Reborn to Reject You

Eighty-Eight Betrayals, One Escape

My fiancé stood me up for the 88th time, leaving me at the courthouse to rush to his adopted sister' s side. I went home and overheard their twisted plan: they wanted me to get sterilized so I could raise their secret love child. When his sister later tried to poison me, he screamed at me to apologize. He even locked me in the basement, knowing my severe claustrophobia, to punish me for "upsetting her." The man I loved was a monster, and I had been his fool. After he left on a business trip, I packed my bags, accepted a dream job across the country, and sent him one last text. "We are over."

Framed By Love, Unleashed By Vengeance

I was a top patent lawyer until my husband and his lover framed me, destroyed my career, and sent me to prison. For seven years after, I was presumed dead, living as a ghost in a warehouse. Then, they found me. My ex-husband, Edgar, and our son, Kody, showed up, shocked to see me alive. They lured me to Kody' s 18th birthday party, but it was a lie. The party was a surprise engagement celebration for Edgar and Celena, the very woman who ruined my life. In front of everyone, Edgar told me to "let go." My own son even begged me. "Mom, please," he cried. "Just say you're sorry." Sorry? For what? For surviving the car crash they orchestrated to kill me? I looked at the boy I once loved more than life itself. In the sudden silence of the ballroom, I smiled and asked, "Kody, do you remember the night Celena asked you to slash my tires?"

A Compass, A Betrayal, A Life

The first sign was a hotel receipt I didn' t recognize, crumpled in my husband' s suit pocket, for an "Ocean View Suite" for two. He was supposed to be at a tech conference that night. The next evening, I followed him. He left his office building with a woman, his new assistant, Chloe Davis. They were laughing, and his hand was on the small of her back as they entered a fancy downtown restaurant. I watched them inside, looking like a couple in love. When I stumbled and dropped my purse outside, I heard Chloe say, "She' ll never find out, Mark. She' s too trusting." And Mark replied, "I know. But Ava… she' s sensitive." "Sensitive." The word felt like a slap. I confronted them, only for Mark to defend Chloe, who feigned illness and leaned on him. Then I saw it: my fifth-anniversary gift, an architect' s compass, dangling from Chloe' s neck. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen. I was three months pregnant. Mark chose her, shielding her as if I were the threat. I collapsed, blood pooling on the pavement, my baby gone. He had killed our child. Yet, in the hospital, he sided with Chloe again, letting her lie about her miscarriage, then using my dog, Daisy, to force my apology. Why did he abandon me so utterly, so cruelly? How could the man I loved destroy everything we had built, and then blame me? I was lost, but a new resolve sparked within me. I was not alone. My loyal Daisy, waiting at home, was my last pure comfort. I called my lawyer and asked for divorce papers.

