsession.
The truth was a physical blow. My mother, murdered. My proposed husband, a silent accomplice at her funeral, was just a performer in a long charade. Liam' s meticulous care for Chloe, his obsession with her "pure" style, all those signs I' d dismissed as overflow of love, screamed at me now.
Then Chloe, after feigning pregnancy due to her infertility, deliberately threw herself down the stairs. Liam, convicting me on the spot, burned my hand, permanently crippling me, while my own father watched him. He funded my revenge, transferring his fortune to me as an apology.
My heart was ripped apart by their betrayal. I couldn't comprehend how a man I loved could devise such a monstrous plan, making me a mere pawn in his sick game. How could I have been so blind?
With unwavering resolve, I decided to fight back. I had my own secret plans, a quiet escape route, and a final, shocking gift for Liam, a macabre reminder of his crimes. He thought he had broken me, but he had only forged a weapon. Stolen Code, Broken Heart, Fierce Comeback
Sci-fi The flickering TV in my dingy motel room was the only light, illuminating the peeling wallpaper.
On screen, Ethan Vance, my ex-fiancé, smiled his perfect, camera-ready smile, touting 'EvolveAI' and his "future-defining" Prometheus algorithm.
Reporters swarmed him; he was the king of Silicon Valley, the brilliant mind behind the world' s most advanced AI.
My world. My code. My future. He had stolen it all. Everything.
I remembered the day he left, his eyes cold and empty, my three years of coding on a hard drive in his bag, a venomous "You were always just… holding me back."
He didn't just take the code; he took my savings, my reputation, blacklisting me from an industry I helped build, all while Bethany Cole, my best friend, stood arm-in-arm with him, eyes gleaming with triumph.
They left me with nothing but eviction notices, forcing me to sell everything I owned, living as a ghost under pseudonyms, cleaning up security flaws for companies that would never hire Scarlett Hayes.
The pain of that betrayal was a constant, suffocating darkness, a deep pit I couldn' t climb out of, trapped by unseen enemies and their whispers of my failure.
But watching him on that screen, basking in my stolen glory, a cold, sharp rage began to burn through the despair.
In that cheap motel, I swore a vow: I would get justice, I would take back what was mine, and he would not build his empire on my ruins.
My chance came weeks later: a vulnerability in his IPO network led me to a familiar digital signature-a back door I'd built into 'Prometheus,' a failsafe only I knew. He was arrogant, so certain he' d erased me he never looked for the ghost I' d left behind.
He was on the verge of becoming a billionaire. And I had the key to his kingdom.
A slow smile spread across my face. The game wasn't over. It had just begun. I wasn't going to be a victim. I was the storm he never saw coming. I would let him climb to the peak of his triumph. And then, I would burn it all to the ground. The Accidental Husband
Romance My father, a titan of industry, called me in to seal my fate: an arranged marriage to solidify his empire. All eyes were on me, Liam Hayes, heir to the powerful Hayes Group, as I consented, the word heavy with unspoken guilt towards Olivia, the woman I loved for seven years.
That night, back in the modest apartment I shared with Olivia-where I was just "Liam, the architect"-her phone buzzed, illuminating a message preview from "Alex Reed": "I miss you, Liv. Can't stop thinking about your birthday." My blood ran cold. Alex, her childhood friend, the one she always spoke of with strange fondness.
I opened her password-free messages, and my world shattered. Conversations spanning months, years, filled with "I love yous" and "I wish we could be togethers." Then, tonight's texts: "He's with his parents. So boring. I wish you were here." Followed by, "I can't wait. I love you so much, Alex." I scrolled further, reading complaints about my "lack of ambition," our "boring life," realizing how she saw me: a placeholder.
The pain was a physical blow. Seven years, a lie. The woman sleeping peacefully beside me was a stranger, a user. How could I have been so blind, so stupid? The guilt I felt about my arranged marriage vanished, replaced by a searing clarity. I was the fool, not the disloyal one.
