Lorraine
8 Published Stories
Lorraine's Books and Stories
Blood on the Snow, A Lost Life
Modern On our sixth anniversary, I found my fiancé Carter had given my grandmother's heirloom locket to his "fragile" colleague, Carmen.
When I confronted him, he slapped me across the face.
He then dragged me out into the snow, forcing me to my knees to apologize to Carmen for upsetting her. The stress and his violence triggered a miscarriage. I was losing our baby right there at his feet.
He never even noticed the blood staining the snow. He was too busy comforting the woman he chose over me and our child.
I left that night and never looked back.
Three years later, after building a new life and a successful bakery, he showed up on my doorstep, a ghost of a man, dying of cancer.
He collapsed, coughing up blood at my feet, begging for a forgiveness I no longer had to give. His Sacrifice, Her Cold Indifference
Modern I was forced to marry Drake Knox, a Wall Street titan twice my age. I fought him at every turn, but his cold control slowly melted into a possessive passion I couldn't resist.
Then his ex-girlfriend, Julia, returned, claiming a terminal illness had brought her back to him.
He chose her. When I was injured and left bleeding in a hotel lobby, he ran to comfort her.
When she murdered my dog, Peanut, and framed me, he believed her lies without question.
His punishment for my "betrayal" was to lock me away in his mansion, a gilded cage he called protection.
He sacrificed my safety, my sanity, and my freedom for the woman he truly loved. I was just a substitute.
So I ran. And when he chased me down a highway, I gave him an ultimatum: let me go, or watch me die. I stepped in front of a speeding truck.
I never expected him to swerve his own car into its path, sacrificing himself to save me. The Toxic Love That Almost Destroyed Me
Modern For five years, I was Broadway's golden girl, and my powerful CEO boyfriend, Brennan, was my anchor. Our love felt invincible, a modern fairytale written across city marquees.
Then he met Aimee, a struggling musician he claimed saved his life in a car crash.
He gave her the vintage guitar he'd promised me. He stole my private journal so she could turn my pain into a hit song, making me a national laughingstock. He even used my dying mother's medical bills to keep me trapped.
But the night my mother was dying, the night she needed an emergency helicopter, he diverted it. He sent her only hope to Aimee, who was having a "panic attack."
My mother died alone.
At her funeral, a reporter asked about his engagement to Aimee. He thought he had broken me, but he had just started a war. He didn't know the separation papers he'd already signed weren't for a payout-they were for a divorce, and I was about to disappear. Reborn, Redeemed, Relentless Revenge
Xuanhuan The scent of gasoline and burning metal, the agonizing twisting of the car around me-that was my last memory. My sister Bella' s triumphant smile, seared into my mind as flames consumed me.
Then, a blinding flash, and I was back. Not in a hospital, but in my old bedroom, years younger, my hands smooth and unscarred. The shock of rebirth warred with a fierce, tiny spark of hope. A second chance. A chance to do it right.
But the past wasn't content to stay buried. The memories flooded back: my father, framed and driven to suicide; his legacy left in ruins; my life single-mindedly devoted to clearing his name. And Bella, my own sister, orchestrating my downfall, poisoning my family and reputation for her frivolous desires, egged on by her manipulative lover, Leo.
The car accident wasn' t an accident. It was a calculated murder, a final betrayal. They left me for dead, my life' s work shattered, my body broken.
The raw pain of that memory still gnawed at me, the bitter taste of betrayal fresh on my tongue. Why had they done this? How could a sister be so cruel?
Then, the creak of a door. Bella walked in, dressed in a brand new designer dress, her face a mask of practiced sweetness. "Chloe," she cooed, "I need to talk to you about something." It was the exact same scene. The same beginning. But this time, she wouldn' t find a victim. This time, I knew the game, and I was ready to play. His Mistrust, Her Silent Sacrifice
Romance Sarah Miller finally shook off the fog of a traumatic brain injury, memories flooding back, only to discover her life in ruin.
