Fishin' Floozy
14 Published Stories
Fishin' Floozy's Books and Stories
Reborn, He Still Hated Me
Romance I was Eleanor Baker, the architect who built the Harrington empire from the ground up, designed their iconic skyscrapers, and was destined to marry the heir, James.
Then, on my 65th birthday, James dropped the bomb: he was changing his will, honoring his long-dead first love, Olivia. My life's work, my shares, everything was gone. The betrayal *killed* me.
Only, I opened my eyes in the past. James was there, reborn too, his gaze already holding the cold disgust that would define our future. He still wanted Olivia, who was now alive. So I walked away, giving up everything, only to be ambushed by the press, publicly humiliated, and left bleeding on the street, my heart and my legacy shattered.
How could a lifetime of devotion and building be erased in an instant? Could the man I once loved possibly be so cruel, even in a second chance at life? Was I destined to be nothing more than a discarded architect, overshadowed by a ghost?
But just as I thought it was over, a stranger offered a chance. A visionary project, a new beginning, a path to reclaim my talent and build a future far beyond anything I'd ever imagined. This time, I'm building for myself. The Secret Heiress Returns: Ruining My Cheating Husband
Modern I stood in the middle of the gala I had spent months curating, waiting for the perfect moment to tell my husband, Gabe, that he was going to be a father.
Instead, I watched him place a possessive hand on the stomach of my best friend, Harper. A reporter nearby whispered the truth that stopped my heart: Harper was pregnant with Gabe’s child, and they were announcing it after the IPO.
When I confronted him, Gabe didn't apologize. He looked at me with cold calculation and told me a scandal would ruin the company. Then came the ultimatum that shattered my soul. He wanted me to hide in the countryside, give birth in secret, and hand my baby over to his mistress to raise.
"Don't be selfish," he said. "She needs this baby more than you do."
When I refused, his mother had me dragged away and locked in my bedroom. My windows were sealed, and my own parents sold me out, releasing a statement that I had suffered a mental breakdown. I was trapped, starving, and waiting for them to induce labor so they could steal my child.
But they made one fatal mistake. To keep me "calm," Gabe handed me my phone for five minutes.
I didn't call the police; the Sullivans owned them. I dialed a number I had found in my adoption papers years ago. A number belonging to Anthony Dean, the most dangerous man on the East Coast.
"They are going to kill my baby," I whispered into the receiver.
The voice on the other end was low, terrifying, and promised absolute violence.
"I'm coming." A Dead Lover's Lingering Shadow
Modern I was strapped to a bomb, pregnant and terrified, using my last moments to call the man I loved.
But Arthur didn't send help; he hung up on me because his foster sister, Ivy, was "scared of a noise" outside her apartment.
Ten minutes later, the explosion erased me and our unborn child from existence.
My spirit didn't cross over.
I was cursed to remain as a ghost, tethered to Arthur.
I watched him block my number, convinced my silence was just a "jealous stunt."
I watched him ignore my missing person report until he stood over my charred remains in the morgue, clutching the locket he gave me.
His grief was agonizing, but the truth was worse.
A year later, during a staged kidnapping meant to win him back, Ivy slipped up.
She admitted she had orchestrated my murder to keep him for herself.
As Arthur looked at her with pure hatred, the bond holding me to him finally snapped.
But I didn't leave.
A dark, cold force pulled me toward Ivy instead.
My pain is over, but her nightmare is just beginning. I Dumped my Fiancé at the Wedding
Modern Jake, my boyfriend, became infatuated with Elsie, the girl he sponsored.
In the end, the period where relationships often face challenges after several years caught up with us; we weren't spared.
On the day everything was laid out, I remained unusually calm. After a stalemate, Jake chose me and sent Elsie away.
On the day of our engagement party, rumors spread quickly throughout the community that Elsie fell into the water at the lake.
With eyes red from tears, I held onto Jake as he panicked, "Jake, once you go for her, there's no future for us."
In Jake's eyes, there was unmistakable disgust and blame. "Losing Elsie is like losing my future. Isabel, don't make me hate you."
I froze for a moment as he broke free from my grasp and ran out without looking back.
