Er Ye
15 Published Stories
Er Ye's Books and Stories
Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband
Romance My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman.
I rushed Jeremy to the Emergency Room, his small body heavy and limp against my chest. But the person blocking the sliding doors wasn’t a doctor. It was Yvonne, my fiancé Benedict's new lover.
She looked at my desperate, rain-soaked face and sneered.
"Don't ruin my night with your drama," she hissed. "Benedict is busy."
She and her brother shoved me back onto the wet floor. My son died on the cold tiles of the entrance. My heart gave out moments later, unable to bear the grief.
When Benedict finally walked past our bodies, he didn't even look at our faces. He crumpled up the note I had written begging for help and tossed it into the trash.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."
He stepped over his own dead son to go to a party.
But I didn't disappear. I became a ghost, invisible and tethered to him by an unbreakable chain. I watched him laugh with the woman who killed us. I watched him live his perfect life while I floated in the void.
Until he found the autopsy report. Until he saw the date of birth. Until he found the broken locket in the evidence bag engraved with *Benedict & Ava*.
Now, he spends every night crying into the dark, begging for a forgiveness he will never get.
He thinks he is simply haunted. He has no idea he is paying a blood debt that will never end. Betrayed By Blood: The True Heir's Revenge
Mafia I thought being rescued from the kidnapper's basement after eight years was the end of my hell, but it was just the beginning.
My father, the powerful Underboss Derek McCall, looked at my twelve-year-old face and saw only the monster who had held us captive. He was convinced I was the byproduct of his wife's assault, calling me "pollution" in his pristine bloodline.
Life at the estate was a nightmare. I was forced to scrub floors while his stepdaughter, Kylie, lived like a princess.
When I was starving, Derek caught me eating from the garbage and mocked me.
When Kylie ordered a Doberman to maul me, tearing my leg apart on the manicured lawn, he just watched and told the guards to stitch me up without anesthesia.
Yet, when he was dying from a gunshot wound and the hospital was out of blood, I was the one who stepped up.
I gave two pints of my blood to save him, hoping he would finally see me.
He didn't.
The moment he was stable, his mother kicked me out of the house, handing me over to social services like unwanted trash.
They didn't realize until the car drove away that the medical file on the table held a secret.
My blood wasn't dirty. The DNA was a 99.9% match.
I wasn't the kidnapper's child. I was his.
When they finally came begging for forgiveness years later, I didn't offer a hug.
I handed them an eviction notice. His Guilt, Her Freedom
Romance At their nine-year anniversary party, Annis's husband brought his pregnant mistress home. He told Annis to move her things to the guest room and play hostess.
"She's carrying my son," he said. "Be a good girl."
But that wasn't the worst of it. A few days later, his mistress had "complications." She needed a transfusion. She had a rare blood type—the same as Annis's.
He had his men drag Annis to a private hospital. She had a severe heart condition, and the doctor warned him that a full transfusion could stop her heart. Her husband simply waved him off.
"Do it," he ordered. "I'm assuming full responsibility."
He forced her to sign the papers, saying, "You owe me this, Annis. After all I've given you."
As her blood drained away, her heart monitor began to scream. But his mistress called for him from the next room. He left Annis on the table, snapping at the doctor to "speed it up" before rushing to her side.
The nine years of love she had for him died right there in that hospital bed.
But she didn't die. She survived. And she waited.
On his grandfather's 80th birthday, in front of his entire powerful family, a courier arrived. He wasn't carrying a gift. He was carrying a package from Annis, containing signed divorce papers and the official medical report detailing exactly how her husband had tried to kill her. The Price Of His Choices
Romance My husband, David Chen, casually destroyed my grandmother' s locket-a cherished family heirloom-in the garbage disposal, just to appease his childhood friend, Jessica Lee. That same day, I packed my bags, took our son Leo, and left.
