The Caged Canary's Spectacular Comeback

Just A Substitute: The Wife He Failed

At the family dinner, the waiter stumbled, sending a tray of boiling onion soup flying toward the table. My husband, Marcus, moved instantly. But not for me. He threw his body over my cousin Chloe, shielding her completely in his arms. I was left exposed. The scalding liquid hit my chest and arm, burning my skin instantly. While I screamed in agony on the floor, Marcus was frantically checking Chloe for scratches, whispering, "Thank God it missed you. You are more important than her. Always." In the hospital, he handed me a check for fifty thousand dollars. "It was an instinct," he said, avoiding my eyes. "Don't make a scene." He didn't notice my hollow expression. He didn't ask why the doctors were looking at him with pity. And he certainly didn't know that the shock and trauma had caused me to miscarry our six-week-old baby. For four years, I had been his perfect doll. I dressed like Chloe, painted like Chloe, and waited for him to love me. I thought I was his wife. I didn't realize I was just a placeholder until he sacrificed our child to save his true love from a splash of soup. When he left to comfort Chloe again, I pulled the IV from my arm. I placed the signed divorce papers on the bedside table. Underneath them, I left the medical report confirming the miscarriage of his child. Then, I vanished.

Casino King's Daughter: Payback

I am Luna Croft. My boyfriend, Smith Caldwell, called himself a "casino master." Every time he went gambling, he came back loaded with winnings. It wasn't until later that I realized he always chose the same table. And the dealer at that table was his so-called untouchable dream girl, Alice Moore. "Luna, I'm a millionaire now. You're way out of your league-so let's call it quits. Alice is my true love. She gives me both fortune and pleasure," he added with smug certainty. I said yes, only to watch him lose every last dollar at the table moments later. He shoved me straight into the hands of the loan sharks who had come to collect his debt. "This is my girlfriend. I'm giving her up to settle my debt. She's an orphan. Even if you ruin her completely, no one will come after you!" The casino staff and the loan sharks closed in on me, but I couldn't help laughing. "Let your boss come out and talk to me," I demanded.

My Parents, Their Pet, My Hell

The Great Depression had gnawed away at everything, leaving my family-my parents, Mark and Susan, and me, Sarah-scrambling for survival in a city choked with despair. Then, they found Buddy, a stray golden retriever, shivering in an alley. Suddenly, my meager cannery wages, meant for rent and food, were funneled into premium dog food, toys, and vet visits for him. I worked myself to exhaustion, only to watch them hand-feed Buddy roasted chicken from our good plates while I got watery potato soup. He wasn't just a dog; a cold, malevolent intelligence lurked in his eyes, a mocking smirk reserved just for me. When I tried to evict him, he bit me, and my parents blamed me, tending to him while I bled, calling me a "jealous, worthless girl." My world shattered when I was laid off, and an eviction notice arrived. Our only hope was a government housing lottery. But when I announced it, my parents only saw three spots: one for them, and one for Buddy. "He's not a dog!" my mother screamed. "He's family! More family than you've ever been!" They raced off, dragging Buddy, leaving me, weakened by hunger and infection, to chase after them. I watched, horrified, as an official marked three names: my father, my mother, and the dog. They were ushered through the gate. They didn't look back as it locked, leaving me outside. Through the bars, Buddy looked at me and grinned. I died alone, freezing in an alley. Then, a sudden jolt. My eyes flew open. I was in my bed, the morning my parents found Buddy. My blood ran cold, hearing their cheerful voices. I was back. And this time, I wouldn't die in the cold. I would find out why they chose a dog over their own daughter. And they would pay.

Death's Embrace, Love's Aftermath

The cold, sterile air in the office bit at my prison uniform, a cruel reminder of the past three years. I knelt on the polished floor, my gaze fixed on Daniel Miller' s expensive shoes, a man I once loved for five years. "A convicted felon, trying to seduce me?" his voice, low and laced with familiar cruelty, sent a shiver down my spine. He was now Detective Miller, a powerful figure in the new corporate order, and I was nothing, a "convicted felon" whose parents' assets were seized, their names tarnished. As if that wasn' t enough, he sneered, accusing me of sabotaging his family, ruining Chloe, and pushing her to the brink of suicide. Chloe, his fiancée, my cousin, the one he chose over me when my world crumbled, the one whose father rebuilt his career and became the new CEO. "Silence!" he roared, his fist slamming onto the desk when I tried to deny pushing Chloe. He declared me his personal assistant, more like a maid, even forcing me into a humiliating encounter that left me aching and defeated. Then came the true horror. My uncle, Chloe' s father, the new CEO, had me secretly poisoned, giving me just three months to live. Three months. My back, a roadmap of whip scars from prison, my body frail, I knew I had to survive, not just for revenge, but to reclaim what was mine. I bit my finger, signing my life away, a shaky, bloody promise to turn their world upside down. Now, as the poison courses through my veins, I refuse to be a quiet victim, a disgraced criminal. I will make them pay.

