Noah
18 Published Stories
Noah's Books and Stories
The Auctioned Wife: Escaping The Billionaire's Cage
Modern The wooden box hidden in the back of my husband's desk wasn't a gift for me. Inside sat a diamond ring far more expensive than my own, engraved with a single name: *Else*.
Else was the woman Derek swore was just his sister.
That night, feigning sleep, I heard him laughing on the phone with his best friend.
"Don't worry," Derek said, his voice cold and bored. "The bet is almost over. She was just a placeholder until Else came back. Once the assets are transferred, we auction her off to the highest bidder."
My world shattered in a heartbeat. I wasn't his wife; I was an asset. A warm body he planned to sell like used furniture.
But the betrayal didn't stop at infidelity. When Else returned, she caused a car crash that left me bleeding out on a gurney. I grabbed Derek’s hand, screaming for him to save our unborn baby.
He didn't even look at me. He looked at the doctor and pointed at Else.
"Save her," he commanded. "I don't care about the baby."
I woke up in a sterile room, childless and hollow, only to discover the final horror: they were dosing me with an "Obedience Serum" to ensure I wouldn't fight back during the sale.
Derek thought I was broken. He thought I was stupid enough to board the plane he booked, straight into the hands of his buyers.
But when his security team stormed the aircraft, my seat was empty.
By the time he realized I was gone, I was already thousands of miles away in Paris, watching his empire burn to the ground from a safe distance.
He wanted to sell a victim. Instead, he unleashed a survivor. He Broke Me, Another Man Fixed Me
Mafia My husband, the ruthless Don of the Parks family, made his choice.
When his mistress burst in screaming that her son was sick, Jackson didn't hesitate. He left me—his wife who had just been poisoned—pinned against the wall to die, rushing to comfort a child who wasn't even his blood.
That night, "Elena Parks" died in a fiery car crash.
I spent years rebuilding myself in France, hidden by Hamilton Nixon, a man who loved me in the shadows. I finally found peace. I finally felt free.
But Jackson found out the truth. He discovered the boy was another man's son and that his mistress had been drugging him. Instead of letting me go, his grief turned into a terrifying obsession.
He hunted me down, kidnapped me, and dragged me back to the estate that had been my prison.
I woke up tied to our marriage bed with silk ribbons.
"I'm building a garden," he whispered maniacally, stroking my hair as I struggled against the bonds. "Just like you wanted. We're going to be happy."
He thought kidnapping was a grand romantic gesture. He thought he could erase the abuse with a fresh coat of paint and forced proximity.
But he underestimated me. And he underestimated Hamilton.
After a violent rescue, I rose from the ashes not as his wife, but as a titan of industry.
Six months later, Jackson stormed the stage at my global summit. He knelt before me on live television, holding a ten-carat pink diamond, thinking he could buy my forgiveness.
"I'm ready to take you back," he announced to the world.
I looked at the man who had destroyed me, then at Hamilton, the man who had saved me.
I grabbed Hamilton's lapels and kissed him in front of millions.
"There is no 'us', Jackson," I told him into the microphone, watching his world shatter. "You are just haunting a graveyard." Erased By His Lies And Love
Romance For ten years, I gave my husband, Desmond, everything. I worked three jobs so he could get his MBA and sold my grandmother' s locket to fund his startup. Now, on the verge of his company's IPO, he was forcing me to sign divorce papers for the seventeenth time, calling it a "temporary business move."
Then I saw him on TV, his arm wrapped around another woman-his lead investor, Aurora Quinn. He called her the love of his life, thanking her for "believing in him when no one else did," erasing my entire existence with a single sentence.
His cruelty didn't stop there. He denied knowing me after his bodyguards beat me unconscious at a mall. He locked me in a dark basement, fully aware of my crippling claustrophobia, leaving me to have a panic attack alone.
But the final blow came during a kidnapping. When the attacker told him he could only save one of us-me or Aurora-Desmond didn't hesitate.
He chose her. He left me tied to a chair to be tortured while he saved his precious deal. Lying in a hospital bed for the second time, broken and abandoned, I finally made a call I hadn't made in five years.
"Aunt Evelena," I choked out, "can I come stay with you?"
The reply from the most feared lawyer in New York was instant. "Of course, darling. My private jet is on standby. And Ariel? Whatever it is, we'll handle it." The Nanny's Secret, The Wife's Revenge
Modern The call came from my son's elite private school. The nurse was cheerful, telling me seven-year-old Jace had a minor scrape and needed a routine blood transfusion.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold. "It's a good thing we have his A-positive blood type on file."
