Marry The Woman In Coma

Marry The Woman In Coma

Mischa Taube

5.0
Comment(s)
238
View
11
Chapters

My father, a Navy SEAL who never flinched, was dying, and his last wish was to see me married. I turned to the three girls he' d raised as his own, my childhood sweethearts, who had jokingly "promised" to marry me. My proposal was met with cruel rejections: one claimed animal activism, another gamophobia, and the third cited her high-powered tech career. But then a video surfaced: my three "family" members, draped in designer clothes bought with my money, laughing and intimately lounging on a yacht with Ethan, our chauffeur' s son. They were wearing identical friendship bracelets, and Sarah was practically in his lap. Their excuses were elaborate lies, designed to mock me while they squandered my family's fortune. The betrayal burned, but their final act solidified my rage. When my father succumbed to his illness, they ignored his deathbed wishes, choosing a "hike" with Ethan over a final goodbye. A storm raged that night, and I, fearing for their safety, embarked on a desperate, all-night mountain search. My leg was injured, my body was broken, but my heart shattered when Sarah' s call came through: she was safe at a luxury resort, laughing with Ethan, mocking my concern. "Liam, are you done with your little drama yet?" she sneered. I returned to the hospital, only to find a nurse pulling a sheet over my father' s face. I swore then that they would pay, by choosing the one woman who could never lie or betray me. On my wedding day, dressed for a union born of despair, they burst in, feigning remorse, attempting to reclaim their position. "Why are you marrying a comatose woman? Why not one of us?" they shrieked, their contempt for my comatose bride palpable. But just as I placed the ring, Clara Sterling, whom they had called "a living corpse," slowly opened her eyes. "Who," she said, her voice cold and resonant, "are you calling a cripple?" She rose from her wheelchair, walked to me, and kissed me, revealing the shocking truth: she had never been in a coma. My life with Clara, built on truth and unwavering devotion, had just begun. My so-called family, defeated and exposed, were given a severance and exiled. Years later, I learned their tragic fate: they had been trafficked and killed in Thailand, a cruel end to their greed. I never looked back. My world, once shadowed by betrayal, was now illuminated by the laughter of my wife and daughter, a bright, clear horizon stretching before us.

Introduction

My father, a Navy SEAL who never flinched, was dying, and his last wish was to see me married.

I turned to the three girls he' d raised as his own, my childhood sweethearts, who had jokingly "promised" to marry me.

My proposal was met with cruel rejections: one claimed animal activism, another gamophobia, and the third cited her high-powered tech career.

But then a video surfaced: my three "family" members, draped in designer clothes bought with my money, laughing and intimately lounging on a yacht with Ethan, our chauffeur' s son.

They were wearing identical friendship bracelets, and Sarah was practically in his lap.

Their excuses were elaborate lies, designed to mock me while they squandered my family's fortune.

The betrayal burned, but their final act solidified my rage.

When my father succumbed to his illness, they ignored his deathbed wishes, choosing a "hike" with Ethan over a final goodbye.

A storm raged that night, and I, fearing for their safety, embarked on a desperate, all-night mountain search.

My leg was injured, my body was broken, but my heart shattered when Sarah' s call came through: she was safe at a luxury resort, laughing with Ethan, mocking my concern.

"Liam, are you done with your little drama yet?" she sneered.

I returned to the hospital, only to find a nurse pulling a sheet over my father' s face.

I swore then that they would pay, by choosing the one woman who could never lie or betray me.

On my wedding day, dressed for a union born of despair, they burst in, feigning remorse, attempting to reclaim their position.

"Why are you marrying a comatose woman? Why not one of us?" they shrieked, their contempt for my comatose bride palpable.

But just as I placed the ring, Clara Sterling, whom they had called "a living corpse," slowly opened her eyes.

"Who," she said, her voice cold and resonant, "are you calling a cripple?"

She rose from her wheelchair, walked to me, and kissed me, revealing the shocking truth: she had never been in a coma.

My life with Clara, built on truth and unwavering devotion, had just begun.

My so-called family, defeated and exposed, were given a severance and exiled.

Years later, I learned their tragic fate: they had been trafficked and killed in Thailand, a cruel end to their greed.

I never looked back.

My world, once shadowed by betrayal, was now illuminated by the laughter of my wife and daughter, a bright, clear horizon stretching before us.

