REGINA HUTCHINSON
19 Published Stories
REGINA HUTCHINSON's Books and Stories
The Scars He Left: A Second Chance At Happiness
Mafia "Fifty strikes," Floyd ordered, his voice devoid of warmth.
I knelt in the freezing snow, watching the man I had taken a bullet for five years ago stand beside his new fiancée, Jaylah.
Because Jaylah tore her engagement dress and blamed me, Floyd let his men beat me until my face was unrecognizable.
But that was just the beginning of my hell.
To save his alliance with Jaylah's family, he drained my blood to save her mother, ignoring my own fading pulse.
When Jaylah lied that I tried to burn her, Floyd forced me to thrust my hands—my architect's hands—into glowing coals until the flesh melted.
He stripped me of my name, my protection, and finally, my life.
"You are a liability," he said, pushing me into the freezing pool with a skimmer pole.
He watched me drown with the same detached interest he used to inspect firearms.
My lungs burned, and my heart turned to ice. I died hating him more than I ever loved him.
I thought it was the end.
But then, I gasped.
Air rushed into my lungs.
I wasn't in the water. I was sitting at a drafting table, five years before the nightmare began.
My hands were smooth. No scars. No burns.
And when Floyd Meyers approached me on the quad, smiling like the boy I used to love, I didn't smile back.
I ran. A Wife's Tragic End, His Awakening
Modern The man who destroyed my life stood over my broken body, but he didn't recognize me. My husband, Carter, was just the lawyer handling the "Jane Doe" found at his client's construction site, worried only about legal complications.
As a ghost, I watched him dismiss every part of me. The silver locket I' d clutched in my hand?
"Just another piece of evidence," he said flatly.
The faded tattoo on my wrist? "An irrelevant detail." He called me a selfish liar when my severe heart condition kept me from donating bone marrow to his manipulative fiancée, Cecelia. He threw me out of his car and left me on a street corner, where her thugs found me.
He was consumed with finding justice for a stranger, blind to the fact that he was the one who had sentenced his own wife to death.
I thought he'd never know. But then, the police showed him security footage from a community center. He saw my face, alive and smiling. And in that instant, the man who refused to see me in life was forced to see me in death. Shattered Vows: No Second Chances
Modern My husband, Liam, was the man I literally gave a piece of myself to, a kidney donated to save his life. I loved him with a devotion that ran deeper than blood. But this morning, I discovered the heart beating inside him was now completely unfaithful, and the life I saved had been used to destroy mine.
For years, Liam, the empire-builder, was my perfect husband, still making my favorite breakfast.
Then his phone buzzed: a text from "Ava Sinclair" – *Can't wait for tonight.* His panicked reaction and cold, fake kiss shattered everything.
His betrayal quickly unraveled: late nights, whispered calls, a strange perfume. On our anniversary, he gave Ava the real "Star" necklace, sending me a fake. A hidden photo and ultrasound confirmed it: Liam with Ava and "our baby." He then abandoned me for Ava. Overhearing Liam call me "the brand" and "barren" while I carried his child, I made the agonizing choice to terminate my pregnancy.
Hollowed but resolute, I burned with injustice. I had sacrificed a life because of his lies; the man I saved viewed me as a broken asset.
When Liam called, oblivious, promising a "real surprise" at his tower, my voice was steel. I would go, not to celebrate, but to walk into the fire and finally be free. The Star He Left Bleeding
Modern For three years, I, Hollywood's unbreakable star Aliza Cabrera, chased the one man I couldn't have: the brilliant, cold surgeon Dr. Etienne McCarthy. My relentless pursuit was a public spectacle, met only with his icy indifference.
Then, a single phone call shattered my world. My mother, her voice dripping with smug triumph, announced his engagement. Not to me, but to my manipulative stepsister, Kaylee.
The betrayal cut deeper when I discovered the truth. His coldness wasn't for everyone; it was a calculated performance orchestrated by Kaylee. "I did what you asked, Kaylee," he'd whispered to her, his voice laced with a devotion he never showed me. "Anything for you."
When Kaylee's lies escalated to a fire that nearly killed me, Etienne saved me, only to believe her twisted story that I had set it myself. He chose her, again and again, even leaving me bleeding on an operating table because Kaylee feigned a panic attack. "My fiancée needs me," were his final words to me.
I was nothing to him. A nuisance. A convenient discard. The love I felt turned to ash.
