The Billionaire's Broken-Shoed Wife

The Stand-In's Sweetest Revenge

My half-a-million-dollar-a-year job as a live-in personal trainer for billionaire Connor Smith was demanding, but simple. I managed his health, he paid me handsomely. That all went up in flames the moment his ex-girlfriend, Bella, walked back into his life. She took one look at me and decided I was her "stand-in"-a cheap imitation he'd hired to fill the void she left. Her mission became to destroy me. She framed me for theft, tried to humiliate me in front of his friends, and staged a bloody scene, screaming that I had stabbed her. Connor, the man I was paid to keep healthy, was too weak to stop her, offering me more money to just "be discreet." Bella's delusions escalated until she was lying in a hospital bed, demanding one of my kidneys as compensation for her fake injury. I was a professional with a degree from Cornell, not a villain in her twisted romance novel. My career, my reputation-everything was on the line. I quit. But when she followed me to social media, posting lies to ruin my name forever, I knew I was done being quiet. She thought she was the main character, but she forgot one thing: I had the receipts.

The Unseen Wife's Six-Year Sacrifice

For six years, I was the perfect wife to a tech CEO and stepmother to his son, a role I took on to repay a debt. I poured my soul into a family that saw me as nothing more than a placeholder for his dead wife. On our anniversary, my six-year-old stepson pointed at our family portrait and screamed that he wanted me gone, replaced by my husband's assistant. Later, in a fit of rage, he killed my dog, my only link to my old life. My husband's only reaction was to call the dying animal a "menace." After six years of silent sacrifice, that single act of cruelty was the final straw. As I signed the divorce papers, my husband scoffed in disbelief. "You're throwing this all away for a dog?" I looked him dead in the eye. "That dog was more family to me than you ever were."

From Savior to Obsessed Stalker

The passcode to Conrad Ellison' s private villa was my birthday, a gesture I once thought was the most romantic in the world. Now, it felt like a key to a gilded cage. I walked through his silent mansion, a cold knot of unease growing in my stomach. Then I heard it-a low moan from his bedroom. The door was ajar, revealing Conrad on his knees, clutching a lavender silk scarf. He was touching himself, breathing one name: "Kassidy." My stepsister. My blood ran cold. The man I loved, the man I thought was pure, desired her, not me. As I stumbled back, his phone buzzed. It was Kassidy. "Conrad? You sound... out of breath." He snapped, "What do you want?" She asked if the rumors of our marriage were true. His reply hit me like a physical blow: "Never. She' s a delusional, pathetic woman. I wish she would just disappear." He admitted he only tolerated me to get closer to her, to win her father' s approval. My three years of foolish love felt like a giant, humiliating joke. I remembered how my father brought Kassidy and her mother home after my mother' s funeral, how they made me a villain, and how Conrad, my supposed savior, had stepped in to protect me from bullies. I had been so blind, so stupidly arrogant, believing I was special to him. He wasn't a saint; he was just obsessed with the wrong woman. I ran until my lungs burned, collapsing on the lawn. A hard, sharp resolve formed in the wreckage of my heart. I called Helene, my voice torn with sobs. "I'm done. I don't want him anymore." I was leaving this city, my father, Kassidy, all of it. I was starting over. I was never coming back.

