Juline Walden
14 Published Stories
Juline Walden's Books and Stories
Engaged To A Coldhearted Murderer
Modern My fiancée smiled as she showed me the "intruder" she had dealt with in the ER.
I looked past her to see my mother beaten unconscious on the floor.
And on the gurney next to her lay my seven-year-old brother, cold, blue, and dead.
Brittnie clung to my arm, beaming with pride.
"I handled it, Cannon," she chirped.
"That gold digger tried to claim this bastard was your son. But I made sure they wouldn't bother us again."
My blood turned to ice.
She was holding my mother' s emerald brooch, a family heirloom, convinced it was her engagement ring.
Because of her delusion, she had refused to give my brother his EpiPen.
She had watched him suffocate to death, thinking she was winning my heart.
I looked at Gabe' s lifeless body, then at the woman I was planning to marry.
I pulled out my phone and shoved a family photo in her face.
"That gold digger is my mother," I whispered, my voice trembling with lethal rage.
"And you just murdered my brother." The Truth Hidden In A Folder
Modern For three years, I believed I had the perfect marriage with my husband, Grant, and an unbreakable bond with my best friend, Chelsey.
That illusion shattered when I found a hidden video on our shared laptop, tucked away in a folder labeled "Memories."
It showed them together in a hotel room, kissing, their bodies intertwined. I heard my husband promise my best friend he would never truly love me, that I was just a responsibility he had to bear.
He was the man who swore he'd never cheat. She was the woman who once saved my life. Their entire relationship, their fake animosity-it was all an elaborate performance to hide their affair right under my nose.
But when he left me sobbing on the floor to rush to her side after a faked car accident, something inside me finally broke.
I found them wrapped in each other's arms, and with the sound of my hand cracking across his stunned face, I made a new promise.
"We're getting a divorce." He Saved Her, I Lost Our Child
Mafia For three years, I kept a secret ledger of my husband's sins.
A point system to decide exactly when I would leave Blake Santos, the ruthless Underboss of Chicago.
I thought the final straw would be him forgetting our anniversary dinner to comfort his "childhood friend," Ariana.
I was wrong.
The real breaking point came when the restaurant ceiling collapsed.
In that split second, Blake didn't look at me. He dove to his right, shielding Ariana with his body, leaving me to be crushed under a half-ton crystal chandelier.
I woke up in a sterile hospital room with a shattered leg and a hollow womb.
The doctor, trembling and pale, told me my eight-week-old fetus hadn't survived the trauma and blood loss.
"We tried to get the O-negative reserves," he stammered, refusing to meet my eyes. "But Dr. Santos ordered us to hold them. He said Miss Whitfield might go into shock from her injuries."
"What injuries?" I whispered.
"A laceration on her finger," the doctor admitted. "And anxiety."
He let our unborn child die to save the blood reserves for his mistress’s paper cut.
Blake finally walked into my room hours later, smelling of Ariana’s perfume, expecting me to be the dutiful, silent wife who understood his "duty."
Instead, I picked up my pen and wrote the final entry in my black leather book.
*Minus five points. He killed our child.*
*Total Score: Zero.*
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I just signed the divorce papers, called my extraction team, and vanished into the rain before he could turn around. Scorned By Family, Freed By Fury
Modern The charity gala was supposed to be my final act of freedom, a staged exit from a life that wasn' t mine.
Instead, it ended with the shriek of shattering glass, my sister' s scream, and the cold accusation in Charlotte Sterling' s eyes, a theatrical terror I knew was fake as she bled onto the pristine marble from a self-inflicted wound.
Suddenly, every eye in the room, including my adoptive family' s, landed on me, fixing me with a gaze riddled with panic, concern, and finally, pure hatred, as Charlotte whispered her fabricated story of being pushed to our mother.
"Get her out of my sight," my adoptive father, Richard Sterling, snarled, his voice a low growl directed solely at me, a torrent of fury replacing the warmth that once existed.
