Apache
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Apache's Books and Stories
The Mafia Don's Regret: Too Late To Love
Mafia My husband, the city's most ruthless Don, left me standing at the altar to comfort a woman with a sprained ankle.
I thought our marriage was a protection pact, but when a kidnapper held a knife to his childhood sweetheart’s throat on a rooftop, Cedric made his choice.
He physically shoved me—his pregnant wife—toward the blade to save her.
I survived the fall, but our unborn baby didn't.
Yet, there was no apology.
Blinded by her lies, Cedric accused me of staging the attack out of jealousy. He had me thrown into the family dungeon, where I was beaten while still bleeding from the miscarriage.
He didn't know two things.
First, that his "perfect" sweetheart had voluntarily sterilized herself years ago and could never give him the heir he craved.
Second, that I had terminal cardiomyopathy. My heart had an expiration date, and I had only days left to live.
On my 27th birthday, I asked him for one final kindness: a midnight ride on the Ferris wheel where we had our first date.
He promised to be there, but he was late again, attending to her needs.
So I went up alone.
When the carriage came back down, it was empty.
All I left behind were my shoes and a medical file that would destroy him. Protected By The Enforcer: My Ex-Husband's Regret
Mafia The rejection letter from the private security school arrived on a Tuesday. It stated clearly that the single slot allocated to my son, Danny, had been filled by another boy.
My husband, a high-ranking Capo, had signed away our son’s protection to make room for his mistress’s bastard.
He sneered at me, calling Danny "soft," and sent him to an unguarded cabin in the north to toughen up.
Three days later, the Russians took him.
When the courier arrived, there was no ransom demand. Just a package containing a shred of blue cotton with a green T-Rex, soaked in black, stiff blood.
Tom didn't shed a tear. He poured a scotch, stepped over me as I wept on the floor, and blamed me for coddling the boy.
Overwhelmed by the silence of a house that would never hear my son's laughter again, I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills to escape the pain.
But the darkness didn't last.
I woke up gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs. Sunlight hit my face.
"Mommy?"
Danny stood in the doorway, wearing his dinosaur pajamas, whole and alive.
I looked at the calendar. It was May 15th. The day the letter arrived.
The grief in my chest calcified into cold rage.
I knew about the skimming. I knew about the fake widow status. I knew exactly how to bury my husband.
I picked up the phone and dialed the one number no wife was ever supposed to call directly—the Enforcer.
"I have evidence of treason," I said. "And I'm bringing the proof." Reborn To Ruin: The Mafia Queen's Revenge
Mafia I spent twenty-one years trying to be the perfect Mafia Princess, treating my illegitimate sister, Mia, with nothing but grace.
That kindness is exactly what got me killed.
My husband, Luca, didn't take me on a honeymoon. He dragged me into the soundproof basement of our estate.
Mia was there, too. Not to help me, but to gloat.
She laughed as she admitted to poisoning our mother with arsenic, watching with glee as Luca brought a serrated knife to my chest.
"You were always too soft, Sera," he sneered, carving through my skin while I begged for mercy.
I died in that cold, dark room, choking on my own blood and the bitter taste of betrayal.
But I didn't stay dead.
I woke up gasping for air, clutching a chest that was smooth and unscarred.
The calendar on my nightstand read May 12, 2018.
It was five years ago. The very morning I was scheduled to sign the marriage contract that would seal my fate.
I looked at the paper on the vanity.
In my last life, I signed it with a trembling hand.
This time, I flicked open my silver Zippo and watched the flames eat Luca's name.
I didn't pack a dress. I packed a pistol and a stack of cash.
I was going to Las Vegas.
There was only one man dangerous enough to help me destroy the New York families.
I walked into the underground fight club, locked eyes with the deadliest man in the room, and smiled.
"Dante Cavallaro," I said.
"I'm here to make you a King." Revenge Wears Many Faces: Hers, Mine
Romance Three years. That' s how long I spent in prison, taking the fall for the man I loved, Case Stevens, believing his promise of marriage and a future.
But the moment I walked out, I discovered his sweet words were a meticulously crafted lie, a cruel game orchestrated with my university rival, Blair Kelley, to destroy me and my family.
They humiliated me publicly, forcing me into a mock proposal with a dog, while my father lay dying in a hospital, his care deliberately withdrawn by Case to seize control of our family company.
At my father' s funeral, I learned Blair had mixed his ashes into her "art," a twisted masterpiece she then set ablaze, burning the last physical piece of him. I was beaten by Case' s friends, left for dead, my body broken, my spirit shattered.
