Karma's Sweet Revenge

Karma's Sweet Revenge

Hui Hui

5.0
Comment(s)
346
View
11
Chapters

The smell of roasted turkey usually meant warmth and family. This Thanksgiving, it only reminded me of the empty chair next to me. My wife, Sarah, co-founder of our bakery empire, "The Daily Rise," chose a "vital business emergency" instead. Then my phone buzzed – Instagram. Leo, Sarah's executive assistant. His latest post shattered my illusion: Sarah, radiant and laughing, raising a glass at a lavish table, Leo's arm casually draped over her chair. The caption: "So thankful for people who truly appreciate you. #NewTraditions." This was her "emergency." My gut clenched. I commented: "Glad you found your place. Happy Thanksgiving." Sarah's furious call followed: "What the hell, Mark?! Are you trying to ruin my life? Leo is devastated! Delete it and apologize to him!" She didn't ask about my family; her immediate, passionate defense of Leo branded me "petty and cruel." Seven years I'd built "The Daily Rise." She became CEO, the public face, I became invisible. Her priorities were crystal clear: Leo over me, ambition over our life. Every neglect, every empty promise culminated in this blatant betrayal. "No need, Sarah," I said, my voice shockingly calm. "There's no need to make it up to me. I'm at the county courthouse." Silence. "Remember those quarterly reports you signed last month, rushing off to an 'investor meeting'? Buried in that pile was a comprehensive divorce agreement. It's done, Sarah. Happy Thanksgiving."

Karma's Sweet Revenge Introduction

The smell of roasted turkey usually meant warmth and family. This Thanksgiving, it only reminded me of the empty chair next to me. My wife, Sarah, co-founder of our bakery empire, "The Daily Rise," chose a "vital business emergency" instead.

Then my phone buzzed – Instagram. Leo, Sarah's executive assistant. His latest post shattered my illusion: Sarah, radiant and laughing, raising a glass at a lavish table, Leo's arm casually draped over her chair. The caption: "So thankful for people who truly appreciate you. #NewTraditions." This was her "emergency."

My gut clenched. I commented: "Glad you found your place. Happy Thanksgiving." Sarah's furious call followed: "What the hell, Mark?! Are you trying to ruin my life? Leo is devastated! Delete it and apologize to him!" She didn't ask about my family; her immediate, passionate defense of Leo branded me "petty and cruel."

Seven years I'd built "The Daily Rise." She became CEO, the public face, I became invisible. Her priorities were crystal clear: Leo over me, ambition over our life. Every neglect, every empty promise culminated in this blatant betrayal.

"No need, Sarah," I said, my voice shockingly calm. "There's no need to make it up to me. I'm at the county courthouse." Silence. "Remember those quarterly reports you signed last month, rushing off to an 'investor meeting'? Buried in that pile was a comprehensive divorce agreement. It's done, Sarah. Happy Thanksgiving."

Continue Reading

Other books by Hui Hui

More
Discarded Wife: The Secret Billionaire Heiress

Discarded Wife: The Secret Billionaire Heiress

Modern

5.0

I spent three years playing the role of a submissive, small-town wife for Evertt Baker, trading my true identity for a quiet life in a Manhattan penthouse. I thought my devotion would be enough to build a real home, but I was just a placeholder in his grand design. The illusion shattered at 2 AM when Evertt walked in smelling of Chanel No. 5—the signature scent of his mistress, Adda. Without a word of apology, he dropped divorce papers on the table, demanding I sign them immediately so he could finally be with the woman he truly loved. He looked at me with pure disgust, flicking a five-million-dollar check toward me as if he were paying off an incompetent employee. He told me it was more money than anyone from my "trailer park" background would ever see and ordered me to hurry because Adda was waiting in the car downstairs. He didn't care that I had spent years nursing him through illness and tolerating his family’s insults; he only cared about his own convenience. The sheer arrogance of his payout and the blatant disrespect of bringing his mistress to our home was the final blow. I realized that the man I loved never actually saw me, only the submissive shadow I had forced myself to become. I signed the papers with a fluid scrawl he didn't bother to check, then I fed his millions into the office shredder. I pulled a hidden, encrypted device from a kitchen drawer and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years. "Brother," I said, my voice finally steady. "Come get me. The game is over." Evertt thought he was discarding a penniless nobody, but he was about to find out that he had just declared war on the Stafford empire.

Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

Rising From Ruin: The Discarded Heiress

Modern

4.6

I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my body feeling like a hollowed-out shell. For fifteen years, I had been the "spare part" of the wealthy Kensington family, a foster child kept only as a biological resource for their golden daughter, Jenna. My adoptive mother, Kathryn, walked in with a cold-eyed doctor, discussing me like an old car needing parts. They were planning another bone marrow "harvest" for the next morning, even though the doctor admitted the procedure was risky because my body hadn't recovered from the last extraction. "Passable is fine," Kathryn said, waving away the danger to my life like she was swatting a fly. "Just get it done. It's her only value." Jenna arrived in a wheelchair, putting on a performance of fragile sisterly love while actually glowing with health from the blood I had given her months ago. I watched as the doctor callously jabbed a needle into my arm, missing the vein on purpose, before turning off my pain medication pump as a final act of petty cruelty. They left me there to rot, convinced I was just a dull, submissive girl with nowhere to go. I lay in the silence, feeling the weight of every scrap they’d fed me and every hand-me-down I’d worn while Jenna lived in luxury. I realized I was never a daughter to them; I was an organ farm meant to be drained until I was empty. But as the door clicked shut, the fog of sedation in my brain finally lifted, replaced by a cold, predatory stillness. "Oracle," my mind whispered. "Online." I ripped the IV from my arm and escaped into the night, turning a five-dollar piece of junk into a six-million-dollar fortune in the city's darkest underground markets. By the time I returned to the Kensington Manor, I wasn't the useless foster girl they remembered—I was a predator with a massive bank account and a plan to take back everything they stole from me.

