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Evvie Foreman

10 Published Stories

Evvie Foreman's Books and Stories

He Faked Amnesia To Break Our Vows

He Faked Amnesia To Break Our Vows

 Modern
5.0
I was sealing our wedding invitations with crimson wax when I heard my fiancé through the slightly ajar study door. Ethan wasn't reciting the poetry he’d written for me over the last seven years. He was outlining the logistics of his betrayal. "If I fake amnesia after the 'accident' tonight, I can delay the wedding without the family stopping the merger," Ethan laughed, ice clinking in his glass. "And Ava? The Canary?" his friend asked. "Ava is property. You maintain property; you don't have fun with it. While she plays nurse, I get a medical exemption to sleep with Chloe." My world shattered. I fled into the rainy night, blinded by tears, until headlights turned my world upside down. I woke up in the wreckage, my arm shattered, tasting blood. Ethan arrived moments later. But he didn't run to me. He stepped right over my bleeding body to comfort Chloe, who had a minor scratch on her forehead. "I've got you, baby," he cooed to his mistress, looking at me with nothing but cold annoyance. "Don't worry about her. She's tough." He left me in the street. By the next morning, the narrative was set: The tragic Don had lost his memory of his fiancée, but miraculously remembered his 'true love,' Chloe. He evicted me from our penthouse while I was still in surgery. He thought he had won. He thought the Canary would just die in the cold. He forgot one thing. I knew where he hid the bodies—literally. I walked into his staged public proposal, slammed my ring on the table, and left a note under it. *I remember everything. And so do you.* Then I boarded a plane with his secret incriminating journal in my bag. The empire was about to burn.
The Billionaire Widow's Redemption

The Billionaire Widow's Redemption

 Romance
5.0
For three years, my husband Carter Hancock had erectile dysfunction. Or so he told me. I was the one who pulled him from a fiery car crash, and this marriage was his promise to cherish the hands that saved him. But tonight, I overheard him with my sister-in-law, Jodie. He confessed his condition was a lie to avoid touching me, and that he' d always loved her. Our marriage was just a sham to appease his grandfather. The betrayals kept coming. He claimed she was the one who saved him. He abandoned me during a landslide to rescue her. When I woke up in the hospital with broken ribs, he asked me to donate skin from my leg to fix a scratch on her face. He wanted to mutilate my body for the woman who stole my life, the woman carrying his secret child. My love was a burden, my sacrifice a joke they laughed about behind closed doors. Then I found the final, soul-crushing truth: our marriage certificate was a fake. I was never his wife, just a placeholder. That night, I picked up my phone and called the one person he' d warned me away from. "Alex," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I need to leave. Can you meet me in Europe?"
Her Vengeance, His Ruined Life

Her Vengeance, His Ruined Life

 Modern
5.0
My son was dead. The official report called it a suicide, a drug overdose. But I knew it was a lie. I was a Crime Scene Investigator, and I had processed his body myself. The evidence screamed murder. I appealed, seven times, each time presenting irrefutable proof. Each time, District Attorney Bentley Shannon slammed the door in my face, dismissing my grief as delusion. The system I had served for twenty years was protecting a killer. So, I took the law into my own hands. I kidnapped the District Attorney's daughter, Dallas Shannon, and broadcast my demands to the world. For every chance he wasted, I would use a forensic tool on her, permanently disfiguring her. The world watched, horrified, as I stapled her arm, then cauterized it, drawing thin red lines on her skin with a scalpel. My former mentor, Dr. Hooper, and my son's girlfriend, Alexandra, were brought in to convince me, to paint my son as depressed, to present a fabricated suicide note. For a moment, I wavered, the pain of being a "bad mother" crushing me. But then I saw it—a hidden message in his "suicide note," a secret code from his favorite childhood book. He wasn't giving up; he was crying for help. They had twisted his plea into a lie. My grief burned away, replaced by an unbreakable resolve. "I do not accept this note," I declared, pressing the cauterizing pen to Dallas's leg as the FBI swarmed in.
Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: The Doctor's Verdict

Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: The Doctor's Verdict

 Modern
5.0
It was our eighth wedding anniversary, and nine hundred and ninety-nine imported orchids, courtesy of my husband Ethan, filled the ER breakroom, a suffocating monument to his wealth and our utterly hollow marriage. My name is Sarah, an ER doctor, and just a month ago, I lost our baby – our second child – alone, terrified in the hospital. That night, Ethan was at a "critical work dinner" with his assistant, Chloe, claiming he couldn't leave my side. His grand gesture of impersonal flowers was a chilling reminder of how little he truly cared, or how little he bothered to know me anymore. When I finally called, his voice was impatient; he dismissed my desperate plea to talk, sighing about my work stress before hanging up. Later, at our cold, modern penthouse, he offered an expensive diamond necklace, likely chosen by Chloe, ignoring my quiet but firm demand for a divorce. He scoffed, calling me "dramatic," bragging about the "best" orchids. Worse, his family, led by his domineering mother Eleanor and always-present Chloe, began using our son, Leo, as leverage, subtly painting me as emotionally unstable. Why was the man who once gave me a single, dollar-pink carnation, a symbol of genuine, selfless love, now so utterly incapable of seeing me at all? How could he respond to the agonizing loss of our child with a callous remark about me being "stretched thin with my career?" His profound indifference, coupled with his family' s insidious manipulation, transformed my deep grief into a cold, unwavering fury. After years of swallowing my anger and enduring their polished cruelty, I finally reached my breaking point at their opulent Connecticut estate. I was done being ignored, done being dismissed. It was time to shatter their perfect, miserable charade and reclaim every piece of my life.
The Thong in My Bed

The Thong in My Bed

 Modern
5.0
My daughter's relentless tantrums finally broke me. It was for a week-long soccer tournament in Orlando, Florida, a "once-in-a-lifetime opportunity" according to her "cool" new coach, Sabrina. Exhausted, I agreed, believing my husband, Matt, couldn't come due to a massive work project. But one night in our hotel room, I woke to an empty bed. My heart pounded as I tiptoed to the balcony, where Maddy was whispering into her expensive new smartwatch – a gift from Sabrina. "Daddy," she murmured, "is Coach Sabrina feeling better now? You need to make sure all her stuff is out of our house before Mom gets home!" The world stopped. His "critical work project" was a lie. He was at our home. With her. Shaking, I checked Sabrina's Instagram. Her 'close friends' story opened to a picture of her in my bed, a man' s arm, identified by Matt's anniversary watch, wrapped around her. And right there, on my nightstand, a framed photo of me. It clicked. She wasn't just having an affair; she had paraded it in my home, documenting her conquest for me to find. The ultimate insult. Then, the true horror: Maddy. My sweet, innocent daughter. The tantrums, the desperate need for this trip – it was all a setup. My own child, a tiny accomplice in her father's monstrous betrayal. They needed me out of the house. The realization that my entire life had been a carefully orchestrated lie, using my own daughter as a pawn, curdled my blood. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. A chilling calm settled over me. There would be no second chances. There would be no return home. My lawyer would be in touch.
The Dog's Vengeance: An Heiress Returns

The Dog's Vengeance: An Heiress Returns

 Modern
5.0
For five years, my best friend Elyse and I hid our elite identities, pouring our hearts and our immense resources into building my boyfriend Ethan and his brother Wesley' s media empire. Then, just as success was within reach, Ethan's voice, devoid of all warmth, flatly demanded my entire life savings, mirroring the cold betrayal he and his new socialite partner, Sabrina, launched against us. The final blow came when Wesley cruelly sold our beloved dog, Buddy, to a research lab for mere cash, an act of sheer barbarity that forced Elyse to stage her own death to escape their clutches and activate her family' s power. How could these men, whom we believed in and loved, dismiss us as simple baristas, exploit our hidden connections, and then destroy everything we held dear, even celebrating our presumed tragedy for their gain? But as they boasted of their triumphs and prepared to conquer Washington D.C., little did they know the "barista" they thought they'd destroyed was merely shedding her disguise, a powerful Heiress now returning to her home turf, ready to unleash a vengeance they could never comprehend.
Stolen Motherhood, Shattered Lives

