Divorce Following Pregnancy

The Unshackled: A Hacker's Retribution

On the night of her twenty-sixth birthday, Eliana Walker pushed her wheelchair through bar after bar, scouring every club in sight. It wasn't until she received a call from the police station that her search for Lucien Lane came to an end. "Is this Ms. Walker? Mr. Lane got drunk and started a fight. We need you to come down here." After hanging up, Eliana rubbed warmth into her stiff fingers, unsure whether to feel relief or sorrow. Before dawn, she finally reached the police station, just in time to see Lucien erupting in fury, "Who the hell told you to call her? Sure, she saved my life-but those useless crippled legs have shackled me for ten damn years! If she weren't Ethan's sister, I would've thrown a few million at her to be done with it long ago!" Shards from the shattered bottle sprayed through the air, one slashing across Eliana's face. Her face was slick with wetness-she couldn't tell if it was blood or tears. With trembling hands, Eliana dialed a number. She drew in a deep breath, her voice resolute, "Send out the message worldwide, the Anonymous hacker alliance will no longer offer any support to Lucien Lane's company. If any hackers want to test the strength of Lane Corporation's firewall, be my guest."

Addicted To My Genius Assassin Wife

My entire family was slaughtered three years ago by Alistair Kirkland, the usurper who stole the underworld throne. I was the only survivor. Smuggled out of New York as a child, I was trained in the shadows to become a flawless weapon. Now, at sixteen, I returned to the city that was supposed to be my graveyard. But the New York I returned to was a suffocating cage. Kirkland didn't just wipe out the Valenzuela bloodline; he branded my few surviving loyalists as traitors. He paraded my men down the streets in heavy iron chains, letting the very people we once protected hurl rocks at them. He bought the doctors, ensuring my wounded soldiers would bleed out in the dark. Even worse, the mother of my only ally—Julian Morgan—secretly sold us out to a Chicago warlord just to keep her archaic grip on power. I stood in the shadows, watching an eleven-year-old boy get his head smashed with a jagged stone just for defending his father's honor. How could the city my grandfather built cheer for our extermination? Why did the old guard prefer to cower and die in the dark rather than fight the monster who stole our home? "Ghosts don't knock on my door, Athena. What do you want?" Julian asked me. I tossed a blood-stained ledger of Kirkland's deepest secrets onto his desk. "I'm here to help you take back what's yours, and burn Alistair Kirkland's empire to the ground."

Too Late To Beg: The Don's Regret

I was still bleeding into the mesh underwear the hospital gave me when the photos hit the internet: my husband, the Don, forcing his tongue down his mistress's throat. Three days ago, that very mistress had shoved me off a yacht. I lost the baby. I lost my uterus. I was left completely barren. Yet, when my husband finally called, it wasn't to ask if I was alive. "The press is eating us alive," Dante barked through the phone. "Send a gift basket to Sofia. Fix this mess." To make matters worse, his grandmother stood at the foot of my bed, holding the hand of the daughter they had stolen from me at birth. "Mommy looks like a ghost," my daughter said, her voice devoid of love. That was the moment the last ember of affection died. I realized I wasn't a wife to them; I was just a broken vessel. So, when they sneered that I was useless, I didn't cry. I pulled a black USB drive from under my pillow and threw it on the bed. "Divorce papers," I said calmly. "And the complete security blueprints of the Moretti Fortress. Every blind spot. Every tunnel I designed." "Sign the papers and let me go, or I sell this drive to your enemies for one dollar." I left the country with nothing but the clothes on my back, vanishing into a freezing attic in Paris. I thought I was finally free. But three weeks later, Dante kicked down my door, looking at my poverty with horror. "Come home," he begged, tossing a box of diamonds onto my drafting table. "We can be a family." I looked at the man who had destroyed me and opened the window. "You're looking for the girl who loved you," I whispered, throwing the diamonds into the trash alley below. "But you killed her."