I was dying, but a doctor, Axel Everett, offered me a chance at a new life, a chance to become a ghost in the world that had betrayed me. Unwanted Husband, Unstoppable Man
Modern I stood before my instructor, Mr. Harrison, the polished floor reflecting my tired face. I was the lead dancer at Stone Corp's prestigious company, but it felt like a prison. "I need to resign," I said, my voice quiet but steady.
Then, the true reason for my discontent emerged. "I want to divorce her," I confessed, referring to Olivia, the CEO and my wife. She had stopped seeing me as a person, only a means to an end.
My world shattered when I overheard Olivia tell her brother that I had "served my purpose." I was merely a distraction, a "replacement" until Derek Chen, her former fiancé and another dancer, returned. I was a ghost, a stand-in-a role painfully evident as Derek sat beside her at dinner, in the seat that used to be mine.
Weeks turned into a nightmare. Derek orchestrated a scene, faking an injury and accusing me of assault. Olivia, without hesitation, believed him. "You are vile," she hissed. She then slapped me, the sting nothing compared to the ultimate betrayal. I crumpled to the floor, consumed by a familiar, dark terror, remembering her promise to never let anyone hurt me.
Later, I dragged myself from the locked basement where her security team had thrown me. In the hospital, the doctor delivered the final blow: the fall had caused irreversible damage, leaving me unable to have children. The dream of a family, a home, snatched away by the woman who once said, "We are not having children."
A quiet, hollow emptiness settled in me. But I wasn't broken. I was done being a victim. I would get my justice. I would escape my gilded cage. Invisible To Him, Until She Left
Romance October 12th. Another year. Another morning, another silent coffee delivered to Jake Sterling's desk, and another reminder of his glacial indifference. Three years of unrequited hope, of being invisible to the man she worshipped-her commanding officer.
Then, Isabelle Vance, a new agent, arrived, and suddenly Jake transformed: smiles, patience, shared laughter. Ava witnessed a tender interaction at his parents' home, overhearing joyful whispers about "wedding venues" and a "spring wedding." The world tilted. The crushing reality that he was marrying someone else, someone he showed warmth and kindness to, while she received only cold disdain and public humiliation, shattered her.
The pain was a physical wound, and the injustice burned. Why had he treated her with such cruelty, only to lavish affection on Isabelle? Why was she always the target of his harshness? The constant push and pull, the mixed signals – a sudden kind gesture out of uniform, then a brutal dressing-down back at the office – it all made no sense.
She couldn' t endure it anymore. Her heart, once full of desperate hope, was now a hollow, aching void. There was nothing left.
A final, desperate act: Ava requested a transfer to Cinder Peak, a remote, forgotten outpost. She was leaving. She was walking away from him, from this unit, from everything that had defined her for years. Little did she know, her painful escape was just the beginning of a far more dangerous and complicated journey. Grand Theft Fiancée
Romance The day I was supposed to pick up my fully restored vintage Ford Bronco, a symbol of my hard-earned success, I was blindsided.
My fiancée, Gabby, whom I trusted implicitly, appeared in a viral TikTok video handing my dream car-a sky-blue masterpiece-to her ex-boyfriend, Wesley, for his 30th birthday, all for online clout.
The comments section exploded with praise for her "generosity," while my world tilted. She hadn' t just given away my car; she had stolen a piece of my success and gifted it to another man, publicly humiliating me.
It wasn't just the blatant theft and the shocking disrespect; it was the audacious lie, the sheer betrayal in front of the entire internet. How could someone I was about to marry be so public and brazen with her deceit, turning my private milestone into a weapon against me?
But instead of despairing, a chilling clarity settled over me. I pulled up the car's title, screenshot the police report I' d just filed for grand theft auto, and commented on her viral video, "Glad you like my Bronco. The Austin PD has been notified... See you soon." The game was on. A Million Dollar Bluff
Romance The air was thick with the smell of barbecue, but my stomach was churning with dread.
My upscale Austin life was supposed to merge with my fiancé Ryan's small-town roots this Thanksgiving weekend, finalizing our wedding plans.
But then Ryan's family started a poker game, and my father, a notorious soft touch after a few bourbons, lost everything.
Every cent of the $200,000 wedding fund I' d given him for safekeeping was gone, wiped out in one night.
Ryan, instead of comforting me, put on a masterclass of manipulation, shaming my father and threatening to call off the wedding, using "tradition" as an excuse.
His whole family watched, smug and complicit, as if I was the problem, not their pathetic, greedy scheme.
