Mischa Taube
13 Published Stories
Mischa Taube's Books and Stories
Broken Bonds: The Rise of the White Wolf
Werewolf As the pack's Omega cleaner, I was invisible. I spent my days scrubbing floors, clutching a cheap moonstone in my pocket—the only proof that Marcus Thorne, the billionaire Alpha, had once touched me.
I was his fated Mate. I thought he just needed time to realize it.
But the night of the Alpha Ball wasn't a fairy tale; it was an execution.
Isabelle, his scheming assistant, dropped classified documents at my feet and screamed "Traitor!"
I waited for Marcus to sense our bond. I waited for him to save me. Instead, his eyes turned cold as ice.
He didn't just believe her; he destroyed me.
He threw me into a dungeon coated in burning silver. He watched as I was fed Wolfsbane. And then, in front of the entire pack, he delivered the final blow.
"I, Marcus Thorne, reject you, Olivia Hayes."
The bond snapped. My soul shattered. He chose a viper over his true mate and ordered me dumped at the border to die like a rogue.
But he made a fatal mistake. The rejection didn't kill me. It woke something ancient inside me.
I wasn't a weak Omega. I was the White Wolf.
Five years later, I returned to New York. Not as the girl he threw away, but as the powerful Luna of the Crescent Moon Pack, with a new, stronger Mate by my side.
When Marcus saw me, the color drained from his face. He fell to his knees in the dirt, holding out that old, dull moonstone, weeping.
"Liv, please. I remember now. Take it back."
I looked down at the man who had broken me and whispered the truth that would haunt him forever.
"I don't want it, Marcus. That stone belongs to a girl who died in your dungeon." A Five-Year Deception, A Lifetime of Payback
Romance I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. The Mad Billionaire's Genius Undercover Wife
Modern I arrived at my uncle’s mansion looking like human trash, clutching a one-way bus ticket and a duffel bag stuffed with old newspaper. My aunt looked at me with pure disgust, as if she could smell the poverty on my skin, but they needed me for one thing: to be a sacrificial lamb.
They told me I was getting married to Julian Sterling, a man the elite circles called a violent monster locked in a cage. My uncle forced me to sign away my soul to save their failing fortune, while my cousin Kayla laughed and threw a torn dress at my feet, calling me a "rat from the Rust Belt."
At the Sterling estate, the nightmare only deepened. Julian’s stepmother treated me like a horse she was forced to buy, ordering the staff to "burn off" my hair before locking me in the West Wing. I was thrown into a padded cell with a man who lunged at me, his heavy chains rattling against the floor as he roared with an animalistic rage that had already killed two nurses.
They thought I was a pathetic, uneducated girl who "didn't read so good." They didn't know I had extorted two million dollars from my uncle before walking out the door, or that I was secretly recording every slap and insult they threw at me for future leverage.
I huddled in the corner of that dark cell, letting them watch me tremble on the security feeds. I let Julian’s sister strike me with a riding crop and splash water in my face, playing the role of the clumsy, sobbing idiot to perfection.
But the moment the cameras looped, the scared girl vanished. I pinned the "monster" to the floor, cut the neural tracking chip out of his neck with a hidden scalpel, and whispered into his ear as his blue eyes finally cleared.
They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter. They had no idea they were sending a wolf to hunt a beast. The Fool Who Loved Too Much
Modern I gripped the warm container of stew, humming as I walked through the sterile hospital halls. Liam, my fiancé, was recovering well from his amnesia; soon, our nightmare would be over.
Then, I heard laughing voices. Room 302 was ajar, and Liam' s familiar voice, smooth and without his usual confusion, told a woman, "Faking amnesia? It was the only way. She was getting so clingy."
My breath hitched. He planned to "miraculously" regain his memory after I nursed him back to health. The woman, Chloe Davis, giggled, calling him "a monster." He replied, "But I'm your monster," followed by the unmistakable sound of a kiss.
The world tilted. He saw our love as a cage, my devotion a tool. Chloe, his office colleague, taunted that I was "sensitive" and "wouldn't last a day" without him, echoing his arrogant certainty. He didn't just betray me; he thought I was weak, pathetic, a fool he could manipulate.
