Not His Brother's Fool

Counterattack Of The Vengeful Goddess

This summer, the temperature suddenly rose, and my sister-in-law suggested that the whole family go to Prastin for diving to escape the heat. I suddenly realized that the climate in Prastin this year was different from previous years, so I suggested staying for a few days and then going home. As a result, my sister-in-law angrily scolded me, saying, "Prastin is a summer resort. I don't know if you can shut up, you country bumpkin. In another month, the weather will get cooler. If we don't stay for a month, I won't go home." My mother strongly agreed on the side. After landing, they were ripped off at a seafood market by a shady business and held at knifepoint by thugs to pay a high bill, forcing me to give them money. Later, the Earth's magnetic field became chaotic, and the cool sea breeze turned into a scorching heat wave, turning the summer resort into a hell on earth. The airport stopped flights due to the high temperatures, and our family was trapped in a guesthouse. Despite the government's high-temperature warning, my sister-in-law insisted on going diving to cool off. As a result, in the extreme heat, a sudden high tide trapped her. In a critical moment, my brother pushed me into the water, and my sister-in-law grabbed my hair, using my head as a support, and was successfully rescued. However, I was swept into the seabed by scalding hot seawater and drowned. A rescuer who was salvaging my body also tragically died. Faced with the blame from those around her, my mother said, "It's all my daughter's fault for not listening and insisting on going diving. If she couldn't be saved, it's her own fault." After this incident, they finally realized the dangers of high temperatures. The three of them stayed in the guesthouse, worked together to endure the high temperatures, and finally received government rescue. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to when my sister-in-law suggested going to Prastin to escape the heat.

The Wife He Cast Out

The freezing rain lashed at my face as David locked me out for the third time this week. My voice trembled as I begged, "David, please. It' s cold. Let me in." His only answer was the TV volume growing louder, a clear sign he didn' t care. Just five years ago, I was Sarah Miller, Wall Street' s "Golden Eyes," a financial genius with a fortress of wealth. Then David Smith arrived, charming and protective, convincing me to trade my career for a quiet life, a family, pouring all my assets into his hands. I even underwent a "special procedure" he insisted on-a bone marrow transfer that left me with a permanent chill and weakness, supposedly to protect his health and our prosperity. A year later, his college sweetheart, Olivia White, walked back into his life. Tonight, as I shivered on the porch, our 8-year-old son, Ethan, opened the door, his face a cold copy of his father' s. "Dad said you need to think about what you did wrong," Ethan announced, flatly. "Olivia is here. She' s way nicer than you." David and Olivia appeared, his arm around her, a smug look on his face. "Still out here, Sarah?" he sneered. "Maybe the cold will knock some sense into you. You' ve become useless. All you do is spend my money." "Your money?" I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "David, it was my money. My life' s work." Olivia laughed a sharp, unpleasant sound. "Oh, Sarah. That was a long time ago. You' re just a housewife now. David is the one making the real moves." He pulled her closer. "I' ve been investing our money into Olivia' s tech startup. It' s the future. It' s for Ethan' s education." The blatant lie stole my breath. I had seen the financials; her startup was a fraudulent mess. He was stealing from me to fund his affair. "You' re lying," I said, finding my voice. "That company is worthless. You' re throwing our money away on her." His face hardened. "Don' t you dare question my judgment. You gave up that life, remember?" Even Ethan parroted, "Yeah, Mom! Dad' s smart. Olivia is smart. You just cook and clean." Their words, twisting my son' s voice, finally broke me. I looked at David' s face and saw no love, just a manipulator who saw me as a bank account. My sacrifice wasn' t love; it was a successful transaction. The cold rain no longer bothered me. A clarifying rage settled deep within. The naive woman on the doorstep was gone, mourned by no one but herself. I stopped pleading. I stopped shivering. My eyes, clear and steady for the first time in years, saw him for what he was: a self-serving thief. Without a word, I turned and walked away, leaving him shouting, "Sarah! Where are you going? Get back here!" I didn' t look back. He thought I was a washed-up housewife, but he had forgotten about the Golden Eyes. They built their empire with my money. I was going to take it all back. And then, I was going to burn their world to the ground.