The humiliation was suffocating, crushing not just me, but my parents too, turning a celebratory weekend into a public shaming.
How could the man I was about to marry betray me so completely, letting his family fleece mine, then blaming us?
But as my mother begged me to leave, a cold resolve settled in my gut, hardening into steel: I wasn't leaving until I' d taken back what was mine.
I walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and calmly declared, "I want to play." The Ivy League Curse
Young Adult I was a scholarship kid, grinding daily for a shot at the Ivy Leagues, my entire future resting on those SAT scores.
My best friend, Ethan, had just given me this vintage 'good luck' watch, and my other best friend, Chloe, was like family-always in my corner.
Then the practice SAT results dropped.
My scores, usually stellar, had crashed to zero, while Ethan, who barely passed, was suddenly top of the class.
That's when I overheard Chloe, my 'sister from another mister,' confessing.
She' d given me Ethan' s 'lucky' watch, not for my good fortune, but to transfer mine to him. Because I was 'in his way.'
The betrayal was a gut punch.
This wasn't luck-sharing; it was a score-sucking curse.
First, my grades vanished, then my scholarship was revoked after Chloe framed me for plagiarism-a move that sent my already fragile mom to the hospital.
To top it off, Chloe, the 'family' I trusted, dumped me in a dark alley to be beaten almost senseless by a jock and his crew, just to protect Ethan.
Lying broken, abandoned, and stripped of everything, I couldn' t grasp the cruelty.
My best friend, my 'sister'-how could they orchestrate such a calculated downfall? Was this just about Ivy League dreams, or something far more sinister? Was I merely a pawn to be discarded? And what kind of 'good luck charm' destroys lives?
But beneath the pain, a cold resolve hardened.
I found Marcus, the mysterious man who' d warned me about the watch.
He promised a way to break the curse, to make them pay.
My future, my mom, my very identity-it all hung in the balance. This wasn't just about getting my life back; it was about exposing the darkness, and making sure justice found its true mark. Unforgiven: A Love Betrayed
Modern For seven years, I was Sarah Miller, dating Senator Ethan Bailey, my life a meticulously crafted lie for a shadowy organization.
I was nearing my triumph, about to secure his loyalty.
Then, a shattered glass, scattered files. Ethan' s furious roar echoed: "A. God. Damn. Assignment?"
Our entire relationship, a carefully woven deception, was exposed.
My D.C. career turned to ash. Ostracized and radioactive, I thought hope arrived in Mark Thorne, but his 'devotion' was another twisted lie, a calculated tactic fueled by his obsession for Ethan' s new wife, Victoria.
Victoria unleashed a horrifying campaign of torment: public humiliations, framed corruption, a deepfake.
She called my murdered assistant, Izzy, a "loose end." Worst of all, Mark, cold and brutal, snapped the neck of my only solace, my dog Buster.
How could my life become a landscape of such profound betrayal and calculated cruelty? Every supposed kindness, every bond, revealed as a sickening deception.
Shattered and broken, I whispered one word to Aegis: "Extraction."
My past memories were wiped clean.
I awoke as Amy Peterson, free in a quiet Maine town.
But the man who destroyed me, Mark Thorne, was unknowingly given an Aegis "Redemption Mandate," sent to earn my love, unaware I' m finally truly protected from his lies. Whispers of a Dark Prophecy
Young Adult I clutched my Yale application, a symbol of hope amidst the stifling air of my own home. My parents, my brother, and my childhood friend Jake stood before me, a picture of familial expectation.
But I heard their thoughts, a chaotic chorus of fear and malice. "Lock her down. Save Chloe," my father thought. Jake proposed eloping, ostensibly for love, but their true motives were horrifying: to stop me from going to college, to prevent me from 'destroying Chloe' s future' – all based on a 'prophet' s' twisted premonitions about me.
My refusal ignited their true rage. They stripped me of my agency, condemning my ambition as a 'dark path' to protect their 'blessed' Chloe. Every success I had ever achieved they twisted into a tool for villainy. My chronic illness, initially dismissed as 'drama,' became their excuse for outright torture: confinement, forced sedatives, and a dog leash chained to my ankle. They genuinely believed I had to be stopped, by any means necessary.
How could a family be so utterly consumed by such a delusional prophecy, twisting every fiber of their love into a suffocating paranoia? How could they view me, their own daughter, as a malevolent force simply for wanting a future? The betrayal from Jake, someone I once crushed on, cut deeper than their predictable malice, as he chose their twisted narrative over me.
