Bu Gui
12 Published Stories
Bu Gui's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Cruel Secret Contract Marriage Deal
Modern Imogen lived her life as a servant in her own home, scrubbing floors for foster parents who treated her existence like a bad debt. Her only escape was a hidden sketchbook filled with architectural designs, a secret world she kept tucked away in a utility closet.
The nightmare peaked when her foster father tried to sell her to her abusive ex-boyfriend for five thousand dollars. When she refused, he drew blood with a slap and threw her into a midnight storm, threatening to burn her passport and birth certificate if she ever returned.
Drenched and terrified, she accidentally dove into a luxury sedan instead of her Uber. She fled the mysterious, cold-eyed passenger in a panic, but she left her suitcase behind—taking her clothes, her ID, and her life's work with it.
The next morning, she went to meet a "dentist" for a forced marriage arrangement, only to find the man from the car waiting for her. He claimed he was just a low-level IT guy, offering her a marriage contract to help her recover her documents and escape her family's reach.
She didn't understand why a simple coder handled her violent ex with such brutal, practiced efficiency. She didn't know why he looked at her sketches like they were worth millions, but with forty dollars in her pocket and a bruised face, she agreed to be his "business partner" wife.
The lie collapsed during a nursing shift at a VIP hospital wing. She walked into a room to find her "IT guy" standing there in a thousand-dollar suit, looking every bit the billionaire heir he’d sworn he wasn't.
"Grandma," Gael said, pulling Imogen against him as he faced the matriarch of the Fuller empire. "This isn't just the nurse. This is Imogen, my fiancée."
Trapped in his arms, Imogen realized she hadn't found a way out. She had just traded her foster family’s basement for a billionaire’s golden cage. The Gamma's Betrayal, The Alpha's Vengeful Mate
Werewolf For five years, I loved my fated mate, Lucian. As the Alpha's daughter, I used my influence to raise him from a low-status warrior to our pack's third-in-command. I believed our bond was a gift from the Moon Goddess.
That belief shattered when Rogues ambushed me on patrol. I screamed for him through our mind-link as they held a silver knife to my throat, but he never answered. I later learned he ignored my pleas while he was in bed with my half-sister.
When I confronted him at a pack ball, he publicly humiliated me before slapping me across the face. After I uttered the words to reject him, he had me arrested and thrown into the dungeons.
On his orders, the prisoners tortured me for days. They starved me, cut me with silver, and left me tied to a stone pillar in the cold. The man I had given my soul to wanted me utterly broken.
Lying on that filthy floor, I finally understood. He never loved me; he only loved the power I gave him.
Three months later, I invited him to my Mating Ceremony. He arrived beaming, believing this was his grand reconciliation. He watched from the front row as I walked down the aisle, turned my back on him, and placed my hand in that of a powerful rival Alpha—my true, Second Chance Mate. This wasn't forgiveness. This was revenge. Her Death, Their Sinful Secret
Young Adult The first time Chloe died, I wasn't there.
I was in the library, trying to finish a paper, when a text from our friend Emily shattered my world: "Something happened at the dorm. Come back. Now."
I ran, only to find flashing lights and yellow tape around our building. Emily, pale and shaking, whispered the horror: "It' s Chloe. She… she fell."
The university moved with chilling speed, declaring it a tragic suicide, scrubbing every trace of her from our room as if she never existed. My best friend, gone.
But I knew Chloe. She wouldn't just jump. The bruises, the whispered phone calls to a blocked number that made her face tighten with fear-they screamed something else.
I tried to tell the police, but they dismissed it, already closing the case. The university wanted me quiet, gone, just like Chloe' s memory.
In a haze of grief and rage, I remembered her hidden burner phone and secret journal. I knew they held the truth. That night, I snuck back into our room, found them, and a terrifyingly large man in a dark suit appeared, attacking me.
I woke up with a throbbing head, confused, but the buzzing alarm clock confirmed it: Wednesday, 7:00 AM. May 18th.
Then I saw her. Chloe, alive, humming at her desk. I had woken up three days in the past.
This was my second chance. I could save her.
But I failed. Even knowing, even running, I was too late. I watched her fall again, this time on a Wednesday.
Despair threatened to swallow me whole, but then a cold, hard determination set in. They had taken everything the first time, covered it up. Not this time.
I couldn't save her life, but I could get justice. And the key was the phone and the journal-still hidden where I' d left them in the original timeline.
When university officials, including Dean Peterson and the terrifying man who attacked me, burst into my room to silence me, I had a choice. Beg for help? Or fight back?