My secure foundation crumbled. Yet, anger, cold and sharp, ignited within me. I pushed the door open, ready to confront the lie.
I walked to his bedside, set down the stew, and pulled off my engagement ring. I slammed it onto the container, announcing, "You forgot something." I walked out, leaving Olivia White behind, and vowed never to be that weak again. Now, I' m building a life he can' t touch. The question is, can I truly escape his monstrous obsession? Marry The Woman In Coma
Romance My father, a Navy SEAL who never flinched, was dying, and his last wish was to see me married.
I turned to the three girls he' d raised as his own, my childhood sweethearts, who had jokingly "promised" to marry me.
My proposal was met with cruel rejections: one claimed animal activism, another gamophobia, and the third cited her high-powered tech career.
But then a video surfaced: my three "family" members, draped in designer clothes bought with my money, laughing and intimately lounging on a yacht with Ethan, our chauffeur' s son.
They were wearing identical friendship bracelets, and Sarah was practically in his lap.
Their excuses were elaborate lies, designed to mock me while they squandered my family's fortune.
The betrayal burned, but their final act solidified my rage.
When my father succumbed to his illness, they ignored his deathbed wishes, choosing a "hike" with Ethan over a final goodbye.
A storm raged that night, and I, fearing for their safety, embarked on a desperate, all-night mountain search.
My leg was injured, my body was broken, but my heart shattered when Sarah' s call came through: she was safe at a luxury resort, laughing with Ethan, mocking my concern.
"Liam, are you done with your little drama yet?" she sneered.
I returned to the hospital, only to find a nurse pulling a sheet over my father' s face.
I swore then that they would pay, by choosing the one woman who could never lie or betray me.
On my wedding day, dressed for a union born of despair, they burst in, feigning remorse, attempting to reclaim their position.
"Why are you marrying a comatose woman? Why not one of us?" they shrieked, their contempt for my comatose bride palpable.
But just as I placed the ring, Clara Sterling, whom they had called "a living corpse," slowly opened her eyes.
"Who," she said, her voice cold and resonant, "are you calling a cripple?"
She rose from her wheelchair, walked to me, and kissed me, revealing the shocking truth: she had never been in a coma.
My life with Clara, built on truth and unwavering devotion, had just begun.
My so-called family, defeated and exposed, were given a severance and exiled.
Years later, I learned their tragic fate: they had been trafficked and killed in Thailand, a cruel end to their greed.
I never looked back.
My world, once shadowed by betrayal, was now illuminated by the laughter of my wife and daughter, a bright, clear horizon stretching before us. His Betrayal, Her Unborn Child
Modern My family was a masterpiece, but underneath, it was rotting.
We were the envy of the art world, with my formidable mother, respected father, and charming brother.
And then there was me, Chloe, the sensitive artist they cultivated like a prized orchid.
But I felt the chill of a long-buried secret, making me a stranger in my own home.
Then I met Liam, an architect who built solid things, and for the first time, I felt seen.
His love was a warm room in my cold house, and when I became pregnant, I imagined our perfect future.
"We're pregnant," I whispered to him, and his face lit up with overwhelming joy.
He became the doting husband, planning our child' s future, a warmth I' d craved my whole life.
Life was perfect, until the prenatal genetic screening results arrived.
He stood rigid, staring at his computer, the warmth draining from the room.
"Liam, what is it?" I asked, my voice trembling as he turned, his face a mask of cold fury.
"We have to get rid of it," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"The baby?" I stammered, unable to process his words.
"Don't call it that," he snapped back, demanding I terminate the pregnancy tomorrow.
Before I could react, my family walked in, and I rushed to them, crying, "Liam… he wants me to have an abortion! He won't tell me why!"
My mother' s perfectly manicured nails dug into my skin, her voice like chipping ice.
"He's right, Chloe," she said, her grim resolve mirroring Liam's.
"You have to do this," my father added, his tone leaving no room for argument.
My brother sneered, "Don't be stupid, Chloe. You can't have this… thing."
They closed in, calling my child "unnatural" and "tainted."
Their persuasion turned to force, dragging me towards a car that would take me to a clinic.