But even held captive, my will wasn't broken. With my last ounce of strength, I penned a desperate 'SOS,' pressing it into Chloe's hand. This was my final gamble, my last hope to break free, to expose their monstrous delusion, and to reclaim my destiny, even if it cost me everything. A Mother's Impossible Sacrifice
Billionaires Nine months pregnant, I walked into another one of my husband's lavish galas, the latest accessory in his perfectly curated, yet utterly broken, life.
When premature labor struck, triggered by his blatant disregard, he simply sneered, telling me not to be 'dramatic,' while I was left to face a life-threatening delivery alone in a sterile hospital room, his phone conveniently off at a party with his secretary.
Lying in the hospital bed, watching his latest public indiscretion flash across my TV screen, I made the agonizing choice to give up my newborn son, Leo, convinced he' d be better off with the Caldwell fortune than with a broken mother like me.
The system failed me, and I couldn't bear the thought of my tiny, vulnerable son enduring a life of instability because of me, a mother with no resources and no family.
So I vanished, changing my name and leaving behind Sarah Caldwell, believing my sacrifice was the only way to shield Leo from the poison of his father's name.
But just as I' d rebuilt a quiet life, two years later, he walked into my new bakery, Leo in his arms, and a single, innocent word from our son - 'Mama!' - shattered my carefully constructed peace, demanding I once again deny the love I desperately craved. A Mother's Scorched Earth
Modern My seven-year-old, Ethan, was my whole world, a sensitive boy whose eyes held the wonder of distant galaxies and whose laughter filled our lives. But beneath that joy lay a constant fear: his severe, life-threatening peanut allergy. Weekend handovers at his father Mark' s perfectly manicured, magazine-worthy backyard were always a tightrope walk.
One scorching afternoon, a pristine ornamental tree lost a branch, triggering a terrifying chain of events. Mark, egged on by his new girlfriend Chloe, forced Ethan to dig a stubborn tree stump in the cruel sun, all while Chloe lounged nearby, casually eating peanuts. Soon, Ethan was gasping for air, clutching his throat, his face turning splotchy red.
As I scrambled for the EpiPen, screaming for Mark to call 911, he grabbed my arm, dismissing it as "overdramatic," convinced I was panicking. Precious, agonizing seconds ticked by as he held me back, until my precious boy collapsed, blue-lipped and lifeless. Later that day, while Ethan lay in the morgue, Mark was gleefully celebrating a gender reveal for his new baby with Chloe, dismissing our son's death as mere "unpleasantness." He then heartlessly threw Ethan' s most treasured toy, his grandfather's vintage X-Wing, into the trash, trying to erase his existence entirely.
My grief was an open wound, yet his callous detachment, his immediate celebration, and Chloe's cold triumph were an unimaginable torment. How could the man who once checked every food label now call my son's tragic death "unpleasantness"? How could I be forced to film a humiliating apology video, publicly blaming myself, just to be free?
But then, a hidden surveillance video from the backyard cameras, secretly kept by his parents' housekeeper, surfaced. It laid bare Mark's fatal inaction, Chloe' s deliberate malice with peanuts, and exposed the shocking lie that Chloe's unborn child wasn't even his. Now, armed with undeniable proof, I was ready to pursue justice for Ethan, guided by the dreams he left in his cherished Space Journal. Wedding Day’s Final Drop
Billionaires My billionaire father, Arthur Vanderbilt II, constantly pressured me to choose a bride from the brilliant women of our Foundation Scholars program.
My focus, however, was stubbornly fixed on the enigmatic and beautiful Isabelle Hayes, convinced she was the one.
But then, I overheard an intimate conversation between Isabelle and her supposed younger brother, Leo, discovering their illicit affair and calculating plan to exploit our family's fortune.
My heartbreak quickly turned to fury as I uncovered a web of deceit: the other Scholars were actively mocking me, and Isabelle herself sabotaged me in a polo match, causing serious injury.
The public humiliation escalated at the Met Gala when Isabelle, a master hacker, froze my accounts and then mockingly covered my immense philanthropic pledge, all to elevate Leo and further disgrace me.
I was left reeling from their calculated gaslighting and the profound injustice, struggling to comprehend how deeply I’d been betrayed by the very people my family had uplifted.
But Leo’s final, vulgar taunt – a video flaunting Isabelle’s twisted devotion to him, followed by a crude offer of other Scholars – ignited an uncontrollable rage, solidifying my decision: they would all pay. You might like
After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet 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. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY 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. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff 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. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything
Rabbit My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune.
For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me."
He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster.
He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous.
The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built. 
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