My husband, Christian, and I are both O-negative. It's biologically impossible.
A secret DNA test confirmed the horrifying truth. Jace was not my son. He was Christian's child with our live-in nanny, Kassidy.
They had swapped my baby at birth. For seven years, I had been raising my husband's affair child while my own son was missing.
My entire life, my perfect marriage to the man I'd loved since high school, was a lie. The man I had spent years searching for after a car accident supposedly gave him amnesia had been playing me the entire time.
But in a twisted attempt to gaslight me with a new, manipulated DNA test, Christian made a fatal mistake. He accidentally sent a hair sample from my biological son.
The test confirmed he was alive.
Suddenly, I had a reason to live. I would find my son, and then I would burn my husband's world to the ground. His Secret Son, Her Stolen Fortune
Billionaires I found the document by accident. Aiden was away, and I was looking for my mother' s old earrings in the safe when my fingers brushed against a thick, unfamiliar file folder. It wasn't mine.
It was the "Herrera Family Trust," and the primary beneficiary of Aiden' s massive fortune wasn't me, his wife of seven years. It was a five-year-old boy named Leo Herrera, and his legal guardian, listed as the secondary beneficiary, was Haven Herrera-my adopted sister-in-law.
My family lawyer confirmed it an hour later. It was real. Ironclad. Established five years ago. The phone slipped from my hand. A cold numbness spread through me. Seven years. I had spent seven years justifying Aiden's madness, his rages, his possessiveness, believing it was a twisted part of his love.
I stumbled through the cold, silent mansion to the east wing, drawn by the sound of laughter. Through the glass doors, I saw them: Aiden, bouncing Leo on his knee, Haven beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. And with them, smiling and cooing at the child, were Aiden's parents. My in-laws. They were a perfect family.
"Aiden, the final transfer of the Knox assets into Leo' s trust is complete," his father said, raising a glass of champagne. "It's all airtight now."
"Good," Aiden replied, his voice calm. "Charlotte's family money should have always belonged to a true Herrera heir."
My inheritance. My family's legacy. Transferred to his secret son. My own money, used to secure the future of his betrayal. They had all known. They had all conspired. His rage, his paranoia, his sickness-it wasn't for everyone. It was a special hell he had reserved just for me.
I backed away from the door, my body cold as ice. I ran back to our bedroom, the one we had shared for seven years, and locked the door. I looked at my reflection, at the ghost of the woman I used to be. A quiet vow formed on my lips, silent but absolute.
"Aiden Herrera," I whispered to the empty room. "I will never see you again." Seven Years, A Shattered Promise
LGBT+ On the giant screen in Times Square, Chloe Davis, radiant in red, slammed the gavel, and "Davis Innovations" exploded in green numbers. I stood in the crowd, a ghost she couldn't see, having spent seven years in her shadow, building her dream, waiting for the promise she' d made: "It will be you and me, Alex."
Then, a reporter' s question boomed from the speakers: "Rumors of an engagement?" Chloe' s smile widened, one I knew for magazine covers, never reaching her eyes. "The rumors are true," she said, her voice smooth as glass. "I'm engaged to Ethan Hayes. He's my rock." My world dissolved.
I walked away, calling her back later. "Don't be difficult," she said. "I was going to tell you." When I arrived at the sterile penthouse, she walked in with Ethan Hayes. "I made that soup for him," she whispered, pointing to the stove. "His stomach is sensitive. You're a survivor, Alex. You'll be fine without me. But he… he only has me." Then the final blow: "I need you to move out. I'll have a check cut for you. For your… contribution."
"What else would it be about?" she asked, genuinely confused when I laughed, crumbling the five-million-dollar check she offered as payment for seven years of my life. She thought everything had a price. As she fielded a call about flower orders, Ethan flashed a flicker of triumph, a cold calculation that revealed the "fragile" boy was a predator who had won.
But I finally saw the omega symbol on Ethan's collar – my symbol. The one from the necklace she wore, then gave to him. The rage solidified into something colder. "Keep your money, Chloe," I said, letting the check fall. "But there is something of mine I want back." A Second Chance, A Lasting Love
Romance The grand hall buzzed, echoing with the promise of my victory at the National Architectural Innovators Gala. My design, "The Spire of Tomorrow," glistened on the screen, a testament to years of dedication. This was the pinnacle, the moment my life was supposed to take off.