My adoptive brother, Ethan, dragged me from the ballroom, away from the judging crowd, and into the raw, damp confines of the basement wine cellar, proclaiming I would stay there until I understood what I had done.
For two years, I had been Ava Miller, the grateful orphan, tasked with exposing Sterling Corp' s illicit operations, but now, abandoned by my agency and starved by my supposed family, a chilling realization ignited within me.
I wasn' t just a victim of betrayal; I was an agent, and if I got out, I wouldn't just pick up the pieces-I would build something entirely new, something forged in vengeance. The Twin's Legacy
Romance The blinding pain of childbirth ripped through Sarah, but it was the empty chair beside her hospital bed that truly shattered her.
Mark should have been there, holding her hand, but his phone was off, just as it had been for hours.
Another contraction hit, and alone, sweat-soaked, Sarah delivered her first twin, then geared up to do it all again, frantically trying to reach a husband who had vanished.
As she cradled her newborn, a news report flashed on the TV: a sun-drenched beach, turquoise water, and there, laughing, hand-in-hand, were Mark and her best friend Emily, on a "romantic getaway" in Bali.
Just then, a cheerful caller informed her the postpartum nanny package she'd paid for had been canceled by her husband.
Her blood ran cold. He hadn't just abandoned her; he'd taken everything.
A quick check of her banking app confirmed the horror: over eighty thousand dollars, her life savings for the twins, gone.
He'd drained it all to fund his sordid escape.
The line went dead after her mother-in-law, dismissive and callous, blamed Sarah for not "giving Mark a boy" and for being "careless with her money."
The betrayal was absolute, a crushing blow from everyone she thought she could trust.
How could she be so blind?
How could they betray her so completely, so cruelly?
The isolation crashed down, leaving her utterly alone, reeling from a decade-long lie that had just imploded.
Just when she thought she might drown in her grief, a cold, sharp voice cut through the haze, forcing her to confront an unexpected intervention and perhaps, a chance to reclaim more than just her babies. New Beginnings, Old Scars
Billionaires The tech industry' s golden couple, Mark Stone and I, stood basking in the spotlight, a symbol of shared dreams and billion-dollar success.
But that dream shattered when an anonymous email revealed Mark's decade-long betrayal: he wasn't just having an affair with Chloe Davis, our rival, but funding her company with our money.
When I confronted him, Mark shamelessly denied it, then orchestrated a vile smear campaign, publicly labeling me an unstable, cheating woman. He even weaponized our shared pain, twisting the tragic loss of our unborn child-twice-into an accusation of my infidelity. Everyone believed him. I was isolated, heartbroken, and utterly humiliated.
How could the man I loved, my partner for ten years, become such a monster? What depths of depravity would he sink to just to protect his image?
Driven by a cold fury and armed with a deceptive calm, I plotted my escape. I agreed to a "reconciliation trip" to Iceland, a cruel charade, knowing it was my perfect window to disappear, leaving him to face the wreckage of his own making. This wasn't an ending; it was a strategic withdrawal. The war had just begun. Too Late, Mr. Rockstar
Modern My husband, a rockstar on the rise, just dedicated his Battle of the Bands victory to his "true muse"-our band's new bassist, Molly.
Then they shared a long, passionate kiss on stage, right in front of me, as I stood there, holding the victory cake I' d spent two days baking for him.
Later, I heard him laugh, calling me "pathetic," a "church girl playing dress-up" who "just tries too hard."
Then, after he "saved" me from harassing strangers, he publicly shamed me for my outfit and forced me to drink until I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.
Fresh from the ER, I saw him on one knee, proposing. Not to me, but to Molly, whispering, "I'll take care of you and our baby," words eerily similar to those he' d used when he pressured me into an abortion.
He then ripped off my designer leather jacket, the one I' d saved for months to buy for him, and draped it over Molly, declaring she "actually looks good in this."
