Cascade
11 Published Stories
Cascade's Books and Stories
The Wife Who Died For Me
Romance The sterile hum of the hospital room was my last lullaby.
I was Alex Miller, a game developer, fading away after a hit-and-run crash.
My wife, Sarah, had spent three years turning my life into a living hell, her words sharper than any blade, all to push me away.
Divorce papers, a constant reminder of my failures, sat untouched on our counter.
I believed her staged betrayals and cruel jabs until the very end, telling the nurse to ensure Sarah knew I was finally gone, free from my burden.
But death offered no escape, only a spectral front-row seat to my own funeral.
I watched Sarah, her face a mask, her eyes raw, remain long after everyone left.
Then, a terrifying truth unfolded: she hunted down my killer with relentless fury, breaking his limbs before calling the police.
A week later, at my grave, under a full moon, she whispered words that tore through the veil of death.
"Alex, I'm here to stay. I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to live, to be happy, without me."
She revealed a medical diagnosis: Glioblastoma. Terminal.
Then, she climbed into my casket, swallowing pills, choosing to die with me.
The world fractured, then slammed back together.
I gasped, sitting at our kitchen table, the scent of coffee and Sarah's perfume filling the air.
She slid divorce papers across the table, her voice flat.
"I've found someone else, Alex. He's successful. He can give me what you can't."
It was the day it all started, her cruel, self-sacrificing performance beginning anew.
But this time, I knew the script.
With trembling hands, I ripped the papers to shreds, then pulled my terrified, lying wife into my arms.
"Are you crazy?" I whispered, tears welling. "Hiding a terminal illness? Do you think that's cool?" The Scumbag CEO's Secret Genius Wife
Modern I was the internet's most feared vigilante, famous for exposing toxic men to millions of live viewers. With one click, I was supposed to take down a local scammer, but the screen glitched.
Instead of a petty liar, the face of Kristopher Schaefer-the most powerful billionaire in New York-appeared on the broadcast, branded with a massive red stamp that read: SCUMBAG.
The internet went into a frenzy as I called the city's richest man a "leech" who had no spine. Within minutes, my studio was breached and my network was hacked. I fled into the rain, only to be cornered by a fleet of black SUVs. The man I had just publicly humiliated stepped out of the shadows, his eyes burning with a terrifying, cold fury.
He didn't just want an apology; he wanted me. Because legally, on a piece of paper buried in a safe three years ago, this "scumbag" was actually my husband. He dragged me back to his sprawling estate, stripping me of my secrets and forcing me into a life of luxury that felt more like a prison. He threatened to ruin me for the billions in stock value I'd wiped out, yet he refused to let me go.
I didn't understand why he was protecting me from my own treacherous family or why he looked at me with such starving intensity. I was a forensic accountant who had just declared war on his empire, so why was he putting his mother's priceless emeralds around my neck? Was he trying to silence me, or was there a deeper game at play within his crumbling company?
When he finally found the encrypted drive containing his company's darkest financial secrets, the deal changed.
"Play the perfect wife," he commanded, pinning me against the wall. "Save my merger, and I might just forget you tried to destroy me."
Now, I have to decide if I'm going to finish the takedown, or if I'm the only woman who can save the man I'm supposed to hate. The Magnate Who Claimed My Heart
Modern To help my fiancé's tech startup, I poured my entire inheritance into his dream and even underwent ninety-nine humiliating hymen reconstruction surgeries to satisfy his bizarre fetish.
But just one procedure away from our wedding, I overheard the truth. He called me his "cash cow" and the surgeries were just "pure theater" to lure in investors with a virgin fetish.
He never loved me. He never even touched me.
Instead, he drugged me with "protein shakes" to keep me compliant and paraded me in front of old perverts.
His plan was to publicly humiliate me at the altar, expose my most private medical secrets, and then marry his childhood sweetheart, Kimberli.
He was going to destroy me, dance on the ashes of my dignity, and leave me with nothing.