Stolen Motherhood, Shattered Lives

 Modern
5.0
I woke up in my own bed, familiar yet foreign. Everything that had shattered my first life flooded back. Years of Mark, my husband, shrinking me, and Tiffany, his high-school flame, twisting the knife. I remembered my miscarriage, the doctors' pronouncement: "You can't have more children." Then, our adopted son, Leo. My beautiful boy. But the crushing truth: he wasn't just "ours." He was theirs. They orchestrated it all, letting me pour my broken heart into raising their child, smirking behind my back as their free nanny, their convenient fool. That ultimate, horrifying betrayal had quite literally killed me. It wasn't just an affair; it was the audacious theft of my motherhood, the calculated destruction of my identity. How could they do it, believing I' d never uncover their lie? The injustice burned, an icy inferno. But now, I was back. It was the evening before Mark would tell me Tiffany was moving in, a moment that once broke me. This time, no tears, no desperate pleas. Only cold, silent calculation. And they were completely unprepared for the storm I was about to unleash.
The Divorce He Filed Himself

The Divorce He Filed Himself

 Modern
5.0
My husband Mark called, his voice a whip crack in my ear, furious that I was in Napa enjoying wine instead of fretting over his mistress, Jessie. For seven years, his world revolved around Jessie' s endless dramas, her "fragile" state always prioritized over my needs, my feelings, or even the memory of my late father. I quietly drafted dissolution papers, shifting the names from generic "Jane Doe" to "Sarah Miller vs. Mark Thompson," a silent vow of freedom. He dismissed my pain, gaslighted my reality, and funneled our marital assets into Jessie' s lavish lifestyle, casually buying her a $15,000 designer bag when I couldn't get a few hundred for a work suit. The ultimate betrayal came during a scuba trip off La Jolla: he shoved me, his wife, directly into a shark's path to save Jessie, then abandoned me, celebrating with her on the boat while I gasped for air, bleeding. How could anyone be so utterly blind, so consumed by another's manufactured crisis, that they would sacrifice their own spouse and then, beaming, personally file divorce papers thinking they were for their mistress? He proudly signed away his future, thinking he was liberating Jessie, not realizing he was cementing my escape and sealing his own downfall. The game was on, and watching his oblivious delight, I knew I would win.
Love's Toxic Echo

Love's Toxic Echo

 Romance
5.0
I woke in a hospital bed, my head throbbing, a void where seven years of my life should be. Doctors explained it was retrograde amnesia, specifically targeting emotional connections. My best friend, Liam, looked devastated when I asked, "Cassie? Who's Cassie?" Apparently, she was everything to me for seven long years, a love so deep it was almost painful. Yet, when I finally encountered this forgotten love, Cassie Vanderbilt, she was shockingly cold. She showed no concern for my accident, only annoyance, casting me aside for her ex-fiancé, Damian Pierce. Her dismissive eyes and cutting words instantly confirmed her indifference, echoing the tales of unrequited devotion from a private blog I found. She publicly validated Damian over me, humiliated me at a party, and even threw coffee in my face. When a fire erupted, she inexplicably chose to save Damian, leaving me to the flames. And later, when Damian brazenly stole my revolutionary tech project, AuraConnect, she stood by him, publicly discrediting me. Each fresh injury, inflicted by a woman I no longer remembered, compounded my confusion and pain. How could I have so desperately loved someone utterly devoid of compassion, even for a victim of severe memory loss? The weight of her constant betrayals, for a past I couldn't access, was a sickening burden. This constant cycle of humiliation left me bewildered, questioning the very essence of my forgotten self. I knew then: this forgotten past was toxic, and I would consciously choose to leave it behind. I fled Boston for Austin, embracing a clean slate and finding genuine happiness with Maya. But just as I started to build a new life, the darkness of my past, in the form of Damian and Cassie's schemes, roared back. They came for me, forcing a final, brutal confrontation that tore open old wounds and revealed a truth far more agonizing than I could have imagined.
Fearless Psychotic

Fearless Psychotic

 Modern
5.0
On my way to the hospital to pick up medicine, I unexpectedly saw my disgusting neighbor maliciously pushing and squeezing a little girl! The little girl was on the verge of tears, her eyes pleading for help. I immediately stood up and switched places with her. Seeing this, the disgusting neighbor directly shoved the video he was playing in front of me, revealing a disgusting yellow-toothed smirk and saying, "Oh, you came just in time. Then you can watch action movies with me instead of her." I immediately struck back with a heavy blow, and then slowly laughed and said, "Old man, now it's your turn to star in it. How does that feel?"