His Betrayal, My Unmaking, Her Crime

His Betrayal, My Unmaking, Her Crime

Modern

5.0

The sterile scent of my forensic lab usually brought me comfort, an oasis where I rebuilt lives from bone. Tonight, it felt like a heavy shroud. As a forensic artist, I was nearing completion on Case 734-a "Jane Doe" skull-when her face, slowly emerging from the clay, tightened my stomach with sickening recognition. It was Eleanor Blackwood, my fiancé Ryan' s mother, vanished two years ago. I reached for my phone, hand trembling, to tell him the impossible truth: I' d found his missing mother' s remains. Before I could dial, the lab door creaked open, revealing two ski-masked figures; a primal fear choked me. A foul-smelling cloth descended, and the world went black. I woke to searing pain, the stench of blood, and pulsing music. My face a swollen mess, I was dragged to a brightly lit stage-a boxing ring built for a depraved spectacle. Then I saw him, leaning against the ropes: Ryan, my fiancé, laughing, his arm wrapped around Chloe Davis' s waist, kissing her. He swept his eyes over the stage, over me, without a flicker of recognition. To him, I was just "entertainment." "She' s a forensic artist! Think she can reconstruct her own face after tonight?" someone yelled, their words twisting my life' s purpose into a grotesque joke. He drunkenly slurred about needing to "blow off steam" before our wedding, then, goaded by Chloe, bought me for ten thousand dollars, his eyes filled with hatred for the "toy" who dared to "disrespect" him. He paid to destroy the woman carrying his child. And he was proud of it.

The Lies We Marry For

The Lies We Marry For

Romance

5.0

The white lace of my wedding dress felt heavy on my shoulders. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Then Mark' s voice, a mere whisper, shattered everything. "I can't do this, Chloe." He stood there, perfectly tailored, his eyes avoiding mine. "I'm sorry," he finally managed, "I love Ashley. We're already married." The world tilted. My bouquet fell, scattering petals on the cold stone. A mechanical voice, only I could hear, boomed in my head: `[System Alert: Primary Life Mission 'Marry Mark Johnson' has failed.]` `[System Failure initiating... Host life functions will terminate in 60 seconds.]` I collapsed, a crushing pain in my chest. Mark just stared, frozen in cowardice. Ashley, my stepsister, rushed in. Not to help me, but to pull Mark away. "Mark, let's go! She'll be fine," she snapped, a look of pure triumph on her face. They left me to die on the church floor. `[30 seconds remaining.]` My world was almost dark. Suddenly, a stranger burst in, desperate to help. He threw himself over me as a chandelier crashed down. He saved me, but lost his legs. Three years later, I was married to him, Ethan Miller. Out of gratitude, I gave him my life. Tonight, our anniversary, I overheard him talking to his friend. "Tell her what? That I'm the best actor in the world?" Ethan laughed, his voice cold. "What happens when she finds out your legs are perfectly fine?" Ashley had put him up to it. My life, my sacrifice, was all orchestrated. My salvation was a lie. My marriage, a cage. The pain was worse than any system countdown. I looked at the man I married, the hero I thought he was. A stranger. A liar. A conspirator with my sister. This had to end. I would burn it all to the ground.

You'll also like

Sexy Behind The Mask

Sexy Behind The Mask

Ellie Wynters
4.7

She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith-the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room-Manhattan's most exclusive masked club-she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you."

The Billionaire's Secret Twins: Her Revenge

The Billionaire's Secret Twins: Her Revenge

Shearwater
4.5

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."

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book
Karma's Sweet Revenge Karma's Sweet Revenge Hui Hui Romance
“The smell of roasted turkey usually meant warmth and family. This Thanksgiving, it only reminded me of the empty chair next to me. My wife, Sarah, co-founder of our bakery empire, "The Daily Rise," chose a "vital business emergency" instead. Then my phone buzzed – Instagram. Leo, Sarah's executive assistant. His latest post shattered my illusion: Sarah, radiant and laughing, raising a glass at a lavish table, Leo's arm casually draped over her chair. The caption: "So thankful for people who truly appreciate you. #NewTraditions." This was her "emergency." My gut clenched. I commented: "Glad you found your place. Happy Thanksgiving." Sarah's furious call followed: "What the hell, Mark?! Are you trying to ruin my life? Leo is devastated! Delete it and apologize to him!" She didn't ask about my family; her immediate, passionate defense of Leo branded me "petty and cruel." Seven years I'd built "The Daily Rise." She became CEO, the public face, I became invisible. Her priorities were crystal clear: Leo over me, ambition over our life. Every neglect, every empty promise culminated in this blatant betrayal. "No need, Sarah," I said, my voice shockingly calm. "There's no need to make it up to me. I'm at the county courthouse." Silence. "Remember those quarterly reports you signed last month, rushing off to an 'investor meeting'? Buried in that pile was a comprehensive divorce agreement. It's done, Sarah. Happy Thanksgiving."”
1

Introduction

09/06/2025

2

Chapter 1

09/06/2025

3

Chapter 2

09/06/2025

4

Chapter 3

09/06/2025

5

Chapter 4

09/06/2025

6

Chapter 5

09/06/2025

7

Chapter 6

09/06/2025

8

Chapter 7

09/06/2025

9

Chapter 8

09/06/2025

10

Chapter 9

09/06/2025

11

Chapter 10

09/06/2025