Gazing at my wedding dress, I chuckled to myself.
Since Jake refused to change his mind, why should I linger in the same place any longer? He Sacrifice Me To Save His Stepsister
Romance The pain shot up from my tailbone. I lay at the bottom of the grand staircase, a warm, sticky wetness spreading beneath me. My baby. My unborn child.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Jake, my husband, rushed past me without a glance. He went straight to my stepsister, Brooke, who was slumped against the wall, her face a mask of fake terror. "Brooke! Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" he asked, his voice filled with panic.
He cradled her in his arms, then turned to me, his eyes cold and full of hate. "Ava Riley," he spat, "If I hadn' t lost my memory, there' s no way I would have ever married you." The words hit me harder than the fall. Brooke, nestled in his arms, looked at me with a triumphant smirk. She whispered to Jake about finding property for an art gallery to "heal." He immediately pulled out his phone, without even looking at me, lying in a pool of my own blood.
The next day, Jake used his immense power to condemn my family' s historic art studio. My loving parents, trying to stop the demolition, were crushed and killed by falling debris. The news came to me in the sterile white of a hospital room, after I had already lost my child.
It was all gone. Replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness. When I finally left the Miller mansion, carrying my parents' ashes, Jake' s friends snickered, thinking I' d crawl back. Jake sneered, "It' s just a pity play. She schemed her way into wealth. She' d never leave."
They didn't see the black car waiting for me. They also didn't know my private jet was ready on the skyscraper rooftop. They thought I was a broken, penniless artist. They had no idea who I really was. And they had no idea what I was about to do. His Greed, Her Triumph
Modern My world shattered on a Tuesday afternoon while I was scrolling through a local city forum.
An anonymous post popped up, short and alarming. "Warning to anyone dating a guy who hangs out at the 'Gilded Bean' café downtown. Overheard a man and a woman, 'Liam' and 'Chloe' , plotting something vile. They were talking about drugging his rich girlfriend, staging an 'accident' , and getting her money. He mentioned she' s a tech exec."
Liam. My Liam. My breath caught. We went to the Gilded Bean all the time.
The post described him: "He was wearing a very distinctive watch, a silver one with a dark blue face. Looked expensive." I bought him that watch for our one-year anniversary. A limited edition Zenith Chronomaster. There wasn' t another one like it in the city.
Then the name Chloe sealed it. Chloe Davies. A girl from his past he always claimed to dislike, someone he called "trashy" and "desperate."
My phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor of the apartment Liam and I shared. The shock was a physical blow. It couldn' t be real. Not Liam.
Every sweet word, every tender touch, the way he looked at me with what I thought was love – it was all a lie. A carefully crafted performance. He wasn' t just planning to steal from me; he was planning to kill me.
The thought of him using my trust to isolate me, making me feel secure while he sharpened the knife, made me sick. The man I loved didn' t exist. He was a monster, and I had invited him into every corner of my life.
I wouldn' t be his victim. Liam Parker thought he was hunting a sheep; he was about to find out he had targeted a lioness. He wasn' t getting away with this. None of them were. Eight Years, A Cruel Joke
Romance For eight years, I clung to Liam' s drunken promise, a joke he' d made at 14 that felt like a sacred vow.
I transformed myself, chasing perfection for him, believing our 22nd birthday was finally our moment.
But then, I overheard him plotting: our "promise" was a cruel lie, a scheme to get rid of me.
He was in love with Sienna, planning a fake engagement and a rented baby to finally drive me away.
My world shattered, reduced to nothing but the echoing laughter of his friends.
Why was I always just an obstacle, a joke in his meticulously crafted life?
I accepted an overseas scholarship, packed my bags, and burned every memory of him, ready to disappear.
He publicly humiliated me, flaunting his engagement to Sienna at a charity gala.
Then, when a planter fell, he shielded her, completely ignoring me as I lay bleeding on the floor.
At my farewell party, he shoved me into a lake, leaving me to drown, just to protect Sienna.
He chose her. Over his best friend. Over my life.
My brother, Mark, came to my rescue, raging at Liam, but it was clear Liam felt no remorse.