I dialed 911, then deliberately smashed the window, screaming for real police attention.
When they finally arrived, I knew my physical evidence was gone. Dean Peterson's smug face confirmed it.
So, I played my last card. I looked the officer dead in the eye and said, "I pushed her. I killed my best friend."
It was a monstrous lie, a suicide bomb of a confession, but it forced their hand. A suicide they could bury; a murder, they had to investigate.
Sitting in the interrogation room, recounting the nightmare to Detective Anderson, the impossible truth started to break through. He listened, he saw the inconsistencies, and for the first time, someone believed me.
Chloe's journal and the burner phone, retrieved by my bewildered friend Emily, laid bare the horrifying truth: Dean Peterson was pimping out vulnerable female students, including Chloe, to powerful, wealthy university trustees like the HIV-positive Mr. Thompson.
Chloe's death wasn't suicide; it was murder, a desperate escape from a web of abuse and control.
My false confession cost me my freedom, my reputation, my sanity, but it ignited a firestorm. The corrupt system crumbled, Thompson and Peterson jailed for life.
Standing at Chloe' s grave, the fight over, I knew for the first time: we did it. We changed her story. And no one else would suffer like her again. My Wedding Night, Her Vengeance
Horror My wedding night was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
Instead, my fiancée, Chloe Vance, brought a dead man to our bed – Liam, her adored junior developer.
"Kneel," she commanded, her voice chillingly devoid of the warmth I had once foolishly sought.
I knelt on a bed of broken circuits and shattered motherboards, agonizingly sharp against my skin.
She forced me to apologize ten thousand times to a corpse, accusing me of stealing Liam's success and driving him to his death.
But it was all a lie; I had simply won the AI competition, a prize that was meant to be hers and Liam's.
She injected me with a toxic performance-enhancer, amplifying every sensation into agony.
Then, she unleashed a torrent of anonymous hackers, forcing me to watch as they systematically cyber-assaulted and dismantled my entire digital life.
She recorded it all, crafting a narrative of me as a cheating scumbag, a monster who had destroyed an innocent man.
The world believed her, and the public shame, coupled with vicious online attacks, tragically killed my parents.
Chloe moved swiftly, seizing my family's tech empire, the company my father had built from nothing.
I died in that room, a broken man, humiliated to death.
But then, I woke up.
I was back at the beginning, a year before the competition's end, the AI prototype humming softly on my desk.
This time, I wouldn't be a sacrifice for their twisted love.
I would not win; I would let Liam have the victory, and Chloe.
All I wanted was to live. His Golden Ambition, Her Ruin
Fantasy My name is Ava Green, and I have a secret.
Anything I touch with intense emotion turns to solid gold, a strange Midas Touch responsive not to greed, but to love, fear, and passion.
Mark Sterling, my brilliant and ambitious husband, was the recipient of my deepest love, and our penthouse glowed with five hundred shimmering testimonies to our shared intimacy.
Then the five-hundredth transformation happened, a golden lace tear on a pillowcase, signifying I could make one powerful wish.
Mark begged me to wish for his ultimate ambition: to be the CEO of Innovate Global, hailed as a visionary.
My heart broke for him, seeing his vulnerability, and I closed my eyes, making the wish for the man I loved.
The next night, the world changed. Mark became CEO, a savior to the media, but at his first press conference, he announced his engagement to Dr. Emily Hayes, his "childhood friend."
He destroyed me.
When he came home, surrounded by our golden memories, he revealed his cruel plan: Emily was his path to power, and I, merely "convenient," was to remain his wife, in name only, lest my prominent family's shares suffer.
He needed my family' s influence-and my power-but I was just a piece on his board.
I was trapped, my love, my magic, my soul, all sacrificed for his kingdom.
Then, a text from Leo Vance, my childhood friend and a cybersecurity genius, offered a glimmer of hope: "The library. Midnight. Don't be followed."
He revealed Mark' s orchestrations, how he' d ruined a man' s life, and then, a passage from my family's archives: a forbidden technique, a reverse Midas Touch, fueled by profound pain, where malicious wishes come true.
"He thinks he broke you, Ava," Leo said. "Let him think that. We can use this."
And so, my plan began, sharper and clearer than any gold. A Father's Vengeance
Horror The smoke burned my eyes, thick and acrid, as my three-year-old son, Caleb, coughed weakly beside me.
My wife, Jennifer, stood at the wine cellar door, her gaze fixed on her brother-in-law, Ryan.
"It's for Molly's sake," she said, her voice chillingly devoid of warmth.
"The guru said Caleb's energy caused her asthma attack. We have to cleanse it."