So I vanished. I rebuilt my life, becoming a media mogul, powerful and untouchable. I found real love with a kind man named Collins. But just as I found my peace, a ghost from the past reappeared, his eyes filled with a desperate, belated regret. This time, he wouldn't break me. This time, I would be the one to walk away. Five Years, A Forged Vow
Modern For five years, I was the devoted wife who helped Brandon build his tech empire.
But the moment his first love, Kristal, returned with a feigned injury, he handed her the diamond necklace meant for our anniversary and abandoned me in a torrential storm.
He knew my PTSD from a past kidnapping made storms terrifying, yet he drove away with her without a backward glance.
When I called him for help, terrified of the stranger driving my rideshare, it was Kristal who answered.
"Brandon is in the shower," she taunted. "Don't disturb our reunion."
I barely escaped an assault that night, only to return home and discover the ultimate betrayal: Brandon never filed our marriage license in the US.
Legally, I was never his wife. I was just a placeholder until she came back.
While he was busy comforting her, I didn't scream or fight.
I simply shredded the fake wedding certificate, packed my bags, and vanished.
By the time he realized his mistake and came begging on his knees, I was already gone. The Serpent's Kiss: A Wife's Revenge
Romance In my first life, I was the beloved adopted daughter of the Stanton family. My three perfect brothers showered me with affection, and Jackson, my first love, promised me the world.
But it was all a lie. When they set the mansion on fire, they stood on the lawn and watched me burn.
I heard them laughing through the flames.
"She's just an orphan," they said. "Pretending to love her all these years has been exhausting."
The only one who ran into the fire for me was Grayson Stanton—the cold, distant uncle who everyone said hated me.
He held me as the roof collapsed, whispering, "I'm with you." He died for me.
My world was built on their affection, a perfect, horrible lie.
Now, I've woken up again, back in the lawyer's office, one week before the fire.
To inherit the multi-billion dollar fortune, the will says I must marry one of my three brothers—my murderers.
So when the lawyer asked for my choice, I smiled.
"I choose Grayson Stanton." The Past's Unwanted Return
Modern The pregnancy test lay on our bathroom counter, two aggressive pink lines screaming a judgment. Seven years ago, I had a vasectomy-a choice Sarah and I made together, cementing our child-free life.
But now, she stood beside me, eyes wide with an unnerving excitement, claiming this was a "miracle," a fulfillment of some bizarre "destiny card" from a tarot reader. My gut screamed impossible, yet her practiced smile, laced with an unsettling desperation, cornered me.
I played along, a silent actor in her twisted play, watching her cling to this absurd narrative. My parents, then hers, were swept into the delusion, celebrating a grandchild I knew couldn't be mine. The deeper I sank into the charade, the more frantic her desperate whispers to her "mom" grew, texts angled away.
Why was she so desperate, so secretive? What terror drove her to this elaborate lie? The truth was a chilling void, a gnawing suspicion that threatened to swallow me whole.
Then, a hushed phone call from the next room. "No, Mark, you can't just show up here. Ethan is home." My wife's voice, intimate. Familiar. And then, the cruel, mocking laugh: "He actually believes that stupid story about the destiny card. He' s so easy to manage. Loyal like a puppy." My sanity shattered. This wasn't a miracle; it was a cold, calculated betrayal. This was her high school sweetheart, Mark, and their secret life-including "the last two times" and "another abortion." I would make her play out her perfect scene at her parents' anniversary party, then tear it all down. No Second Chance For Love
Romance I was just a ranch hand, she was a Redding heiress. Our love was a defiance, a whisper against the roaring wind of her family's dynastic rules. Seraphina chose me, giving up everything, promising forever.
Then, her family made a devil' s bargain: she was forced to give them a male heir with their rival' s son, Wyatt Cole, to eventually be with me. I watched, tormented, as she became pregnant, only for her to bear a daughter, prolonging the agonizing charade. To add insult to injury, her infant child fell mysteriously ill, and without hesitation, every finger pointed at me.
I was blamed, accused of poisoning the baby, and dragged into a frozen meat locker in the heart of a Wyoming blizzard. Through the frosted glass, I saw Sera. Her eyes, once full of fire for me, were cold with disappointment. "Why would you hurt my child?" she asked, shattering my world. The woman who once cradled my smallest cuts now watched me bleed, giving my family's prized buckle to my rival, openly choosing him over and over again.
