Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress

He Chose The Maid Over The Heiress

I was in a Zurich boardroom signing a contract worth fifty million dollars when I saw the photo that ended my marriage. It was an Instagram notification from the woman I paid to scrub my toilets. The caption read: "My little prince deserves the world." The photo showed her son holding a custom-made porcelain doll with diamond-dust eyes. It was the only one in the world, commissioned specifically for my daughter, Lily. I cancelled the deal and flew home immediately. When I arrived at my daughter's school, I found the housekeeper wearing my vintage Chanel coat and driving my car. My husband, Austyn, didn't run to greet me. He ran past our crying daughter to comfort the housekeeper's son. "Don't you dare touch my son!" he screamed at me, protecting the boy while our daughter scraped her knees on the pavement. He looked at me with pure hate, confident that he could take half my assets in a divorce. He forgot that I wasn't just a wife. I was the Duchess of the Miller Syndicate, the most powerful crime family in New York. I pulled out my phone and froze every account he had. "You want a divorce?" I asked, signaling my security team to step forward. "Take off the suit, Austyn. I paid for it." "You are leaving this marriage exactly how you entered it. With nothing."

A Wife's Vengeful Art

The invitation glowed on my phone, Chloe Davis beaming next to my husband, Mark. Her caption hit me like a punch: "So proud to unveil my latest installation, 'Maternal Instincts.' A huge thanks to my muse and patron, Mark Peterson." Mark. My Mark. Smiling a smile I hadn' t seen directed at me since before Leo was born. 'Maternal Instincts.' Chloe knew nothing about being a mother. She only knew about destroying one. My son, Leo. My baby. He was gone. And there she was, twisting a word that belonged to me and my son, for her ugly art. I drove to her gallery, the cold night air doing nothing to wake me from the fog I lived in. She opened the door, a slow smile spreading across her face when she saw me. "Sarah. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Her voice was smooth, like honey mixed with poison. Inside, her "masterpiece" stood on a stark white pedestal: a collection of jagged, broken gray shapes, cemented together. It was cold and ugly. "It's about the pieces of a life," Chloe purred, theatrical. "How a mother's love can shatter... Mark found it incredibly moving." Then, the final blow: "He says I capture raw emotion so much better than you ever did. He said your work was always too… perfect. Too clean. No soul." Every word a calculated strike. Not just as a wife, but as an artist, as a person with a soul. My world, already cracked, began to splinter. I saw the sculpting knife on her workbench. Cold and heavy in my hand, it felt real. Solid. For the first time in months, I felt a sharp, clear purpose. I pressed the tip against my wrist. I just wanted the noise in my head to stop. Pushed down. A thin line of red appeared, bright and shocking. It didn' t hurt. It was just a release. Then, Chloe' s shriek: "Oh my god! What are you doing? You're getting blood on the floor!" She rushed, not to me, but to grab a rag. "Are you insane? This is a polished concrete floor! It's going to stain!" Her words barely registered as the world tilted and went fuzzy. The last thing I heard was her calling Mark: "Your wife is making a scene." I woke in a hospital room. Mark stood over me, his face a mask of fury. "What the hell was that, Sarah? Humiliating me in front of Chloe? At her big opening? Do you have any idea how that makes me look?" He spoke in a low hiss, silencing my attempts to explain. "Just don't. I can't deal with this right now. I have to go back and help Chloe clean up your mess." He turned to leave as a doctor, kind-looking, walked in. "Mr. Peterson? I'm Dr. Albright. I need to speak with you about your wife." Mark sighed, a long, suffering sound. "She's fine. Dramatic. Needs a sedative or something." Dr. Albright' s voice was firm. "Your wife is not being dramatic, Mr. Peterson. She is suffering from severe postpartum depression, complicated by profound grief. She is a danger to herself." A flood of relief washed over me. Someone saw it. Someone believed me. But Mark just laughed, a cold, ugly sound. "Postpartum depression? That's ridiculous. The baby's been gone for months. This is just Sarah being Sarah. She's seeking attention. She needs to grow up." He looked at me with contempt. "A psychiatric hold? Don't be absurd. I'm her husband. I'm taking her home." Dr. Albright stood her ground. "Mr. Peterson, I am advising you in the strongest possible terms against that. Your wife admitted she wanted to die. Taking her home without professional intervention would be medically negligent." Mark' s face hardened. He leaned into the doctor, his voice a menacing whisper. "Are you calling me a negligent husband? My wife is emotional. She says things she doesn't mean. I know how to handle her. We're leaving." He turned on me. "Get your things. We're going. You've caused enough trouble for one night." The flicker of hope died. To him, my pain was an inconvenience. An embarrassment. I was utterly alone with it. Then, the door creaked open. Emily. My best friend. She rushed to me, holding me tight. A raw sob tore from my throat, full of months of pain and fear. "Oh, Sarah," she murmured, her voice thick. "Mark's assistant called him… Chloe… she posted something. I knew." "It's not your fault," I choked out. "It's me. I'm broken, Em." "No!" she said fiercely. "You're not broken. You're sick. I've seen this coming. Ever since Leo…" The mention of his name hung heavy. Ever since Leo was born, I' d been sinking. The sleepless nights, his crying, mine, the overwhelming feeling. A darkness. A fog that wouldn't lift. Mark waved me off. "All new moms are tired." Then Leo died. SIDS, they said. The fog became a suffocating blackness. A gaping hole Mark filled with Chloe. "I'm not living, Em," I whispered, looking at my bandaged wrist. "I'm just… waiting. I don't know how to do this anymore." "Then we'll figure it out," Emily squeezed my hand. "You're not alone. I won't let you be." But as Mark' s car horn honked impatiently outside, I wondered if even her love would be enough. My prison warden was waiting. He thought he could lock me away in the perfect glass house. But he couldn't imprison a woman who had already decided she was going to die. A woman with a plan.