Runaway Mistress: The Mafia Boss Begs On His Knees

The heavy steel door of the industrial meat locker slammed shut, sealing me in at four degrees below zero. Ten minutes ago, I was the woman Dante Moretti promised to burn the world for. Now, I was the rat accused of poisoning his heir. Dante didn’t just lock me in. He looked at me with eyes devoid of warmth and said, "Evidence says otherwise." He chose the lie of his arranged wife, Sofia, over my truth. For months, I endured the price of loving the Underboss. I watched him marry Sofia in a grand ceremony to secure a family alliance. I let him force me onto a table to drain my blood to save her life when she was injured. I took twenty lashes from his family’s enforcers, all while he stood by and watched, claiming it was necessary to "protect" me. He told me to wait. He told me the marriage was a sham. But when I finally escaped and he came chasing after me, revealing that Sofia was a fraud and he wanted me back, I didn't feel relief. I felt nothing. Even after he threw his body over mine to save me from a collapsing building, taking a jagged shard of timber through his chest, I couldn't forgive him. In the hospital, his mother handed me his journal. It was filled with entries about his undying love for me, written on the very same days he allowed me to be tortured. "Tell him the debt is paid," I told his mother as I handed the book back. "He saved my life. I saved his child. We are even." I turned my back on the ICU and walked out into the rain. Dante Moretti might have been willing to die for me, but he never knew how to live for me.

The Mafia King's Unwanted Wife Shines

My husband ordered me to turn around and face the altar. He unbuckled his heavy leather belt, his eyes cold and devoid of mercy. "You need to learn respect," Dante spat. He whipped me in the family chapel until my back was a bloody mess. All because his mistress, Sofia, had framed me for breaking his grandfather's urn. He didn't ask for the truth. He didn't hesitate. He just wanted to punish the wife he considered a burden. As the belt tore into my skin, I didn't scream. I just counted the memories dying. He didn't know I was the one who dove into the frozen lake to save him in high school. He didn't know I was the one who took a knife for him during the ambush. He believed Sofia's lies that she was his savior. I had loved him for ten years. I had bled for him. And in return, he scarred me permanently for a crime I didn't commit. That night, I didn't tend to my wounds. I packed my bags, signed the divorce papers, and swore on the Code of Omertà to never love him again. Three years later, Dante found my old diary hidden under the floorboards. He read the truth about who really saved him, and realized he had tortured his guardian angel. He found me in Paris, fell to his knees in a crowded hotel lobby, and begged for forgiveness with tears in his eyes. I looked at the man who broke me and smiled. "Lie down and die, Dante," I said softly. "Because I have a life to live."

His Apathy, Her Freedom's Dawn

I thought my arranged marriage to the ruthless tycoon Axel Flynn was a love story when he risked his life to save mine. But when his fragile childhood friend, Alicia, arrived, I saw the truth. He would panic if she got a paper cut, but he didn't bat an eye when I jumped out of planes. With his blessing, she stole my company, my life' s work. At my own birthday party, he announced her as the new director. When I screamed the truth, he had me drugged. He threw me into a dark isolation room in the basement for three days, with no food or water, because Alicia claimed I was "unstable." He dragged me out, weak and broken, and demanded I get on my knees to apologize to the woman who had destroyed me. I finally understood. His "love" was never love. It was apathy. He simply didn't care if I lived or died. So, after he believed her final, vicious lie and left me for dead, I took the divorce papers he'd carelessly signed and walked away. This time, for good.

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.

Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen

Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her. On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back. Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city. Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him. "I'm sorry. Please give me another chance." She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married."

While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

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.

In Bed With My Ex's Brother-in-Law

He left her on the streets. His brother-in-law picked her up. and made her his wife. On the day her ex, Mark, married the wealthy socialite Bella, Elena was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on her back-humiliated, broken, and utterly alone. Until Eric Thompson appeared. Bella's older brother. Mark's powerful brother-in-law. And the most feared Alpha in the city. He offered her a hand when no one else would. Then, he offered her a deal: A marriage in name only. A shield against her past. A chance to rebuild. Elena accepted, expecting a cold arrangement between strangers. But behind closed doors, Eric's carefully guarded control unraveled-and so did hers. Their chemistry was explosive, their nights intense, and the lines between business and pleasure blurred beyond recognition. He was the one man she could never have. and the only one she couldn't resist. But when Mark realizes what he truly lost, and Bella discovers the secret behind her brother's bride, Elena must decide: Is this just a contract? Or is this the love she was always meant to fight for?

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.