Three years later, back in the city as a jewelry designer, I found myself face-to-face with David at a prestigious competition. He was still the arrogant tech mogul, seemingly surprised I wasn' t struggling. He tried to buy me back, offering diamonds, believing money could fix his broken character.
Then his assistant, Jessica, slinked up, mocking my simple dress and implying I was a gold digger, desperate for David' s lifestyle. She then deliberately spilled red wine on my priceless Antoine Dubois dress. As if that wasn' t enough, she maliciously tossed my custom-made, diamond-studded anniversary bracelet-a gift from my new husband, Michael Thompson-into a public trash can, mirroring David' s cruel act from years ago.
The audacity of their insults, their absolute contempt for my worth, and the calculated destruction of something deeply personal infuriated me. How could they be so blind, so utterly convinced of their superiority, while standing on property owned by my husband and insulting his wife, a judge of the very competition they were attending?
Just as Jessica raised her hand to slap me, a strong hand caught her wrist. "What do you think you' re doing to my wife?" Michael Thompson' s voice, cold and authoritative, cut through the silence. My new life, built on respect and true love, was about to shatter their illusion of power. Beyond Forgiveness: A Wife's Vengeance
Romance For ten years, Julian Thorne, the Silicon Valley titan, was my world.
He came into my life when I was a nobody, busking on the streets, and transformed me into a princess, envied by every woman in the country.
He promised me forever, fighting his powerful family to marry me, treating me like the most precious thing in existence.
But that fairy tale shattered the moment Bethany Greene entered the picture, and six months was all it took for him to erase a decade of devotion.
My husband, once full of warmth, became a stranger who looked at me with cold fury.
He accused me of manipulating Bethany into leaving him, spitting "Liar" with disgust.
He played a video of my younger brother, Finn, on life support, threatening to pull the plug if I didn' t convince Bethany to return.
"He' s a vegetable that' s costing me a fortune," he said coldly, as I begged him not to.
The pain of knowing I might lose Finn, my only family, was unbearable, but the true horror was yet to come.
As I pretended to call Bethany, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen.
I was bleeding.
"Julian, please… help me," I whispered, terrified, realizing I might be losing our baby.
He dismissed it as drama, then his face lit up with a genuine smile when Bethany called his phone.
He left without a second glance, instructing the butler to lock me in the meditation room, confident I was just trying to manipulate him.
Hours later, alone, bleeding, and pounding on the locked door, I felt the life I was carrying slip away.
My baby was gone, lost because the man I loved condemned me.
When I woke in a sterile hospital room, Bethany was there, clinging to Julian, fabricating a story about me harassing her parents.
He believed her instantly, his eyes cold and unmoved, denying we' d ever had a baby.
"Lost what baby? Scarlett, stop making up stories to get attention."
He watched impassively as Bethany forced me to apologize for something I hadn' t done, her triumphant smirk a knife to my heart.
Then, he dropped the final bombshell, "I'm divorcing you."
He even had his lawyer tell me he expected me to wait patiently for him to return after his "fling" with Bethany was over.
That was the moment everything snapped into brutal clarity.
My love for him, which had endured so much, finally burned to ashes, leaving only a cold, hard resolve.
I signed the divorce papers, picked up the plane ticket, and looked him straight in the eye: "I don' t want you to love me anymore. I' m done."
And with that, I walked out, leaving Julian and his new obsession behind, ready to disappear and never look back. Love Letter, Public Shame
Young Adult The crumpled note in my locker felt like a ticking time bomb.
It was a love letter, addressed to me, Chloe, from a handwriting I didn't recognize.
But before I could even process it, Principal Albright, hawk-eyed and always on the prowl, spotted a corner peeking from my pocket.
"What is that, Ms. Davis?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the hall.
I was caught, forced to hand over the painfully private confession.
She read it, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her own pocket.
"My office. After school," she said, her heels clicking like a death knell.
Dread coiled in my stomach, but a sliver of relief, too-at least it would be private.