The Unseen Empress of Sound

My belly swollen, nine months in, I clutched the counter as a brutal contraction stole my breath. "Ethan," I gasped, "I think it's the baby. It's too early." He didn't even glance up from his phone, scrolling through pictures of Sabrina Chavez, the singer who' d stolen my song. "Not now, Jocelyn," he drawled, "I'm dealing with a crisis." He meant Sabrina's stylist sent the wrong shoes. Not impending premature birth. Another wave of pain hit, sharper. I saw red on my legs. But he took my phone and keys. "You're going to sit down, drink some water, and stop trying to sabotage the biggest night of my career." He left, the door clicking like a coffin lid. An hour later, I was bleeding on the floor, the storm had knocked out the landlines, and the front door was locked. When help finally came, it was Ethan' s mother, who called my pain "theatrics," then shoved me into the dark, damp storm cellar, filled with corrosive cleaner. My baby died there, in the acid, in the dark. I should have died. I did die, to the world. But my father, the reclusive music legend Jackson Fuller, saved me. Now, the old Jocelyn is gone, burned away. And from the ashes, a new one has risen. And she wants revenge.

Eight Years Of His Lies

For eight years, I gave up everything to protect my son from his deadly peanut allergy. This meant three months of crushing loneliness every winter while he and his father, Greg, lived in a separate "allergy-free zone." I called it lonely; my doctors called it seasonal depression. But the allergy was a lie. I overheard them through the apartment door-Greg, my son Josh, and Brittany, his high school sweetheart. They were feeding my son his allergen on purpose. "Just a little bit to keep the allergy strong," Greg coached him. It was their ticket for a secret life. When Josh was later hospitalized for a reaction, he cried for Brittany, not me. "Mommy's always sad," he whimpered, as she swept in to play the hero. Then I discovered the pills Greg gave me for my "depression" were actually powerful sedatives. He wasn't just lying; he was drugging me to keep me docile and confused. The final blow was our marriage certificate-a worthless fake. He had built my entire world on a foundation of deceit. So I walked out, leaving him to the mess he created, ready to reclaim the life he stole from me.

Bought By The Coldhearted Media Mogul

My bank account was four hundred dollars in the red when my brother called me screaming from the most exclusive club in Manhattan. He said he was going to be killed or arrested, and I was the only one who could save him from the mess he’d made. When I arrived at The Onyx, I found my brother on his knees, accused of assaulting a high-profile socialite. But instead of begging for my help, he pointed a shaking finger at me and screamed, "It was her! My sister set the whole thing up because she wanted money!" The man watching the chaos from the shadows was Adrian Clemons—the billionaire CEO of the company where I worked as a lowly assistant. He didn't look at me with pity; he looked at me with a profound, exhausted disgust, as if I were a stain on his expensive rug. To save his own skin, my brother didn't just lie; he offered me up like a piece of tradeable property. "She'll do anything," he pleaded with the billionaire. "She’s clean, she’s obedient. Just don't send me to jail!" Adrian didn't call the police. Instead, he made a cold, terrifying business proposal: "Lend her to me for one year. I wipe your debt, and the cops stay away." My brother didn't even blink before he snapped, "Done. Take her." I was whisked away to City Hall in a silent Rolls Royce, signing a marriage license before I could even process the betrayal. I wasn't a bride; I was a "human asset" bought to help a cold-blooded monster secure his inheritance. The moment my hand accidentally brushed his during the signing, he recoiled as if I were contagious, his face turning a ghostly, panicked white. He made it clear that I was nothing more than a prop, a girl from the slums meant to spite his elitist mother. As the heavy iron gates of the Clemons estate slammed shut behind me that night, I realized I hadn't just saved my brother. I had entered a golden cage owned by a man who hated my touch, but owned my life for the next three hundred and sixty-five days.