She slammed the heavy oak door shut, the bolt thudding into place, trapping us.
My son, who had a severe peanut allergy and sensitive lungs, was left to suffocate in the toxic smoke.
Days bled into a hazy nightmare until Jennifer' s brother, Wesley, appeared, revealing Jennifer never loved me; I was just a rebound.
He then callously threw more sage onto the embers, sealing our tomb deeper.
I clawed our way out, just barely, carrying Caleb' s limp, blue body to a hospital, clinging to a desperate thread of hope.
But Jennifer arrived, not for us, but demanding Caleb's O-negative blood for Molly' s minor fender bender injury, ignoring doctors' pleas.
"He's my son. Do it," she commanded, her eyes cold.
Then, with a casual glance at Caleb, a nurse, obviously bribed, fed him a peanut granola bar.
The flatline screamed, and Caleb arched, his tiny chest still.
Jennifer, with Ryan' s arm around her, turned her back on our dying son to comfort Molly' s fake tears.
My world shattered.
Ryan' s venomous whisper echoed: "You and your son, you were always in the way."
How could a mother abandon her child to such a horrifying death?
How could she choose a niece over her own son, then murder him without a second thought?
Something inside me didn't just break; it turned to dust, then reformed into steel.
Andrew Wright had to die, so the man who would take everything from them could be born. The Day I Came Back to Life
Modern The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth, each breath a searing pain.
Ryan Todd' s rage-contorted face was inches from mine, his spittle hitting my cheek as he screamed, "This is for Ashley! You owe us!"
His fist connected with my ribs again, and a sickening crack echoed through the co-working space.
The social media mob, whipped up by his sister Karen, cheered him on as they dragged me from my desk, beating me to death.
My crime? Lending Karen my Lucid Air, which then became a death trap for her daughter, Ashley, in a multi-car pile-up on the I-35.
Karen, a master of twisting reality, claimed I' d sabotaged my own car, jealous of Ashley' s athletic scholarship.
It was a lie so absurd it became believable to the grief-stricken and the gullible.
The final blow sent me sprawling, my head hitting the polished concrete floor with a dull thud, and darkness swallowed me.
I had been hunted, blamed, destroyed, and murdered for a crime I didn' t commit, a tragedy built on a lie.
Then, I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my bed, my heart hammering but my ribs unbroken.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand: Good luck with your neighbor today!
My blood ran cold.
It was the morning Karen Todd would ask to borrow my car.
I wasn' t dead. I was back.
And this time, not only would the car stay with me, but Karen would pay for what she did. Desert Bloom: A Song of Vengeance
Fantasy I opened my eyes to the familiar crack in my Austin apartment ceiling.
My phone buzzed: "Desert Bloom" Release Day.
This was it: the day my life ended in a nightmare I'd already lived.
Caleb, the Nashville star, would steal my song, ruin my reputation, and trigger a cascading tragedy that led to my parents' death and my own fall from Pennybacker Bridge.
But I was here, alive, on that same morning.
Panicked, I called my manager, Marcus, and demanded he pull my song immediately.
It was too late.
Two hours later, a news alert confirmed my horror: Caleb had released "Desert Bloom."
It was my song, note for note.
Desperate, I wrote an entirely new song offline, recording it on an old 4-track, a raw anthem of rage.
Five days later, the headlines screamed: Caleb had released that song too.
He wasn't just stealing my music; he was stealing my thoughts, pulling them directly from my mind.
The despair was crushing, the violation absolute.
How was this possible?
My ex-girlfriend, Chloe, then called, inviting me to Caleb's victory party, feigning concern.
This wasn't about saving face; it was a trap.
But I agreed, for this time, I wasn't just surviving; I was going to Nashville not to beg, but to fight, to find out how deep this impossible betrayal ran, and unleash a force that could make them pay. The Unwanted Blessing
Billionaires I was eight, maybe nine, when my father branded me "bad luck."
Exiled from the Miller empire, I grew up with Elara in the quiet Ozarks, who saw a light in me, saying "things grow better in the sunshine."
Ten years later, a thick, gold-embossed envelope arrived, pulling Sadie back.
It was a summons to my younger brother Ethan's 21st birthday gala, the favored heir.
"Your father expects your attendance," the note commanded, offering no welcome.
Richard Miller met me with arctic eyes, scanning my simple clothes.
Ethan, the spoiled golden child, sneered, "Look what the cat dragged in from the sticks."
The chilling truth emerged: this wasn't a reunion, but a formal disinheritance.
At the glittering country club, I was publicly mocked as a "charity case," old wounds tearing open.
