Built To Break Her

Pregnant and Rejected: The Alpha's Biggest Mistake

My husband Liam was the perfect Alpha. He built me a library, fought off rogues, and swore I was his soulmate. I thought we were the perfect fated couple. That was until I found the burner phone wedged deep in the sofa cushions. "She's just a placeholder," he texted his mistress, Ava. "You know you're my real queen." Attached was an ultrasound of a wolf pup—his heir. I tried to leave with dignity, but he dragged me to the Pack Gala. On a live stream watched by thousands, he paraded Ava around, wearing my family’s heirloom necklace. When I tried to take it back, he didn't just stop me. He slapped me across the face. The force of his blow didn't just break my heart; the trauma killed the secret baby growing inside me. I severed the bond and vanished, leaving him with his "queen" and his guilt. Five years later, I returned, not as a weak rejected mate, but as the powerful Alpha of the Sanctuary. Liam fell to his knees in the dirt, holding a flawless pink diamond, begging for a second chance. "I fought for you," he cried, tears streaming down his face. "I bled for you! I am your Fated Mate!" I looked at him with nothing but pity, then turned to the man standing beside me—the quiet Beta who had silently saved my life years ago when Liam was too busy playing the hero. I took Ethan's hand. "Ethan," I asked, my voice ringing clear through the silent crowd. "Will you be my Mate?" As Liam screamed in agony, the Moon Goddess answered with a blinding golden light.

His Last Regret: Unmade

The city festival lights blurred, then the world exploded into screams and dust. Liam was on top of me, saving me again, for the third time. But this time, his last words, choked out with blood, were not what I expected. "If only... I had never met you." Ten years of a cold marriage, of my unrequited love, ended with that brutal, devastating line. At his funeral, his mother’s sharp voice cut through my grief: "He died because of you. Always you." The whispers followed me out of the church, society agreeing I was the reason Liam Walker, the city’s golden boy, was dead at thirty-three. I was branded the burden he’d carried to his grave, utterly alone and consumed by guilt. Liam’s words echoed, haunting me: "If only I had never met you." I desperately wanted to undo it all, not for a romance that never was, but for *his* peace, for *my* peace, to save him from a life of quiet desperation. Then, a whisper from the city’s underbelly reached me: the "Chronos Device," a secret, experimental temporal machine. It was unstable, dangerous, and, according to the scientist, tied directly to the deepest regrets of the person whose fate you were trying to change. I knew Liam's regrets intimately from his hidden journals: marrying me, abandoning his music, and failing to "save" Jessica, his true love. Driven by this desperate knowledge, I strapped myself into the humming machine, ready to rewrite his regrets, to give him the life he wanted. Even if it meant erasing myself from his life and future forever.

The Contract Wife: Thorne's Redemption

I lay in the sterile silence of the hospital, mourning the baby I never got to hold. Everyone called it a tragic accident. A slip and fall. But I knew the truth of my husband's shove. Mark finally came to visit. He didn't bring flowers; he brought a briefcase. Inside were divorce papers and a non-disclosure agreement. He calmly informed me that his mistress-my friend-was pregnant. They were his "real family" now, and they couldn't have any "unpleasantness." He threatened to use fabricated psychiatric reports to paint me as an unstable danger to myself. "Sign the papers, Clara," he warned, his voice void of emotion. "Or you'll be moved from this comfortable room to a more... secure facility. A long-term one." I looked at the man I had loved and saw a monster. This wasn't a tragedy; it was a corporate takeover of my life. He had been meeting with lawyers while I was losing our child. I wasn't his grieving wife; I was a liability being managed, a loose end to be tied. I was utterly and completely trapped. Just as despair consumed me, my parents' old lawyer appeared like a ghost from the past. She pressed a heavy, ornate key into my palm. "Your parents left you an escape route," she whispered, her eyes filled with resolve. "For a day like this." The key led to a forgotten contract, a pact made by our grandfathers decades ago. An ironclad marriage agreement, binding me to the one man my husband feared more than death itself: the ruthless, reclusive billionaire Julian Thorne.

His Wife, His Best Friend's Baby

The cemetery air was heavy, just like my heart, staring at Lily' s name, a scar etched in stone. Then she arrived, Sophia, my wife, leaning into Mark, my best friend. Her hand resting on the slight curve of her stomach twisted my gut. "Lily, from heaven, will surely bless the baby in my womb with health and safety," she sneered, holding her belly. My daughter was dead, and their child, a blessing. I slid my wedding ring off, the symbol of a shattered lie, and let it fall onto the damp earth beside Lily' s grave. I walked away without looking back, leaving everything behind. Later, I overheard Sophia' s sisters mocking me. "What do you bet he comes crawling back in a week?" one giggled. They had no idea. Soon, I found myself serving Mark, Sophia' s lover, even peeling him an apple, a twisted parody of our past intimacy. Her smirk told me she relished my humiliation. Then she dropped the bomb: "We can all be one big, happy family." I handed her the divorce papers, already signed. Sophia laughed, picking up the papers. "You have nothing without me." Suddenly, Mark began to choke, his face turning red. "What did you do?" Sophia shrieked, her eyes blazing, forcing a piece of the apple into my mouth. A sickeningly sweet, nutty taste flooded my senses. Almonds. The room spun, and the first wave of anaphylaxis hit me like a fiery punch. "We found out about the baby almost a year ago, right after… Lily got sick." A year. Lily was still alive when their affair began. They left me there, choking, as they rushed Mark to the hospital. But in that cold, sterile hospital room, a ruthless plan began to form.