I fought, screamed, and clawed, a wild animal fighting for its young.
I escaped into a labyrinth of city alleys, their footsteps pounding behind me.
I slipped, crashing hard, and felt a sharp, searing pain.
A crimson stain spread across my dress; my baby, my innocent life, was slipping away.
My family stood over me, their faces impassive, utterly devoid of love, as I blacked out.
I awoke in a sterile mental institution, committed by them.
For months, I was a ghost in a white gown, drugged, tormented, chipped away until I died, alone, my family' s secret safe.
Then, I opened my eyes.
I was in my bed, whole, my stomach flat.
I scrambled for my phone; it was the day the genetic test results were due.
The day my world had ended.
And it was all about to happen again.
But this time, I had a memory, a prophecy.
I had died, and now I was back, filled with a cold, clear purpose: to get the report, to understand why, and to make them pay. The Puppet Unstrung: Chloe's Freedom
Romance The architectural gala was a cruel joke, but I went anyway. It was a habit, just like everything else in my life with Mark.
Then I saw Ethan. My childhood friend, the man who' d promised to always be there, now stood across the room, radiating a happiness I hadn' t seen in years, a peace I' d never known.
His eyes found mine, and his face hardened into cold disappointment.
Then he introduced her: Sarah, his fiancée. My throat tightened as Sarah, blissfully unaware, gushed about our "childhood adventures," each word a barb.
"We just decided," Ethan said, his gaze heavy with judgment. "Funny, isn\'t it? How people can just decide to move on." The accusation hung in the air, a direct hit to my years of indecision with Mark.
A sharp memory sliced through me: Ethan, on a rooftop under the stars, promising, "Chloe, no matter what, I\'ll always be here. Always." Another memory superimposed: crying in his car last year, Mark' s fifth betrayal. "You don\'t have to go back," Ethan had whispered, his knuckles white, his own heart breaking. But I always did.
I was trapped in a cruel narrative, the foolish heroine always returning to Mark. But standing there, under Ethan\'s cold stare, something snapped. The fog receded. The invisible strings went slack. For the first time, I saw the depth of love I' d thrown away, the man I' d shattered.
I was awake. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I had been a puppet, and my own hands had helped the puppeteer.
I fled, called Ethan, begged for five minutes on the rooftop. But when I found him, he was kissing Sarah, a deep, loving kiss that sealed a future without me.
He knew. He knew the significance of the dress Sarah wore, the childhood bird she' d found, the ring he' d given her. He' d weaponized our past, deliberately erased me, and now wanted me to be Sarah' s maid of honor.
I was being punished, his words a final, killing blow. "Now, all I can think is how lucky I am that it\'s Sarah who gets to wear it. Not you."
Then Sarah' s chilling confession: she was a transmigrator. She had manipulated everything, using my self-destruction to drive Ethan into her arms.
"You were just keeping him warm for me," she' d said, her smile triumphant, cruel. "Thank you for giving him to me."
The world shifted. I hadn\'t just been a victim of a story; I' d been the target of a predator.
At the pre-wedding dinner, Ethan' s mother publicly humiliated me, calling me "unstable," unworthy. Ethan, my last hope, simply asked, "What are you even doing here, Chloe?"
Later, on the beach, I overheard him tell his friend about me. "Loved her?" he scoffed. "Come on, Mike. Don\'t be ridiculous. I was just a nice guy. She was a mess. I felt sorry for her. That\'s all it ever was."
'That' s all it ever was.' Twenty years of shared history, dismissed in a single, careless sentence. It shattered me, then freed me. The ghost of what we had was finally dead.
I gathered every memento of our shared past, everything that tied me to the old Chloe, and burned them. A funeral. A baptism. I was burning the girl who lived for a love that was never real.
I packed my bags for Africa. My flight was in a few hours. This was it.
As I waited for the elevator, it opened. There he was. Ethan. Probably here to play the concerned friend one last time.
He opened his mouth.
"Don\'t," I said. My voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. "There\'s nothing left to say."
He saw the emptiness in my eyes. He saw he had finally broken me. Or maybe, he saw that I had finally broken free. The elevator doors closed between us for the last time.