How could the woman who pledged her soul to me, who bled for me, believe I was a monster? How could she watch me endure such humiliation and torture without a single word of defense? What unknown force compelled her to turn her back on the very man she claimed was her only home?
Broken beyond repair, I walked away from the endless torment, vanishing into the vast, remote mountains, vowing to erase every trace of the life I' d lost. But some secrets refuse to stay buried, and some pasts insist on a final, shattering confrontation. His Gilded Lie, Her Golden Revenge
Romance My life was perfect: a loving husband, a beautiful Charleston home, and a crucial grant to restore a historic house.
But my lawyer' s words shattered it all.
"There's an issue with the spousal disclosures," he said, pushing a marriage certificate across his desk.
It wasn't mine.
It was Ethan' s, marrying his assistant, Chloe Vance, five years ago.
My seven-year marriage was a lie.
Chloe was always there, her presence dismissed by Ethan as "purely professional."
I had wanted to believe him.
Then I overheard them: Ethan confessing he needed me for "legitimacy" and Chloe for "something vital."
The betrayal was colder, more calculated than I imagined.
He left me for dead, tortured and disfigured, in a damp basement, after Chloe orchestrated the attack using his men.
He even gave her my great-grandmother' s locket-my heritage-as if replacing me, piece by precious piece.
How could he?
How could the man I loved, my soulmate, be so monstrously manipulative, so blind, so cruel?
My body screamed in pain, but my heart felt nothing but an echoing emptiness.
My entire existence was a charade, a cruel joke.
But as I lay there, broken and discarded, a chilling resolve took root.
Amelia Hayes was dead.
It was time for Grace Thorne to be born.
I would not just survive; I would rise from the ashes and dismantle every last piece of his gilded empire.
This was not just revenge; this was rebalancing the scales, permanently. Shattered Dreams, Renewed Power
Fantasy I was Chloe, a high school student with Ivy League dreams, just two months shy of the SATs.
Our kind housekeeper, Ms. Evans, offered me a "special calming tea" to ease my nerves.
It wasn't comforting.
It was a soul-swapping recipe that stole my life.
I woke up trapped in the body of Brenda, Ms. Evans's resentful, academically hopeless daughter.
Brenda, in my body, went to the SATs and deliberately caused a horrific scene.
She tore up the test.
They disqualified me.
They blacklisted me.
My parents, blindly trusting Ms. Evans, believed I'd had a breakdown or cheated.
Their disappointment crushed me.
My Ivy League dreams shattered into a million pieces.
Ostracized and consumed by despair, I faded away.
I simply stopped.
The horror of remembering, the injustice of watching my future crumble, burned within me.
Why did Ms. Evans and her daughter hate me enough to destroy me?
But then, I woke up.
I was back, two months before the SATs, alive again, before everything went to hell.
This time, I wouldn't just prevent it.
I would understand why, and then I would make them pay. Reclaiming Her Crown: The Sterling Saga
Modern Sarah Miller was the quiet, scar-faced tech genius at Apex Innovations, engaged to the charming CEO, Ethan Hayes.
She just wanted to build something amazing, leading Apex' s most critical project, Nightshade, her professional pride and joy.
Then, Ethan introduced Brittany Evans, a bubbly, blonde "coding prodigy" intern.
Tasked with mentoring her, I quickly saw through Brittany's dazzling smile: she was utterly incompetent, yet constantly slipped into Ethan's private office.
My honest performance review, highlighting her lack of technical depth, became my corporate death sentence.
The next day, Ethan publicly stripped me of everything.
My lead role on Nightshade, my groundbreaking project, and even my earned Apex Innovator Fellowship-all given to Brittany.
He then stood before the entire engineering department and, with icy words, accused me of "pettiness" and "jealousy."
The applause for Brittany was a hammer blow, each clap echoing my humiliation and betrayal.
How could the man I loved, the man who supposedly protected me, do this?
The injustice was unbearable.
All my loyalty, my years of work, thrown away for an intern who spent two weeks charming the boss.
It made no sense. Why would Ethan sacrifice his company' s future for her?
My mind reeled, desperate for an answer that wasn't just "he's a fool."
As I walked out of Apex, leaving my old life behind, something shifted.
The glasses came off. My mousy facade crumbled. The quiet engineer was dead.