But then, a cold dread seized me. I had lived this moment before. In another life, I, Sarah Miller, had won, celebrated by my mentor, Daniel Hayes, his smile a perfect mask for the darkness within.
That win had been the beginning of my end. He and his protégé, Emily Chen, systematically erased my contributions, claimed my innovations, and then framed me for embezzlement. Publicly disgraced, I lost everything: my career, my home, and worst of all, my brother Michael' s specialized medical care. He deteriorated, and the guilt consumed me. My story ended in a cold, lonely apartment, crushed by failure.
How could I have been so blind? How could my mentor, the man who shaped me, betray me so completely? The injustice burned, a bitter taste in my mouth, and I was left with nothing but unanswered questions and seething resentment.
But this time, it was different. As the emcee built the suspense on stage, Daniel and Emily smugly confident in the front row, I knew one thing: I would not walk into their trap again. I raised my hand. His Devotion, Her Deception
Romance The roar of the crowd was a distant hum as I stood backstage, a velvet box in my hand, ready to surprise Chloe-the woman I loved, the dancer poised for victory.
Her voice, clear and musical, drifted through her dressing room door, casually dismissing me to the host: "Ethan? He' s just a suitor, one of many."
Then came the colder blow, a dismissive laugh as she added, "Some people just have more money than sense... A bit of a gold-digger, you could say, just for status instead of money."
The word "gold-digger" hit me like a physical punch, forcing the box containing the "Starry Night" necklace-a symbol of my months-long devotion and sacrifice-to clatter to the concrete floor.
Suddenly, every anonymous donation, every chauffeur drive, every hidden act of support over the years twisted into a stark, humiliating truth: I hadn't been building a future; I had merely been funding her present.
Later, in the lobby, she paraded a new man, Leo, as her "soul connection," while casually introducing me as an "old friend from back home," making sure to emphasize the word friend.
Leo then went on to serenade her, turning his performance into a public jab at me, declaring, "Some gifts don't come in a box. They come from the soul. They can't be bought."
The irony was suffocating. I, Ethan Miller, the "tech CEO" who had built an empire from nothing, was being cast as the materialistic fool, outshone by a performative, "spiritual" artist.
And Chloe, the woman I loved more than anything, gave me a fleeting glance that screamed, "Don't make a scene."
The love I held for her, so deep and foundational, began to crumble, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.
I walked out of that theater, leaving the illusion behind, knowing one thing for sure: if money was all I valued, at least money had never lied to me.
But the real question remained: What was she really worth? And what was he hiding? Beyond His Savior's Touch
Modern My husband, Ben, a tech genius, poured his entire fortune into building a neuro-oncology center, a monument of science, all to save me from an aggressive brain tumor. Everyone called him a savior.
But the day they announced the first human trial, his eyes, shining with feverish light, were not solely on me. Instead, they fixed on a perfect subject, a young woman whose tumor was a near-identical match to mine. And with her came the faint, sweet scent of a cheap perfume.
That night, my world shattered. A video flashed on my phone: his new research assistant, Chloe, in his lab coat, unbuttoned, in his office. He was already setting fire to our world, the man who swore he'd burn the world down for me.
The headaches were worsening, the memory gaps growing longer. Dr. Rodriguez confirmed it: "The tumor isn' t waiting for Ben' s miracle drug. It' s eating away at you piece by piece." Yet, I refused to terminate my pregnancy; this child was my future.
He wanted to take me to a monastery, to pray for our baby, a gesture I knew was hollow. I saw the texts: Chloe asking for her "reward," Ben telling her to "focus on the science," her purring, "I'm feeling a little… feverish." My stomach churned with disgust.
The man who had promised forever, the man who once held me through countless nights of pain, was now sneaking off to be with his mistress. How could he be both my devoted husband and a pathetic, weak man? How could so much love and so much deceit coexist in one heart?
Then, the cold, hard resolve crystallized. He was terrified of losing me. Fine. I would let him have his wish. But when I survived, the Sarah he knew, the one who loved him, would be completely and utterly gone. His Lies, Her New Beginning
Romance The Starlight, a vintage car, coughed and died, mirroring the decade-long marriage of Chloe and Mark.
What was supposed to be their ten-year anniversary took a dark turn when a lawyer' s call shattered Chloe' s world: her marriage was a sham, and Mark had been legally wed to her sister, Brittany, all along.
