The Edge
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The Edge's Books and Stories
The Master Of Deception's Richest Game
Modern I spent three years playing the perfect "placeholder" boyfriend for a billionaire’s rebellious daughter. I was the safety net, the companion, and the professional distraction paid to keep her out of trouble until she reached her "real" future.
But the moment she turned twenty-one, her father slid a fifty-thousand-dollar check across a polished mahogany desk and told me I was a defective appliance being disposed of. He demanded I sign a non-disclosure agreement and disappear forever, treating my years of service like a common trash pickup.
I walked out of the estate with a face full of tragic longing, making sure the security cameras caught my wet eyes. But the second the iron gates slammed shut, I wiped my face and opened "Proxy," a high-end app for the 1% who need hired bodies for their dirty emotional work. I didn't have the luxury of a broken heart; I had a foster home to roof and dialysis bills to pay.
My next gig was a "hazard pay" nightmare with Antoinette Lowe, a cold-blooded professor who used me as a vessel for her grief. One hour I was wearing a five-thousand-dollar tuxedo while she hurled porcelain vases at my head, screaming about the man who left her at the altar. The next, she had me in a French maid outfit, scrubbing her kitchen floors on my hands and knees while she mocked my dignity.
I became her ghost, her servant, and her scripted lover, whispering "you are breathtaking" for a five-hundred-dollar bonus while a silent timer vibrated on my wrist. I lived my life in fragments: a silent audience for a violent cellist by night, and a commanding voice on a headset for a girl who couldn't sleep. I was everyone’s everything, yet I was becoming a man with no face of my own.
I realized then that these people didn't want a human; they wanted a mirror that didn't bleed. Antoinette started believing the lies I sold her, convinced she was my muse instead of my paycheck. She didn't see the calculation in my eyes or the way I analyzed her every weakness just to stay in character.
"I am whatever you need me to be, Ms. Lowe," I told her, my voice a perfect mask of devotion.
The obsession is growing, the roles are bleeding together, and the danger is peaking. But as long as the deposit clears, I’ll keep playing the game until there’s nothing left of me to sell. Regret Cheaper Than Dust
Modern Everyone in Seavelt knew that Dr. Ethan Caldwell, the city's top gynecologist, never got close to women.
No matter how many youthful figures stood before him, he never so much as glanced their way.
I always thought I was different, even after ten years together, when he wouldn't let me touch him.
If my fingertips accidentally brushed his sleeve, he'd snap, "Don't touch me."
After another failed attempt to climb into his bed, he sent ten men to sleep with me.
Afterward, when I cried and lashed out at him, he said flatly, "I can't let you live like a nun forever."
The eleventh time he arranged for someone to pin me to the bed, I lost it and swallowed two hundred sleeping pills.
When I woke up, Ethan, for the first time ever, allowed me to touch him.
I thought I could slowly win him over. But the next day, at his private villa, I caught him holding another woman in his arms.
He kissed the top of her head, his eyes burning with a passion I'd never seen.
When I confronted him, Ethan looked at me coldly. "Clara's not like you. She doesn't have those filthy thoughts or try to seduce men."
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. "Fine, Ethan. Let's break up." A Mother's Strength, A Wife's Fall
Romance The first thing I noticed was the ultrasound picture on my kitchen island, a grainy image signaling a future I never saw coming.
My husband, David, looked pale, and beside him, his intern, Lily, barely legal and with a hand protectively over her flat stomach, smiled triumphantly.
"I' m pregnant," Lily announced, "It' s David' s." The words shattered 15 years of my life.
David, the man I' d sacrificed everything for, couldn' t meet my eyes. He mumbled about it "just happening."
Then my fifteen-year-old adopted son, Alex, walked past me and handed Lily a glass of water, telling her, "You should sit down."
He looked at me, his young face hard. "Mom, just listen. Dad made a mistake. Lily is scared. We need to be adults about this."
The shock was a physical blow. Not just my husband, but my son, my Alex, was against me.
Lily, seeing her advantage, spoke with false sincerity. "Sarah, I don' t want to break up your family. We can make this work. I can live here. You can help me with the baby."
The audacity left me breathless. She wanted me to raise my husband' s illegitimate child in my home.
My perfectly curated world dissolved into chaos. David, Lily, and Alex stood there, a new family, and I was the inconvenient, old piece.
