Edge of Desire

From Broken To Beloved, My Journey

My husband, Andre Grimes, was a newly-elected senator, and I was a celebrated chef pregnant with our first child. On the night of his victory, our world was supposed to be perfect. Instead, I watched him on live TV, his arm around his pregnant mistress, as he announced their relationship to the world. He then looked into the camera and called my own pregnancy a lie, a fabrication to create a scandal. His powerful family, along with my own adoptive parents, locked me in our home. They moved his mistress into my bedroom and planned to force me to have an abortion to protect his career. His mother looked at me with cold eyes. "It's for the best, Kyra. No loose ends." I was trapped, betrayed by everyone, facing the murder of my unborn child. But they made one mistake: they gave me back my phone. With trembling hands, I found a long-forgotten number and dialed. A man's voice answered. "My name is Kyra Moore," I choked out. "I think you might be my father. They're going to take my baby."

The Discarded Wife's Revenge On The Don

I stood outside the mahogany doors, balancing a tray of espresso, when I heard my husband promise his sister that my reign as the Queen of Chicago was over. I thought being the Don's wife meant safety. I was wrong. In a warehouse reeking of rust, faced with an ultimatum from our enemies to choose who lives, Brennan made his choice. "Alyssa is strong," he justified, shielding his mistress, Debbi, who was faking a pregnancy. "She knows the life." He walked out into the sunlight with her, leaving me in the dark with a gun to my head. He abandoned me to be tortured and murdered by his rivals, weaponizing my resilience to absolve his guilt. He thought I died that day. He even mourned me after he eventually found out Debbi was a traitor. But he didn't know the new security guard was an undercover FBI agent who pulled me from the edge. Two years later, I've built a quiet life running a bistro in Maine under a new name. But then the bell above the door chimes during the lunch rush. I look up, and there he is. The husband who sacrificed me. He's looking at me not with guilt, but with a terrifying, obsessive hope. He says he burned down the world to fix his mistake. He says he won't let me go again. I smile, but my hand is already reaching for the wire the FBI gave me. I'm not a wife anymore, Brennan. I'm the executioner.

The Neglected Wife's Spectacular Comeback

My best friend is pregnant with my husband's child. An hour ago, she stood in my living room, holding a positive pregnancy test and a grainy ultrasound photo that felt like a death sentence to my world. But the true nightmare began when my mother-in-law swept in, praised my friend for "doing the family a great service," and moved her into our home to care for the "Patton heir." My husband, the man who swore my infertility didn't matter, called her a mere "vessel" for our family. He then orchestrated an "accident" that shattered my hand, ending my career as a cardiothoracic surgeon. He didn't stop there. He sacrificed my father's life-saving heart transplant for my friend's brother and left me for dead in a landfill when I discovered the truth. I was a brilliant surgeon who could hold a life in my hands, yet I was blind to the fact that my own life was being systematically destroyed by the two people I trusted most. After faking my death and disappearing for two years, I've built a new life, a new face, and a new love. But now, he's found me. And this time, he's not just trying to control me-he's trying to bury me.

The Don's Wife's Sweetest Revenge

For fifteen years, I was Isabella Moretti, the perfect wife to the city's most powerful Don. We were a power couple, a carefully curated masterpiece of influence and affection. Our life was flawless. That masterpiece shattered on our anniversary when a burner phone lit up with a picture of his assistant’s hand on my husband's thigh. Soon, I found his second phone and discovered the full scope of his betrayal. His mistress, Sofia, was pregnant. He lied to my face about "work emergencies" while she began a campaign of terror, sending me photos of them together, a grainy ultrasound, and a video of her parading in my silk robe, bragging about becoming the new Mrs. Moretti. I was supposed to endure it in silence. That's the rule for a Don's wife. But all the pain hollowed out, leaving only a cold, chilling certainty. He truly believed I was nothing without him. "Where would you go, Bella?" he'd once laughed, his voice dripping with condescension. "Everything you have, everything you are, is because of me. You wouldn't last a week." He thought it was a game. "I'll take that bet," he'd said. So while he was away on a final "business trip" with her, I made my move. I liquidated our assets and hired movers to strip our mansion bare, erasing every trace of my existence. I walked out forever, but not before leaving two gifts on the empty mattress where we once slept: the signed divorce papers, and the melted, grotesque slug of gold that used to be my wedding ring.

