Chloe, My Only Regret

The Alpha Signed Away His Fated Mate

I stood center stage at my own art exhibition, surrounded by the Pack elite who looked at me with nothing but pity. My husband, the Alpha Prime, was missing. Then someone pointed at the TV. There was Dante, live on the news, shielding another woman—a leggy Beta named Isabella—from the rain with his own body. While I stood alone, treated like a defect because I couldn't shift, he was playing the perfect gentleman to his mistress. That night, I walked into his office with a stack of boring gallery logistics paperwork. Buried deep on page four was a Severance Bond—an archaic law declaring a mate unwanted property. Dante didn't even read it. He was too busy laughing with Isabella to notice he was legally signing away his wife. I took the folder, packed a bag, and vanished into the night, taking the secret of his unborn heir with me. When he finally tracked me down in the Swiss Alps during a blizzard, he expected a submissive wife ready to return. Instead, he found a woman who looked him in the eye and said, "You are not needed here." I thought I was free, until a year later, when our daughter’s blood began to burn her alive from the inside. Her powerful Alpha bloodline was at war with her body, and my magic wasn't enough to save her. Trembling, I dialed the number I swore I’d never call again. "Dante," I sobbed. "It's Luna. She’s dying." The man who once treated me like a resource tore through mountains to save us. But this time, the Alpha Prime didn't come to conquer. He came to kneel.

Drugged, Jilted, Now A Billionaire's Wife

My fiancé of twenty years left me at the altar for another woman, a manipulative liar faking a terminal illness. To grant her "dying wish," he not only demanded a divorce but personally injected me with a drug to ensure I could never have children. On the day he tried to marry her, I entered a proxy marriage with a comatose billionaire to escape-and my new husband woke up.

Reborn Heiress: Dragging Traitors To Hell

The world was a symphony of agony, played on the strings of my own body. I was tied to a chair in a damp basement, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth as my fingernails were ripped from their beds by a pair of rusty pliers. My best friend, Corrine, stepped into the flickering light wearing my favorite Chanel suit and the engagement ring that was supposed to be mine. Beside her, my fiancé Aldo held the pliers, his voice smooth and cultured as he demanded I sign over my entire inheritance to them. As I struggled, a news report flashed on an old TV in the corner: Hunter Gallagher, the man I had treated like dirt but who had always tried to protect me, was dead in a horrific car explosion. Corrine laughed, whispering in my ear that they had lured him to his death using a fake kidnapping tip. He died trying to save me from a trap set by the people I trusted most. They didn't just want my money; they wanted to erase me. They plunged a needle full of heroin into my neck, watching with cold, mocking eyes as my heart hammered against my ribs and finally seized into nothingness. I died in that basement, a blind, spoiled girl who had let her true protector be murdered. As the darkness closed in, my soul burned with a single, silent vow: If I ever get another life, I will drag you both to hell with me. Suddenly, I gasped for air, my lungs fighting against a weight that wasn't there. I wasn't in the basement; I was in my own bed, my fingernails intact and my skin unbroken. I checked my phone, and my heart stopped—it was May 20th, exactly one year before my death. Hunter was still alive, and this time, I wasn't the prey.

His Unwanted Wife, The Unbeatable Lawyer

For three years, I was the perfect Mafia wife. I ensured my husband Jared's suits were impeccable and his public image flawless. I even sat at tables with Russian killers and calmly translated the order to execute a man who betrayed our Family. My value was my composure and my loyalty. The moment an internal memo praised Jared for his 'heroism' during the Mayland Warehouse Massacre, I knew our marriage was over. Because I was the one he'd left to die. The memo was a masterpiece of fiction, claiming he made a split-second decision to protect the Family's "most valuable asset." That asset wasn't me, his wife, who was calmly negotiating with cartel members for our lives. It was Bianca, his fragile mistress, who was crying on the phone in a sector he was ordered to stay out of. When I packed my bags and left, he had the audacity to call me hysterical. "You're my wife," he scoffed. "Was I your wife at Mayland, Jared?" I asked. "Did you think of your wife for even a second while you were running to save your weak little woman?" He was a coward who had ignored a direct order from a Don, and the Family was calling him a hero for it. But I had the proof: a thirty-second recording of his profound dishonor. I wasn't just seeking an annulment. I was petitioning the Commission, and I was going to use that recording to burn his world to the ground.