Contaminated Love, A Wife's Escape

For five years, I chased my husband Liam' s love, a tech mogul I deeply adored. Then, after three incredible nights where I finally felt like his wife, I stumbled upon a chat on his computer. It was with my sister, Chloe, and it revealed a horrifying truth: those intimate moments were a cruel setup. Liam recorded them, sent them to Chloe, and messaged, "This way she' ll finally leave me alone. Don' t worry, Chloe, I' d rather die than touch her. You' re the only one I love." My world shattered. An audio file played Chloe' s sweet voice, "Oh, Liam, I' m so touched! You found so many people to mess with her just to protect my reputation?" So many people? Liam' s reply sickened me: "She' s so loose, it' s a blessing anyone would touch her. Besides, I have all the compromising photos and videos, so she can' t blame anyone even if she knows." The man who held me for three days wasn' t Liam. He sent strangers. I fled, my body screaming contamination, only to have Chloe, wearing Liam' s shirt, block my entry back home. "Liam was just adding my face to the system, and I think I accidentally deleted yours. My bad," she smirked. Liam emerged, his voice flat, "Chloe needs this room. It' s closer to me." He ordered me to a distant guest room, then handed me a pill. "Take this. I' m not ready for kids yet." It hit me: he worried I' d get pregnant with a stranger's child-a child he' d arranged. Later, listening to their laughter from the master bedroom, rage simmered. Then Chloe, wearing Liam' s sacred bracelet, whispered close, "Every month, he spends a week with me at a secluded resort. That' s our special time… He even says he feels sick when he sees you at home." Before I could react, she scratched my arm, drawing blood. "Ava, you bitch, stop pretending! I hate your pitiful act! I want to take everything from you!" She shoved me, a vase shattered, leaving a gaping wound on my arm. Liam rushed down, sweeping Chloe into his arms. "Chloe, does it hurt? I' ll take you to the hospital." He saw her nails' marks but blamed me. "Ava, you' re still so manipulative! You' ve always framed Chloe!" he roared. "Go to the basement tonight. Don' t come out until you' ve copied a hundred books!" He stepped over my prostrate body, crushing my arm. Bleeding, broken, I crawled to the ER. "No anesthesia," I told the doctor. "I want to remember this. I want to remember the pain." I needed every stitch to burn away my foolish love. I signed the divorce papers. Back in the mansion, trapped in the basement, I heard fireworks. Liam was celebrating Chloe' s "recovery." Five days later, Chloe feigned reconciliation, offering me tea. Liam forced my mouth open and poured the scalding liquid down my throat. My flesh screamed. I woke in a hospital, my throat ruined, my face Liam' s only concern. "Don' t worry," he told me, "Your face won' t scar." My face. Not my voice. Not the agony. I croaked, "Let me go." He hung up, leaving me to call my lawyer: Deliver the papers. Relief washed over Liam when I handed him two documents. He quickly signed, thinking I wanted property, not realizing the divorce agreement lay beneath. My phone rang moments after he left for Chloe. A headline screamed, "Socialite Scandal: Architect Ava Miller' s Wild Lifestyle Exposed, Intimate Photos Leaked." My private photos. My voice raw, I called 911. The IP address traced to Chloe. Liam' s call came, "Ava, are you crazy? Chloe was just messing around, it didn' t even hurt you. Do you have to be so petty?" He still thought I didn' t know the truth. He warned, "I' ve already had the case dropped. No one in this city will take your case now." My mother called, screaming, "You' ve disgraced our entire family! If you don' t apologize to her immediately, you are no longer our daughter!" "I won' t be your daughter anymore," I replied, then hung up. At the airport, Liam messaged: "I' ll give you a child." I sent him the signed divorce agreement. "Liam, I won' t bother you anymore. I' ll make way for you two." I boarded the plane, leaving him, my family, and my shattered past behind.

The Code Monkey's Revenge

I poured five years of my life into Nexus, the social media giant, building its very soul from lines of code in my quiet apartment. The world knew my live-in boyfriend, Mark Davis, as the CEO of ConnectCorp, the charismatic face of our success, but they didn't know I was the genius behind the curtain. On the eve of our IPO, a critical server failure threatened to derail everything, which I, Ava Chen, single-handedly fixed, only for the doorbell to ring. It was Chloe Miller, my college rival and Mark' s new Head of Product, who sauntered in uninvited, her smile as sharp as her designer suit, to tell me my contract was "terminated, effective immediately." Fired? It was impossible, I was Nexus, the very heart of the company. My call to Mark rang once, then Chloe answered on another phone, locking eyes with me as she faked distress for her "call with Mark," accusing me of aggression. "You' re his mistress," the horrifying realization hit me with the force of a physical blow, confirmed by her cruel smirk and the photo of Mark and me she turned face down. Outside, a crowd of ConnectCorp employees gathered, pointing and whispering, eager witnesses to my public humiliation, confirming my worst fears. Then Mark' s car screeched up, and he stormed out, ignoring me to pull Chloe into a theatrical embrace before yelling, "What the hell did you do, Ava?" Before I could explain, his hand flew through the air, connecting with my cheek, the crack echoing through the silent street. The man I loved, the man I built an empire for, had just publicly slapped me for his mistress. "You' re just the code monkey who got replaced," he sneered, joining Chloe' s cruel laugh as the crowd cheered my downfall. It was in that moment, stripped of everything, that a cold, hard resolve solidified within me. When Mark, attempting a final insult, offered me our old, dilapidated apartment as severance, I grasped the USB holding Nexus' s un-uploaded core. "There' s your data," I declared, throwing the drive to their feet, forcing them to scramble like dogs. Then I walked out, leaving the life I built behind, burning it all down for a chance at true liberation.

