JENNIFER JARVIS
10 Published Stories
JENNIFER JARVIS's Books and Stories
Too Late, Mark Olsen
Romance I sacrificed a dream career in Silicon Valley and moved halfway across the country, all to build a life with Mark, the man I loved.
But then, an Instagram post shattered my world: Mark, arm around a blonde I didn’t know, captioned “Celebrating my new role with the amazing Chloe Vanderbilt!”
When I confronted him, he unveiled a callous betrayal, coldly stating Chloe was his girlfriend and I was merely a past chapter, no longer “in his league.”
My attempt to warn Chloe about his true nature backfired spectacularly, as she dismissed me as a "crazy, jealous ex" and, together with Mark, orchestrated a public humiliation at a downtown bar.
The ultimate horror struck moments later when two thugs ambushed me, physically assaulted me, and stole everything, growling a chilling warning to "stay away from Austin."
Bruised, traumatized, and stripped bare of my dignity and possessions, I was forced to flee the city that had crumbled my life to dust.
How could the man I loved, and his new partner, conspire to destroy me so completely, leaving me feeling utterly abandoned and broken with no one to turn to?
The injustice burned hotter than any physical wound, screaming for an answer no one seemed willing to provide.
But as my plane lifted off, leaving Austin behind, the despair solidified into steel: I vowed to remake myself, stronger and smarter, and one day, they would realize the true cost of their cruel game. You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello
Mafia My father sold me to the Vitiello Crime Family to settle a three-million-dollar gambling debt.
For three years, I was Dante Vitiello’s property. I warmed his bed, tended his wounds, and let him own every part of me.
I thought I was earning my freedom. I thought I mattered.
Then his "true queen," the Mafia Princess Sofia, returned to the city.
Dante pushed me off his lap the moment she walked into the room. He ordered me to leave because, in the presence of his equal, I was nothing more than "the help."
The humiliation didn't stop there.
He evicted me from the penthouse to renovate it for her.
At a gala, he outbid me for my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet—my family's last scrap of dignity—just to gift it to Sofia in front of the entire city.
But the final blow came when he came to my bed drunk one last time.
He kissed me with a desperate hunger, whispering that he was only "practicing" his technique on me so he would be perfect for her.
I realized then that I wasn't a person to him. I was a training dummy. A debt with a pulse.
He told me to wait for him while he took her to Paris. He thought I would stay in the kennel like a good pet.
He was wrong.
While he was gone, I accepted a surgical fellowship in Switzerland.
I snapped my SIM card in half, left his millions on the floor, and boarded a one-way flight.
By the time the Wolf comes home to find his cage empty, I will be gone. Love Lost, A Life Reclaimed
Modern My world shattered with a piece of paper. A DNA test revealed I wasn't a Daugherty by blood, but an impostor. My husband, Kane, divorced me, and the real heiress, Britt, took my home, my life, and my son.
Five years later, I was a waitress drowning in my foster mother's medical debt when they walked into my diner. Kane, Britt, and my son, Cleveland, who now called Britt "Mommy."
He looked at me with disgust. "Mommy said you' re not my real mom anymore," he announced. "And you're just a waitress now. Daddy says waitresses are poor."
The words were a knife to the heart. Later that night, my foster mother, Jessi, died in the hospital after Britt whispered poison in her ear, leaving me with a cryptic warning about Britt's dark secrets.
Britt then offered me a job as a live-in nanny, a chance to watch her live my life up close. It was a cruel, humiliating offer.
But I accepted.
Because in my old home, I discovered Britt wasn't just cruel-she was poisoning my son and had infected my ex-husband with a disease. This wasn't just about humiliation anymore. It was about revenge. From Wife To Rival
Romance My husband, Connor, and I built an empire from nothing. Our ten-year marriage was supposed to be a testament to our shared dreams. But then a woman named Gemma Chan entered our lives, a ghost from Connor’s past claiming a “life debt” he felt honor-bound to pay.
