Deeply Engaged
11 Published Stories
Deeply Engaged's Books and Stories
Scars of Betrayal: The Heiress They Tried To Erase
Modern Kelsie's biggest regret in life was getting involved with Judge, the icy Captain. She pursued him for three years, married him for two, thinking she'd warmed a stone, only to be met with nothing. Her mother-in-law disliked her, her husband was indifferent, and a fragile "white moonlight" would occasionally try to get her attention. Until she witnessed Judge and Angelique meeting secretly at a hotel, her heart shattered, and then she discovered she was pregnant. Kelsie sneered, threw down the divorce papers, and decisively ran away, disappearing without a trace. When they met again, she was a successful single mother, surrounded by suitors. In the pouring rain, the once aloof man humbly stopped her car, pleading in a hoarse voice, "Kelsie, come home with me." The car window rolled down, and a little boy, nine-tenths like him, coldly warned in a cute but fierce tone, "Want to date my mommy? Ask me first!" The Wife Who Never Loved
Modern For two years, my husband Hunter flaunted his affair, using his mistress's fake pregnancy to torture me. I endured it all for our daughter, trapped in a gilded cage where he expected me to mistake his strangling for passion.
Then his mistress whispered cruel lies to my six-year-old, telling her that her daddy would abandon her for the new baby. My daughter vanished.
While I searched frantically, Hunter was unreachable, still with her. When he finally appeared, he shielded his mistress from my desperate rage, his wedding ring glinting as he pushed me away.
With our daughter still missing, he pleaded with me.
"Krystal, she's pregnant, don't hurt her!"
The years of suppressed anger finally exploded. After our daughter was found safe, I looked him dead in the eye and told him the truth he'd been desperate to avoid.
"I want a divorce, Hunter. I never loved you. I hate you." His Erased Song, Her Reborn Voice
Romance The roar of the crowd was a physical force, pressing in on me from all sides, a wave of sound that vibrated up into my bones.
I moved my mouth, swayed my body, mimicked the gestures – but it wasn' t my voice pouring from the speakers. It was Scarlett' s, a perfect, studio-polished product of technology and longing. My fiancé, the celebrated producer Liam Stone, had turned me into his ex-pop star.
This wasn' t a dazzling comeback, though. Not for me. It was a lie on a colossal scale, a holographic projection of Scarlett overlaid on my body, my voice digitally reshaped into hers. For six months, he' d been systematically erasing me, Ava Green, the indie musician known for raw lyrics and a voice that sometimes broke with emotion.
"Keep going," his voice crackled through my in-ear monitor, icy and sharp. "Don't break character. The modulation is perfect."
My own pain and defiance surged, a desperate desire to reclaim my sound. When I pushed past the modulation, letting a raw note escape, the hologram flickered violently, and Scarlett' s synthesized voice cracked into static. The crowd gasped.
Liam' s face twisted into a snarl. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Ava? Stick to the plan."
His anger, cold and calculated, filled me with a sudden, overwhelming nausea – a feeling I' d been ignoring for weeks. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: I was pregnant.
Trapped, silenced, and carrying the child of the man actively erasing my identity, I knew one thing: I would not be erased. Beyond Betrayal: A Heart's Escape
Romance Three years. Three years of nights blurring into mornings, building a company from nothing with my wife, Chloe. Tomorrow, all that sacrifice would finally pay off with our IPO, making us billionaires and allowing us to finally reveal our secret marriage.
But tonight, my world stopped. I found Chloe in my office, her personal assistant, Liam, his hands on her waist, his mouth on hers. Their whispered words, "So much better than my husband," poisoned the air.
As she pushed him away, she defended me with a furious hiss, calling him a mere "toy" and me her "foundation." Yet, moments later, she pulled him back, her seductive smile returning. The betrayal was clear, but her fierce, confusing defense left me reeling, adrift between anger and a painful, desperate confusion.
My hands shook as I stumbled back to my desk, the words "husband" and "foundation" twisting into a cruel, empty echo. How could she betray me so utterly, yet defend me with such ferocity? What was this hollow space inside my chest?
There was only one way out. My thumb hovered over a number I hadn' t called in years. "Dr. Peterson," I whispered into the phone, "that mission in the Zercian conflict zone… is there still a spot?" The Price of Her Indifference
Modern "Mommy."