He claimed I was "unstable" and "obsessed," twisting every truth to fit his narrative.
I left for New York, cutting all ties, determined to erase him from my life forever.
Years later, Liam, broken and ruined by Sienna and her lover, Julian, desperately sought me out.
He found me, happy and successful, with Alex-a man who truly valued me.
I finally had the strength to tell him his apology meant nothing, that he was no longer my problem.
The man who once dominated my every thought was now a pathetic stranger, utterly unimportant.
I threw away his final, belated confession, a paper airplane of wasted love, into the New York sky.
My journey from a broken girl to a celebrated architect, from chasing a false star to finding my own wings, was complete.
I was finally free, soaring into a future he could never touch. The Gambler's Wife: A Blood Betrayal
Mafia The delivery room was cold, the sterile white walls closing in on me as my newborn son, Leo, fought for every breath down the hall.
Then my husband, Liam, called, his voice a panicked whisper: "Ava, I'm in big trouble. I owe six point sixty-six million dollars to 'The Gambler.' If I don't pay, he'll kill me."
I emptied our savings, sold my father's cherished comic collection, maxed out high-interest loans, and worked myself to the bone for four agonizing years while Leo battled his own health issues.
I even sold my blood, twice a week, because Liam said it was the only thing keeping him alive, that we shared a rare blood type.
Finally, I had the money. But when I delivered the duffel bag of cash, "The Gambler's" henchman told me the price had gone up to sixteen point sixty-six million, showing me video proof of Liam being tortured, screaming in agony.
Then I walked into a lavish VIP room, ready to beg for his life, only to find Liam, unbruised and in an expensive suit, draped around a stunning woman who looked eerily like me.
He wasn't tortured. He was The Gambler.
"The blood wasn't for him, darling," his mistress, Scarlett, purred, "It was for me. I needed a little 'top-up.' You were a walking blood bank."
My sacrifices, my love, my life-all a lie.
He looked at me, a hollowed-out wreck, and called me a failed "evaluation."
Then, he threw a pittance of my own money on the floor: "Now get out. You're not welcome here anymore."
My world shattered. My son was sick, fighting for his life, and my husband didn't just not care, he was the monster who had profited from our agony.
But when he demanded I continue to be his mistress's blood bank, even as Leo lay dying in the hospital, something inside me snapped.
"The blood bank is closed. Permanently," I told him, hanging up the phone.
He sent his thugs to the hospital to take Leo. My son, my dying son, was just another resource to him.
"Mommy?" Leo's tiny voice echoed over the walkie-talkie, Liam's phone still connected to the thugs. "Is... is Daddy there?"
That pure, innocent question, crashing through Liam's carefully constructed lie, was all the opening I needed.
My son was gone, taken by the man who was supposed to protect him.
Now, I would watch Liam's world burn. Our Story, Rebuilt
Romance "No one," I whispered, clutching the phone in my pocket as Liam' s voice cut through the sterile silence of our penthouse. He was no longer the brilliant tech genius I loved, but a monster fueled by grief.
His grip like steel clamps, he snatched my phone, his cruel laugh echoing as he twisted my words: "You lost that right the day you killed Chloe." My sister. His accusation, a daily poison, blamed me for an accident he refused to believe.
He shoved me into the sharp edge of a glass table, then dragged me to our bedroom, once a haven, now a torture chamber. Night after night, his touch was a brutal punishment, a violation I endured, detaching my mind from my humiliating reality.
He whispered into the darkness, "You stood on that balcony and you watched her fall." He had created his own truth, casting me as the villain, ignoring my pleas, deaf to the fact I'd tried to save her.
Months of torment, a gilded cage, and I finally understood: this wasn't just grief. He was being manipulated by a "system," a voice on his phone whispering venom, twisting his obsession.
My father, cold and distant, chose Liam's side, abandoning me to a man determined to make me pay for a crime I didn't commit. Broken and alone, I knew there was only one way out.