I Dumped My Daughter's Father

The sweet scent of vanilla filled our kitchen, a fragile peace before the storm of Lily' s fifth birthday. Then, my husband Mark's phone buzzed with the name "Scarlett," shattering any illusion of our perfect life. Later, I found receipts for a diamond necklace and private school tuition-all for Scarlett' s daughter, not our own. My husband stood by, watching as his mistress' s daughter, Daisy, taunted Lily, proudly displaying gifts from her "Daddy." That night, a news alert flashed across my phone: "Tech Mogul Mark Davis Rekindles Romance with Childhood Sweetheart Scarlett Vance? Seen on a Cozy Family Outing with Vance and Her Look-alike Daughter, Daisy." He walked in at 2 a.m., oblivious to the wreckage he' d left in his wake. "How was your party, Mark?" I asked, holding up the damning picture. He denied nothing, offering flimsy excuses about "responsibility" and "old times' sake." But when I found out he was paying for Daisy' s schooling, my control snapped. "What do you want, Ava? A divorce?" he challenged. "Yes," I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. He panicked, pleading for a second chance, weaving a tale of blackmail. "Prove it," I told him, demanding a postnup: if he strayed again, I' d take everything. He signed, thinking he' d bought my silence. But at his company picnic, Scarlett and Daisy appeared, Mark' s secret family in plain sight. He spoke French to Daisy, a warmth he never showed Lily, making our daughter an outsider. "It is incredibly rude to speak in a language you assume others don\'t understand, Scarlett. Especially when you are telling your daughter to boast about things a married man supposedly did with you," I said in flawless French, exposing their cruel charade. His anger, however, was for me and our crying daughter. "You\'re making a scene!" he hissed. "And Lily, for God\'s sake, stop crying. It\'s embarrassing." That was the end. I walked away, Lily' s hand in mine, knowing he had made his choice.

His Stolen Wedding, Her Perfect Lie

My wedding day was supposed to be perfect, just like Chloe and I planned it. White roses, fairy lights, and then I saw it: a giant photo of Chloe and her "best friend" Mark at the entrance, with "Congratulations Chloe & Mark" written beneath. I thought it was a terrible prank, but a hulking man blocked my way, laughing when I said I was the groom. "The groom' s name is Mark. Now get lost before you make a scene," he grunted. My heart pounded as I pushed past him, only to see Chloe on stage in her wedding dress, Mark' s arm possessively around her. "Thank you all for coming to celebrate the happiest day of our lives," Mark announced, as my mind went blank. I shouted Chloe' s name, and for a second, I saw panic in her eyes before it was replaced by cold annoyance. Mark smirked, pointing out a "wedding crasher" as his brother, Dale, stomped towards me, snarling about me getting lost. "This is a misunderstanding! I' m Alex! I' m engaged to Chloe! We were supposed to get married today!" I cried, looking desperately at Chloe, but she wouldn' t meet my gaze. Mark called me a "stalker," and Dale punched me in the stomach, then dragged me out, breaking my arm. I lay on the cold concrete steps, the pain nothing compared to the crushing weight in my chest. Just hours earlier, Chloe had woken me, worried she was pregnant, sending me on a wild goose chase for a test across town. She had kissed me, telling me she loved me. It was all a lie. She had stolen our wedding, our friends, and our life. My phone buzzed, a picture of Chloe and Mark, blissful in a hotel room, a smug message from him: "Thanks for setting everything up, buddy. She' s all mine now." Rage burned through me. I called, needing her to confirm the betrayal. "Things change. People change. I chose Mark. He can give me the life I deserve," she said dismissively. I realized then: I was just a placeholder. The entire five years was a lie. The devastating truth wasn' t just about a wedding lost, but a life stolen. I moved out, blocking her everywhere. It was over. But it wasn' t just about moving on. It was about reclaiming everything she tried to erase.