His Betrayal, Her Unbreakable Will

The pain hit me in the middle of a billion-dollar merger presentation. It was a sharp, twisting cramp, so intense it stole my breath. I excused myself, trembling, and called my husband, Ethan, who was supposed to be my rock. Instead, I heard the sounds of children laughing and music in the background. My desperate plea that "something's wrong... I think I'm bleeding" was met with dismissal. Ethan, playing dad to Olivia's son Liam, brushed me off, accusing me of being "dramatic" and "pathetic" for trying to ruin Liam's "Star Camper" award. He hung up, leaving me to slide down the hallway wall as a warm gush of blood soaked through my dress. Hours later, I woke up in a hospital bed. Our baby was gone. The doctor's kind, sad face confirmed the emptiness I already felt. I lay there, a hollowed-out shell, the pain too deep for tears. When the nurse presented the cremation authorization, I didn't hesitate. I signed my name, Chloe Davis, and then asked her to send the ashes to my husband, Ethan Miller, at his office. "And," I added, looking her straight in the eye, "can you include a gift card? Just write one thing on it: 'For your next family.'" He hadn't come to the hospital. He hadn't even called. Two days later, he came home, cheerful and oblivious, talking about how Olivia "really needed him" and how he' d brought me soup. He still didn't get it. He was standing in the middle of a graveyard, complaining about the price of flowers. The man I had loved was gone, replaced by a stranger. His casual disregard, constant betrayal, and the loss of our child ignited a cold, unwavering resolve within me. I took down the nursery, packing away every tiny reminder of a future that would never be. Then, I called my lawyer. I was filing for divorce, and this time, I wasn't just leaving him; I was taking everything back-my money, my career, my life-and he wouldn't even see it coming.

I Hid His Heir from My Alpha

For two years, I was the Alpha's secret wife, a duty he resented. But the positive pregnancy test in my hand was a miracle, a blessing from the Moon Goddess. This baby, our heir, was supposed to be the bridge that finally mended our broken mate bond. That night, he left without a word. I saw on a gossip site that he'd gone to pick up his ex-lover, Isadora. Reaching for him through our bond, I wasn't met with his usual coldness, but with her emotions bleeding through him-triumph and smug possession. The next morning, I went to his office, ready to tell him about our baby, believing our child could fix us. But I stopped when I heard him talking to our Pack Healer about me. The healer said I looked fragile, that he should care for his mate. My husband laughed. "You seem to care for her more than I do," Demetri said, his voice dripping with ice. "Do you want me to give her to you? Take her. She's of no use to me." My world shattered. I wasn't just unloved; I was a thing to be discarded. I looked down at the pregnancy report, the proof of the life inside me, and made a vow. He would never know about our child, and I would sever our bond myself.

The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge

For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist. The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran’s "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite." When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome. I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out. But Kieran forgot one thing: my father’s multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city’s most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy. I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins—the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street—and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

Rising From Ashes: The Heiress They Tried To Erase

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

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.

A Divorce He Regrets

The day Raina gave birth should have been the happiest of her life. Instead, it became her worst nightmare. Moments after delivering their twins, Alexander shattered her heart-divorcing her and forcing her to sign away custody of their son, Liam. With nothing but betrayal and heartbreak to her name, Raina disappeared, raising their daughter, Ava, on her own.Years later, fate comes knocking when Liam falls gravely ill. Desperate to save his son, Alexander is forced to seek out the one person he once cast aside. Alexander finds himself face to face with the woman he underestimated, pleading for a second chance-not just for himself, but for their son. But Raina is no longer the same broken woman who once loved him.No longer the woman he left behind. She has carved out a new life-one built on strength, wealth, and a long-buried legacy she expected to uncover.Raina has spent years learning to live without him.The question is... Will she risk reopening old wounds to save the son she never got to love? or has Alexander lost her forever?