Count On Your Love

Five Years, One Devastating Lie

My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage. Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer. An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss. They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them? The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind? I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."

The Jilted Heiress: Rising From Betrayal

I woke up in a sterile hospital bed with the smell of antiseptic burning my throat, having just had my stomach pumped six hours ago. Before the sedatives even wore off, my mother called, not to ask if I was alive, but to demand I show up at my sister’s birthday gala in two hours. To her, I wasn't a daughter; I was a three-hundred-million-dollar signature needed for a corporate merger. She didn't care that I was suicidal, or that my fiancé, Franco, was currently at a luxury hotel with his "secretary" while I was hooked up to an IV. At the gala, the humiliation only deepened. I watched my fiancé walk in with his mistress, the air thick with her cloying perfume. When my grandmother’s "lost" emeralds—my rightful inheritance—spilled out of the mistress’s purse, my mother didn't flinch. Instead, she hissed at me to give them back to avoid a scene. My sister, the "perfect" golden child, took the stage and told the elite crowd that I was mentally unstable and "confused" due to my medication. I stood there, drenched in champagne and bleeding from a glass shard, while my own family gaslighted me in front of the world's press. Franco didn't even look at me as he shielded his mistress from the cameras, leaving me to stand alone in the wreckage of a life they had dismantled. I realized then that my parents didn't want a daughter; they wanted a pawn who wouldn't talk back. Why was my life worth less than a line item in a budget? How could a mother hand her daughter’s legacy to a mistress just to keep a contract intact? As my sister lunged at me in a fit of rage, I kicked her into the infinity pool and watched the "perfect" family mask finally shatter. I didn't wait for them to pull me down; I let the weight of my gown drag me into the dark water myself. Let them think the broken Kalea Alexander is gone. When I surface, I’m not coming back as a daughter—I’m coming back as their worst nightmare.

Faked Death, Found Freedom

At eight months pregnant, I discovered my husband Holden' s secret living trust. The password wasn't our anniversary, but the birthday of his young protégée, Anika. His entire fortune wasn't for me or our unborn child. It was all for her. When I confronted him, the truth was a death sentence. He called me a "vessel," a surrogate to carry an heir for Anika, who was too fragile to bear a child herself. "She will raise him," he said, his eyes cold. Then I found the recordings. Once our son was born, I was to be eliminated in a "tragic accident." My seven-year marriage was a lie, a transaction to produce an heir. They wanted me dead and my baby stolen. So I gave them one of their wishes. I faked my own death, burned my old life to the ground, and disappeared with my son.

