My Freedom, His Regret

The CEO's Asset: Sold To My Enemy

I spent two years trying to please Xander Yates, thinking he was the man who would help me save my family’s struggling manufacturing business. As a former senior legal counsel, I thought I knew how to handle sharks, but I never expected the man I loved to be the one who would try to skin me alive. Everything shattered at a high-end gala when I felt a chemical fire start in my marrow. Xander had spiked my drink, chasing me through the hotel corridors with a predatory smile, ready to take by force what I wouldn't give him willingly. I barely escaped into an elevator, stealing a key card from a man in a sharp grey suit and collapsing in room 8086. That stranger turned out to be Crockett Blackburn, the "Ice King of Wall Street" and a man my family had spent years avoiding. He didn't save me out of the goodness of his heart; he saved me because he saw a "messy variable" he could turn into a weapon. By morning, Xander was blackmailing me with a video of me drugged, and Crockett was offering me a deal that felt like a deal with the devil. He would save my factory, but only if I gave him 51% controlling interest and became his personal legal counsel. The humiliation was total. Xander called me a junkie and a slut, while Crockett looked at the bruises on my neck with the cold, clinical assessment of a man checking a damaged piece of equipment. When a secret bid was leaked, Crockett didn't hesitate to pin the blame on me, accusing me of working with my ex to drive up the price. I was a pawn in a game between two monsters, one who wanted to destroy my body and another who wanted to own my soul and my family’s legacy. I had lost my apartment, my reputation, and my safety in less than twenty-four hours. "I don't like it when people break my things," Crockett told me as he applied ointment to the marks Xander left on my throat. I realized then that if I wanted to survive, I had to stop being the victim and start being the predator. I signed the contract, moved into Blackburn’s penthouse, and prepared for a scorched-earth war against the Yates family. I don't care if Crockett Blackburn is using me as a leash—as long as he lets me be the one to bite.

Shattered Bond: The Genius Omega's Revenge

I was the lead architect for the Pack's billion-dollar tech company, and I was secretly carrying the Alpha's heir. I thought the merger would finally make Caleb Mark me. Instead, I walked into my office to find a mistress sitting in my chair. Caleb didn't just fire me. When I refused to hand over the encryption keys to the system I built, he locked me in a reinforced closet lined with silver mesh. For a pregnant wolf, silver is poison. I pounded on the door until my knuckles bled. "Caleb! Please! It burns! I'm losing the baby!" I screamed until my voice broke, feeling the life drain from my womb. But outside the door, his mistress laughed. "Don't listen to her, Caleb. She's just a weak Omega faking it for attention." And my Fated Mate believed her. He left me in that dark box while our son died in a pool of my own blood. He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die a silent death so he could parade his fake heir around. He forgot one thing: I wrote the code that runs his entire life. Three days later, I didn't show up to the hospital morgue. I rolled my wheelchair onto the stage of his global press conference, flanked by the rival Alpha he feared most. I held up the remote to the main server. "You killed my son for a lie, Caleb," I smiled into the microphone as the screens behind him broadcast the footage of his crime. "Now, say goodbye to your empire."

Husband's Lies, Mistress's Son

My world crumbled when I saw my husband, Arthur, across the street with his mistress, Karin, and a son who was his spitting image. For years, he' d told me he wasn' t ready for a family. It was all a lie. But the true horror began at my own awards ceremony. Karin' s son, coached to hate me, rushed the stage and attacked me. The assault caused me to miscarry the baby Arthur swore he never wanted. As I lay bleeding on the stage, my husband didn't help. He shoved me aside, his eyes blazing with fury. "You monster!" he roared, scooping up his son and leaving me shattered in front of everyone. Later, Karin cornered me, her voice a triumphant whisper. "I made sure you'd lose the baby." Then, she pushed me off a cliff into the churning ocean below. But I didn't die. A fisherman pulled me from the water, broken but alive. As the world mourned the "accidental drowning" of Elenora Dawson, I made a call to the Vienna Conservatory. "I accept."

