Shore Tour
13 Published Stories
Shore Tour's Books and Stories
The Unwanted Wife's Cold Comeback
Romance I loved my husband, Adrien, for ten years. On our wedding night, he didn't come to our bed. Instead, he had me dragged to a cold, damp cellar to be taught a lesson.
His ex-lover, Fallon, stood by with a triumphant smirk as he accused me of betrayal. He believed her lies, every single one.
He watched as his men ripped my wedding dress from my body, leaving me naked and broken on the concrete floor.
"You disgust me," he spat, his voice laced with a venom that shattered my heart.
For a year, I endured his cold hatred and abuse. My love for him withered and died, replaced by a chilling emptiness.
But when his cruelty led to my mother's death, and I discovered I was pregnant with his child, I knew I had to escape. So, I threw myself into the ocean, faking my death. This would be my revenge. Rooftop Edge, A New Life Began
Modern The doctor finally gave me the green light to conceive, and I floated home to tell my husband, Clay.
We toasted to our future children, Charis and Donny, names he swore were unique and special.
Later that night, I unlocked his iPad and realized those names weren't unique-they were a sick tribute to his mistress, Charity Odonnell.
When I confronted him, the "perfect husband" mask shattered.
He didn't apologize.
Instead, he and his mother slapped me across the face, claiming my "mental instability" had returned, while my own parents begged me not to ruin his reputation.
Then came the video from Charity, laughing as she told me to "do everyone a favor and die."
Broken and cornered, I stood on the edge of the hospital roof that night.
I called Clay, told him to look up, and watched his face crumble in terror as I let go.
But I wasn't trying to kill myself.
I was aiming for the large oak tree below, calculating the perfect fall to destroy his life and secure my freedom. The Abandoned Wife And Her Secret Heir
Modern I was staring at a high-resolution photo of my husband burying his face in another woman’s neck when his text came through.
"Pizza or Thai?"
He wasn't just cheating. The photos showed him playing house with a woman named Serena and a little boy who had his exact nose.
He had told me he wasn't ready for children, yet here he was, giving his world to a secret family.
When I confronted them at his company gala, Serena didn't apologize.
She smirked, ripped the wedding ring off my finger, and shoved me hard.
I hit the floor with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded in my stomach.
"Help me," I gasped, clutching my belly. "My baby."
Michael looked at me. Then he looked at Serena and the boy.
He made his choice.
He turned his back on his bleeding, pregnant wife and escorted his mistress out the emergency exit to avoid a scandal.
He left me there to die.
He didn't know that the "son" he was protecting was a rental—a prop Serena hired to trap him.
And he didn't know that the baby he left to die on the gallery floor was the only real child he would ever have.
I didn't go home to cry.
I sent him a receipt for a cremation service for "Baby Boy Hayes," withdrew half our savings, and vanished.
He thinks he's free.
He has no idea I'm still alive, and I’m taking his real son with me. Bloom and Fade in Sunflowers
Modern "I am willing to go to Otresh and join Doctors Without Borders." Kenia Watson's voice was firm.
The Chief Medical Officer hesitated for a moment before speaking. "The aid mission to Otresh will last at least two years. Does your husband agree with you going?"
She rotated the ring on her right hand, took a moment of silence, and then answered, "We're about to divorce. I hope you won't tell him where I'm going after I leave."
She had tolerated so much, continuously searching for the truth from years ago.
When she was diagnosed with cancer, her husband was having an affair with her stepsister.
This time, she chose to let go and leave, refusing to be entangled with him any longer.
"Hobson, in a month, we will be free."
Yet, when she was critically ill, he knelt by her hospital bed, praying repeatedly for her to wake up. The Price of His Choice
Billionaires The air in the abandoned warehouse was thick with rust, and my arms ached, tied tight. Across from me, Chloe, my fiancé' s mentee, sobbed theatrically. Liam, my fiancé of ten years, the man I built a tech empire with, stood pale before our kidnapper, Marcus. Then, Marcus offered Liam a choice: save the loyal fiancée or the cute, young mentee.
"Choose her," Liam whispered, looking at Chloe, not me. My world tilted. This couldn' t be. He chose her, the 'fragile' one, over me, his partner, the woman with his ring on her finger.
The humiliation was a physical blow. Then, I screamed, "I'm pregnant! We're having a baby!" Liam froze, but Chloe' s venomous voice dismissed it as a lie, and he believed her. Just like that.
Marcus kicked my chair. I crashed to the concrete, desperately trying to protect the tiny life inside me. Liam shouted, but not for me; he shielded Chloe. As sirens wailed, he hovered over her, ignoring me, lying bleeding on the floor.
I woke in a hospital, the baby gone. A nurse handed me a tablet: "Gallagher Tech CEO Liam Gallagher and Mentee Chloe Evans Rescued... Ava Monroe Steps Down for Health Reasons." My career, everything, wiped away.