It all came to a head in a terrifying kidnapping, where Connor was forced to choose between me, his wife, and Gemma, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life. He chose her.
I watched him walk away with her, leaving me tied up with our captors. His promise to "come back for me" was a cruel lie. Later, in the hospital, I overheard him confessing his love for Gemma, sealing my fate. The ultimate betrayal came when I discovered I was pregnant, only to lose our baby after witnessing their intimate embrace.
The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that ripped through me. I had loved him with every fiber of my being, and he had left me to die, then tortured me with his indifference.
But I wouldn't be a victim. I burned down our home, a symbol of our shattered life, and sold my shares in our company to his fiercest rival, Elliott George. I was done. I was free. The Surviving Twin
Romance The spotlight burned on Dr. Julian Thorne, my mentor, as he claimed credit for my life's work.
I clutched a crumpled program, every clap of applause a slap, as he casually dismissed my contributions, citing my supposed "unpreparedness" for the pressure.
But his true betrayal was revealed as searing pain tore through me, and I collapsed, the world spinning into darkness.
I woke up in a luxurious clinic, Julian by my side, only to hear his chilling words: "There is no baby anymore, Anya."
He looked at me, cold and indifferent, calling our lost child a mere "complication," a "liability" clouding my judgment.
The man I once trusted, the one who called me a "once-in-a-generation talent," had become a monster who saw human life as a burden.
In the depths of despair, the shocking truth emerged: a twin, a tiny flicker of life, had survived the brutal theft of my research and my first child.
Julian's shocked face, seeing the "complication" he thought he' d eliminated, ignited a fierce, desperate resolve within me.
I had to escape, not for vengeance, but to protect the life still fighting inside me, a life he had already tried to extinguish once.
With the help of a kind doctor, I vanished, disappearing into the vast unknown, armed with a new name and a burning promise to my child: I will protect you, no matter what it takes. Beyond The Scratches: An Heiress's Revenge
Billionaires The exclusive charity gala was a suffocating display of elite hypocrisy, a world I, Gabrielle Johns, knew all too well.
My stepfather and his golden child took center stage, gushing over a scholarship student named Maria Chavez.
But Maria was no fragile victim; she was a snake, waiting for her moment to strike.
And she did, seizing the microphone to publicly accuse me of relentless bullying and making her life a hell.
Suddenly, her gaze locked on mine, and she wailed about being driven to self-harm, pulling up her sleeve to reveal faint scratches that were obviously fake.
My stepbrother, Andrew, blinded by rage and infatuation, lunged at me, his eyes spitting venom.
"You monster," he snarled, "you made her want to die!"
The crowd' s sympathy for Maria solidified into open disgust for me, painting me as the entitled villain.
Even my stepfather, Matthew, the man my mother married, stood by, playing the disappointed patriarch, complicit in the charade.
Yet, as the room swam with their judgment and their lies, I refused to move, refusing to kneel.
How could these people, who claimed to care about charity, be so easily duped by such a transparent act?
Why was the man my mother made powerful so quick to turn on me, his own stepdaughter?
This wasn' t just a malicious accusation; it was a cold, calculated strike against everything I believed my family stood for.
But they had made a fatal mistake: they hurt me.
And they had no idea who they were truly dealing with, or what I was capable of doing to protect what was mine. His Silent Vengeance: A Director's Redemption
Modern The smell of antiseptic still clung to me, a phantom reminder of the fire that consumed my old life.
Lying in a hospital bed, a mummy of bandages, I clutched onto the last hope: an experimental skin graft, my only chance to survive.
I was a special effects artist, the guy behind the scenes, but I'd clawed my way to this lifeline.
Then, Jocelyn Chavez, my protégée, the girl I' d trained and paid for, walked in. My "little sister." Her eyes were red, but not for me.
"Andrew," she stammered, "you have to give it to Matthew. He needs his looks. He's a leading man, Andrew. You're… behind the scenes. He needs this more."