The revelation of Mark' s bigamy and Brittany' s hidden role as his true wife left Chloe reeling, compounded by the horrifying realization of their brazen deceit under her own roof.
As Chloe' s mother suffered a heart attack, Mark callously prioritized Brittany's fake pregnancy, letting Chloe' s mother die while ordering security to remove a pleading Chloe, leaving her bruised and heartbroken.
But from the depths of her despair, Chloe made a silent vow: she would sever every tie to her past, embrace a new chance at family with an unexpected adoption, and rise from the ashes of betrayal, leaving Mark and Brittany to face the true cost of their lies. The Perfume of Betrayal
Romance The silence in our perfect, cold house was heavy, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator as I waited for my husband, Walter, to come home.
I knew the moment he walked in: a sickly sweet, cheap perfume clung to his expensive suit, a stark, vulgar stain on our pristine air, and a single text notification on his phone screamed: "Chloe: Had so much fun tonight ❤️ Can't wait for more. xx."
He tried to dismiss it, to gaslight me, but when I fled to my sister' s, my mother and even his own mother called, not to offer comfort, but to demand I "be the bigger person" and forgive his "little mistake" for the sake of our son and his reputation.
How could I be the bigger person when they were all so determined to shrink me, to erase every trace of my worth and identity, painting me as the hysterical wife while he built a new life with his mistress right under my nose, even using my late husband's name to fund it?
No longer content to be "handled," I returned home, not to reconcile, but to prepare for war, knowing that justice would be served, publicly and unequivocally, on the night of our son's birthday party. The Dog Ate My Marriage
Romance My life with Andrew, the ambitious architect I' d helped build into a success, was a carefully curated masterpiece.
We were expecting our first child, a future designed for joy, when I walked into his office and found his intern, Molly, with her dog disrespecting a priceless gift I' d given him.
Andrew' s defense of Molly, his sudden coldness, and then discovering him feeding my special gift - a rare prosciutto meant for him - to her dog, sickened me to my core.
Every gesture of my affection, every symbol of our shared history, was being trivialized, even weaponized against me, leaving me utterly alone and reeling from a betrayal so specific and cruel.
But when Andrew, with Molly and her new puppy in tow, brazenly used my severe allergies against me during a family inheritance meeting, I knew this wasn't just about a broken marriage; it was about reclaiming everything he' d tried to steal, starting with my life and unborn child. My Brother, My Vendetta
Modern I remember the Orlando theme park vividly, a chaotic backdrop to the day I, Sarah, believed I saved my younger brother, Kevin, from a suspicious beat-up van and the men within.
For twenty-two agonizing years that followed, he systematically dismantled my happiness, turning my very existence into a meticulously crafted hell, blaming me for every one of his pathetic failures and wasted life choices.
On my fortieth birthday, as celebratory champagne turned to deadly poison in my throat, Kevin leaned close, his eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated triumph, whispering, "You should have let me go, Sarah; this is all your fault."
That agonizing betrayal, that final, calculated act of malice, consumed me entirely as darkness quickly enveloped my world, stealing my breath and my future.
I died, drowning in his insidious lies and my own complete helplessness, forever haunted by his chilling words, believing my life was ultimately a tragic, unending consequence of his twisted vendetta.
Then, with a jarring jolt, I was miraculously back in that exact moment, the searing Florida sun oppressive, the cheerful theme park music grating, fully transported to the very nightmare where my torment began.
There he was again, my sixteen-year-old brother Kevin, a familiar cocky smirk adorning his young face, confidently heading straight for the same beat-up van and its sinister occupants.
This time, no frantic screams of warning tore from my throat; no desperate rush to interfere compelled my feet forward, no instinct to rescue him remained.
A chilling stillness settled deep within my core, an immediate echo of the grave he' d prepared for me, as I consciously embraced a profoundly different path.
I watched him climb into the decrepit van, watched its door slam shut on his ignorant bliss, and understood with absolute clarity that my second chance was not for any kind of salvation, but for a justice far colder and more absolute than I ever conceived. The Divorce That Set Her Free
Sci-fi The divorce papers lay on our dining table, stark white against the mahogany.
My husband, Ethan, placed them there, his voice smooth, asking for three days.
Just three days, he said, for his college ex-girlfriend, Chloe.
Chloe, who he swore was a ghost from his past, was now supposedly dying of a rare, aggressive cancer.
Her last wish? To marry him.