A profound cold dread spread through me. This wasn' t a crack; it was a demolition.
Seven years ago, I had taken the fall for David' s career-ending mistake, losing my architectural license and, due to the stress, an ectopic pregnancy that left me unable to have children naturally. David had promised, "You are all the family I will ever need."
Now, he fawned over Lily. My sacrifices, my body, my love-none of it was enough.
Alex admitted he' d been covering for David and Lily for months, helping them meet.
"Maybe if you were a better wife, none of this would have happened," Alex declared, his eyes full of contempt. "Maybe if you paid more attention to Dad instead of your work, he wouldn't have needed someone else."
That was the final blow. I looked at their united faces. My heart didn' t just break, it turned to dust.
"Get out of my house," I said, my voice dead. "All of you. I want nothing to do with you, or with it."
David was speechless. I calmly opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out a manila envelope.
"I want a divorce," I stated, placing the papers on the coffee table. The words were final.
Alex scoffed, "You have nothing without him. Where would you even go?"
David tried to placate me, then offered me the house, asking me not to fight for the rest of the assets-for the baby' s sake. Then came the ultimate insult.
"I think it would be best if you found somewhere else to stay," he said. "Lily' s pregnancy… all this stress isn' t good for her. Or the baby."
He was kicking me out of my own home, the sanctuary I had built, to make room for his mistress.
A bone-deep sadness settled over me. It wasn' t my home anymore; it was a house full of strangers.
"Fine," I whispered. "I' ll be gone by the end of the week." My choice was made. Revenge Wears a Wedding Ring
Modern The sterile scent of antiseptic always brought me back.
It was the smell of my last death – broken and bleeding in a dark alley.
But this time, I wasn\'t dying; I was walking into Senator Maxwell' s garden party, my husband, Professor Ethan Thorne, adjusting his tie beside me.
To the world, he was a rising academic star.
To me, he was my future murderer.
Just hours ago, in a lifetime I' d miraculously escaped, his accomplices left me for dead after his brilliant scheme to have his lover, Holly Summers, "save" the Senator' s granddaughter backfired, permanently disfiguring little Lily Maxwell.
His last words echoed in my mind, "Make sure she doesn' t talk."
I\'d loved him, trusted him with my life, and he' d thrown it all away for power and wealth.
Now, he asked, his smile perfectly crafted but his eyes calculating, "Liv, are you ready? Holly is already in the garden."
He saw his naive wife, the talented musician.
He couldn\'t see the ghost in my eyes, the cold resolve that now fueled me.
He had no idea he was looking at the woman who would orchestrate his ruin.
I had been given a second chance.
Not for love, not for happiness, but for justice.
The game had just been reset, but this time, I was writing the rules. A Wife's Cold Smile of Revenge
Billionaires My life was a monument, built brick by brick on my mother' s legacy, dedicated to a name that meant integrity, quality, and family.
Then, in a sterile hospital room, it all ended.
The man I married, Mark, took everything: my company, my home, my inheritance, and the future of my unborn child.
I had saved him from ruin, pulling him from the wreckage of his own failed ventures, using my funds and company resources to clear his name.
In return, he promised me the world, and like a fool, I believed him.
I invested my expertise, my connections, my family' s capital into him, helping him climb the corporate ladder, all while he climbed on my back.
At my most vulnerable, six months pregnant, he stole my designs and sold them to our biggest rival.
When I confronted him, he stood with Emily, the woman from that rival firm, sneering, "Even if Emily is ruthless, she loves me and would never betray me!"
He twisted the knife, "You\'re just a pawn, Sarah. Bound by our family\'s contract. A tool. If it weren\'t for avenging what your family did to Emily\'s years ago, I wouldn\'t have even bothered with you!"
He unraveled everything, funding Emily\'s projects with my firm\'s assets, selling off my child' s future.
The hatred consumed me, a fire that burned away every last ounce of love.
Then, the world went dark.
I woke up, not in that hospital, but in my own bed, two years earlier.
My stomach was flat, no baby, no pain.
The digital clock showed the exact day Mark first brought Emily home.
I heard his voice downstairs, her laugh.
He knew.
He had come back too.
A cold smile spread across my face.
"Grandfather," I said, my voice clear and steady as I joined them. "Since Mark likes this woman so much, let\'s welcome her into the family."
He had expected tears, not this.
