Polly
12 Published Stories
Polly's Books and Stories
My Son's Death, His Cruel Betrayal
Modern For seven years, I gave up my life as a genius engineer to be the perfect wife for my husband, Jonathan, a U.S. Senator. But when our five-year-old son drowned, he didn't comfort me. He comforted his adopted sister, Hailey, and blamed me for our son's death.
At the wake, he stood by as his family beat me, calling me a murderer. He watched them shove my head into a freezing pond, forcing me to feel the same terror our son felt in his last moments.
His protection was always for Hailey, never for me.
Then I learned the horrifying truth. Jonathan was there when our son fell in the water. He saw him struggling, but he chose to comfort a panicking Hailey first.
He let our son die.
So I filed for divorce in secret and vanished into a classified research project. But when he tracked me down, begging for a second chance in front of his new colleagues, I played a recording for everyone to hear. It was Hailey's voice, gleefully admitting that Jonathan had chosen her over his own dying child. The Billionaire's Dare: My Secret Husband
Modern I was the "little bird" of the Carlson empire, living a comfortable but caged life under the thumb of my guardian, Francis. To the world, Christ Carlson was the cold, untouchable machine who ran the family business, a man I called "Uncle" but who treated me like a ghost in the hallway.
One drunken night in Las Vegas, desperate to finally "poke the bear" and feel alive, I leaned into his shadows and whispered a dare that would ruin me. I asked the most terrifying man I knew if he dared to marry me right then and there.
He didn't laugh. He stood up, dragged me to a tacky chapel, and forced a massive diamond onto my finger with a grip like iron. The "asexual" machine everyone feared turned into a predator the moment we reached his penthouse, claiming me with a bruising intensity that left me breathless and broken.
By morning, I was trapped in a living nightmare. Christ forced me to hide the marriage, demanding I play the part of the dutiful niece while he owned me in the shadows. He replaced my ripped clothes with thousands of dollars in designer silk, essentially buying my silence and my body in one cold transaction.
Now, I’m back at the family estate, hiding a five-carat ring on a chain under my shirt and praying Francis doesn't see the marks on my neck. I thought I was being rebellious, but I didn't realize Christ Carlson had been waiting for me to walk into his trap for years.
I am legally his, physically his, and he has no intention of ever letting me go. Every time he looks at me, I feel the cage door slamming shut, realizing I’ve traded a guardian who ignores me for a husband who wants to dismantle me piece by piece.
At breakfast, Christ pressed his shoe firmly against my inner thigh under the table, his gaze locked on mine while he discussed my future with Francis.
"I think it's time we found her a match," Christ said, his voice a lethal, calm purr.
"I was thinking of keeping her in the family." Six Years Trapped In A Broken Vow
Modern Aliyah Pollard POV:
For six years, my husband, Chase, refused to divorce me, gaslighting me while he built a new family with his mistress, Faye. After 99 failed attempts, I was ready for my 100th try.
But the man I met in the park wasn't my cold, cheating husband. It was Chase from ten years ago-eighteen, idealistic, and still madly in love with me.
He didn't understand why I looked so sad, why I flinched from his touch. He didn't know about the affair, the miscarriage Faye caused, or the child they now had together.
He saw the divorce papers and his world shattered. "I would never hurt you, Aliyah," he cried, his young eyes filled with genuine anguish. "I love you."
His pain was a stark contrast to the cruelty of the man he would become. The older Chase had sneered, "You're mine, Aliyah. Who would want you?"
But this boy, this pure version of my husband, saw my suffering and didn't hesitate.
He took the pen, his hand shaking, and signed the papers his future self had refused for years. "If this is what you need," he whispered, "I'll do it." The Heiress My Husband Cast Away
Mafia My little brother’s heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I’d saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team.
“I’m handling an emergency,” he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead.
I found out what Dante’s “emergency” was from his mistress’s social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat’s kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats.
When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed.
This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery.
I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in." When Gratitude Turns Bitter
Modern "I'm sure about this. I want to volunteer." Ava Williams looked the program director in the eye, her voice steady, determined to commit two years in a conflict zone. Inside, her heart was a mess, but she had to do this.
Then, a fire truck screamed past, its siren wailing, and suddenly, she was a child again, trapped in a burning home. Her parents were gone, but a young man, Liam, scooped her into his arms, whispering, "It's okay. I've got you. I'll always have you." That promise became the foundation of her world.
She grew up, and her gratitude for Liam, her legal guardian, transformed into love. On her eighteenth birthday, she confessed, "I love you. Not like a sister." He froze, his expression cold. "I am your brother. Your guardian. Don't ever say that again." After that night, a wall went up between them.