And for those three days, he needed me to "not remember."
He pointed to a sterile vial in his hand – Compound M-7, my creation, a memory drug I' d developed.
He wanted me, his wife, Dr. Evelyn Hayes, a neuroscientist, to erase myself so he could play husband to another woman.
He called it "temporary amnesia," believing there was an antidote.
The audacity of his request, born from convenience and a shocking lack of loyalty, shattered everything I thought we had.
He didn't know M-7 was irreversible.
My secret. My burden.
This wasn' t just about a weekend; it was his willingness to sacrifice me, to wipe me from his life for a dying wish he' d barely questioned.
How could he ask this of me?
But now, seeing his betrayal so clearly, I saw M-7 not as a tool for his deceit, but as my escape.
I nodded slowly, my voice steady, whispering, "Temporary."
A lie.
The biggest I' d ever told him.
Because he thought he was borrowing my memory, he was actually handing me my true, permanent freedom. She Let Him Drown
Romance I thought I' d finally found love when I, a humble bayou girl, rescued the charming Governor' s son, Ethan, from a storm.
Our brief, intense romance left me pregnant, and I truly believed his promise to return for us.
But he never did, sending his calculating friend Jackson instead, who, to my shock, demanded I marry him to cover up the scandal for Ethan and his powerful fiancée, Veronica.
Humiliated, I married Jackson, only for him to then orchestrate a chemical disaster that poisoned my home, killed my entire community, and snatched away my first child.
Three years later, pregnant again and slowly rebuilding my life with Jackson, I overheard a chilling phone call.
The man I' d come to trust, the supposed father of my unborn child, calmly confessed to destroying my village and causing my first miscarriage, all to protect Veronica and her family.
Worse, he was plotting to poison this new baby too, calling my womb "tainted" by Ethan, coldly arranging a doctor to induce another "natural" miscarriage tomorrow.
He had stolen my home, my family, and my first child – and now he was coming for my second.
My blood ran cold; how could the man sharing my bed be such a monster?
But as despair threatened to consume me, a fierce, burning resolve ignited: he had taken everything else, but he would not take this child.
I would fight.
I would survive.
And I would protect my baby, no matter the cost. Uncle Mark's Doomsday Dice
Billionaires Thanksgiving was usually my favorite holiday, a time for family and good food.
This year, my wealthy Uncle Mark, who constantly belittled our humble family, turned dinner into a display of his supposed superiority, pulling out stacks of cash and daring us to play high-stakes poker, specifically mocking my retired mailman father and me for "pinching pennies."
Fuelled by years of suppressed anger over his taunts, especially towards my father, I stepped up to play, risking and quickly losing my entire Christmas bonus in a series of humiliating dice rolls as he gloated.
But when he kept pushing, openly savaging my father’s quiet dignity and mocking my girlfriend, a deep, simmering fury ignited within me; this wasn't just about money anymore, it was a battle for my family's honor.
With trembling hands but unwavering resolve, I pulled out my phone, displaying my thirty-thousand-dollar house down payment fund, ready to risk everything and make this Thanksgiving a lesson he would never forget. The Divorce She Demanded
Modern "Sarah, about that Chicago job…" Mark’s words echoed, triggering a chilling deja vu.
He was about to tell me my dream job, the history department head role in my hometown, had to be sacrificed for his needy sister-in-law, Jessica.
Twenty years ago, I acquiesced, losing my path, my husband, and ultimately, myself to Mark’s relentless prioritization of Jessica and the town’s pitying whispers. This time, my defiant "I'm taking the job" was met with accusations of selfishness and indifference from him, and feigned sweetness from her. Our escalating conflict climaxed when a violent ice storm collapsed our house; trapped under debris, I watched Mark abandon me to save Jessica and her son.
The searing pain in my leg was nothing compared to the gut-wrenching realization: he had chosen them, fully expecting me to die, his ultimate betrayal a stark and final message.
But in that wreckage, a new resolve solidified: this wasn't an end, but liberation. From my hospital bed, I vowed to reclaim my life, refusing his eventual, posthumous apologies and compensation, finally free to forge my own destiny in Chicago. You might like
Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." 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." The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." Traded Husbands, Tangled Hearts: Can Destiny Be Changed?
Mia Caldwell In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end.
Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced.
This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak.
Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely.
Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings? Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me Now
Theodora Birnir The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life.
To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers.
When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance.
Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?"
Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling." 
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