But if he wanted a show, he was going to get one. Just not the one he planned. I picked up my phone and texted the one man I had blacklisted, the ruthless East Coast magnate Constantine Russell: "Crash my wedding. I need you." A Wife's Fight for Justice
Billionaires My five-year marriage to Dallas Fischer, a tech billionaire, was a blur of high-society parties and fake smiles, until the fifth year ended with the death of our first child.
The official story was a miscarriage, a tragedy, but then I overheard Dallas confessing to his mistress, Alanna, that he had paid a doctor to induce an abortion and dispose of our son's ashes.
He revealed his plan to humiliate me by leaking an intimate video on our anniversary, claiming I was responsible for his ex-fiancée Hannah's suicide five years ago. He had orchestrated our entire relationship as an elaborate revenge plot.
My world shattered. The man I loved, the life we built, was a lie. He hated me, had murdered our child, and was now going to destroy me.
But I wouldn't let him. The game had just begun. Betrayed Wife, Burning Revenge
Romance My husband, Craig, got the promotion. After three long years stuck in a small town, we were finally going home to corporate headquarters.
But when I went to file our joint relocation paperwork, the HR administrator gave me a pitying look. Craig, she explained, had already filed a single-person relocation, listing a different spouse: his high-school sweetheart, Chanel Murphy.
A single, numb phone call to the county clerk's office revealed the devastating truth. I had signed my own divorce papers two months ago, tricked by Craig, who claimed they were investment documents.
He had remarried the very next day.
He used my talent as a top software architect to secure his promotion, all while orchestrating this cruel deception. I had sacrificed my own career opportunities for our future, a future he was already building with someone else.
The pain was suffocating, but then rage burned through my grief. I picked up my phone, my fingers steady. I called Elek Preston, the VP of Engineering, the man who had offered me a lead role on a high-stakes project.
"Is the offer still open?" I asked, my voice clear and hard. Eight Deaths, One Life
Sci-fi Alex Carter was supposed to be my protector, my ex-boyfriend whose job it was to keep me safe. But his heart, his entire world, orbited Chloe Davis, his childhood sweetheart and a rising social media influencer.
Then came Chloe's fiancé's yacht party, a night I' d lived through eight times before, where masked men stormed the deck and dragged us both below. The kidnapper's satellite phone rang, and Alex' s voice, frantic and raw, filled the small cabin.
"What do you want?" he demanded. The voice on the other end was gravelly. "A choice, Mr. Carter. We only have room for one return passenger. Your call. The influencer or the other one." There was no hesitation, not a single agonizing second. "Let Chloe go. Take the money, just let her go."
The words hit me harder than any bullet, crushing me with the weight of my own worthlessness as I was untied, dragged to the edge of the yacht, and pushed into the icy water.
I had died eight times before, each "favor" Alex cashed in to rewind time, always for Chloe. But the ninth time, as darkness consumed me, a cold, sterile light bloomed behind my eyelids.
`...DESPERATE PLEA FOR SELF-RELIANCE DETECTED...` `...OVERRIDING OPERATIVE CARTER'S AUTHORITY...` `...ACTIVATING HIDDEN PROTOCOL...` `[SELF-RESCUE PROTOCOL: ENGAGED]` I wasn't just being revived; I was being granted administrative access to my own mission file, my own life. This time, I' d save myself. Betrayed By Love, Reborn By Fate
Sci-fi The cheap cotton sheets felt real, too real for a man who' d just died a brutal death in a remote facility.
My eyes snapped open to my familiar apartment, the one I shared with Sarah, a place I hadn' t seen in over a year.
Then I saw my reflection: unmarred, clear-eyed, not the skeletal, scarred figure I' d become.
It was the day.
The day my life was systematically dismantled by the two people I trusted most: my cousin, Liam White, and my ex-fiancée, Chloe Davis.
Liam, my supposed brother, had twisted Chloe' s love for me into hate, then moved into her mansion, living the life that was supposed to be mine.
He fabricated lies about my gambling debts and mistresses, even selling Chloe' s prized vintage Porsche and blaming me.
Her wealth and influence became the weapons she used to destroy me.
The final blow came with Olivia Reed, Chloe' s best friend, pregnant with Liam' s child.