The Alpha's Regret: Rejecting His True Luna

I sat in the Alpha suite, convincing myself I had done the right thing. I had just rejected Alex, my fated mate. She was a weak Omega, and my pack needed a strong Luna like Iliana. But then, I overheard my twin children whispering in the backseat of the car. "My tummy hurts, Kenny," my daughter whimpered. "It's the special juice Auntie Iliana gave us. It tastes like fire." My blood ran cold. I demanded a toxicology report immediately. The results nearly brought me to my knees: Wolfsbane. The woman I had placed on a pedestal, the woman I broke my bond for, had been slowly poisoning my heirs to clear her path to power. I executed Iliana’s punishment and immediately turned the convoy around, racing toward the Silver Moon territory where Alex had taken refuge. I clutched the old silver engagement ring in my sweating palm. I was the Alpha. We were fated. I could fix this. She would forgive me once she knew the truth. But when I arrived, I didn't find a broken woman waiting for her savior. I found a Goddess. Alex stood on the dais, her skin glowing with the legendary bioluminescence of the White Wolf bloodline. Standing protectively beside her was Daniel Sosa, the most ruthless Alpha in the region. I rushed forward, falling to my knees and holding up the ring. "Alex, please! I made a mistake! Come home!" The crowd went silent. I waited for her to cry, to run into my arms. Instead, she looked at me with eyes devoid of love. "You didn't just break my heart, Gavyn," she said coldly. "You broke the sacred law." Then, she turned to Daniel. "Watch, Gavyn," she whispered, her voice carrying on the wind. "This is what real love looks like." She pulled Daniel down and kissed him, and the world exploded in silver light, sealing a new bond right before my eyes.

The Silvered Mate: Destroyed by Her Alpha

Strapped to the cold metal table in the hospital basement, I begged my Fated Mate, Alpha Marcus, for mercy. He ignored my tears. With a voice devoid of warmth, he ordered the doctor to inject liquid silver into my veins—a poison designed to dissolve the wolf spirit. "Do it," he commanded. "If she remains a wolf, she is a liability. As a human, she can stay as an Omega." I screamed as the silver acid ate through my soul, severing the connection to my wolf. Marcus didn't flinch. He wasn't saving me from my burn injuries; he was clearing the path for his mistress, Rachel, and their secret illegitimate son. Broken and wolfless, I was forced to watch him publicly claim his bastard child as the new heir. He thought I was submissive. He thought I would quietly fade into the servant's quarters to be his charity case. He didn't know I had cracked his safe and found the DNA tests proving his three-year betrayal. On the morning of his wedding to Rachel, I smiled as I climbed into the car that would take me to my "exile." Ten minutes later, my scheduled email exposing every lie hit the Council of Elders. And while Marcus fell to his knees screaming at the sight of my burning vehicle, realizing he had destroyed his True Mate for a fraud, I was already gone.

The Heart I Married For

For four years, I endured my husband Alex' s coldness and his very public affair. I did it all for the heart beating in his chest-the one I believed belonged to my dead fiancé, Dale. Then, a phone call from a private investigator shattered everything. It was all a lie, a simple clerical error. Dale' s heart wasn' t in my husband. It was beating inside a tech CEO in Austin named Cash Carter. Suddenly, the man I married for a ghost was just a cruel stranger. When his mistress caused me to fall into a pool, he left me to drown, demanding I apologize to her before he' d help me. Four years of humiliation and heartbreak, all for a devastating coincidence. My entire life was built on nothing. So I filed for divorce and booked a one-way ticket to Austin. When Alex finally tracked me down, begging me to come back, he didn't understand. I wasn't running from him. I was running toward the last piece of the man I truly loved.

Marrying A Secret Zillionaire: Happy Ever After

Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."

The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.

The Billionaire's Secret Twins: Her Revenge

I was four months pregnant, weighing over two hundred pounds, and my heart was failing from experimental treatments forced on me as a child. My doctor looked at me with clinical detachment and told me I was in a death sentence: if I kept the baby, I would die, and if I tried to remove it, I would die. Desperate for a lifeline, I called my father, Francis Acosta, to tell him I was sick and pregnant. I expected a father's love, but all I got was a cold, sharp blade of a voice. "Then do it quietly," he said. "Don't embarrass Candi. Her debutante ball is coming up." He didn't just reject me; he erased me. My trust fund was frozen, and I was told I was no longer an Acosta. My fiancé, Auston, had already discarded me, calling me a "bloated whale" while he looked for a thinner, wealthier replacement. I left New York on a Greyhound bus, weeping into a bag of chips, a broken woman the world considered a mistake. I couldn't understand how my own father could tell me to die "quietly" just to save face for a party. I didn't know why I had been a lab rat for my family’s pharmaceutical ambitions, or how they could sleep at night while I was left to rot in the gray drizzle of the city. Five years later, the doors of JFK International Airport slid open. I stepped onto the marble floor in red-soled stilettos, my body lean, lethal, and carved from years of blood and sweat. I wasn't the "whale" anymore; I was a ghost coming back to haunt them. With my daughter by my side and a medical reputation that terrified the global elite, I was ready to dismantle the Acosta empire piece by piece. "Tell Francis to wash his neck," I whispered to the skyline. "I'm home."

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.