Continue Reading

Other books by Mischa Taube

More
The Mad Billionaire's Genius Undercover Wife

The Mad Billionaire's Genius Undercover Wife

Modern

5.0

I arrived at my uncle’s mansion looking like human trash, clutching a one-way bus ticket and a duffel bag stuffed with old newspaper. My aunt looked at me with pure disgust, as if she could smell the poverty on my skin, but they needed me for one thing: to be a sacrificial lamb. They told me I was getting married to Julian Sterling, a man the elite circles called a violent monster locked in a cage. My uncle forced me to sign away my soul to save their failing fortune, while my cousin Kayla laughed and threw a torn dress at my feet, calling me a "rat from the Rust Belt." At the Sterling estate, the nightmare only deepened. Julian’s stepmother treated me like a horse she was forced to buy, ordering the staff to "burn off" my hair before locking me in the West Wing. I was thrown into a padded cell with a man who lunged at me, his heavy chains rattling against the floor as he roared with an animalistic rage that had already killed two nurses. They thought I was a pathetic, uneducated girl who "didn't read so good." They didn't know I had extorted two million dollars from my uncle before walking out the door, or that I was secretly recording every slap and insult they threw at me for future leverage. I huddled in the corner of that dark cell, letting them watch me tremble on the security feeds. I let Julian’s sister strike me with a riding crop and splash water in my face, playing the role of the clumsy, sobbing idiot to perfection. But the moment the cameras looped, the scared girl vanished. I pinned the "monster" to the floor, cut the neural tracking chip out of his neck with a hidden scalpel, and whispered into his ear as his blue eyes finally cleared. They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter. They had no idea they were sending a wolf to hunt a beast.

Broken Bonds: The Rise of the White Wolf

Broken Bonds: The Rise of the White Wolf

Werewolf

5.0

As the pack's Omega cleaner, I was invisible. I spent my days scrubbing floors, clutching a cheap moonstone in my pocket—the only proof that Marcus Thorne, the billionaire Alpha, had once touched me. I was his fated Mate. I thought he just needed time to realize it. But the night of the Alpha Ball wasn't a fairy tale; it was an execution. Isabelle, his scheming assistant, dropped classified documents at my feet and screamed "Traitor!" I waited for Marcus to sense our bond. I waited for him to save me. Instead, his eyes turned cold as ice. He didn't just believe her; he destroyed me. He threw me into a dungeon coated in burning silver. He watched as I was fed Wolfsbane. And then, in front of the entire pack, he delivered the final blow. "I, Marcus Thorne, reject you, Olivia Hayes." The bond snapped. My soul shattered. He chose a viper over his true mate and ordered me dumped at the border to die like a rogue. But he made a fatal mistake. The rejection didn't kill me. It woke something ancient inside me. I wasn't a weak Omega. I was the White Wolf. Five years later, I returned to New York. Not as the girl he threw away, but as the powerful Luna of the Crescent Moon Pack, with a new, stronger Mate by my side. When Marcus saw me, the color drained from his face. He fell to his knees in the dirt, holding out that old, dull moonstone, weeping. "Liv, please. I remember now. Take it back." I looked down at the man who had broken me and whispered the truth that would haunt him forever. "I don't want it, Marcus. That stone belongs to a girl who died in your dungeon."

A Five-Year Deception, A Lifetime of Payback

A Five-Year Deception, A Lifetime of Payback

Romance

5.0

I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved. On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there. I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera. She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning. I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine. "She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad." My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family. "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you." The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.

His Betrayal, Her Unborn Child

His Betrayal, Her Unborn Child

Modern

5.0

My family was a masterpiece, but underneath, it was rotting. We were the envy of the art world, with my formidable mother, respected father, and charming brother. And then there was me, Chloe, the sensitive artist they cultivated like a prized orchid. But I felt the chill of a long-buried secret, making me a stranger in my own home. Then I met Liam, an architect who built solid things, and for the first time, I felt seen. His love was a warm room in my cold house, and when I became pregnant, I imagined our perfect future. "We're pregnant," I whispered to him, and his face lit up with overwhelming joy. He became the doting husband, planning our child' s future, a warmth I' d craved my whole life. Life was perfect, until the prenatal genetic screening results arrived. He stood rigid, staring at his computer, the warmth draining from the room. "Liam, what is it?" I asked, my voice trembling as he turned, his face a mask of cold fury. "We have to get rid of it," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "The baby?" I stammered, unable to process his words. "Don't call it that," he snapped back, demanding I terminate the pregnancy tomorrow. Before I could react, my family walked in, and I rushed to them, crying, "Liam… he wants me to have an abortion! He won't tell me why!" My mother' s perfectly manicured nails dug into my skin, her voice like chipping ice. "He's right, Chloe," she said, her grim resolve mirroring Liam's. "You have to do this," my father added, his tone leaving no room for argument. My brother sneered, "Don't be stupid, Chloe. You can't have this… thing." They closed in, calling my child "unnatural" and "tainted." Their persuasion turned to force, dragging me towards a car that would take me to a clinic. I fought, screamed, and clawed, a wild animal fighting for its young. I escaped into a labyrinth of city alleys, their footsteps pounding behind me. I slipped, crashing hard, and felt a sharp, searing pain. A crimson stain spread across my dress; my baby, my innocent life, was slipping away. My family stood over me, their faces impassive, utterly devoid of love, as I blacked out. I awoke in a sterile mental institution, committed by them. For months, I was a ghost in a white gown, drugged, tormented, chipped away until I died, alone, my family' s secret safe. Then, I opened my eyes. I was in my bed, whole, my stomach flat. I scrambled for my phone; it was the day the genetic test results were due. The day my world had ended. And it was all about to happen again. But this time, I had a memory, a prophecy. I had died, and now I was back, filled with a cold, clear purpose: to get the report, to understand why, and to make them pay.

You'll also like

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

SHANA GRAY
4.6

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.

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Dorine Koestler
4.5

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book