Betrayed Bride, Reborn Architect

My masterpiece, "Greenhaven," was about to change the world. Five years of my life, my soul, poured into sustainable architecture, culminating tonight in a grand unveiling. I scanned the ballroom for David, my fiancé, my partner in work and life. We were a team, meant to marry after this launch. But he was distant, cloaked in late-night meetings, telling me to trust him. Then I saw him on stage, not with me, but with Victoria Hayes, my ruthless rival, her arm possessively around his waist. The CEO announced "Elysian Fields," a project backed by David Thompson and Victoria Hayes. My designs flashed on screen, every detail mine, but my name was nowhere. The applause was thunderous. David leaned into the microphone, his smile sickeningly bright. "Victoria has not only been my partner in business but has become the partner of my heart. We're engaged." Cameras flashed, capturing their faces, the thieves who stole my life's work and my future. My phone vibrated: a text from my boss. "Don't come to the office tomorrow. You're done. We can't be associated with this kind of scandal." Blacklisted, ruined. In one moment, I lost my project, my fiancé, my career. My world, built around David, crumbled. I stumbled out into the night, nowhere to go. My apartment was our apartment; my friends our friends. I had one last, desperate hope: my estranged uncle Robert. He was a disgraced civil engineer, a recluse I hadn't spoken to in a decade. "Sarah?" he answered, his voice raspy. "Uncle Robert," I choked, "I need help. I have nowhere else to go." A long pause, then: "I have a car coming for you. It will be there in twenty minutes. It will bring you to me." He hung up. Sliding down the cold brick wall, I understood. I was leaving my old life behind, a lie. I was running toward a future I couldn't imagine, a future that began with a man I barely knew. My only family left. But the betrayal didn't stop there. Weeks later, David arrived at my uncle's, demanding I sign away my design rights, threatening to sue me for breach of partnership. Victoria emerged, displaying expertly faked emails framing me for industrial espionage. "Sign the papers, Sarah," Victoria hissed. "Or this gets leaked to every news outlet and the district attorney. Industrial espionage carries a hefty prison sentence." Just when I thought I was utterly trapped, two large men grabbed me. "Take her. We'll hold her somewhere she can have time to reconsider her position." I was thrown into a car, plunged into darkness. They weren't just destroying my career; they were taking my freedom. The cold isolation in their private facility was designed to break me, but it only fueled my rage. Victoria appeared, demanding I sign a confession, cementing their false narrative. "No," I defied. The guard tasered me. But the real breaking point came when Victoria, with chilling calm, slammed a heavy book onto my hand, twisting my fingers at unnatural angles. "Architects are nothing without their hands," she sneered. My scream echoed the agony and a new, burning hatred. They were celebrating their wedding in my designed atrium in two days, while I was imprisoned, crippled. They aimed to destroy me, but they had only forged me into something stronger. This was no longer about a career or a broken heart. This was about justice. This was war.

From Jilted Bride To Ruthless CEO

I was Jocelyn Cruz, heiress to a billion-dollar empire, and I was supposed to marry my childhood sweetheart, Jake. My father had groomed him to be my king, and our life was a storybook romance. But just before my 25th birthday gala, I saw him kissing Djuna-the fragile orphan my father took in, the woman I treated like a sister. Their betrayal ran deeper than I could imagine. They drugged me to cause a riding accident, then gaslit me to make me think I was losing my mind. At a public auction, Jake froze my accounts and bought a family heirloom I cherished, only to gift it to her in front of everyone, leaving me broken and humiliated. He wanted to shatter me, to turn me into a mindless puppet he could control. So when he played a secret video of me crying for him at my own birthday party, I didn't break. Instead, I smiled. Because I had my own recordings, and I was about to show everyone the vipers he and his "true love" really were.

Died Alone, My Spirit Watches

"We'll release one woman. Your choice, Mr. Shannon." Facing the kidnappers, my husband didn't hesitate. He pointed at his sobbing high school sweetheart, Flora. "Release Flora," he commanded, his voice steady. "She's fragile. Adrianne is tough enough to handle this." I tried to tell him I was bleeding, that I was pregnant with our first child, but he pushed me toward the knife without a backward glance. "Don't be dramatic, Adrianne," were his last words to me. I died alone in that cold, dark basement. But my soul didn't leave. I hovered invisibly, watching as my husband ignored calls from my phone for two days. He told his friends I was just "playing games" to punish him for saving Flora. He didn't know those calls were from my killers, laughing at his stupidity while his wife lay dead. It wasn't until my brother dragged him to the morgue and ripped the sheet off my body that his arrogance finally shattered. "She was carrying your child, you idiot!" Staring at my pale, lifeless face, the crisis manager who thought he could fix everything fell to his knees, a broken man. But tears won't bring me back. And now, he has to pay.

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.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

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.

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.

Captivation: Want Nothing But You

Her fiance and her best friend worked together and set her up. She lost everything and died in the street. However, she was reborn. The moment she opened her eyes, her husband was trying to strangle her. Luckily, she survived that. She signed the divorce agreement without hesitation and was ready for her miserable life. To her surprise, her mother in this life left her a great deal of money. She turned the tables and avenged herself. Everything went well in her career and love when her ex-husband came to her.

Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises

My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.

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.