I stared, aghast. I was dying, but Matthew's career was her priority. She didn' t see me; she saw a stepping stone for the charming star she was infatuated with. Despite my pleas, she left. Hours later, the nurse told me my spot had been "reallocated" at Jocelyn's request, for "greater public value."
I died that night, alone, betrayed by the girl I' d given everything to. My last thought was of her face, twisted with devotion for him, not sorrow for me. The betrayal burned hotter than any fire.
Then, I jolted awake.
The acrid smell of a smoke machine, not real smoke, filled the air. I was back on set, a year before the fire. A stunt had just gone wrong. And there was Matthew, playing the hero, pointing to a girl with a real injury, Jocelyn, expecting me to handle the "trouble."
This time, things would be different. I am Not Your Villainess
Romance Years ago, I, Ava, the adopted daughter, stumbled upon an old screenplay that labeled me the villainess. It foretold my role: a sacrifice for my 'perfect' sister, Chloe. Desperate to rewrite my fate, I poured kindness into the lives around me, subtly guiding studio executive Ethan Crawford to success and saving Marcus Vance from a life on the streets. My hope was to earn loyalty, to shield myself from the script' s cruel prophecy.
But on the set of Ethan' s latest film, that hope shattered. A controlled explosion went wrong. While Chloe emerged with a mere scratch, a piece of debris slammed into my side. Agony stole my breath. No one noticed. My adoptive mother accused me of distracting Chloe, and Ethan, seeing only Chloe' s 'trauma,' dismissed my cries for help as 'drama.' He ordered Marcus to take me to an isolated, decaying guesthouse, to keep me out of the press. Marcus, the man I saved, left me there alone, choosing to 'check on Chloe at the hospital' instead.
I bled out, helpless and forgotten, the script' s narrative unfolding flawlessly. Every act of kindness, every sacrifice I made, was twisted against me, cementing Chloe' s manipulative victimhood. How could those I helped so devotedly believe such cruel lies? Was my destiny truly sealed by a cursed story?
My death, however, was just the beginning. My spirit lingered, an unseen witness. I watched Marcus, desperate to conceal what he'd done, chillingly preserve my body in ice. But the truth, cold and silent, would soon shatter the carefully constructed illusions of everyone involved, dragging the Ashworth family, and the Hollywood elite, into a scandal far more devastating than any screenplay could predict. From Park Ranger To Phoenix
Modern I lived a quiet, simple life as a park ranger, nestled comfortably in my cabin, and for months, my greatest joy was Alex, the charming amnesiac man I'd rescued.
He' d carved me a tiny wooden bluebird, the symbol of our shared happiness, and we' d built a future together, filled with whispered promises of forever.
My world shattered the moment a black sedan pulled up: Alex' s mother, Eleanor Ashford, stepped out like a creature from a glossy magazine, coldly revealing that "Alex" was merely Ethan Ashford, a wealthy scion already engaged to a socialite.
She dismissed me, then offered a check, demanding I simply disappear.
Ethan completely discarded me with a cold, formal dismissal, acting as if our love never existed.
I was dragged into his world, subjected to public humiliation at lavish parties, mocked for my humble attire.
When his fiancée and I both plunged into the stormy ocean, he chose to save her, leaving me to battle the waves alone, then incredibly, forced me to donate bone marrow to her after she collapsed.
His mother later ordered me beaten, ensuring my silent compliance for his upcoming wedding.
How could the man who had cradled me, vowing protection and a shared future, transform into this ruthless stranger who betrayed every loving word?
Was the "Alex" I knew just a phantom, or was this monster the true Ethan Ashford?
The sheer injustice, the pain, the betrayal burned hotter than any physical wound.
But they misjudged me; I wouldn't break.
Clutching their payoff, I boarded a bus heading deep into the Colorado Rockies, determined to carve out a new life far from their opulent cruelty.
A terrifying blizzard and a crashed military helicopter unexpectedly threw me into the path of a powerful stranger, setting me on a new, unimaginable course. 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.