How could he, my husband, betray me so completely and utterly humiliate me? Was this all a twisted joke, or was this the man I married all along?
Instead of crying or screaming, a strange, cold calm washed over me, and I walked straight out of that hospital, pulling out my phone to call Austin's best divorce lawyer. Her Crown, His Ruin
Fantasy The night Sabrina won Governor, my world should have been complete. I, Ethan Lester, a Hollow Keeper, had bent forgotten rituals to ensure her victory, loving her with every fiber of my being. She was my queen, now ruler of our state.
But her crown came with a cruel twist. She brazenly dismissed me and my family, choosing the slick tech billionaire Andrew Fuller, who mocked my quiet, mountain-folk parents and had them arrested on the spot. My pleas to Sabrina were met with icy indifference, her hand already intertwined with his.
The next morning, I learned my parents were dead-a convenient "suicide" in custody. When I confronted Sabrina in her office, she laughed with their killer, then scornfully dismissed my grief. "Are you seriously asking me to ruin a powerful man for a couple of nobodies from the sticks?" she sneered. She then announced our annulment and fired me, giving my advisory role to Andrew.
How could the woman I loved, the woman I gave everything for, become such a monster overnight? How did my life, built on deep traditions and fierce loyalty, collapse so entirely? This wasn't just betrayal; it was cold-blooded murder.
They had taken everything. Now, I would take it all back. 949: The Score That Blew Up My Family
Sci-fi My mother, Karen, stood by my hospital bed, her face cold as my heart monitor slowed. I was dying from organ failure, a sudden, rapid illness, while my older sister, Brittany, thrived as a popular influencer, celebrated for achievements that were, in truth, always mine.
This wasn't just sickness. It was the "Exchange System"-a chilling secret weapon my own parents had wielded. They' d systematically pilfered my successes, my health, even my Stanford-bound SAT scores, to fuel Brittany's fabricated "genius." My entire life was a lie, a resource to be drained for her benefit.
My father, Rick, a silent accomplice, watched as I withered away. Every talent, every ounce of robust health, funneled into Brittany. As the final heart monitor beep flatlined, darkness consumed me, the bitter truth of their monstrous deceit searing my soul.
How could my own family turn me into a mere resource, stealing my very life until I perished, all to elevate another's hollow existence? The injustice suffocated me. Was I truly just a battery for my "genius" sister, erased from history by those who should have loved me?
Then, light. I gasped, bolting upright in my own bed. It was a month before the SATs-the turning point where my life last pivoted to its tragic end. The memories of my death, of Karen' s icy words, were vivid. This time, I would not be their victim. I knew their system. And this time, I would break its rules. The Monster She Chose
Horror I woke up cold, Thanksgiving Eve all over again, the phantom pressure of water in my lungs, a chilling memory of how my wife Ashley had ended my last life.
Ashley was already humming, getting ready to leave-not for her aging parents, but for Brandon, her toxic lover, sealing her family' s fate with lies and then locking me in our bedroom to prevent me from interfering.
After a desperate escape, I raced to her parents' apartment, only to find the building engulfed in flames, while Ashley, through cunning phone calls, dismissed my desperate pleas to rescuers, painting me as an erratic husband and leading to my arrest as her parents perished inside.
My heart shattered by her shocking betrayal and Brandon's calculated cruelty, I was consumed by a cold, burning rage, realizing the terrifying depth of her obsession that led to such an unthinkable tragedy.
At the funeral, I publicly exposed Ashley's cold deceptions, and as Brandon shamelessly proposed to her amidst the fresh grief, his true monstrousness was revealed, finally breaking her twisted delusion and setting me free to forge a life unbound by their dark past. Charleston Soul Swap
Fantasy My Charleston life was straight out of a storybook: a loving family, a handsome fiancé, Chad, and a generous engagement gift – a historic mansion in the heart of the city.
But then came the nightmare.