Because the truth was far more complex: Sarah Miller was a carefully constructed lie.
And now, the real Sarah-a Sterling heiress, a spy with a score to settle-was finally ready to play. The Missing Wife's Return
Modern We were the quintessential Chicago love story, high school sweethearts, married for five blissful years.
My husband, Michael, a successful real estate developer, suddenly longed for a family, and our high-profile OB-GYN, Dr. Peterson, joyfully announced we were expecting twins.
But eight months into my pregnancy, a chilling conversation changed everything.
I overheard Michael conspiring with Dr. Peterson, not about our supposed twins, but about 'Chloe's' baby, and a forced C-section for me to steal her child.
"Born a month apart, they won't look like twins," Dr. Peterson warned, yet Michael heartlessly replied, "She won't see them much anyway; I'll keep her occupied."
In that horrifying moment, I realized my beloved husband planned to use me to legitimize another woman's baby, then discard me.
He was a monster beneath the charming facade, frantically searching for his "missing" pregnant wife on national TV, all a performance.
He bought me my dream bakery and orchestrated a public reunion for the cameras, while inside, I felt only cold, sickening dread.
Then came Chloe's anonymous messages and Michael's sickening "promotional wedding" with his pregnant mistress, humiliating me publicly.
The man I loved, the man I married, was a ghost, replaced by a calculating schemer.
How could the man I trusted utterly betray me, twisting our love into such a grotesque charade?
But while he reveled in his deception, I was already planning my escape.
I had to protect my baby from his sick game, so aided by my powerful mother, I left him with divorce papers, ready for a final act he'd never forget.
His confident charade was his undoing; my departure was my fierce liberation. Back From The Grave For My Daughter
Modern The clinking of glasses and polite chatter filled the dining room—a supposedly normal dinner with my wife, Izzy, and a potential business partner, Mr. Henderson.
This was the night meant to seal the deal for my brewery, signaling a bright future for my family.
But in my mind, the scene played out differently, vividly, a horrific déjà vu of the night my life had truly ended.
Last time, this seemingly innocent evening spiraled into a nightmare where my daughter, Lily, died, and I was framed for her murder.
My 'loving wife' Izzy pointed her finger, screaming accusations that chilled me to the bone, painting me as a monster.
My stepmother, Carol, publicly disowned me, her eyes cold and calculating, while my father, Richard, succumbed to the shock, his weak heart giving out.
I ended up in prison, a shivving victim, universally condemned as a child abuser and killer.
The sheer injustice of it all, the betrayal by those closest to me, had festered over what felt like an eternity.
How could they concoct such an elaborate, cruel lie, especially one involving an innocent child?
Why would my own family orchestrate such a devastating downfall?
But this time, I was back, reborn into this exact, horrifying moment, the jagged neck of a broken beer bottle clenched in my fist.
No more polite conversation, no more playing the fool—this time, the script was mine.
This time, Lily would live. Live Broadcast, Dead Girl's Revenge
Romance Two years have passed since my death.
Now, my old roommate, Jessica, stands on a grand stage, accepting the "Annual Community Contributor" award.
Millions across the nation are watching her flawless smile, her humble nod—a true paragon of virtue.
Then, a catastrophic glitch.
My old laptop’s desktop, with a candid photo of my stepbrother Michael, flickers onto the massive screen behind her.
Michael, in the front row, snarls loud enough for every microphone to catch it, “What is that dead girl’s junk doing here? So damn disrespectful!”
The live chat goes wild, demanding this "trash" be removed, calling me sick, a psycho, forever "bad news."
The host, David, clicks open my "Sarah's Private Posts" folder, exposing my innermost thoughts, my hidden struggles, one excruciating entry at a time.
He reads my very first post—detailing a secret donation I made, the same one Jessica brazenly claimed as the start of her own famous charity work.
Jessica feigns shock and Michael, clutching her hand, reinforces their elaborate deception, branding me as an obsessive, selfish liar who brought all her troubles on herself.
My name, once again, is dragged through the mud, my tragic end blamed on my own "faults," even from beyond the grave.
The cameras fixate on Jessica’s carefully staged sorrow, Michael’s theatrical disgust, and the world believes them, condemns me.
Didn’t my sacrifices, my pain, my desperate attempts to uncover the truth mean anything?
But David, the host, doesn’t stop.
He scrolls to the next post, and the one after that.
They have no idea what else I left behind.