A cold resolve set in. I wouldn't be her safety net anymore. My relationship with Olivia was over, and the prearranged marriage to Charlotte Davies, the woman I hadn't even met, suddenly felt like my only escape. The Comatose Heir's Unwanted Wife
Fantasy The humid Southern air always brought back the dread. Today was the day-the day the two proposals would arrive, sealing my fate.
My sister, Sabrina, burst in, her eyes manic, declaring she' d marry Brian Hughes, the charming mechanic, and I would marry Andrew Lester, the comatose heir.
This wasn't how it happened before. In my first life, Sabrina scheme her way into marrying Andrew, condemning me to Brian' s terrifying abuse – the beatings, the broken bones, the eventual fire she set to kill me because she thought my brokenness was a form of happiness.
Now, reincarnated, she remembers only Brian' s public devotion, oblivious to the monster beneath. She wanted my nightmare.
As a wave of dizzying relief washed over me, I realized… my tormentor, the man who destroyed me, was her desperate prize.
My mother, always favoring Sabrina, quickly agreed. They thought they were pushing me into a living widowhood, a quiet misery.
They had no idea they were finally setting me free. The Prenup's Revenge
Romance I was America' s Grammy-winning country star, married to the nation' s pop sweetheart, Nicole.
Our life was a picture of musical royalty, until a trashy music blog screamed about my wife' s new video.
"Nicole Anderson and Jayden Hughes: More Than Just Acting?"
She came to me sobbing, confessing a "one-time mistake" with the bad-boy rapper. She poured millions into a new record label, publicly funding my next album as a grand gesture of devotion. I believed her, held her, and told myself she was my perfect muse.
Then, one quiet Tuesday, using her laptop, I found a password-protected folder labeled "PROJECT N&J." On a whim, I typed "Jayden." Access granted.
Two hundred explicit videos revealed a timeline spanning months.
Her voice, clear and triumphant in the most recent one, shattered my world: "Ethan' s too trusting… he thinks I' m his perfect little country muse." Jayden' s smug reply: "And what about this baby? You sure it' s gonna pass for his?"
The air left my lungs. My wife, the woman the world adored, was a calculated monster carrying another man' s child, planning to use my name and money to escape a prenup. Every award, every photo in our mansion, felt like a prop in her elaborate con.
The betrayal was a physical ache, a cold, hard certainty.
How could I have been such a fool?
But as disgust rose in my throat, a new feeling emerged: not despair, but a quiet, chilling clarity.
I found my prenup, snapped a picture of the infidelity clause, and sent it to my lawyer. It was time for the truth to be the truth. From Asylum To Avenging Angel
Modern The courtroom fell silent as the judge announced the verdict: "Not guilty."
I watched my husband, Ethan Caldwell, a high-powered lawyer, rush to embrace Tiffany Hayes, the woman who had just been cleared of killing our five-year-old son, Leo.
But what truly murdered me was the sickening text I received later that night: "I ran over your little brat on purpose.
Backed up and did it again just to make sure. And Ethan? He got me the best doctor his money could buy to say I was crazy."
When I confronted my husband with the confession, he didn't deny it. Instead, he coolly told me, "We can just have another kid," before having me declared unstable and committed to a psychiatric facility for 72 hours. He destroyed the evidence, stripped me of my home, my credibility, and left me with nothing.
How could the father of my child conspire with our son's killer, protect her, and then frame me as insane? How could a system so easily be bought and twisted against a grieving mother? Was I truly powerless against his wealth and influence?
They thought they had buried me and the truth, but they forgot one thing: my father was a Sergeant Major, a Medal of Honor recipient, and he had a best friend, a four-star General, who owed him a favor. So, I packed Leo' s urn, took my father' s medal, and walked straight to the gates of Fort Bragg. Davenport's Lost Heir
Romance Ethan, a dedicated auto mechanic, had poured his life savings and unwavering love into his high school sweetheart, Jessica, tirelessly financing her father Mr. Miller's mounting medical bills and meticulously preparing for their engagement party.