My hatred, reborn, was a razor\'s edge.
He had just welcomed a viper into his home, a corporate raider I knew would drain him dry in less than ten days. The Price of Trust
Romance Ava Reed was at the pinnacle of her career, overseeing the groundbreaking Nexus Tower, a testament to her vision and her late father' s legacy.
Then, the blueprint for her dream project, her future-and her trust-shattered into a million pieces.
Her live-in assistant, Liam Stone, the man who shared her home and her dreams, the man she loved, had betrayed her. He leaked her confidential designs to the cutthroat Sterling Group, their biggest rival.
The city, once her canvas, now twisted into a landscape of public humiliation. Sterling Group retaliated, suing Ava for intellectual property theft, painting her as the villain, and her board members-once her staunchest supporters-began to question her leadership, her judgment, and her very sanity.
How could the man she trusted with everything orchestrate such a devastating attack? Was it all a lie? Every shared laugh, every quiet moment? The betrayal was a physical ache, a wound that ripped not just through her company, but through her soul.
Just when all hope seemed lost, a cryptic call from Liam offered a tantalizing, dangerous possibility: a deeper conspiracy, a mole within her own company, and a chance for her to fight back. Too Late For Their Love: The North Star Shines Bright
Billionaires My biological parents were tech billionaires, yet for me, Sarah Miller, every penny was a battleground. They preached "character" and "tough love," while lavishing everything on Ashley, their "perfect" adopted daughter, who got whatever she wanted.
On SAT day, a torrential storm hit. I desperately needed $50 for an Uber to reach the crucial exam on time. My father, flaunting his self-made fortune, snatched my emergency cash – saved from months of skipping lunch – and sneered, "Spoiled brat! Build character."
I arrived soaking wet and an hour late, my SATs a blur of cold and despair. Then, on a classmate' s phone, I saw it: A live social media feed of my parents hosting a multi-million dollar bash for Ashley. The reason? She'd won a minor school debate.
My mother' s caption gloated, "So proud of our Ashley! #ProudParents #HarrisonLegacy." Millions for Ashley' s 'tests' were fine, but $50 for my future was an exorbitant luxury. Every hope, every scraped-together crumb of affection I'd ever craved, evaporated. Why did they despise their own daughter so much? What had I, their flesh and blood, ever done to earn such icy disdain?
In that moment, something inside me snapped. The desperate girl who clung to their approval died. My local college applications lay torn. My illusions, finally, shattered. And I knew: I was done. Her Crown, Her Vengeance
Billionaires My entire life revolved around Ashworth Creatives, the agency I poured my soul into building, and my fiancé, Ethan.
Tonight was meant to be my crowning achievement, sealing a colossal client deal and my future within the powerful Ashworth family who' d adopted me.
Then, I saw Ethan' s phone.
A text from my manipulative adoptive sister, Chloe: "Heard you' re taking Ava to the gala tonight. Don' t forget our little after-party, just us. ;)"
Beneath it, a damning video: Ethan and Chloe, laughing, intertwined in my private guesthouse.
Chloe was draped in my deceased mother' s diamond necklace, a "gift" from Ethan, according to his text.
My blood ran cold.
They weren't just having an affair; they were plotting to use my marriage to secure my assets, then throw me aside, giving my agency to her.
The Ashworths had groomed me, controlled me, and now, they planned to discard me like trash.
I was a means to their end, and Ethan, their willing, despicable pawn.
The gala-my moment of triumph-threatened to become my public humiliation.
But a cold, unyielding rage ignited inside me, far stronger than any despair.
I wouldn't be their victim; I would dismantle them all, piece by agonizing piece.
My fingers flew across my own phone, dialing a number I' d heard whispered about, for "companions."
"I need an escort," I stated, my voice flat, holding back a torrent of fury.
"Tonight. For the industry gala. For a performance. You need to act like my devoted boyfriend."
My revenge would be calculated, public, and absolute. You might like
The Discarded Husband's Spectacular Comeback
Qian Mo Mo I spent three hours searing the perfect wagyu steak and chilling a bottle of 1996 Dom Pérignon for our anniversary. My wife, Evelin, texted me saying she was stuck in a late board meeting.
"Don't wait up."
But a bank alert on my phone told a different story: a $5,600 charge at a VIP lounge in the Meatpacking District. When I tracked her down, I didn't find her in a boardroom; I found her sitting on my business partner's lap, laughing as he fed her chocolate-covered strawberries.