Her so-called friend, Brenda, publicly accused her of shoplifting, prompting Mike, her military husband, to present devastating divorce papers.
Then, a debt collector arrived, exposing thousands in debt wrought by Brenda' s years of malicious manipulation.
Mike, accustomed to Sarah's alleged "trouble," paid the debts but solidified his mistrust, silencing her pleas and locking her in their home.
Brenda further engineered Mike's downfall: spreading rumors of his fictional injury, then "finding" Sarah' s pre-signed divorce papers, painting her as an abandoning wife.
Believing these cruel lies, Mike signed the papers, utterly sealing their fate.
Heartbroken and secretly pregnant, Sarah overheard Mike declare his resolute divorce, convinced she was a manipulative burden.
How could she possibly explain the years of calculated deceit that orchestrated her complete ruin?
Her newfound clarity only illuminated the utter devastation Brenda had wrought.
Leaving behind the signed divorce papers and a silent farewell, Sarah vanished from Fort Henderson.
Six years later, amid the chaos of Hurricane Anya, she' d unexpectedly face Mike again.
But this time, a shocking truth-and a little girl-would unravel everything. A Second Chance, A True Love's Kiss
Romance The Montauk Highway rain slammed against our windshield, just like my stomach cramped with familiar, sharp pain.
Marcus drove, his knuckles white, until his phone flashed 'Izzy.'
My husband, always her loyal puppy, was gone in a flash.
"Ellie, call an Uber. Izzy needs me," he' d declared, abandoning me sick and alone on that dark road.
It was the ninth time Marcus chose his ex-girlfriend over me, his wife.
The 'ninth goodbye' in a cruel bet Izzy orchestrated years ago: "Nine times, Ellie. Nine. Then you walk away."
Each incident a deeper cut: my anniversary dinner, my emergency surgery, my grandmother' s memorial.
I was just his convenient rebound, his 'consolation prize,' a pawn in their twisted game.
Days later, after an elevator accident left me shattered and hospitalized, Marcus cradled Izzy, his terror only for her.
I finally saw it with chilling clarity: he never truly loved me.
My marriage was a meticulously crafted lie, orchestrated by Izzy from college.
My love for him, that foolish, stubborn hope, was finally drained, leaving only an aching void.
But the game was over.
I had already signed the divorce papers he carelessly overlooked, ready for my freedom.
When Izzy later set a vicious trap to publicly shame me, accusing me of assault, a mysterious stranger stepped in, changing everything.
This was the end of a nightmare, and the beginning of my true life. Too Late for Regret, Liam
Romance For six years, I believed Liam and I were building a real life together in our Chicago apartment.
I always thought our love was solid, unbreakable.
One quiet Tuesday night, searching his laptop for a tax document, I stumbled upon a folder simply named "C."
Curiosity, that stupid little nudge, made me click.
It wasn't finances; it was Chloe.
Thousands of photos, her smiling face, and then the "Journal" subfolder.
My hands shook as I read devastating entries.
The flowers he bought me after my promotion, the romantic trip to Italy, even our engagement-each cherished moment a desperate reaction to a woman he still couldn't let go of.
He worried I was pregnant, clearly terrified of being tied to me while Chloe was "still out there."
Then Chloe herself started sending me messages, photos of her and Liam, bragging I was just a "placeholder."
I heard him tell his best friend he was "stringing me along" to make Chloe jealous.
The man I loved saw me only as a prop in his silent play for another woman.
How could I have been so blind, so completely fooled?
His ring on my finger was never for me.
With a cold, hard clarity, I realized my entire relationship was a meticulously crafted lie.
I saved every message, every damning photo, and wrote a short note: "We're done."
I closed our joint accounts, changed my number, and bought a bus ticket out of Chicago.
There was no sadness, just a firm click of a door closing on a life that was never truly mine. You might like
Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback
Huo Wuer Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold.
"Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'"
The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip.
Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet.
I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child.
But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame.
"I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done."
I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down. The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers
Kleon Samorodnitsky After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken." The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. 
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