No Mercy for the Past

His Lover's Dawn, My Cold Floor

For three years, my estranged husband, Dayton Cole, paraded his childhood sweetheart around while I upheld our billion-dollar family merger. His latest hotel scandal splashed across the news, and I was once again called to clean up his mess, playing the part of the devoted wife. But this time was different. My best friend handed me divorce papers, urging me to finally choose myself. Yet, Dayton cornered me, using my family's ambitions as leverage. He demanded I maintain our charade for three more months-a performance that included sharing his bed. He'd humiliate me, calling me a tool for his family's image, then turn around and whisper that I was a beautiful woman he couldn't let go of. His jealousy flared when another man showed me kindness, yet he spent his nights rushing to his lover's side. The ultimate degradation came when he forced me to sleep on the floor of our shared room at his family's estate, declaring he had no desire for a wife who didn't want him. But in the dead of night, as I shivered on the cold floor, I felt his arms wrap around me, his lips brush my temple in a secret, tender gesture. I woke up alone, the warmth gone. A quick check of social media showed a new post from his sweetheart, thanking her "quiet strength" for being there at sunrise. That was the moment everything snapped. The game was over. He could have his fragile flower. I was taking back my life.

The Alpha King's Erased Mate

My fated mate, Alpha Liam, called our love a fairytale blessed by the Moon Goddess. But fairytales are lies. I discovered his was a pregnant mistress he publicly called "my queen." She sent me selfies wearing the sacred Mating necklace he gave me, while our pack whispered I was just the "bloodline problem" to be handled once his true heir was born. So on our anniversary, I handed him a gift. Inside were divorce papers and my official rejection. Then, I disappeared.

Jilted Bride, Shattered Illusion

For four years, I sponsored an artist from Queens, Demetrius Rogers. I paid his mother's medical bills, sent his sister to prep school, and funded his entire career, turning him from a nobody into a star. I did it all because he was the spitting image of my dead fiancé. Tomorrow was our wedding. But tonight, standing outside his family's home, I overheard the truth. He was plotting with his high school girlfriend, Cayla, to leave me at the altar. He never loved me; it was all for the money. His mother, whose life I saved, called me arrogant and said I looked down on them. His sister, whose future I paid for, said she only ever wanted Cayla as her sister-in-law. Cayla demanded that he not only leave me, but publicly humiliate me in front of everyone. And Demetrius, the man whose world I had built from nothing, agreed. I had tried to buy a substitute for a dead man, and this was the price. They thought I was a fool to be used and discarded. But they were wrong. The next morning, I recorded a video. "Demetrius," I said to the camera, "I know your plan to leave me at the altar. I'm saving you the trouble. I'm leaving you first." I sent the video to be played at the church just as the ceremony was to begin, then boarded a one-way flight to London.

The Unburnt Man's Revenge

The smell of gasoline and the horrifying image of my own son, Leo, smirking as he flicked a lighter, consumed me in my last moments. My wife, Olivia, stood beside him, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. In that agonizing instant, I learned the bitter truth: Leo wasn't my son, but the product of IVF with Alex, Olivia's childhood love, a man supposedly long dead. I had spent three decades building an empire for Olivia's family, the Millers, out of gratitude for them taking in an orphan. All for a love that was a lie. Olivia confessed her secret, revealing how she had always loved Alex and despised me, the obstacle to her true happiness. The flames roared, my silent scream lost in the inferno. I died burning, betrayed by the woman I cherished and the son I raised, a fool who had wasted his entire existence. But then, I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses and champagne. I was standing in a lavish suite, wearing a tuxedo. My body felt young, strong, unblemished. It was my wedding night, thirty years ago. Olivia, panicked, snatched her buzzing phone. "It's Alex," she whispered, "He says he's going to jump." She looked at me, not with love, but with raw, desperate fear for another man. Her father burst in, forbidding her to leave. She froze, then reluctantly agreed, blaming me with her eyes for the life she was forced into. My throat burned with the memory of the fire. I remembered every sacrifice-my ambitions, my eighteen-hour days, raising Leo. A son who wasn' t mine. A life built on deceit. A death born of her twisted obsession. She slapped me, her words meant to humiliate. "Say something, you pathetic social climber!" This time, things would be different. I caught her wrist. "No." I would not be the devoted husband or sacrificial lamb. My past was a brutal lesson. This time, I would save myself. I released her wrist. "The wedding is off."