The Monster and His Mockery

The club's bass vibrated through Mark' s bones as he showered the squalling women with champagne. His wife, Sarah, lay miles away in a hospital bed, kept alive by tubes after a hit-and-run, the money from their house sale meant for her treatment now being thrown away on a lavish display. Suddenly, Sarah' s parents, the Smiths, stood before him, their faces etched with grief. They watched in horror as he publically humiliated them, throwing crumpled bills at his kneeling mother-in-law, even striking the woman on his lap. "You bastard. That' s her money! That' s the money for her treatment!" Mr. Smith roared, his face red with fury. Then, with chilling indifference, Mark told them Sarah was a vegetable and would die soon, revealing an "inoperable tumor." Mrs. Smith collapsed, bleeding from her mouth. The city exploded with outrage as videos of "MarkTheMonster" went viral, but he reveled in the hatred, driving straight to the hospital. There, Mr. Smith launched himself at Mark, screaming, "You killed her! Sarah is dead! And it' s your fault!" But when the doctor confirmed Sarah's death, Mark threw his head back and laughed, "Oh, thank God! I'm free!" He celebrated, declaring himself released from the burden of his wife, a woman who, in her dying breath, had recorded a message forgiving him and telling him to be happy. Then, in an unthinkable act, Mark pulled back the sheet from Sarah' s gurney and slapped her lifeless face, hissing, "You were more than a burden. You were a leech." The crowd erupted, consuming Mark in a storm of vigilante justice. As police intervened, Mark, battered but lucid, dropped a bombshell on Captain Miller. "How can I have killed a woman who isn' t actually dead?" he asked, pointing a bloody finger at the doctor. He accused Dr. Evans of fraud and attempted murder, revealing Sarah' s "injuries" were a minor concussion. He then pulled out Sarah' s real medical records and a recording implicating Mrs. Smith in funding the hit-and-run, claiming the Smiths had already conspired to kill his first wife, Ava. Just as the Smiths and Dr. Evans were cuffed, Sarah sat up, confirming the elaborate charade.

His Trophy Wife, Her Secret Life

My wife, Sophia Hayes, was beautiful, poised, and utterly detached. For five years, our marriage had been a bizarre, silent transaction: she'd disappear for days, even weeks, to "support" her childhood sweetheart and his failing tech startup. Each time she returned, a lavish "guilt offering" would appear – a vintage Patek, a signed first edition, a priceless Ming vase. Ninety-nine such gifts now filled our sterile mansion, each a screaming monument to her absence and my bitter complicity. I was no longer the man who' d clung to hope, who' d screamed and shattered expensive crystal. Today, as she fastened a diamond bracelet, preparing for her hundredth departure, she waved away my feigned concern for our anniversary, prioritizing his celebration. "I need you to sign this," I said, offering a document I' d subtly placed among her latest "gift." She signed, carelessly dismissing it as a prenup addendum, already thinking of David. She didn' t read the fine print. She never did. "PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE" it read, the final decree awaiting its ironclad confirmation. The world saw her as a successful patron, supporting a talented founder, but at a glamorous gala, the veil slipped. A reporter, sensing blood, asked, "Are you two an item?" Panic flashed in Sophia' s eyes, and in her fear, she sought me out – her hidden husband – to rescue her public image. I stepped from the shadows, played my part, and then watched as she rushed not to me, but to him, murmuring reassurances. That night, she didn't come home; the next morning, she arrived, exhausted but triumphant, thanking me for "saving us." She dismissed my quiet anger as humility, oblivious. "You asked me to be there, Sophia," I said, watching her carefully curated world unravel. "I did? When?" she asked, genuinely bewildered. Her memory, a weapon of convenience, had erased my very existence. I nodded, utterly calm as she detailed her next trip with David, making another empty promise for "us" once she returned. That date was the day our divorce would be finalized. A cold, hard satisfaction settled in my gut; the world she had built was about to come crashing down. Just not in the way she expected.

Burned By Him, Reborn A Star

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.

HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)

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.

Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me Now

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."

He Chose First Love, I Chose the Alpha King

I gave him three years of silent devotion behind a mask I never wanted to wear. I made a wager for our bond-he paid me off like a mistress. "Chloe's back," Zane said coldly. "It's over." I laughed, poured wine on his face, and walked away from the only love I'd ever known. "What now?" my best friend asked. I smiled. "The real me returns." But fate wasn't finished yet. That same night, Caesar Conrad-the Alpha every wolf feared-opened his car door and whispered, "Get in." Our gazes collided. The bond awakened. No games. No pretending. Just raw, unstoppable power. "Don't regret this," he warned, lips brushing mine. But I didn't. Because the mate I'd been chasing never saw me. And the one who did? He's ready to burn the world for me.

SCORNED EX WIFE : Queen Of Ashes

Camille Lewis was the forgotten daughter, the unloved wife, the woman discarded like yesterday's news. Betrayed by her husband, cast aside by her own family, and left for dead by the sister who stole everything, she vanished without a trace. But the weak, naive Camille died the night her car was forced off that bridge. A year later, she returns as Camille Kane, richer, colder, and more powerful than anyone could have imagined. Armed with wealth, intelligence, and a hunger for vengeance, she is no longer the woman they once trampled on. She is the storm that will tear their world apart. Her ex-husband begs for forgiveness. Her sister's perfect life crumbles. Her parents regret the daughter they cast aside. But Camille didn't come back for apologies, she came back to watch them burn. But as her enemies fall at her feet, one question remains: when the revenge is over, what's left? A mysterious trillionaire Alexander Pierce steps into her path, offering something she thought she lost forever, a future. But can a woman built on ashes learn to love again? She rose from the fire to destroy those who betrayed her. Now, she must decide if she'll rule alone... or let someone melt the ice in her heart.

Once The Bride He Discarded, Now The Love He Can't Forget

Five years of devotion ended when Brynn was left at the altar, watching Richard rush to his true love. Knowing she could never thaw his cold heart, Brynn walked away, ready to start over. After a night of drinking, she woke beside the last man she should ever cross-Nolan, her brother's arch-enemy. As she tried to escape, he caught her, murmuring, "You kissed me all night. Leaving isn't an option." The world saw Nolan as cold and distant, but with Brynn, he indulged her every desire. He even bought her a whole village and held her close, his voice low, deep, and endlessly tempting, his robe falling open to reveal his toned abs. "Want to feel it?"