Greyson

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk's office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk's pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray's text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we're done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray's life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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ANASTASIA POV

"Happy birthday, Ana," Bianca says from across me. "Maybe this year you can finally get your hands on some hot man in finance." She giggles, drunk out of her mind.

I shake my head at her, my head spinning, my eyes moving across the crowd of club-goers. Today is my birthday, and by tomorrow my dad is finally allowing me to be his chief finance officer.

"A dream come true," I whisper, downing the last of my drink.

"What?" Bianca lifts a brow in my direction, slowly bobbing her head to the music, her eyes glazed over with champagne.

"I have to use the bathroom," I yell back at her, pushing the stool back unsteadily.

She nods, flinging out two fingers. She points them at me and then back at her eyes, making me laugh.

I nod back at her, moving through the string of people, when the music abruptly stops, and the lights turn into a deep blue, plunging the room into mid-darkness.

I turn around the crowd, and I pause, disoriented from the sudden interruption.

My eyes move to the ceiling. Suddenly, the crowd disperses from the door, and people pull away in awe and fear, disclosing only my form in the middle, the lights reflecting down at me.

I gasp, holding my breath, as a male figure moves toward my still form.

The strong scent of his perfume whiffs into my nose as he passes by.

His face is covered by an old, classy hat, and his eyes are turned away from me, but I can catch his side profile.

Strong jawline and lips that make me breathless. I stumble on the floor, the entire room erupting in a gasp, but the attention is quickly taken off me when the music turns back on, and the gap simply closes like I was never there.

I tumble on the floor as people surround me, but fingers grip mine, pulling me out from the crowd.

I look up, and my eyes settle on a blonde man who walked in with the mystery man.

"Are you good?" he lifts a brow at me, concern on his face.

I choke, breathless. "Yes, I'm fine," I whisper, shaking my head as his form turns slightly blurry, still drunk from the lines of champagne Bianca and I have been gouging on all night.

"Rafaelle!" I hear a sharp voice to the right. He calls out his name swiftly, and his head rises.

My eyes meet with his bright blue eyes. His hair falls over his forehead as he fixes his hat on his head properly.

My heart pounds in my chest at the look in his eyes. He narrows his blue eyes at me, and they move across my form, sliding across my heels, down to my oil-glowing legs, which are covered slightly by the short golden dress Bianca fixed me in for my birthday celebration.

His eyes land on my face, but he swiftly pulls them away and turns to the man he called Rafaelle.

"I will be inside," he says, fixing his hands in his pockets. His long legs cross the floorboards, and he disappears into a back room.

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