Mafia Don's Wife: My Sweet Architect Revenge

For years, I was the secret architect behind my fiancé Ethan's success. I even torched my own reputation to cover up his theft, believing he was the love of my life and we were a team. Waking from a car crash he engineered, I overheard his plan. He had not only caused my accident but also orchestrated the "stress" that led to my miscarriage. Now, he was stealing my masterpiece, "Echoes of the City," and planning a public proposal to trap me in a gilded cage. At the gala, he left me on stage mid-proposal, the ring clattering to the floor, to rush to his mistress's side. At another party, after she told me he was "relieved" I'd lost our baby, I confronted him. He shoved me hard, sending me sprawling to the floor in front of everyone before walking away with her. Lying there, humiliated, I realized he didn't see me as a person. I was just a tool to be used and discarded. The love I felt for him didn't just break; it turned into a cold, dark void. But he made one mistake. He forgot about the one man in the city he truly feared, a powerful Don who had once praised my work. I picked up my phone and sent a single, desperate text to his rival: "This is Sarah Jenkins. I need your help."

Deserted Wife, Billionaire's Regret

My anniversary flight was about to board when my husband' s assistant, Chloe, appeared, tears streaming down her face, begging for my ticket because her mother was supposedly dying. It was absurd, but I told her to find another way, unaware of the trap I was walking into. When I arrived home, my husband, Liam, confronted me, accusing me of abandoning Chloe. He then offered me a glass of water, which, unbeknownst to me, was drugged. I woke up alone, stranded in a scorching desert, the sun a blazing inferno above me. A helicopter appeared overhead, and I saw Liam with Chloe, who was holding a phone, livestreaming my torment with the hashtag #AvaWalksTheDesert. They boasted about my family' s supposed bankruptcy and ordered me to apologize to Chloe. When I refused, Liam' s bodyguards took my shoes, leaving me barefoot on the burning sand, where rusty nails were then dumped in front of me. I forced myself to walk, nails piercing my feet, leaving a trail of blood. The doctor on board screamed that I was losing too much blood, but Liam was unconcerned. Then, a sack of highly venomous desert vipers was dumped in my path, preying on my deepest fear. I stood frozen, paralyzed by terror, as one viper slithered toward me and bit my calf. The doctor cried out for antivenom, but Chloe "accidentally" knocked the vial, shattering it. Liam, more concerned with his pride and the livestream than my life, demanded I apologize to Chloe and the camera for his "show." "Never," I rasped, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Just as Liam' s bodyguards forced me to my knees, a military-grade helicopter descended from the sky.

Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine

I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting." When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home. Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name. He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal. I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing. As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life.

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.

My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret

My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine. Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family. To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset. They both thought I was a broken doll they could control. I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice. She sang it, and now her career is over. Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground.

The Billionaire's Cold And Bitter Betrayal

I had just survived a private jet crash, my body a map of violet bruises and my lungs still burning from the smoke. I woke up in a sterile hospital room, gasping for my husband's name, only to realize I was completely alone. While I was bleeding in a ditch, my husband, Adam, was on the news smiling at a ribbon-cutting ceremony. When I tracked him down at the hospital's VIP wing, I didn't find a grieving husband. I found him tenderly cradling his ex-girlfriend, Casie, in his arms, his face lit with a protective warmth he had never shown me as he carried her into the maternity ward. The betrayal went deeper than I could have imagined. Adam admitted the affair started on our third anniversary-the night he claimed he was stuck in London for a merger. Back at the manor, his mother had already filled our planned nursery with pink boutique bags for Casie's "little princess." When I demanded a divorce, Adam didn't flinch. He sneered that I was "gutter trash" from a foster home and that I'd be begging on the streets within a week. To trap me, he froze my bank accounts, cancelled my flight, and even called the police to report me for "theft" of company property. I realized then that I wasn't his partner; I was a charity case he had plucked from obscurity to manage his life. To the Hortons, I was just a servant who happened to sleep in the master bedroom, a "resilient" woman meant to endure his abuse in silence while the whole world laughed at the joke that was my marriage. Adam thought stripping me of his money would make me crawl back to him. He was wrong. I walked into his executive suite during his biggest deal of the year and poured a mug of sludge over his original ten-million-dollar contracts. Then, right in front of his board and his mistress, I stripped off every designer thread he had ever paid for until I was standing in nothing but my own silk camisole. "You can keep the clothes, Adam. They're as hollow as you are." I grabbed my passport, turned my back on his billions, and walked out of that glass tower barefoot, bleeding, and finally free.

My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

Celestial Queen: Revenge Is Sweet When You're A Zillionaire Heiress

After being kicked out of her home, Harlee learned she wasn't the biological daughter of her family. Rumors had it that her impoverished biological family favored sons and planned to profit from her return. Unexpectedly, her real father was a zillionaire, catapulting her into immense wealth and making her the most cherished member of the family. While they anticipated her disgrace, Harlee secretly held design patents worth billions. Celebrated for her brilliance, she was invited to mentor in a national astronomy group, drew interest from wealthy suitors, and caught the eye of a mysterious figure, ascending to legendary status.