A Mother's Sin, A Son's Reckoning

The crystal glasses clinked in our opulent gallery, a melody of my mother Olivia's engagement party. I was her protégé, her son, her heir-everything I ever had, she gave me. But watching her laugh with David, his arm possessively around her waist, a familiar knot tightened in my chest: a suffocating need for her sole focus. In a desperate, childish search for comfort, I buried my face in her scarf in her private suite, only to hear her voice, "What are you doing?" Olivia' s face, a mask of disbelief, hardened into rage. "You were sniffing my things like some kind of pervert... I take you in, I give you a life, and this is how you repay me? With this… this obsession?" She advanced on me, eyes blazing. "You need to be cleansed. Go to The Gauntlet. You will stay there until you shed these perverse thoughts!" The Gauntlet. A brutal, secretive art collective for artists who had committed "grave sins" from which no one returned whole. A prison. The next morning, Olivia took a heavy metal ruler and brought it down hard across my knuckles, shattering my painting hand. One year later, a broken shell of the artist I once was, I returned to Olivia. David, her fiancé, reached out to pat my head, a casual, condescending gesture. My body flinched violently, anticipating a blow before I forced myself to submit. Olivia saw the flinch, the tremor. "Have you learned your lesson?" she asked, her voice cool and measured. My damaged tongue slurred, "Yes, I understand. I truly do." I thought my obedience would finally soothe her, but it only made her uneasy. She didn' t see my torture, only my alarming compliance. Then came the airplane ride, triggering flashbacks of being thrown from cliffs into churning water. Next, the mansion, my home, was empty of my beloved cat Mittens, rehomed due to David' s allergy. I could only nod numbly, fear overriding every other emotion. A can of soda, offered by Olivia, ignited memories of forced chugging until I choked and vomited. I gulped it down, the searing pain a familiar companion to my terror. Later, in my old room, Olivia's knocking became the signal for The Gauntlet's "clients," forcing me to prepare for violation. I fumbled frantically, unable to respond, and threw myself at her feet, begging, "Don't hit me! Don't hit me, I'll be quick!" She slapped me again and again until my face was red and swollen. I was pathetic, disgusting, tainted. She left me on the floor, the video of my begging playing on loop next to my father' s portrait. I couldn' t love her. I couldn' t even be near her. I raised my own hand and began to slap my face, a desperate plea for self-punishment. "Alex will never love Olivia again…" I passed out on the cold, hard floor. I just wanted to be free.

From Best Friend To Fiancé

Her sister is marrying her ex. So she brings her best friend as her fake fiancé. What could possibly go wrong? Savannah Hart thought she was over Dean Archer-until her sister, Chloe announces she's marrying him. The same man Savannah never stopped loving. The man who left her heartbroken... and now belongs to her sister. A weeklong wedding in New Hope. One mansion full of guests. And a very bitter maid of honor. To survive it, Savannah brings a date-her charming, clean-cut best friend, Roman Blackwood. The one man who's always had her back. He owes her a favor, and pretending to be her fiancé? Easy. Until fake kisses start to feel real. Now Savannah's torn between keeping up the act... or risking everything for the one man she was never supposed to fall for.

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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.

Love Unbreakable

There was only one man in Raegan's heart, and it was Mitchel. In the second year of her marriage to him, she got pregnant. Raegan's joy knew no bounds. But before she could break the news to her husband, he served her divorce papers because he wanted to marry his first love. After an accident, Raegan lay in the pool of her own blood and called out to Mitchel for help. Unfortunately, he left with his first love in his arms. Raegan escaped death by the whiskers. Afterward, she decided to get her life back on track. Her name was everywhere years later. Mitchel became very uncomfortable. For some reason, he began to miss her. His heart ached when he saw her all smiles with another man. He crashed her wedding and fell to his knees while she was at the altar. With bloodshot eyes, he queried, "I thought you said your love for me is unbreakable? How come you are getting married to someone else? Come back to me!"

Diamond In Disguise: Now Watch Me Shine

Elena, once a pampered heiress, suddenly lost everything when the real daughter framed her, her fiancé ridiculed her, and her adoptive parents threw her out. They all wanted to see her fall. But Elena unveiled her true identity: the heiress of a massive fortune, famed hacker, top jewelry designer, secret author, and gifted doctor. Horrified by her glorious comeback, her adoptive parents demanded half her newfound wealth. Elena exposed their cruelty and refused. Her ex pleaded for a second chance, but she scoffed, "Do you think you deserve it?" Then a powerful magnate gently proposed, "Marry me?"

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.