The Road of A Unwanted Wife To Her True Home

The first time I saw proof of my husband' s affair, it wasn' t some hushed secret, but splashed across the internet for everyone to see. Grainy paparazzi photos showed Ethan Carter, the formidable head of Carter Industries, at a parent-child carnival, dressed in a ridiculous bear mascot costume, holding a little boy' s hand and smiling at the woman beside him. That woman was Isabella, his ex-fiancée, and the boy was their son, Leo. They looked like the perfect family. My first instinct was to call my PR team to scrub the photos, but Ethan had already beaten me to it, making them vanish, a stark reminder that our marriage was nothing more than a strategic business merger. Then, they arrived at my doorstep: Ethan, Isabella, and Leo-a picture-perfect trio, while I, his legal wife, stood an outsider in my own home. Leo, a three-year-old, kicked my shin and shrieked, "You stole my dad!" Ethan, instead of chastising his son, turned his icy gaze on me and declared, "He' s just a child. Besides, Isabella raised him alone all these years. I owe her." His words cut deeper than any physical blow. In three years of marriage, he had never once scolded me, yet now, he defended his ex-fiancée and her child against me, his wife, with a chilling coldness. That night, Isabella, with a triumphant smirk, flaunted a hickey, whispering, "As long as Leo is around, Ethan and I can never truly be cut apart. Give him back to me." My composure cracked, replaced by a cold, searing rage. Love? For people like us, it was the most insignificant thing in the world. Three strikes, Ethan. You' re out.

THE LYCAN KING'S TREASURED LUNA

Narine never expected to survive. Not after what was done to her body, mind, and soul. But fate had other plans. Rescued by Supreme Alpha Sargis, the kingdom's most feared ruler, she finds herself under the protection of a man she doesn't know... and a bond she doesn't understand. Sargis is no stranger to sacrifice. Ruthless, ambitious, and loyal to the sacred matebond, he's spent years searching for the soul fate promised him, never imagining she would come to him broken, on the brink of death, and afraid of her own shadow. He never meant to fall for her... but he does. Hard and fast. And he'll burn the world before letting anyone hurt her again. What begins in silence between two fractured souls slowly grows into something intimate and real. But healing is never linear. With the court whispering, the past clawing at their heels, and the future hanging by a thread, their bond is tested again and again. Because falling in love is one thing. Surviving it? That's a war of its own. Narine must decide, can she survive being loved by a man who burns like fire, when all she's ever known is how not to feel? Will she shrink for the sake of peace, or rise as Queen for the sake of his soul? For readers who believe even the most fractured souls can be whole again, and that true love doesn't save you. It stands beside you while you save yourself.

Too Late, Mr. Johnston: She Is Gone

Kara was diagnosed with cancer, and her unborn child could not be kept. Kara planned to end the pregnancy, get a divorce, and face her impending death with equanimity, allowing Davin and his new love, Alyse, to be together. But Davin had no intention of letting her go so easily. He and the increasingly frail Kara were inseparable day and night, just to leave a child for the infertile Alyse. Kara lay dying in her hospital bed, crying and laughing, pleading, "I'll give you my life, please let me go." Later, the cold and aloof man knelt before Kara's tombstone, holding gardenias day and night, his eyes red as he murmured, "Baby, stop it, come back."

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.

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

One Night With My Billionaire Boss

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

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.