He had taken my love, my future, my child, my career. He had left me with nothing. But a cold, quiet calm settled in. This wasn't an end. It was a beginning. His Coma Bride, His True Escape
Modern Ethan Hayes thought his life was a gilded cage, trapped between his tyrannical father and his ruthless half-brother, Liam. His last hope for freedom was an arranged marriage to a comatose heiress in Boston, a deal he accepted in exchange for a fortune and the quiet support of his stoic bodyguard, Sarah Bell.
But that fragile sense of acceptance shattered when he overheard Sarah's late-night call, revealing her true identity as Seraphina Vance, a billionaire heiress, and her chilling confession: she was infatuated with Liam, seeing Ethan as nothing more than a "means to an end."
The woman he' d secretly loved had been deceiving him, her every act of professional care a calculated move to get closer to Liam. Her obsession led her to public acts of devotion towards his tormentor brother, culminating in orchestrating a brutal dog attack on Ethan and later a violent beating by thugs, all while prioritizing Liam and dismissing Ethan's suffering.
How could the quiet, seemingly caring Sarah be this ruthless heiress, so utterly blind to Liam' s cruelty? The betrayal gnawed at Ethan, leaving him drowning in a bitter cocktail of humiliation, anger, and profound confusion. Was his entire life just a stage for their twisted games?
Then, Liam's drunken boasts exposed the horrific truth: his mother's death and Ethan's ruined scholarship were his brother's calculated acts. With nothing left to lose and everything to escape, Ethan decided his arranged marriage was no longer just a transaction, but his only path to true freedom from a family intent on destroying him, even if it meant abandoning everything he knew. Betrayal in the Family Home
Modern Carol and Frank, a retired principal and fire chief, were weeks away from their 50th wedding anniversary, enjoying the quiet comfort of their Connecticut home. They valued respect and genuine affection far more than material things.
Then, their son Michael and his materialistic wife, Tiffany, "gifted" them an extravagant smart refrigerator. Just days later, Tiffany called, her voice sharp, flatly demanding $8,000. This "gift," she declared, was something Carol and Frank now owed them for.
Carol was left utterly aghast by the audacious bill. But the true betrayal unfurled when Tiffany, brandishing stolen emails, wickedly accused Carol of secretly funneling her son's inheritance to a "secret daughter," Izzy, demanding $8,000 as compensation. The shock and venom triggered a severe panic attack, sending Carol to the hospital.
How could her own son stand by, silent and meek, as his wife spewed such vile lies, claiming his mother had betrayed their entire family? The bitterness of this ingratitude, this monstrous accusation, cut Carol deeper than any pain.
Lying vulnerable in her hospital bed, a cold, hard resolve began to set in. Then, Izzy herself arrived, the successful lawyer Tiffany branded a "gold-digger," casually mentioning the antique sapphire pendant she'd couriered as Carol's anniversary gift. A gift Carol had never received. This wasn't just about money or betrayal anymore; it was about theft and desecration. And Carol, the retired principal who knew manipulation when she saw it, was ready to teach a final, devastating lesson. When Death Couldn't End Our Love
Romance My doctor told me I had two months to live, just as my first love, Ethan Reed, resurfaced, engaged to a seemingly perfect woman.
Desperate, I blackmailed him with intimate photos and our old demo tape, demanding he spend his last two bachelor months with me.
But instead of rekindling a flame, I was met with his icy disdain, a constant reminder of the family feud that tore us apart, and public shame orchestrated by his fiancée, Olivia.
My health rapidly deteriorated, yet he believed every lie, saw only manipulation.
As if that wasn't enough, in a final, cruel blow, my naked photo was leaked online, destroying what little dignity I had left, leaving me to die alone, convinced he despised me.
Was it all a game to him?
Hours before his wedding, I tragically died, only for the truth of my terminal illness to emerge, shattering his world and leading to his fiancée's arrest for conspiracy.
Years later, I' m Maya, a new person with fragmented memories, inexplicably drawn to a powerful man connected to my past.
Can a love story truly transcend death, or are some wounds too deep to heal across lifetimes? Abandoned to Die: Her Fight for Life
Romance "Pancreatic cancer, aggressive," the doctor' s words hit me, Eleanor, a sixty-year-old retired librarian, like a physical blow.
I rushed home to my husband, Richard, a man I' d shared forty years with, hoping for comfort, for support, for a fight plan against this death sentence.
Instead, he coldly dismissed my $75,000 treatment as too expensive, citing our tight savings due to our grandson's school.
Days later, a bank statement revealed the truth: a $50,000 withdrawal for "Vintage Motors LLC" was not for our family, but for a shiny red convertible.
My best friend, Brenda, then called, reporting Richard and his high school sweetheart, Sylvia, recently widowed, cruising Main Street in that very car, laughing like young lovers.
He bought his mistress a luxury car, flaunted her publicly, and denied me life-saving treatment.
When I confronted him, he rolled his eyes, calling me "dramatic" and "hysterical," saying Sylvia "needed cheering up" and was "good for his networking."