When I confronted them, Evelin didn't even look guilty. She called me hysterical and a "prude" for interrupting their night. Hank mocked me to my face, calling me a pathetic "trophy husband" who was probably home ironing napkins while they were out having real fun. When I finally snapped and defended my dignity, my own wife slapped me across the face and had her security throw me out like trash.
"You are nothing without the Carney name. You're a stray I picked up."
By the time I hit the sidewalk, she had frozen all our joint accounts and blacklisted my name from every major firm in the city. I had spent ten years managing her family's billions and fixing the books her lover messed up, only to be left with ten dollars in my pocket and a suitcase full of dusty law books. She thinks I'm a broken man who will come crawling back to beg for mercy just to afford a meal.
I realized then that our marriage was just a corpse I'd been dragging around, and she was the monster who had killed it years ago. I felt the sting of her slap and the weight of her betrayal, wondering how I could have been so blind to the person I shared a bed with.
Standing in a cramped apartment in Queens, I blocked her number and called a "shark" lawyer I hadn't spoken to since law school.
"I'm the biggest shark in the tank, Dom. Let her try to ruin you."
Evelin thinks she took everything, but she forgot one thing: I'm the one who knows exactly where the bodies are buried in her family's ledgers. The war has just begun. The Day the Vampires Awoke
Flying Free I was twenty years old and dying of ALS, my body wasting away into a pile of twitching muscles and lead-heavy limbs. With only a month left to live, I took my parents' entire fifty-thousand-dollar inheritance to a rain-slicked alley and gambled it all on a single vial of "unregistered" blood.
The liquid tasted like battery acid and stopped my heart cold, but when I woke up, the paralysis was gone. My skin was pale, my eyes had turned into glowing molten silver, and the only thing that could satisfy my agonizing hunger was the sound of silver jewelry shattering between my teeth.
But the cure came with a terrifying new vision: I could see the blue, parasitic shadows living inside everyone around me. My neighbors, my teachers, and even the little girl next door were being hollowed out by monsters with needle-teeth and lashing tentacles that no one else could see. When the school went into lockdown and the halls filled with the scent of rotting fish, I realized an invisible invasion had already claimed the city.
The military didn't come to rescue us; they came to "sanitize" the zone, turning their miniguns on the terrified students to bury the evidence of the outbreak. I was trapped on a roof with a handful of survivors and a mysterious girl named Elise who looked at me like I was a genetic mistake.
"No one is coming to save us," I whispered, watching the helicopters circle like vultures.
I grabbed Elise’s enchanted silver dagger, ignored her warnings, and crunched the blade into a savory paste. As a wave of dark, forbidden power turned my skin into a Vantablack void, I stopped being a dying kid and became the only thing the monsters were afraid of. Beyond Divorce: He Is Not The Same
Emma I woke up in a bedroom that screamed old money, but the body I occupied felt sluggish and fragile. I was now Chris Olson, a man known as a pathetic failure who spent his marriage groveling at his wife’s feet for a single look of approval.
Elizabeth didn't even wait for me to clear my head before she threw the divorce papers on the nightstand. She stood there in her silk robe, eyes cold as ice, demanding I sign them before breakfast so she could finally go public with her "White Moonlight," Greg.
"You're walking away with nothing," she snapped, her voice full of the disgust she’d harbored for years. She reminded me that my family had disowned me and that I’d be on the streets within a week without her charity.
As I sat up, a metallic, garlic-like scent on my breath confirmed a terrifying truth: the Olson family hadn't just disowned me; they had been micro-dosing me with arsenic for years. They wanted me weak and mentally unstable so they could split the inheritance without a fight.
The original Chris would have cried and begged for her to stay, but I just looked at her like she was a target. I realized then that my "loving" family and my "faithful" wife had been watching me die in slow motion, and neither of them had lifted a finger to stop it.
I signed the papers without reading a single line and walked out with nothing but a duffel bag and a rusted sedan. I didn't need her alimony; I had already called her greatest rival, Adelia Cherry, to discuss a merger that would rock the city.
"I'm not here to save this marriage," I told Elizabeth as I moved into the mansion right next door to hers. "I'm here to bury it, along with everyone who thought they could poison me and get away with it." 
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