I would fake my death. I would escape this living hell and finally be free. My Wife, The Stranger
Modern My mother, Eleanor Vance, was a Broadway legend, but my wife, Chloe, her star pupil and a rising star herself, treated me like an understudy. For two grueling months, Mom was dying, and Chloe, on a "promotional tour" in Europe with her agent, ignored my hundreds of desperate calls and texts.
The night Mom passed, Chloe finally picked up, her voice sharp with annoyance. When I told her Mom was gone, she responded with a cold, disbelieving laugh, accusing me of lying and manipulation, then hung up. I buried my mother alone, while Chloe chose to attend a lavish funeral for her agent' s cat, scoffing at my grief and praising his "strength" in mourning a pet.
The injustice of it all, the sheer audacity of her betrayal, settled in my bones as a heavy, cold weight. Every interaction with her, from her disingenuous attempts at seduction to her hysterical denial when I said I wanted a divorce, clawed at the last vestiges of my sanity. Her casual disregard for my mother's death felt like a final, devastating blow.
Why had she ignored us? How could she be so callous, so utterly devoid of empathy, mourning a cat while my mother' s grave lay fresh? What kind of person pretends their mentor is alive just to avoid confrontation?
I packed a shovel in my car and drove her and her agent to Woodlawn Cemetery. It was time to reveal the brutal truth, to force her to face the reality she' d so gleefully ignored, and to finally take back my shattered life. Ten Million Dollar Trap
Fantasy I' m Ava Moreno, a New York reproductive endocrinologist, secretly known as "The Heirloom Weaver."
Using ancient family methods, I help families conceive, even if the father has passed.
The massive fees fund my curandera grandmother' s foundation, preserving vital traditions.
An encrypted message arrived: Liam Ashford, tech royalty, dead from a boating accident.
Ten million dollars for a posthumous child – enough to secure Abuela' s legacy.
But as I began the ritual, a chilling truth emerged: Liam wasn't dead.
He was in 'Serene Stillness,' a trance only my grandmother taught.
He awoke, revealing his father, brother, and fiancée plotted his murder for the family empire.
I had just resurrected a man the most powerful family in America wanted buried.
The Ashford estate was a deadly trap.
They hadn' t hired me for a ghost; they' d lured me into their twisted game with bait money.
Now, with Liam alive, their monstrous plan: force me to be his surrogate, then eliminate us both.
"You will conceive his child," Harrison Sr. sneered, "then your silence will be ensured."
Despair threatened, but then a spark: Abuela' s "Memory Boxes," holding ancient tools of psychological warfare.
They thought they had us trapped.
They were about to learn what happens when you corner The Heirloom Weaver.
Tonight, we would weave a different kind of legacy. The SAT Trap
Sci-fi Three years ago, my brother Mike vanished on his SAT day. Everyone believed he was gone, but our secret, two-part promise meant he was out there. Today, it was my SAT.
Then, a text from an unknown number: "Don't take the test!" – from Mike. But my "parents" acted wrong, their reflections shifting. Even Mike's best friend, Ethan, seemed corrupted now, his concern turning waxy. All relentlessly pushed me towards the exam.
I fled, only to encounter a "psychiatrist" claiming Mike died by suicide, I had PTSD, and my Mike-texts suddenly vanished. Ethan then appeared, playing the sympathetic friend, subtly guiding me to accept the "truth" and take the SAT.
Was I losing my mind? Had Mike truly left me? My gut, fueled by our unwavering promise, screamed no. Their "proof"-a shoddy deepfake by Ethan-terrifyingly confirmed this elaborate lie, aimed directly at me.
Trapped on a mall rooftop, "Mike's" texts urged me to jump, saying it was the only way to "wake up" from this dream. I sent him our most sacred, obscure question. His precise, impossible answer instantly came. Chilling clarity. I stepped off. I woke up, "recovered" from a coma, Mike and Ethan beside me. But the full promise, the one that prompted my leap, shattered this new "reality," revealing another layer of Ethan' s tech-driven prison. Meeting his gaze, I gripped the steering wheel. Only one final crash remained to break free and find justice. The Discarded Bride's Comeback
Modern Ava, an interior designer, was at her grand wedding rehearsal dinner, just hours from marrying affluent director Ethan.