They faked a fall, blamed me for her miscarriage, and used Chloe' s power to have me locked away in a hellish facility.
I remembered the sharp pain, my own blood pooling on concrete, and then… nothing.
Until now.
My phone rang, cutting through the silence.
Chloe Davis.
In my past life, I' d pleaded, begged, and been ruined.
"Ethan Miller, you piece of trash! Where is my husband?" she shrieked, venom dripping from her voice.
But the man who feared her was dead.
With a newfound calm, I ended the call.
The silence that followed was a declaration of war, and this time, I knew all the moves. My Sweet Revenge: An Heiress's Reckoning
Modern My name is Gabrielle Fuller, and I died today.
It wasn't an accident, or a tragic twist of fate. It was a cold-blooded murder, staged to look like a suicide by the two people I trusted most: my fiancé, Caleb, and the girl I called my little sister, Molly.
The same Molly who "saved" me from a mugging just a week ago, charming her way into my life, setting the stage for their systematic destruction of everything I held dear.
When I woke up this morning, gasping for breath in my Pacific Heights condo, the vivid memory of their hands on me, the icy shock of betrayal, was so visceral it made me sick.
The date on my phone confirmed it: I was back. Back to the very day they started picking apart my life, piece by sickening piece.
The girl who' d spent her first life unknowingly thanking her killers, showering them with gifts, had been a fool. But this time, when my phone buzzed with Molly' s syrupy voice, my veins ran with ice, not naivety.
They thought they' d won. They thought I was a puppet. They had no idea I already held the strings. Salem's Scorn: The Witch Reborn
Fantasy My eyes opened in a Beacon Hill mansion, a rich prison of silk and scorn.
They called me "Hope," but I was Gabrielle Johns, a witch hanged in Salem, reborn into this timid girl's body.
Their daughter, Molly, staged a dramatic fall down the stairs, shrieked "She pushed me!" and directed her theatrical terror right at me.
Immediately, Molly's parents and fiancé rushed to her side, their faces masks of disgust, calling me a "trailer park animal" and a "disgrace."
They slapped me, starved me, and locked me inside the dark mansion, expecting me to break, groveling for their forgiveness.
But their cruelty didn't just fuel my ancient rage; it ignited the deep, quiet misery of Hope, a girl bullied and dismissed her whole life.
How could they be so brazenly wicked, believing they had untouchable power over me?
They thought locking me away was their control, but they just handed me the key to my vengeance. The Heiress's Second Chance At Revenge
Billionaires I grew up spoiled, flying first class and dreaming of million-dollar handbags.
But for once, I wanted a "real American experience," something my elite family would scoff at.
So, I booked a Greyhound bus ticket, planning to save a fortune and prove I wasn't just a pampered rich kid.
Then the nightmare jolted me awake, cold sweat gripping my back.
It wasn't a dream; it was a memory.
A grim, horrifying memory of that other life where my simple act of kindness on this very bus led to unspeakable horrors.
I saw her again, "Mama" Darlene, with her sickeningly sweet smile and homemade cookies.
I remembered the darkness that followed, waking up in a filthy room, my money gone.
I remembered Cletus, Darlene' s son, dragging me into the mountains, bringing me to a shack.
The things he did to me, the pain, before they left me for dead in a ditch.
To be here again, reliving the beginning of that hell, felt like a cruel joke.
Why was I given this second chance, only to endure the terror of knowing what was coming?
My stomach clenched as I saw Mama Darlene, already beside my seat, her repulsive grandson pawing at my backpack.
Was this nightmare destined to repeat, or could I break free?
My hands trembled, but my mind was crystal clear.
This time, I was awake.
And this time, I was ready to turn their game into my personal battlefield.
I grabbed my phone, and with a cold resolve, started calling in favors that would turn their Appalachian nightmare into theirs. You might like
Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. 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. 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. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. 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. Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. 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.
After My Husband Cheated, I Married His Greatest Rival
Rabbit The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost.
Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal.
This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline.
I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war. Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir
Shirlee Melnick Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit.
The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena.
This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone. 
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