The Son Who Broke Her

Tomorrow was my thirteenth wedding anniversary. I found a receipt in Mark's suit pocket for two at The Oak Room, our spot, sparking a small, hopeful smile that he remembered. I planned a surprise, baking his favorite lemon cake and wearing the blue dress he loved, driving downtown to meet him. But he wasn't inside the restaurant. He was across the street, entering the St. Regis Hotel with Emily Stone, his first love and now his indispensable secretary. Her tinkling laugh, his gentle smile – a betrayal that hit harder than any physical blow. The cake box became heavy, my dress felt cheap. I dialed his number, but my son, Alex, answered, annoyed. He dismissed my concerns, defending his father's "meeting" and calling me disruptive. "Just stay home," he ordered, before hanging up and blocking my number. That night, Mark returned, echoing Alex's accusations, calling me a spy and telling me to "know my place." He forced me onto the balcony during a storm, demanding I "think about my role." The next morning, feverish and aching, I placed divorce papers before him. He scoffed, mocking my pain and easily claiming full custody of Alex. Alex, summoned by Mark, delivered the final, crushing blow: "I'm a Jenkins. I'm not her son." My heart, a block of ice, shattered. That day, as I crawled away, left to bleed on the driveway by the son I raised and the husband I loved, I realized I had endured affairs, neglect, and belittling. But this? This was the end. The final, brutal severing. From that moment on, a new resolve hardened within me: I would reclaim my life, piece by painful piece, leaving them to their perfect, hollow existence.

The Unseen War

My parents bought me a quiet condo, a soft landing after Afghanistan and the psych facility, a place where I hoped to rebuild my life with my familiar hobby of miniature painting. My first package of rare, custom miniatures arrived, bringing a rare flicker of excitement, but it was quickly extinguished by the mailroom manager, Barney Oliver, who tried to extort a bogus fee. Before I could process his blatant scam, his ten-year-old grandson, Caleb, snatched my package, mocked my hobby, and snapped a precious figure in half, unleashing a surge of controlled rage within me that felt terrifyingly close to breaking. My parents pulled me away from the brink, but the feeling of being violated in my sanctuary, especially by a slimy old man and his cruel grandson, left a burning injustice simmering just beneath my skin. This wasn't just about money or petty vandalism; it was about reclaiming my peace, and I knew I had to push back, harder than they could possibly imagine.

Too Late, Hubby, I'm The Tycoon's Darling Now!

For three years, Averie pushed herself through a secret marriage, waiting for the day she could finally wear a white dress and be seen as his wife. The night before she could finally walk down the aisle, he confessed without a hint of hesitation that he was marrying the woman who once rescued him instead. The "fake" divorce agreement she signed for him shattered into a real, icy breakup that finally freed her wounded heart. When he returned in remorse, begging for just one more chance, a ruthless business magnate pulled Averie close and muttered coldly, "You're too late. She's my woman now."

After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.

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.

Between Ruin And Resolve: My Ex-Husband's Regret

After two years of marriage, Sadie was finally pregnant. Filled with hope and joy, she was blindsided when Noah asked for a divorce. During a failed attempt on her life, Sadie found herself lying in a pool of blood, desperately calling Noah to ask him to save her and the baby. But her calls went unanswered. Shattered by his betrayal, she left the country. Time passed, and Sadie was about to be wed for a second time. Noah appeared in a frenzy and fell to his knees. "How dare you marry someone else after bearing my child?"

The Phantom Heiress: Rising From The Shadows

Brenna lived with her adoptive parents for twenty years, enduring their exploitation. When their real daughter appeared, they sent Brenna back to her true parents, thinking they were broke. In reality, her birth parents belonged to a top circle that her adoptive family could never reach. Hoping Brenna would fail, they gasped at her status: a global finance expert, a gifted engineer, the fastest racer... Was there any end to the identities she kept hidden? After her fiancé ended their engagement, Brenna met his twin brother. Unexpectedly, her ex-fiancé showed up, confessing his love...

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.