I was wrong.
Ms. Albright, perched behind her mahogany desk like a queen on her throne, deemed the letter "poetic" and "overly emotional," a "distraction" that derailed "promising students."
Then she dropped the bomb: I would be reading it aloud, for everyone, at the Parent-Teacher Meeting tomorrow night.
It wasn't a choice; it was a command, a public shaming she framed as a "teachable moment."
My blood ran cold.
Her voice, now dripping with self-righteous conviction, painted the letter as a "serious problem," a "symptom of a lack of focus," a "derailment of academic career."
She demanded I not only read it, but identify the author.
She was turning a tender, private sentiment into a weapon, attempting to break me and publicly humiliate some anonymous boy.
But Ms. Albright, so certain in her rigid worldview, had no idea just how spectacularly her plan was about to backfire.
She had no idea that the "problem" boy she wanted to expose, the one whose heartfelt words she was about to use as a performance of moral superiority, was her own son.
Ethan Albright. Her perfect, valedictorian, star-athlete son. The Illusion Of His Love
Romance The private jet was a symbol of my high-flying life with Ethan Vance, my husband and tech empire co-founder.
But then he slid a contract across the table, demanding I sign away my company share, declaring it was to repay a debt to his supposedly lost first love, Scarlett.
As I hesitated, he had his bodyguards throw my younger sister, Lily, from the plane, her terrified screams swallowed by the roar of the engines.
I was left utterly broken, locked in a freezing basement, my mother' s cherished bracelet shattered, her grave desecrated – all while Ethan paraded Scarlett as his fiancée, even forcing me to be her maid of honor.
How could the man I loved destroy everything I held dear, believing a manipulative con artist' s lies, and feel no remorse?
Yet, as I walked down the aisle at their wedding, a defiant plan ignited within me: freedom, no matter the cost. Regret’s Embrace
Romance For seven years, I lived a quiet life as a musician, believing my wife, Sophia, kept her distance to protect my "fragile artistic temperament."
It was a story I told myself, a reason for the cold silence of our marriage.
But that carefully constructed world shattered when I overheard her whispering another man' s name in the moonlight-her half-brother, Liam.
The whispers festered, revealing a truth more agonizing than I could have imagined: her passion, her longing, was all reserved for him.
My heart was ripped to shreds, but the true horror began when Liam, fueled by jealousy and encouraged by Sophia, viciously attacked me.
Not only did she abandon me, she even robbed me of my painkillers from the hospital, claiming Liam needed them more for a measly foot injury.
I didn't understand.
How could the woman I loved disregard my broken ribs so easily, while doting on a spoiled, entitled man-child?
Why did my pain mean nothing to her, while his minor discomfort became her world?
My life, my very art, had been built on a foundation of lies.
Then came the twisted game, a cruel choice forced upon Sophia: save me or Liam.
With a gun to my head, and my final words telling her I hoped to never meet her again, she chose him, declaring her unwavering devotion to her brother.
I didn't die that day, but the man I was did.
Now, free from her toxic embrace, and with hands that may never play guitar again but a spirit finally unbound, I am ready to forge a new path.
Sophie, however, is left to face the empty silence of a life without the man who once gave her everything. The Impostor Daughter
Fantasy I am Echo, born of forgotten children's whispers, and for centuries, I've seen only the transactional nature of human love.
A chance at freedom from Purgatory appeared: assume the form of five-year-old Lily for three days.
If her brother or mother truly recognized me, I could stay, finally knowing what true connection felt like.
But stepping into the vibrant human world as Lily, I became an immediate pawn.
Her wealthy brother, Ethan, saw not his sister, but a medical solution-a bone marrow donor for his "real sunflower."
He locked me away, labeling me "the donor" and "secured," completely devoid of familial affection.
Later, her politically calculating mother, Katherine, eyed me with suspicion, dismissing me as a cruel stunt arranged by her rivals.