He believed this event, lovingly planned, marked the beginning of his happy future.
However, at the very party he funded, Jessica publicly shattered his world, introducing a new man, Brandon, and coldly dismissing Ethan as "like a brother."
Humiliation stung as Jessica offered a meager "severance," while Mr. Miller, whose care Ethan had funded for years, showed shocking ingratitude prioritizing expensive liquor.
The next morning, retrieving his savings and a cherished guitar, Ethan faced greater contempt; Jessica and Brandon shamelessly demanded his money, then rallied townsfolk to corner him at a bus stop.
Their cruel ridicule escalated into a violent assault on Ethan and the luxury SUV sent for him, Jessica callously encouraging the destruction, even yelling to slash the tires.
Surrounded by brutal betrayal from those he' d loved and served, Ethan felt a chilling void, bewildered how his deep loyalty earned such merciless scorn and physical attack.
But just as despair threatened to consume him, a commanding convoy of luxury vehicles arrived, dramatically revealing Ethan' s true identity as the long-lost heir to the colossal Davenport Industries, poised to claim his rightful place and deliver stunning justice. Sizzle Brighter Than Ever
Modern My food truck, "Sarah's Sizzle Stop," wasn't just a business; it was my life's work, providing for me and constantly bailing out my unemployed brother Kevin, his demanding fiancée Brittany, and our enabling mother Carol.
When I needed special chilies for a big Austin food festival, I simply asked Kevin, assuming he could help given his ample free time.
Instead, Brittany unleashed a torrent of venomous texts, branding me a "lonely workaholic" and a "bougie bitch" for asking a simple favor, followed by Kevin's outrageous demand for a luxury handbag and a public apology on my business social media-or else he'd call off my financially supported wedding.
My refusal prompted their horrifying retaliation: I found "Sarah's Sizzle Stop" desecrated, tires slashed, windows smashed, and hateful obscenities spray-painted across its every panel.
When I confronted them, Kevin, Brittany, and my mother shamelessly demanded $10,000 for Brittany's "emotional distress," threatening worse.
They then launched a vicious online smear campaign, using tearful videos and a "pity party" GoFundMe to portray me as a heartless monster abandoning my "sick" mother and "struggling" brother, effectively turning public opinion and damaging my reputation.
Even after this financial ruin and public humiliation, our mother still begged me to drop it all, prioritizing Kevin's "happiness" over my destroyed livelihood.
Years of their greed, entitlement, and emotional blackmail culminated in this calculated act of destruction, igniting a cold, righteous fury within me.
They truly believed they could destroy my life and still control me through manufactured victimhood and public shaming.
But the moment Kevin lunged at me, and I instinctively defended myself with a pan, I snapped-the time for being their victim was finally over.
I called the police, filing full charges for vandalism and assault, and then immediately told my stunned mother I was selling the house I owned and cutting off every cent of financial support.
This wasn't just family drama; this was my declaration of freedom, and I would fight to ensure the world knew the brutal, liberating truth. Love Contract: If I Had Your Love
Romance To save her father's company from bankruptcy, Melissa sold herself to Charles. In their marriage, she found humiliation, indifference, and love rivals awaiting for her. However, that was not all of it.
Charle's adoration was the light at the end of the tunnel, which saved her from a life of desperation. She soon became intoxicated by his soft kiss, gentle smile, and the affectionate look he would only spare her.
If this were a dream, she would rather never wake up again.
But since life wasn't a fairy tale, the fact that he made her days seem magical wasn't the end of the story.
What turn of events awaited her next? You might like
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. 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. 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. 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. Bound By The CEO's Cruel Contract
Sibeal Sallese I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash.
To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars.
I thought it was a clean transaction.
But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty.
He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me.
My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire.
Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner.
"Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly.
His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand.
"Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler."
They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog.
I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain.
As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth.
But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood.
"She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison."
They murdered my parents.
I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call.
Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell. 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. Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Da Lanlan I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. 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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