The Chosen One's Cruel Game

The Miller family living room, usually a hub of quiet prestige, hummed with a different kind of energy. My adoptive father, Mr. Miller, beamed, the air thick with anticipation for the grand unveiling. Lined up before him were the five men he had raised alongside me: Ethan Hayes, Justin Bell, Ryan Stone, Kevin White. And me, Chloe Miller, the prize in a twisted game I was forced to play. "Chloe, my dear," Mr. Miller' s voice, warm and loving, cut through the tension. "Who do you choose?" Ethan, the man I had tragically chosen in another life, smiled. A perfect, practiced mask of devotion. This time, his smile felt like a cruel joke. I remembered the cheers, the naive happiness of that last life. He' d been the perfect husband, the perfect son-in-law. Until my father' s funeral. That night, he handed me divorce papers, his voice stripped of all warmth. "Now that your father is gone, there' s no need to continue this." Confusion turned to horror as he confessed: our marriage was an act of gratitude. A pact. A lottery among the boys to see who would "care for me" while they waited for Sophia, my sweet, innocent adoptive sister, to come of age. Every love letter, every tender touch, every whispered promise, now tainted. I was a pawn. A well-behaved doll. Then came the final, devastating blow: he left me to drown in a flooded subway tunnel for Sophia' s sprained ankle. But then, impossibly, I woke up. Back in my bedroom, on the very day I was supposed to choose. This time, my choice would not be a game. It would be my freedom. "I choose Liam Black," I declared, my voice ringing clear and steady in the stunned silence. A quiet, stoic Navy SEAL, an outsider. My escape. The shock on their faces was a masterpiece of disbelief. Their carefully constructed world shattered by a single, powerful truth. And I was just getting started.

From Fake Love to True Bliss

For six years, our life together with Ashley was a perfectly curated social media feed: beautiful, aspirational, and utterly fake. I, Ethan Miller, the indie filmmaker, thought we were finally building something real, meticulously picking out wedding invitations with my social media influencer fiancée. Then, a bombshell. "I need to postpone the wedding," Ashley announced, tears welling up in a performance worthy of an Oscar. Her childhood friend Liam' s dying mother, she claimed, had one last wish: to see Ashley marry her son. Not only did she steal the wedding rings I designed for us to marry Liam, but Ashley-the woman I was supposed to spend my life with-also callously mocked my own dying mother for being too desperate to get married. The betrayal clawed at me, but the horror deepened when I returned home to find Liam and Ashley cozy on our couch, with my belongings being boxed up by her bodyguards. I was a prisoner in my own home, a "harmless" man she could discard at will. When I tried to leave, Liam's hired thugs abducted me in my own lobby, while Ashley' s bodyguards stood by, watching. I woke up to Ashley and Liam staging a sick charade, falsely accusing me of assaulting Liam' s "dying" mother. "You monster! How could you?" Ashley screamed, before violently slapping me. Then, with a chillingly calm expression, she grabbed my wrist and twisted. I screamed as I heard the sickening crack. My wrist was broken. "Don't ever get in my way again," she hissed, leaving me broken and alone. She even tried to buy my silence, threatening to ruin my career if I ever spoke the truth. But her theatrical sorrow, the stolen rings, the staged kidnapping, the deliberate injury-it all solidified into a cold, hard resolve within me. I was done playing her game. "Can you find me a new bride?" I asked my sister, and then, a name from my past surfaced: Chloe Peterson.

The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen

I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella. Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark. But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved. Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies. When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel. While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest. The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella. He ordered my father to punish me. I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth. That night, the love in my heart finally died. On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven. Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney. By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.

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.

The Forgotten Mother's Vow: Taking Back What's Hers

Isabelle's love for Kolton held flawless for fifteen years-until the day she delivered their children and slipped into a coma. He leaned to her ear and whispered, "Don't wake up. You're worthless to me now." The twins later clutched another woman's hand and chirped, "Mommy," splintering Isabelle's heart. She woke, filed for divorce, and disappeared. Only then did Kolton notice her fingerprints on every habit. They met again: she emerged as the lead medical specialist, radiant and unmoved. But at her engagement gala, she leapt into a tycoon's arms. Jealous, he crushed a glass, blood wetting his palm. He believed as soon as he made a move, Isabelle would return to him. After all, she had loved him deeply.

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?"

Once The Foolish Wife, Now His Eternal Obsession

For three years, Cathryn and her husband Liam lived in a sexless marriage. She believed Liam buried himself in work for their future. But on the day her mother died, she learned the truth: he had been cheating with her stepsister since their wedding night. She dropped every hope and filed for divorce. Sneers followed-she'd crawl back, they said. Instead, they saw Liam on his knees in the rain. When a reporter asked about a reunion, she shrugged. "He has no self-respect, just clings to people who don't love him." A powerful tycoon wrapped an arm around her. "Anyone coveting my wife answers to me."

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.