She didn't give up. Every time she came home, she would tell him again, "I still love you, Liam." And every time, without hesitation, he would shut her down. "Ava, stop. It's never going to happen." His rejection was a constant, painful beat in the rhythm of her life.
Then he brought Sophia Miller home. "She's my fiancée," he announced. The word hit Ava with the force of a physical impact. She watched them together, saw the open affection he had never given her. That night, she listened to sounds of intimacy from his bedroom, a thousand tiny cuts on her soul.
Why was the man who saved her, who promised to always have her, now rejecting her, denying her love, and choosing someone else? How could the gratitude and dependence she carried for him turn into such a bitter and painful burden?
An eerie calm settled over her. The hope she had clung to for so long was finally, completely dead. She had to leave. D.C. Descent: A Family's Fight
Sci-fi For five years, deep space was my home, and the silent, humming dark was my constant companion as Captain of the U.S. Space Force vessel Odyssey. But the silence from Earth was a different kind of burden.
My mother, Senator Annabel Clark, was a force of nature, her weekly messages a lifeline of D.C. gossip and advice, often spiced with my sister Stella' s chaotic teenage energy. Then, they just stopped. My father's sterile updates mumbled about "chronic illness" and "privacy," but it felt horribly wrong.
So, I used my Captain's clearance – a privilege rarely abused – to redirect a surveillance satellite toward our family estate in Washington D.C., looking not for signs of illness, but for signs of life.
The feed came through, crisp and clear, showing sprawling lawns lit up, tents erected, an orchestra playing. It was a huge party. My blood ran cold.
I zoomed in. There, on the main veranda, stood my father, Matthew Roberts, beaming. Beside him, my breath hitched: Sabrina Johns, his high school flame. And between them, a girl in a lavish white gown. Molly, Sabrina' s daughter. They were holding a debutante ball.
This was a flagrant, public declaration. A coup. They were celebrating in my mother's house while she and Stella were silent. A burning thought ignited, consuming every ounce of anticipation the trip home should have held: They were in my mother' s house. I stormed to the comms station, unleashing a command that would send a silver needle back to the heart of the world I'd left behind. My family couldn't wait. Reborn To Ruin Her: The Billionaire's Accidental Heiress
Romance The last time I saw my sister, Tiffany, she shoved me in front of a semi-truck. Now, I' m back, reborn, watching her try to drug the ruthless Vegas magnate, Damian Blackwood. This time, I didn't stop her. I even helped, booking the penthouse, just so I could finally watch her crash and burn.
But when Damian' s men seized me, not Tiffany, my meticulously crafted revenge plot shattered. He thought I was her, Mistook my unique birthmark for hers, and exacted a terrifying "punishment" that left me pregnant. I was desperate to escape Tiffany's disaster, only to realize I was now trapped in my own.
As Tiffany' s delusional claims of marriage and a fake pregnancy spiraled into a lawsuit from Blackwood, I discovered my own terrifying secret. Moments after realizing I was truly pregnant and my life was ruined, Damian' s chief of staff approached me not as an accomplice, but with a question. Then, a revelation: my birthmark was the key to my true identity. I wasn't Chloe, the family failure, but Chloe Van Astor-the long-lost heiress of a rival dynasty, betrothed to Damian from birth.
My tormenting "parents" and Tiffany were arrested for kidnapping and fraud, their cruel charade exposed. Damian, the man who nearly destroyed me, emerged as my destined partner. Now, he' s sealed off the Las Vegas Strip, making a public spectacle of his proposal, ready to claim me and our unborn child. My past is over. My real life, as Mrs. Blackwood, begins now. A Billionaire's Calculated Revenge
Billionaires I was back, standing at my own opulent wedding reception in the Hamptons, surrounded by the clinking of champagne glasses and whispers of the wealthy.
Just moments before, I' d been bleeding out on wet asphalt, the last sound I heard my wife Chloe and her lover Carter laughing, discussing my ten-million-dollar life insurance policy.
They' d mocked me as "a broke kid from Queens, a scholarship project," after I'd given them my talent, my loyalty, my very life.
Now, reborn at this fateful moment, Chloe stood before me, her hand still stinging my cheek from a vicious, public slap, her face a mask of fury.
The humiliation continued as my groundbreaking M&A project was publicly handed to Carter, his smug grin twisting my past all over again.
Then, Chloe offered me a "health" smoothie, a seemingly kind gesture I now knew was a slow, mind-numbing poison designed to make me believe I was losing my sanity.
The sheer depravity of their long-term scheme, making me doubt my own competence and worth, solidified into a frigid rage.
How could I have been so blind, so trusting, to the depths of their calculated cruelty and endless betrayal?