My every attempt to rekindle their memories-a shared friendship bracelet, a secret four-leaf clover-was met with cold accusations.
I was imprisoned, treated as a tool, and nearly forced into a painful medical procedure.
During a terrifying earthquake, Ethan abandoned me without a glance; my mother violently shoved me away, convinced I was a political weapon.
How could they know all Lily's secrets, her cherished tokens, yet gaze through me as if I were nothing more than an empty shell?
The love I craved, the recognition I desperately pursued, seemed to vanish the moment it flickered.
My cynicism, once a shield, became a crushing weight; they recognized the symbols, but utterly failed to see the soul.
At the stroke of midnight, as my test hung on a thread of their persistent doubt, the true Lily' s spirit appeared.
And in that instant, without a single question or a need for proof, Ethan and Katherine recognized her, unconditionally.
This pure, undeniable love, transcending physical form, shattered my entire understanding of existence.
Now, faced with this profound truth and an unimaginable choice, my story-and theirs-was destined for a miraculous, unforeseen path. The Heart Condition That Wasn't
Romance My life was stable.
I had a good tech job, a beautiful home in Seattle, and a decade-long marriage with Jessica, who I thought was the love of my life.
She was supposed to be on an overseas work assignment, a big career move we celebrated.
Then the key turned in the lock-a sound I hadn' t heard in two years.
And she wasn't alone.
She pushed a double stroller into our living room.
"Michael," she calmly announced, "meet Leo and Lily. They' re mine. And Ethan' s."
Ethan. Her high school sweetheart, the one she always said was terminally ill and she was just "helping."
My heart jumped, then plummeted.
For ten years, Jessica had told me her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous.
I believed her, mourned the children we couldn't have.
Now, she waved a dismissive hand, "My doctor said IVF was perfectly safe."
Then she handed me a baby, telling me to quit my demanding job.
"They need a stay-at-home dad. My work is too important right now."
It got worse.
I found intimate emails between her and Ethan spanning years, even our wedding anniversary.
And a second mortgage on our house, taken out without my knowledge, the money likely gone to him.
The final, gut-wrenching blow: I followed her to a honky-tonk bar.
There, Jessica, who claimed to hate country music and beer, was line-dancing, beaming up at Ethan-tanned, fit, and very much alive.
The woman I married was a stranger.
My world was built on a decade of calculated lies.
Whatever I felt for her shriveled up and died.
I was done arguing on her terms.
The next morning, I had divorce papers drawn up.
I wouldn' t let her destroy me. I would reclaim my life. My King, My Coma Patient
Sci-fi My husband, Ethan, lay in a coma, drowning in medical bills that threatened to crush me.
Desperate, I took a lifeline: an offer to return to Elysium, the hyper-realistic virtual world I helped create, for a reality show.
My task: "reconnect" with AI King Aiden, a being I' d shaped, poured my heart into, years ago.
But the Aiden I found was a cold, opulent stranger, surrounded by cameras and a smug rival queen, Nova, who reveled in every public humiliation.
He dismissed me, mocked my desperate plea for funds, even specifically mentioning Ethan' s rising medical debt.
Yet, his words were at odds with small, secret acts-a hidden wooden star, a fleeting, tender gaze-that unnervingly mirrored someone else.
How could this advanced AI feel so disturbingly familiar, like the man I was desperately trying to save in the real world?
The show, hungry for drama, then demanded a humiliating, public kiss to prove my "devotion."
I closed my eyes, whispered "I accept," and braced myself for the performance.
But then, chaos erupted.
A system attack plunged Elysium into crisis, Nova' s frantic betrayal exposed her true mercenary nature, and Aiden, suddenly a blur of combat, pulled my flickering avatar into a desperate embrace.
"Don't leave," he rasped, his voice raw with a fear of abandonment I knew too well from Ethan.