That single word, uttered by my five-year-old daughter, Lily, should have been a moment of pure joy. Instead, it detonated the fragile peace I' d clung to for five years, ever since Lily' s mother, Sophia, abandoned us to chase after her ex.
Sophia froze, her plastered-on smile for her new boyfriend, Mark, faltering. I watched in horror as Mark, red-faced and enraged by Lily's innocent affection, lashed out, knocking over a glass and then contorting in feigned agony over a minor scrape on his knee.
Sophia, utterly consumed by placating him, rushed to his side, showering him with a tenderness she had never once shown our child. Then, with chilling indifference, she turned to her security guards and commanded them to lock a sobbing, asthmatic Lily in an upstairs closet. Three days, she declared, Lily needed to "learn a lesson."
My pleas about Lily' s severe asthma were met with her cynical scoff: "You always make things up to get attention." The metallic click of the lock echoed a horrifying finality. I banged on the door, screaming Lily' s name, but to no avail. The guards, under Sophia' s orders, ensured no one went near.
Sometime after midnight, the crying stopped.
I found my little girl crumpled on the floor, blue, lifeless, and not breathing. While I was attempting to revive our daughter in one hospital room, Sophia was miles away in a luxury car showroom, buying Mark two brand-new cars – a "compensation prize" for his scraped knee, celebrating their twisted reunion at Lily' s expense.
How could a mother be so utterly devoid of humanity? How could the woman I once loved, the woman I foolishly hoped would one day return to us, betray our child so completely? I had to know. I had to understand what monstrous depths she was capable of, and how I could possibly escape her toxic grasp. The Reluctant Gift
Fantasy My entire life was a countdown to my sister Clara' s 30th birthday, the day I was to become a spiritual donor to save her from a wasting illness.
I clung to Liam, the man I loved, as my only hope of escape, only to have that hope shatter when he coldly told me I had to go through with the ritual, dismissing my desperate plea that I was too weak.
He forced Momma' s drugged tea on me, rendering me immobile, then dragged me to the prayer cabin where my parents awaited, my body offered up as Clara-who gave a triumphant smirk-stole my life force, leaving me for dead, unceremoniously dumped in a shallow ditch.
How could the man I' d secretly saved ten years ago, giving him half my life in a forbidden ritual to heal him after his logging accident, betray me so completely, not even remembering my sacrifice while unknowingly feeding on my dwindling vitality?
Yet, after Liam and Clara died in a mysterious crash and I was arrested for their murders, a blood-stained letter from Liam revealed the horrifying truth: he had finally remembered my sacrifice and the family's monstrous conspiracy, driving to atone by attempting a reverse ritual with Clara, freeing me to live the life he ultimately gave back to me. The Bride Who Vanished
Romance My entire world revolved around Liam Vanderbilt, the dazzling heir to a New York dynasty, and the boy I'd loved since childhood.
Despite being his family's housekeeper's daughter, I clung to the hope that our deep connection meant something more than just service.
Then fate delivered a cruel blow: a devastating brain tumor diagnosis, leaving me with less than a year to live.
As my life spiraled, the man I adored saw me only as an inconvenience, a "charity case" to be tolerated while he doted on his socialite fiancée, Chloe.
He shrugged off my pain, letting Chloe steal the very screenplay I'd poured my soul into, turning it into her superficial "passion project."
In front of New York's elite, he cruelly bestowed my deceased mother's precious heirloom locket upon Chloe, a final, public humiliation.
His subsequent "romantic" proposal aboard a yacht, complete with a beautiful antique ring, seemed like a dream.
But it swiftly descended into a nightmare when he presented organ donation papers, coldly suggesting I "be a hero" and give my lungs to Chloe.
The man I loved and dedicated my life to was attempting to harvest my body, not out of care, but monstrous calculation.
My heart shattered, reeling from the ultimate betrayal: how could anyone, let alone him, consider such a vile act?
Then, a blinding flash of truth: an urgent email confirmed a catastrophic medical mix-up.
There was no tumor; I was perfectly healthy.
The heartbroken, dying girl vanished, replaced by a woman consumed by a vengeful clarity.
They thought they had broken me, but they had just awakened the storm within. My Bartender, The Billionaire
Romance My wedding to Ethan Vanderbilt marked the grand merger of two powerful American families.
