Hate Crush Filthy Rich 2 VK

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

Download the Book on the App

The night was mesmerizing, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight that streamed through the expansive windows, casting an ethereal light on the two figures entwined on the bed. Their kisses were heated and desperate, charged with a deep, palpable longing that seemed to fill the room, weaving an air of raw desire around them.

For a fleeting moment, the man's movements faltered. He pulled back slightly, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized the woman beneath him was still a virgin.

Yet before he could process this revelation, slender arms encircled his neck, pulling him closer as her hazy gaze ensnared him—a siren's call woven through the fog of intoxication and primal need. Resistance became impossible under the effect of aphrodisiac and raw desire; with a guttural groan, he surrendered to the night's intoxicating spell.

Morning light crept across the rumpled sheets, coaxing Eleanor Marsh into consciousness. She turned toward the sleeping figure beside her, watching sunlight gild his sculpted features into something almost otherworldly in its perfection.

Memories of their reckless passion flooded back with jarring clarity. She had spent years protecting her virginity, only to give it up so recklessly—and to an escort, no less.

Her lips twisted in bitter amusement. When her bestie mentioned arranging an escort, Eleanor had assumed it was a joke—she never imagined it would come to fruition.

Yet, in the haze of alcohol and the pain of being cast out of her home, she had acted impulsively, surrendering without question.

"Given your extraordinary looks, I suppose I did have my share of fun," Eleanor whispered, her fingertips tracing the man's chiseled jawline with lingering appreciation.

After staring at him for a moment, she withdrew her touch and rose from the bed, her gaze falling upon the crimson trails marking both their skin, silent testaments to their feverish passion.

Without disturbing his slumber, Eleanor dressed with quiet efficiency before placing a sleek black credit card on the nightstand. The door clicked shut with finality behind her.

Only then did the man stir, his eyes snapping open, a sharp glint flashing in them. Slowly, he propped himself up, the sunlight gliding over his sculpted chest and abs.

"Leaving without a word? Quite the player," he mused with a smirk, his gaze landing on the bank card left behind. "So, she thought I was with her for money. That's interesting."

The man reached for his phone, rising with panther-like grace as morning light gilded his sculpted form—a living testament to perfection as if carved by divine hands.

Leaning against the window frame, he dialed with purposeful fingers. "It's me," he said once the call connected, his voice steady and commanding. "I need information on a woman."

Read Now