Because my carefully documented words, my secret recordings, and undeniable evidence are about to bring their entire empire crashing down, live on national television. Stepsister's Scorn, Lover's Lie
Romance At the elite Auer Conservatory gala, I, Ava Davies, a scholarship violinist, finally felt I belonged, especially with my powerful trustee boyfriend, Ethan Montgomery, effortlessly by my side.
But then, the grand screen, meant for donor names, flickered to life, displaying a deeply intimate video of me—a bedroom scene—for all of New York's elite to see, hijacking my deepest humiliation for public consumption.
As gasps turned to cruel whispers and mocking laughter, and my world crumbled, Ethan, my supposed anchor, vanished, only for me to find him moments later, gloating with my stepsister, Seraphina, admitting our entire relationship was an "amusing diversion" to orchestrate my ruin.
Betrayed by the man I loved, herded like an animal, I was then dragged into a dark alley by his friends, enduring unimaginable torture: chili oil burned my throat, flashes captured my terror, and a searing hot iron branded my shoulder, all for the public's entertainment, sanctioned by Ethan who later, chillingly, instructed kidnappers to "dispose of me."
Why had he, the man who once championed me, orchestrated such monstrous cruelty, leaving me broken and branded, desiring my very eradication—what dark secret propelled this twisted vengeance, and could I ever escape his terrifying obsession?
This raw, agonizing betrayal transformed me: I would not just survive, I would disappear from his world, on my own terms, turning my back on the ruin he created to forge a future where I, Ava, would finally be free. Love Whispers
Romance She came from humble beginnings, with an average academic record, she held a dull job and earned a small income. Wearing makeup and dressing up was not in her daily repertoire. From her head to her toes, inside and out, she was a plain Jane.
Yet, following the night that she had planned to teach her unfaithful brother-in-law a lesson as revenge for her cousin, she was plunged into another world. A chance encounter in the wrong room, and she met him–a man whose entire presence exuded charm, glamour, and perfection.
He could have had any woman that he wanted. Any upper-class lady could have graced his arm at social events to further his business goals while he traded as a corporate raider. However, unexpectedly, he becomes infatuated with her. You might like
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." Married to the ruthless Billionaire Mafia
Starrlight I was meant to study law. Instead, the law sold me.
My father's debts sold me into a contract marriage with Dante Moretti, the heir to a mafia empire who hides behind a billion-dollar legal empire.
To the world, he's the polished, untouchable CEO. Behind closed doors, he's ruthless, demanding, and dangerously irresistible.
I swore I'd outsmart him that I'd serve my time and win my freedom. But every kiss feels like a trap, every touch like a dare, and every secret I uncover pulls me deeper into his world.
And the longer I stay, the harder it is to remember:
Am I his prisoner... or his bride?
The Billionaire's Bride Has A Secret
Mi Lu I took a blade for my husband, Marco, five years ago. It saved his life, but the wound to my stomach cost me the ability to give him an heir. He swore it didn't matter. "I only need you," he had whispered.
Today, he brought home my replacement. He called her a "surrogate," a university student named Bianca who was meant to secure his family's bloodline. But that night, I found them tangled in our guest bed.
I stood in the doorway, a ghost in my own home, and listened to him praise her.
"You're so pure," he whispered. "Lia... she's so frigid."
The betrayal was a second blade twisting in my old scar. His affair became blatant. He showered her with gifts and forgot my birthday. When she coveted the heirloom pendant my dying mother gave me, he ripped it from my neck and gave it to her.
"It's a worthless trinket," he scoffed.
That night, she tried to run me over with his Aston Martin. He arrived to find me bleeding in the driveway, and he didn't even ask if I was okay. He just looked at me with disgust, believing her lies instantly.
"What the hell have you done now?" he bellowed. "You're not dead, are you?"
I laughed then, a hollow, chilling sound. I picked up my suitcase, turned my back on the ruins of my marriage, and made a single phone call.
"Dante," I said to my brother, the Don of the Romano family. "It's done. Cut them off." Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband
Bei Ke On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family.
I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown.
But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic.
He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event.
"She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity.
"You will give her whatever she needs."
I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm.
As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing.
"Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted.
Dominick didn't even turn around.
He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table.
I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic.
He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins.
He was wrong.
I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match.
I let the room burn.
By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London.
I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty.
He wanted a war? I would give him one. 
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