Love's Resurrection, A Deadly Game

My butcher shop smelled of iron and chilled meat, a clean, sharp scent I' d known my whole life. Most people in this small town saw me, Lisa, as the butcher with the pretty face and strange eyes. They whispered, but I didn' t care. Whispers don' t pay the bills, but a new client' s offer of twenty thousand dollars as a deposit for an "Underworld Matchmaker" job certainly did. Two hundred thousand more upon completion. It was enough to change my life. The job: perform a ritual for her supposedly deceased son, Alexander Dubois, to secure his family' s spiritual line and fortune. But then I saw the photo. My stomach dropped. It was Alex, the man who' d vanished from my life five years ago, the struggling artist I' d once loved. Yet, the death certificate listed him as Alexander Dubois, with a different birthdate. His eyes in the photo, full of that familiar charming light, stared back at me, shattering my world. This wasn' t just a high-paying job; it was a trap. The woman who claimed to be his mother was entangled in a web of lies. I knew, with chilling certainty, that the spirit I was summoned to match was not just "resistant"-it was alive. They weren't asking me to perform a ritual for the dead; they were trying to make me an accomplice to murder. My heart pounded furiously. This was no longer just about money or old traditions. This was about Alex, about unraveling the truth, and about surviving the deadly game the Dubois family was playing right into my grandmother' s special plan.

Broken Promises, Unbreakable Will

I poured my heart and genius into building InnovateTech, a billion-dollar empire, and into building Liam, the man I loved, my co-founder and fiancé. Then my cousin, Sarah, came weeping to my door, seeking refuge, and shattered everything. I walked into our penthouse, planning a surprise anniversary dinner, only to find Sarah in my silk robe, in Liam' s arms, in our bed. The shock was a physical demolition, leaving a vacuum where my heart used to be. Every memory, every promise, every dream turned to ash as I heard their laughter. Humiliated, betrayed, and with nothing left to lose, I made a desperate, wild choice: I would marry the reclusive billionaire, Mark, a man rumored to be a "freak," to save my family and myself. Liam confronted me, his face twisted with disbelief and rage. "You' re marrying Mark? The city' s freak? Are you insane?" he spat. I looked at him, feeling nothing but a vast, cold emptiness, the pain having burned away into steel. "Yes," I said, my voice steady. "I am." He saw a stranger, a loyal subject who had walked away, and in that moment, I knew I had made the right choice.