The Night He Drugged My Tea

My husband, Ethan Cole, was New York' s legal golden boy-revered for his legal prowess and, more famously, for his legendary adoration of his wife, Sarah Miller. "My North Star" tattooed over his heart, cross-country flights for a few hours with me; I believed this perfect fairytale for years. Then, the crash. Arriving at his office to surprise him, I overheard his junior associates' crude jokes: "Boss is off to Napa with Jessica Vance for a 'client retreat'." Napa? He'd texted "Chicago deposition." My world tipped. The video landed, sent by Jessica: her, tied with Ethan' s silk tie, his face consumed by a desire I hadn't witnessed in years. It plummeted deeper. That night, he drugged my tea. Then, he brought her into our bed, right beside me, believing I was out cold. Her moans, his rough whispers, Jessica' s sweat-damp hair brushing my cheek-the ultimate, sickening violation. The man who once cooked me gourmet breakfasts became a depraved stranger, brazenly flaunting his infidelity inches from me. How could he? My reflection showed tear-streaked eyes, but pain became icy resolve. No screaming. No breakdowns. A chillingly precise plan formed. I took a burner phone, texting him-my husband, the famed attorney-as an anonymous "Ms. Evans": "My husband is cheating with his assistant. What should I do?" His reply, professional and prompt: "Secure all evidence of his infidelity. Bring it to me." So, I did. I formally retained Ethan Cole to handle my divorce. Game on.

Don't Mess With the Cat Lady

I' m Chloe, a nursing student, always broke and buried in textbooks, a stark contrast to my influencer-wannabe roommate, Tiffany. We tolerated each other, barely. Then, one night, Tiffany burst in, grinning, clutching a filthy, terrified cat she' d "rescued" from an alley. "Meet Scrappy!" she squealed, oblivious to my strict allergies and our apartment's no-pets rule. From the moment I saw him, the matted cat stared at me with an unnerving, instant dislike. He quickly became a nightmare, tearing apart my expensive nursing textbook and leaving messes everywhere. Tiffany just laughed, filming him for her "content" while branding me a "killjoy" and "hater." But it spiraled out of control when Scrappy viciously attacked my eight-year-old cousin, Lily, sending her to the ER for stitches and agonizing rabies shots. My hands shook with a cold, desperate fury. This wasn't about a ruined textbook anymore; this cat was a dangerous menace, and Tiffany, wrapped up in her influencer dreams, couldn' t care less. I tried desperately to get rid of him, but she stopped me, and he escaped. Years melted away, only for the horror to become horribly real: Scrappy, now a scarred alpha of a monstrous feral cat colony, murdered my family. I screamed, and then, mercifully, nothingness. I woke up. Sunlight streamed through my old apartment window. I heard Tiffany' s chirpy voice from the living room: "Chloe! Look!" It was the exact same day. The same terrifying cat. I' d seen the future, and this time, I knew precisely what needed to be done.

Billionaire Boss? Nah, Just A Possessive Husband!

I just got my billionaire husband to sign our divorce papers. He thinks it's another business document. Our marriage was a business transaction. I was his secretary by day, his invisible wife by night. He got a CEO title and a rebellion against his mother; I got the money to save mine. The only rule? Don't fall in love. I broke it. He didn't. So I'm cashing out. Thirty days from now, I'm gone. But now he's noticing me. Touching me. Claiming me. The same man who flaunts his mistresses is suddenly burning down a nightclub because another man insulted me. He says he'll never let me go. But he has no idea I'm already halfway out the door. How far will a billionaire go to keep a wife he never wanted until she tried to leave?

Passion Unleashed: Carrying The President's Child

After a one-night stand with a stranger, Roselyn woke up to find only a bank card without a PIN number. Still in a daze, she was detained on charges of theft. Just as the handcuffs were about to close, the mysterious man reappeared, holding her pregnancy report. "You're pregnant with my child," he said coldly. Shocked, Roselyn was whisked away in a helicopter to the presidential palace, where she learned the truth: the man from that night was none other than the country's most powerful and influential leader!

Chained To The Cold CEO: Why Won't My Husband Let Me Leave?

Everyone whispered about how Alexander's aunt had forced him into marrying Freya. When the old woman passed and his former love drifted back into town, people watched closely and expected Freya to be brushed aside. Freya shrugged. "Truth be told, I am eager for that day to come." They mocked her for it. Yet everything flipped when Alexander posted something that spread like wildfire. "For everyone asking, I am not ending this marriage. Not now, not ever." Freya stared at the screen, puzzled. What was he trying to pull now?

Love's Sweetest Surprise: From Brokenhearted To Billionaire's Wife

For five years, I believed I was living in a perfect marriage, only to discover it was all a sham! I discovered that my husband was coveting my bone marrow for his mistress! Right in front of me, he sent her flirtatious messages. To make matters worse, he even brought her into the company to steal my work! I finally understood, he never loved me. I stopped pretending, collected evidence of his infidelity, and reclaimed the research he had stolen from me. I signed the divorce papers and left without looking back. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum and would eventually return. But when we met again, I was holding the hand of a globally renowned tycoon, draped in a wedding dress and grinning with confidence. My ex-husband's eyes were red with regret. "Come back to me!" But my new groom wrapped his arm around my waist, and chuckled dismissively, "Get the hell out of here! She's mine now."

Abandoned Luna: Now Untouchable

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.