But this time, my heart wasn't beating with love or fear; it thrummed with a cold, steady drumbeat of resolve.
They gave me a coffin in my first life.
In this one, I would build them a trap so perfect, they wouldn't see it until the doors locked behind them. The Fortune of Betrayal
Billionaires The annual "Vintage Harvest Charity Ball" was meant to be a crowning jewel for the Miller family, a night of proud philanthropy and confirmed alliances.
Instead, it became the stage for my public execution.
My fiancée, Victoria Lexington, snatched the microphone, her smile frozen, her eyes devoid of warmth.
In front of a stunned ballroom of California' s elite, she declared she' d found "authentic love" with a bronzed fitness influencer, Chase Ryder, publicly dumping me and shattering decades of Miller family honor.
My blood ran cold as whispers turned to a roaring judgment, humiliation searing into every fiber of my being.
Headlines screamed "LEXINGTON HEIRESS DUMPS MILLER SCION AT FAMILY GALA!" and the weight of public spectacle, coupled with the profound sting of personal betrayal, was suffocating.
Then, in a truly grotesque twist, Tori's father, desperate to salvage his crumbling business ties, offered me his other daughters-like spare parts for a broken deal, adding insult to profound injury.
How could someone so casually burn everything down, yet brazenly provoke us further, twisting reality to paint themselves as the wronged party?
Their continued taunts, their unapologetic audacity, only fueled the fire, transforming my heartbreak into a simmering, ice-cold rage.
The public seemed to side with their "authentic love" narrative, leaving me alone in the fallout.
But my grandfather, Arthur Miller, spoke of "pruning diseased branches" and protecting the vineyard, transforming a public humiliation into a cold, dangerous promise.
This wasn't just about a broken engagement.
It was a calculated declaration of war against the Millers, and I was about to unleash the quiet, ruthless power of my family' s way.
Now, it was my turn to redefine the terms of engagement and cultivate a future on my own terms. Their Downfall, My Design
Young Adult I was heading into senior year, my ROTC scholarship practically a guarantee, my future stretching out bright and limitless.
Then, my childhood friend and first love, Mike, fueled by jealousy and his new girlfriend Jessica' s petty spite, drugged my drink.
It was right before my crucial ROTC physical, and I failed, watching my dreams and entire future evaporate.
My life spiraled into dead-end jobs, a miserable existence far from what I' d planned.
Years later, at a party, Jessica, still simmering with a twisted hatred, set her friends on me.
I remembered the rough hands, the tearing, the cold, hard floor against my cheek as their cruel laughter filled the air.
They stripped away everything, then they killed me.
The searing pain, the utter betrayal, the image of their faces twisting with delight as I lay dying - it was an agonizing, incomprehensible end.
Why? How could they commit such an unspeakable act, then simply walk away?
But then, I woke up, gasping, in my own bed, three years in the past, my body miraculously whole and untouched.
Reborn.
A terrifying realization struck me with the force of a physical blow: what if they were back too?
At the first school assembly, Mike' s arrogant smirk and Jessica' s cold, knowing eyes confirmed my worst fears.
They remembered.
But this time, I wouldn't just survive; I would ensure they paid for every last bit of what they did.
The game was on, and this time, I was ready to win. The Neglected Wife's Maine Escape
Romance My world shattered when the call came: my beloved father was gone.
But even as grief consumed me, my husband, Mark, dealt a cruel blow.
He skipped the funeral, prioritizing his "friend" Tiffany-a woman whose endless dramas always seemed to come first.
Returning home from Maine, heartbroken and exhausted, he casually asked me to cook chicken soup for Tiffany because she was "not feeling well."
That was the moment I realized I wasn't just a wife or a grieving daughter; I was merely his live-in chef for another woman.
Then, Tiffany began to appear everywhere.
She took over my desk at my old job, openly supported by Mark, who claimed I wasn't "using it much anyway."
She even clung to him at my own farewell party, while Mark made endless excuses for her sensitive needs.
The casual contempt in Mark's eyes, his constant choice of her over my profound pain, was the final, cold confirmation: I was utterly discarded, an inconvenience in my own life.
How could he be so blind?
So utterly consumed by someone else's petty crises while my entire world fell apart?
Why did he never see the depth of my despair, or the silent resolve hardening within me?
But their casual cruelty became my catalyst.
That night, instead of mourning what was lost, I meticulously planned my escape.
I printed divorce papers, discreetly tucking them beneath some mundane volunteer forms.
The very next day, I had Mark sign them, unknowingly sealing his own fate as he rushed off to Tiffany's latest "emergency."
I left without a word, driving towards Maine, towards my father's dream, and a new life he could no longer ruin. 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. 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." 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. 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." 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!" 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." Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." 
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