Suddenly, Ethan's adopted sister, Chloe, collapsed. He abandoned Ava, rushing her away. An hour later, Ethan called: Chloe was pregnant, and the baby was his.
Ethan coldly demanded Ava cancel their wedding, quit her job, and raise his love child. Reeling, Ava returned home to find her grandmother's quilt, among her belongings, dumped outside their shared condo. Inside, Ethan caressed Chloe's belly. Chloe then "accidentally" ruined the quilt. When Ava confronted them, Ethan violently shoved her, causing her to hit her head and bleed, completely ignoring her.
The audacity was sickening. How could he betray her so utterly, demanding she accept his monstrous secret and raise his child? This public humiliation and callous disregard for her physical safety ignited a cold fury. It was her 30th birthday—the exact day a silly childhood pact with best friend Liam was set to expire.
Ava stared at the monster Ethan had become. With unwavering resolve, she walked back to the dinner, dramatically removed her diamond engagement ring, and placed it before Ethan's powerful father, declaring the wedding canceled. This time, she was truly breaking free. Shattered Perfection: A CEO's Downfall
Billionaires My life as Ava Sharma, a successful architect, half of New York's power couple with my CEO husband Liam, seemed perfect.
He always said my "delicate health" was why we were child-free, and I believed him.
But when he suddenly announced he'd "adopted" two kids without me, a subtle shift occurred.
Then, a doctor's visit revealed a horrifying truth: I'd been surgically sterilized years ago, a "minor procedure" Liam had insisted on.
My blood ran cold as I overheard him confessing he’d secretly operated on me and was already securing an heir with a surrogate named Sophia.
Liam brought Sophia, heavily pregnant, into our home, a living monument to his betrayal.
She groomed his children to taunt me, then actively sabotaged me.
When an allergic reaction left me choking for air, Liam abandoned me to die, choosing Sophia.
Later, I saw a video of their secret wedding from six months ago – his family beaming, his wealth being funneled to her and "his" children.
My entire life was a meticulously crafted lie, my body violated, my choices stolen.
How could the man who swore to protect me leave me for dead?
How could my cherished career and loving marriage be built on such monstrous deceit?
The pain was a living entity, clawing and tearing at me.
I was not just betrayed; I was erased, a placeholder.
But that was the moment.
The absolute, unbreachable moment.
There was no going back.
From shattered wife, I transformed into a meticulous strategist.
I saved every piece of evidence, every humiliating video.
My war had begun, and Liam Harrington was about to learn that hell hath no fury like a woman stripped of everything. You might like
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. 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. Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises
Rabbit My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool.
For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office.
The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation.
My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order.
Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve.
Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one. 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.
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. 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. 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. My Contracted Husband, The Heartless CEO has Amnesia?
Audrey C Leilani Celeste was married to a Mafia Don, by the name Xenois Kingston on a contract marriage, that would last 6 years.
The deal was that Celeste would give him children during that period and after the end of the 6 year contract, he would offer her $100,000,000,000, divorce her and keep the children as his.
Celeste, an orphan, abandoned by the orphanage she grew up in at the age of 18 had nothing to lose and agreed to the deal.
6 years later, Celeste is now 24 years and mother to triplets boys; Lake, Troy and Soren. The contract is coming to an end this month and rumors has it that Xenois true love Claudia Hale is returning back to the city after 6 years of absence.
Xenois handed her the divorce papers that morning only for him to get into a car accident on the way to the hospital and suffers from amnesia.
To Xenois, he's in love with his wife and kids and a very attentive father and husband and is surprised to find out that Celeste planned on divorcing him. He is determined to make his wife fall for him and be a better father to their children. Things seem like a fairytale for Celeste who is desperate to hold on to this illusion after she had fallen for her husband in their third year of their marriage and stayed with an unrequited love. She knows what she's doing is cruel but she wants to enjoy it while it lasts.
But Claudia Hale won't rest until she gets rid of the obstacle named Celeste and marries her heartthrob Xenois.
Will Xenois recover his memory and better yet, once he does, does Celeste still stand a chance at winning the heart of her husband or would she be accused of having a hand in his amnesia. 
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