I hoped for love, but our new life began in a cold, silent townhouse.
On our wedding night, Ethan coldly declared our marriage a business arrangement, stating he had "no desire" for me and his heart belonged to his assistant, Tiffany.
The next morning, I overheard him call me a "prude" to her, shattering any last shred of my dignity.
Heartbroken and seeking comfort, a desperate one-night stand unexpectedly left me pregnant.
When I filed for divorce, he shamelessly attempted to coerce me into raising his mistress's child to secure my family's inheritance, then publicly shoved me to the ground in front of a taxi.
How could the man I once hoped to love stoop to such callous, manipulative cruelty, weaponizing his mistress and an unborn child against me?
My once-sheltered life became a public spectacle of betrayal, leaving me questioning everything.
Fleeing to Paris for a fresh start, the quiet bartender father of my child, Liam, shockingly revealed himself as Alexander Sterling, an elusive tech billionaire.
Now, with unexpected power by my side, I return to confront Ethan and Tiffany' s desperate scheme to ruin my legacy, ready to fight for my child and forge a destiny far beyond what any Vanderbilt could imagine, even as their own twisted drama reaches a deadly climax. The Day My Son Gave Me Poison
Billionaires For six years, I was Ethan, an auto mechanic who found amnesiac Victoria.
We built a life, had our son Liam, and a Texas home.
I believed we were a family, forever.
That illusion shattered in a Manhattan penthouse.
Ice-cold Victoria told me our life was over.
Her wealthy mother, Mrs. Sterling, offered ten million dollars and an NDA: sign it, and vanish from their high-society world.
Emotionless, Victoria announced her engagement to Blake Astor, a match "appropriate" for her old money.
My mind recoiled, not just from pain, but from a chilling sense of déjà vu.
This wasn't new.
I remembered the last time: Victoria’s first "amnesia," my desperate pleas, Blake framing me.
My own son, Liam, blank-faced, delivering the "medication" that ended that life in a sanatorium.
Both amnesias were lies – one to use me, the other to discard me.
The bitter taste of betrayal consumed me.
But this time, I wouldn't beg.
I took their blood money.
My hand steady, I signed the NDA.
"Three days," I told Mrs. Sterling, "arrange my flight to California."
They saw a gold digger.
I saw escape, and the fuel to rebuild my life.
Stanford's Computer Science program awaited. He Proposed Again, I Introduced My Husband.
Romance The flashbulbs were blinding, the “Rising Critic” statuette heavy and cold in my grasp.
Outside the hotel, amidst the swarm of photographers, a familiar figure pushed through and knelt before me.
Jake Brown, my ex-fiancé, held open a velvet box, a diamond winking under the harsh lights.
“Emily,” he rasped, a sound I once knew intimately, “Marry me. Again.”
His family materialized behind him, beaming, a well-rehearsed chorus expecting my tears and a trembling, “Yes, oh, yes!”
But they’d forgotten—or perhaps never knew—the full story of how he’d publicly accused me of sabotaging his signature dish.
How he’d whispered lies to the restaurant owner, implying I pilfered expensive ingredients.
How I was fired on the spot, my name dragged through the mud, my culinary dreams torched.
His mother, Carol, tried to paint him as a suffering hero, claiming he’d spent a fortune clearing my name from the food poisoning incident.
Yet, I remembered the real origins: the cheap, peanut-contaminated oil, the plagiarism he later framed me for.
I remembered being left with a shattered wrist in a dark alley, as he walked away, abandoning me to a mob that *he* had stirred against me.
His grand gesture now felt like the ultimate insult, dripping with manufactured sympathy—and unbearable blame.
Three years had been long enough to heal, to rebuild, to find a love that didn’t demand sacrifice, yet they had the audacity to stage this performance.
How could they stand here, rewriting history, when *he* had ripped everything from me?
My voice was even, devoid of the storm that once raged, as I held up my left hand.
A simple, elegant gold band gleamed beside my engagement ring—Noah’s ring.
“Jake and I ended things three years ago,” I stated, my eyes steady.
“And for your information, I’m already married.”
The collective gasp and intensifying flashbulbs signaled that *my* story, the real one, was just beginning. 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. 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. 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. 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." 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." 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!" 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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