My heart shattered again when our son, Michael, whom I had always cherished and supported, sided with his father, arguing my cancer was "tough" at my age and that Sylvia had even helped his career.
At Sylvia's birthday party, hosted at Michael's house (a house I helped him buy), Richard proudly introduced her as his "true partner," and when I spoke up, Michael publicly shamed me, ordering me to "just leave."
The man I loved for decades, and the son I raised, chose a new relationship and career opportunities over my very life.
How could they betray me so completely, so callously, leaving me to die while they celebrated?
But in that moment, as I walked away, something in me finally broke free.
I was done being their victim; I would fight for my life, alone, and on my own terms. The Teacher's Secret Life
Modern Sarah Miller, a beloved high school history teacher, pregnant with her first child, was just nominated for State Teacher of the Year.
Her husband, Mark, owned the local car dealership, and their life in this small Vermont town seemed utterly perfect.
Then, a chilling post appeared on the town's Facebook group: "LOCAL TEACHER FAILS DRUG TEST???"
Underneath, a blurry lab report screamed: "Sarah Miller - Positive - Opioids."
The digital firestorm erupted immediately, turning me into a "junkie teacher," a "danger to children" overnight.
Whispers followed me at school, former friends looked away, and parents demanded their kids be moved from my classes.
Even Mark, my own husband, dismissed my pleas, laughing with his buddies about how 'radioactive' I'd become, before orchestrating a vile setup at a rundown motel.
The final, devastating blow came at a community forum where Tiffany, my conniving colleague, served me a poisoned cupcake, causing the agonizing loss of our baby.
My perfect life, my reputation, my unborn child—all ripped away by unimaginable betrayal, orchestrated by those closest to me.
How could my own husband conspire with my manipulative rival to destroy me and our child?
As I felt the life draining from me, a cold, pure rage took hold, replacing all pain and despair.
I would not die a victim.
I would turn their live-streamed spectacle of my undoing into a shocking confession of their crimes.
I steered my car towards Blackwood Gorge bridge, knowing this would be my final, devastating act of defiance—not against myself, but against every single person who brought me to ruin. My Husband's Dirty Little Secret
Romance Scarlett May Johnson could sing a heartache, but she could also be hungry. So, when Nashville record mogul Silas Blackwood offered her a deal – and a marriage proposal – she said yes. It wasn't love, just a shortcut to her dreams. Soon, her life became a gilded cage: cold marble, silent halls, and a husband who rarely touched her. Her one escape was Blackwood Ridge Lodge, a wild retreat where she found raw, forbidden passion with a rugged guide named Cody.
Then the truth shattered everything.
"He shows us... those ATV action videos," a drunk business associate slurred to me one night. My blood ran cold. Videos? Later, I found a hidden folder on Silas's tablet: high-quality, multi-angle recordings of Cody and me at the lodge. Every intimate moment, captured. And according to his friends, he’d been *sharing* them. My escape, my passion, my secret life – all a twisted performance for his sick profit.
When I confronted him, Silas didn't deny it. He simply handed me divorce papers, a paltry payout, and an iron-clad NDA. "$100,000. You breathe a word, and your music career is dead."
The humiliation was a physical ache, hotter than any ambition. I was no longer an artist; I was a pawn in an old man’s twisted game, violated, discarded without a care. The naive country girl was gone, replaced by a cold, searing rage.
And then, a package arrived. From Cody. Inside, a small device and a note: "Sometimes the prey has to become the hunter." Silas Blackwood thought he had won. He was dead wrong. I was ready to hunt. The Son-in-Law Who Stole My Life
Modern After three years of living in California, selflessly caring for my granddaughter so my daughter and son-in-law could work, I was finally home in Oregon. My daughter, Susan, had handed me a $3,000 envelope at the airport, a token of thanks I thought was true appreciation for my sacrifice.
But the quiet comfort barely lasted moments. My son-in-law, Kevin, called, his voice dripping with venom. The $3,000 wasn’t a gift, he sneered, but a "gesture" – money he now demanded back for their "emergency fund" and growing expenses.
My own daughter, Susan, echoed his plea, asking me to return it "for peace." This was just the beginning.
Kevin's audacity spiraled; he demanded I sell *my* home, the one filled with my late husband’s memories, to fund theirs, and later, using my granddaughter as a pawn, coerced me into handing over access to all my bank accounts and property deeds, draining my life savings.
How could the very people I’d sacrificed three years of my life for, my own flesh and blood, turn so utterly against me, their greed a bottomless pit that consumed every ounce of decency?
But when they staged a public spectacle, trying to paint me as the villain, I knew the time for quiet suffering was over. With hidden security footage and damning audio recordings, I prepared to expose their manipulative, abusive game for the entire world to see. You might like
He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything
Rabbit My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune.
For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me."
He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster.
He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous.
The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built. My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire
Rabbit Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered.
Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak.
She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her.
Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears.
Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home." 
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