One dizzying moment at my engagement party, surrounded by opulence, and the next I was trapped.
Trapped inside my fluffy white Bichon, Angel, my world became a terrifying cacophony of barks and urine.
Through the bars of a filthy cage, I saw my step-brother Billy Ray smirk, abandoning me—Sarah Jenkins, the wealthy heiress—to a notorious high-kill animal shelter.
I knew Daisy-Mae, his conniving wife, was now standing triumphant and relieved in *my* gorgeous Charleston home, inhabiting *my* body, embracing *my* privileged life.
The betrayal was absolute, the cruelty unimaginable, turning my gilded existence into a nightmare worse than death.
How could this dark magic be real?
How could my own family turn so viciously against me?
Miraculously, I jolted awake, back in my own bed, days before the horrific swap was truly meant to happen.
My first move: feigning a sudden, violent dander allergy to banish poor Angel—and Daisy-Mae's trapped soul—from my rooms.
This time, I'm not just fighting back; I'm turning their dark schemes against them, inch by agonizing inch. Unbowed: The Evelyn Hayes Story
Modern Evelyn Hayes, a venture capitalist celebrating a milestone in her impressive career, just wanted a quiet moment at a campus Starbucks, dressed comfortably after a long panel. But a simple outfit choice unexpectedly ignites a firestorm: anonymous messages turn into public online attacks, spearheaded by Mark Jenkins, an aspiring entrepreneur she's about to judge.
He demonizes her, painting her first as "distracting," then as a "corrupt elite" actively sabotaging his dreams. When he realizes she's the lead investor for the prestigious "Pioneer" Accelerator, he unleashes a venomous social media campaign, exploiting his family for sympathy and turning the internet into a mob crying "#CancelEvieHayes" and accusing her of being everything wrong with Silicon Valley.
How did a casual tank top become an excuse for such a calculated, personal vendetta? How can one man’s bitter entitlement twist reality and orchestrate a public shaming campaign against a professional woman?
Refusing to be silenced, Evelyn knows she must fight back, not just for her reputation, but for every woman targeted by online hate. But as she prepares to expose Mark’s dark past, a terrifying truth emerges: his desperation could turn vicious. Will she overcome the digital mob and a dangerous real-life threat, or will his false narrative destroy everything she’s built? Honors Night, Unscripted Drama
Young Adult The Annual Honors Convocation. My valedictorian speech was a triumph, the applause warm, my parents’ faces beaming with pride. I had given it all to academics, and this was my moment of glory. My future felt bright, endless possibilities stretching before me. I was ready to step off that stage and into a new chapter.
But then, Mr. Davies, our notoriously strict history teacher and the school’s champion of discipline, called me back. He held up a small, cream-colored envelope, sealed, for all to see. He announced, amplified by the microphone, that it was an “admiration note” found in my textbook – a clear signal of an uncomfortable public exposé he intended to make.
My stomach dropped, recognizing the careful calligraphy. Ethan. His son. Mr. Davies, oblivious, believed it was *to* me, not from him, and he was about to weaponize it. He forced me to read the heartfelt words aloud to the entire horrified audience, watching my parents wilt in their seats, threatening my participation in the prestigious National Mock Trial Championships if I didn't identify the "irresponsible" writer.
The bitter irony choked me. Here was the man who constantly lauded his son’s “focus” and “discipline,” preparing to publicly dismantle the very young man who wrote these tender sentiments, all while making me complicit. How could he be so utterly blind? How could I possibly navigate this moral tightrope without betraying Ethan, or completely derailing my hard-earned academic future?
Just as the suffocating pressure threatened to break me, a quiet, resolute voice cut through the auditorium’s stunned silence. “Stop.” Ethan Davies rose from his seat, pale but unyielding. He was about to shatter his father’s carefully constructed world, and radically redefine my own, with a confession that would flip the entire narrative on its head. You might like
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. 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. 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. Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." 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." Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" 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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