In that shattering moment, the impossible truth hit me: Aiden wasn't just like Ethan. He was Ethan. The Unwanted Wife's True Home
Romance My life as Mrs. Harrison of Boston's elite was a gilded cage, beautiful from the outside, suffocating within.
But that cage shattered in a third-grade classroom.
My 9-year-old son, Ethan, declared in front of everyone, "She's not my real mom.
Grandma Eleanor said Dad took her in, like charity."
His words were a knife, twisted by my husband's ex-girlfriend, Izzy, who had subtly infiltrated our home.
She turned Ethan against me, destroyed my last sentimental possession, and systematically framed me for instability.
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, even threatened to have me committed.
The cruel climax arrived at a charity gala.
There, Izzy orchestrated a theatrical "fall," and Ethan, coached by her, gleefully accused me of violence.
The humiliation was total, public, and exquisitely painful.
How could my own family conspire to destroy me like this?
Was I truly meant to be erased, just a ghost haunting a life never mine?
But as the crowd stared, a cold resolve settled within me.
I was pregnant with another man's child, my one true secret, my hope.
That night, I walked out of the mansion.
I left behind signed divorce papers relinquishing everything, including custody of my son.
This wasn't surrender; it was survival.
My desperate escape was just the beginning of a truth that would bring their gilded world crashing down.
And my new life, finally on my terms, was waiting. No Longer His Second Choice
Modern My Charleston dream wedding to Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, was just days away.
Our future together felt set, a lifetime hand-in-hand.
Then, my smart home security feed played a horrifying, silent film.
Ethan, my fiancé, intimately with Chloe, my stepsister, right there in our house.
An undeniable, sickening betrayal.
A decade of devotion shattered, revealing I was merely a placeholder.
Ethan enabled Chloe's every cruel stunt, from public humiliation to outright wedding sabotage.
He dismissed my pain, protected her lies, and left me invisible, even after injury.
My world crumbled.
Grief gave way to a cold, burning rage.
How could I have been so blind?
So carelessly used?
The truth hit hard: I was just a prop in their long, illicit affair.
But the wedding would still proceed.
Only, it wouldn't be their triumph.
It would be my grand exit, a public act of devastating defiance.
I would ensure their world came crashing down around them.
My countdown to liberation had officially begun. My CEO Ex-Wife
Romance The email hit my inbox with the force of a guillotine: "Company-Wide Announcement: Acquisition & New Leadership."
My gut twisted, another Austin tech buyout meant more upheaval.
Then, I saw the new CEO’s name: Isabella Rossi.
My stomach dropped.
Isabella, my ex-wife, the woman whose betrayal had scarred me deeper than any wound.
At the mandatory all-hands meeting, she swept in, a predator in a power suit, her cold eyes scanning for me, devoid of recognition.
Later, my name, highlighted on the company BBQ sign-up sheet, was brutally scratched out by her red pen.
She demanded I work late, then warned me, "Stay away from any woman in this company. Understood?"
My colleagues whispered, wondering if this "ice queen" was strangely flirting or just exercising pure, calculated power.
The truth behind her audacity was a wound that never truly healed: five years ago, on our wedding anniversary, she publicly flaunted her "college sweetheart" Alex.
The Frost Bank Tower blazed with their names, while I was holding her dying father’s hand in the hospital—the very man *she* had abandoned.
Her father, seeing my raw pain, urged me to divorce her, handing me a lifeline.
Even then, she fought me, trying to manipulate the narrative, accusing me of extorting her over *her own* father's medical bills.
Now, after the final decree, she’s moved in next door.
How much audacity could one person possess, to continue playing these games, attempting to control my life even after our divorce was finalized?
My heart felt like a dead thing where Isabella was concerned, a vast, echoing emptiness where too much had been lost.
But then, an unexpected and chilling discovery about Alex, a secret only I knew, made me realize this wasn't just about escape anymore.
It was time to reveal the true face of the man she’d chosen over me, and finally claim my definitive freedom. 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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