The Discarded Daughter's Rise

Christmas morning should have been filled with joy, but for me, it was the day my hard work, my straight-A report card, was ripped to shreds by my father. Instead of comfort, my own paternal grandmother slapped me, calling me a "bad omen" just like my mother, Brenda. My mother, a paralegal who valued appearances, had vanished weeks prior, only for divorce papers to appear. Soon after, my father dumped me at a bus station, tossing a few crumpled bills and driving off, telling me not to call him, even in an emergency. Hours passed, the cold seeping into my bones, every hopeful car not hers, until finally, it was my Grandma Rose who saved me, wrapping me in a hug that smelled of cinnamon and soap. But the truth soon crushed me: my mother hadn't wanted me, and my grandmother, with her meager social security, had to invent "gifts from your mom" to keep my hope alive. Just when I thought I had a haven, Brenda reappeared, engaged to a wealthy businessman, dragging me back into her world of superficiality and ridicule. Life with them became a new hell, culminating in a public slap from my mother for making her "look bad" and finally, being thrown out onto the street with nothing but a small bag. I walked for miles, desperate to get back to Grandma Rose, the only person who had ever truly loved me. And then, just weeks before my SATs, she collapsed, needing an expensive surgery my parents coldly refused to fund, forcing me to sacrifice my future for her. She passed, leaving me heartbroken, but also with a cold, clear rage burning inside me. When my mother brazenly reappeared after Grandma' s funeral, complaining about the "inconvenience" of her death and scoffing at my efforts, something inside me snapped. I was done being a victim. I stood up, my voice dangerously quiet, and told her to get out, but not before she paid what she owed me. I sued both my parents for years of neglect, studied relentlessly, and when I emerged as the state's top SAT scorer, exposing their hypocrisy to the world. Years later, as a successful investment banker, I faced them again, broken and desperate for money, and coolly repeated their own words back: "That's not my problem." Now, holding my daughter, Rose, a child I chose to have on my own terms, I realized I had not only broken the cycle but built a new legacy of unconditional love.

The Wine Cellar Wife

I was nine months pregnant with twins, and my doctor gravely told me I needed an emergency C-section due to a life-threatening complication. My Hamptons mansion, built on the legacy of my husband Ethan' s old-money family, felt like a safe haven, especially after I saved his life from an F4 tornado. But as I drove home to tell him, I saw her car, Chloe' s sleek black Mercedes, parked outside. Chloe, his high school sweetheart, the "one that got away," had returned, claiming a fragile heart condition, and within moments, my urgent medical need was dismissed as "drama." Ethan, blinded by Chloe' s theatrics, accused me of seeking attention and brutally shoved me into the soundproof wine cellar, locking me in for three days to "teach me a lesson." Trapped and alone, my body began to fail, suffering a catastrophic uterine rupture as I fought to save our babies. My first twin, a tiny boy, was born still, lifeless in my arms, and then came the terrifying silence of my second child, lost before even drawing a breath. I bled to death on that cold, damp floor, clutching my stillborn son, realizing the man I loved had used my strength, my very resilience, to kill me. Three days later, my husband and his mistress were celebrating their engagement, completely unaware of the horror I endured, until my doctor, Marcus Vance, walked in, armed with the coroner's report and Chloe' s real medical history, ready to expose the truth to the entire Hamptons elite and the world.

Treasured Beyond Measure: Three Brothers, One Queen

From childhood, Stephanie knew she was not her parents' real daughter, but out of gratitude, she turned their business into a powerhouse. Once the true daughter came back, Stephanie was cast out-only to be embraced by an even more powerful birth family, adored by three influential brothers. The second ruled the battlefield. "Stephanie's sweet and innocent; she would never commit such crimes. That name on the wanted list is just a coincidence." And the youngest controlled the markets. "Anyone who dares bully my sister will lose my investment." Her former family begged for forgiveness-even on TV. Stephanie stood firm. When the richest man proposed, she became the woman everyone envied. The eldest ran the boardroom. "Cancel the meeting. I need to set up the art exhibition for my sister!" The town was turned upside down.

His Unwanted Wife, The World's Coveted Genius

Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."

Heartbreak Billionaire: He Should Never Have Let Go

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

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.

Beg For My Love, Cold-Hearted CEO

Since she was ten, Noreen had been by Caiden's side, watching him rise from a young boy into a respected CEO. After two years of marriage, though, his visits home grew rare. Gossip among the wealthy said he despised her. Even his beloved mocked her hopes, and his circle treated her with scorn. People forgot about her decade of loyalty. She clung to memories and became a figure of ridicule, worn out from trying. They thought he'd won his freedom, but he dropped to his knees and begged, "Noreen, you're the only one I love." Leaving behind the divorce papers, she walked away.

Abandoned Luna: Now Untouchable

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.