Ethan grinned, shoving legal documents at me: "We' re making it official."
My father, via phone, clipped: "Sign the papers and be done with it."
The familiar weight of being blamed, of inherent flaw, pressed down heavily.
For years, I' d believed I was the source of Miller's "bad luck"-fender benders, fires-all starting, Dad said, at my birth.
This cruel dismissal felt final, confirming every unwanted memory.
But clutching Elara' s smooth river stone, a different truth settled.
"Luck runs in funny streams," I told Ethan, "You might be diverting more than you think."
With a strange calm, I signed "Sarah Miller" for the last time.
The moment my pen lifted, a speaker crackled and died, and chaos rippled instantly.
Ethan' s prized car smashed, company scandals erupted, credit lines froze.
The Miller empire, built on sand and shortcuts, was finally crumbling.
Some ties, once broken, unleash far more than just freedom. When Love Became A Larceny
Romance My tech company was at its peak – celebrated, successful. For twenty years, I believed my marriage to Bella was just the same: perfect.
We had two sons, Mark and Alex, my pride and joy, the heirs to everything I had built.
Then, at fifty, Bella lay dying in a sterile hospital bed.
Her rasping voice delivered the blow that pulverized my world: "Ethan," she whispered, "the boys… they' re not yours. They' re Ryan' s."
My heart squeezed, then shattered.
My own sons, whom I loved more than life, turned on me instantly, their eyes cold and calculating.
They saw Ryan, their biological father, not as a long-lost parent, but as a direct route to my wealth, reducing me to nothing but a disposable obstacle.
In the brutal inheritance struggle that followed, the very boys I' d raised beat me to death. I gasped for air, my heart giving out under the crushing weight of their betrayal, my world built on a twenty-year lie crumbling to dust.
How could I have been so utterly blind? My final thought was of profound regret, a desperate, yearning wish for another chance to live life differently, to choose another path.
Then, darkness. But instead of an afterlife, I jolted awake, alive, younger, surrounded by the pulsing chaos of an SXSW party.
Standing before me, vibrant and deceptively innocent, was Bella, dropping to one knee, a champagne flute raised, asking me to marry her.
This was my impossible second chance. And this time, with the bitter truth of twenty years flooding my mind, I knew exactly what to say. The Curse Of The Vanderbilt Name
Romance I’m Willow Hayes, a girl from the Appalachians, chosen by the wealthy Vanderbilt family for my unique "life blessing."
They wanted me to marry their dying son, Ethan, hoping I could save him and secure their lineage.
I bore him twins—a boy and a girl.
Ethan miraculously began to heal.
But then, his supposed first love, Clara Beaumont, fed him vicious lies, claiming I'd ruined her life.
Consumed by vengeance, Ethan brutally ripped my newborns from me right in the delivery room, before I even heard their first cries.
He sneered my "blessing" was a curse, then abandoned me to bleed to death, faking a tragic childbirth accident.
My entire Appalachian community was slandered, their homes and pride lost, all because of his baseless rage.
How could the man I saved, the future father of my children, turn into such a monster based solely on a jealous woman's lies?
How could a family that sought my gift allow such horrific cruelty to befall me and my people?
The searing injustice of having my babies torn from me, combined with my agonizing death, burned a hole in my soul.
But now, I’m back.
Reborn.
The Vanderbilts are knocking again, their matriarch’s sharp eyes desperate for my "blessing" to save Ethan.
They think they can use me as a pawn a second time, but they have no idea what's coming.
This time, I'm not here for their salvation; I'm here for a twisted justice only I can deliver, one that will make them wish I had never returned. You might like
Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. 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. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery 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." His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." First Lady Out, Your Majesty In
Asher Wolfe For three years, Allison played the perfect First Lady in a marriage that never gave her love back.
Nolan handed her divorce papers, sneering at her background while his mother mocked her as barren and his pregnant mistress claimed her place. So Allison walked away.
On the very day she left him, the royal family reclaimed her as their lost princess.
Crown, fortune, power, three terrifying brothers, and a handpicked royal consort now stood at her side.
Her eldest brother-the world's most feared arms dealer-pushed a black card across the table. "Go on. Spend whatever you like."
Her second brother-the genius doctor-twirled a scalpel between his fingers. "Tell me, sis. How many cuts do the ones who hurt you deserve?"
Her third brother-a global martial arts superstar-stormed into her ex-husband's lair. "Who made my sister cry? Time to face the music."
When her regretful ex begged for another chance, Allison only smiled.
It was too late. She was no longer his wife. She was his worst mistake. 
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