I was going to Africa. And I was going alone. Wife on the Wire: A Mother's Sacrifice
Modern My first life ended with a bomb, a cruel joke played by my own husband, Andrew.
Then, a blink, and I was back, the bitter taste of betrayal fresh on my tongue.
This time, it wasn't me on the bomb, but my mother-in-law, trapped on a pressure plate in a derelict industrial lot.
Andrew, an EOD expert, was our only hope, but I knew his true colors.
In my past life, he let me die while he was out with his high school sweetheart, Sabrina.
This time, he scoffed, called it a prank, and refused to come, humiliating his own mother in front of the entire town.
He even accused me of trying to ruin his "perfect day" with Sabrina, leaving his frantic mother abandoned and weeping.
The world watched as my mother-in-law' s strength gave out, her legs trembling on the brink of disaster.
How could he be so monstrously cruel, so utterly devoid of humanity, to abandon his own mother to a a gruesome death, all for a date?
Knowing there was no other choice, and vowing to expose his depravity to everyone, I took a steadying breath.
I placed my foot beside hers, ready to trade places and face what Andrew refused to save. No More Second Chances
Fantasy The day I was finally supposed to marry Maria, the woman I' d loved for sixty years across two lifetimes, she died. Or so they told me.
I stood at the altar, waiting, while the Texas sun beat down on the small chapel.
Then her mother stumbled through the doors, face a mess of tears. "Matthew," she wailed, "There's been an accident. A terrible accident."
"She's gone," her father choked out. My world tilted. How could she be gone? We'd loved until we were old and gray in our past life, then woke up young again, a gift. Now, it felt like a curse.
A week after the funeral, my best friend Andrew told me someone saw Maria's twin celebrating. "She didn't look like Sylvia," he murmured. "She looked exactly like Maria."
My hands stopped. Cold dread crept up my spine.
I drove to the Chavez house, heart pounding. It was a party. An engagement party.
And there, draped over my rival Wesley Fowler, was her.
Maria. My Maria. The woman I had buried. She was laughing, looking radiant, vibrant, and very much alive.
"Maria?" I choked out. She saw me, a flicker of shock in her eyes, then it vanished.
"Do I know you?" she asked, her voice smooth, unfamiliar. "I'm Sylvia."
The lie was so blatant, so shameless, it knocked the wind out of me. The crowd whispered, pity turning to suspicion.
"You're lying," I whispered, reaching for her. "You're Maria."
She flinched. "You're scaring me!" she cried, hiding behind Wesley. "Make him leave!"
The whole town stared. I was the deranged, grieving fiancé. Wesley smirked. This was a setup. I had walked right into it.
That night, Wesley came to my house. He told me Maria remembered our last life, too. Remembered the poverty. She chose him for his money.
"And there's something else you should know," he added, his smile turning cruel. "The baby. Your first kid, in the last life. He wasn't yours, Matt. He was mine."
My world shattered. Sixty years of love, history, our son – all a lie. The foundation of my entire existence collapsed.
How could she do this? How could she choose this life, this man, and lie about everything, including our child? It was an unbearable betrayal.
I was nothing. But in my despair, I found my grandfather' s Medal of Honor. With it, a letter: "If you ever find yourself lost, son, find General Duncan. He'll know what to do."
I looked at the world that had betrayed me. I wasn' t going to rot here. I drove north, seeking a new beginning, a new path fueled by honor, not revenge. My old life was dead. It was time to build a new one. When the Ice Queen Thaws
Billionaires The Fourth of July weekend at our family lake house was supposed to be a peaceful escape with my daughter, Chloe, away from work, calls, and my husband, Mike. It was our sanctuary, smelling of pine and quietude.
But then, a vulgar luxury boat cut through the calm, bringing Mike' s flashy mistress, Tiffany Vance, and his crude, new-money investor, "Big Rick" Santoro, directly to our private dock. They trespassed, shattering our peace with their loud music and condescending stares.
Tiffany insulted my "rustic" appearance, implying I was merely Mike' s property. Big Rick' s predatory gaze lingered on my eight-year-old daughter, Chloe, who was swimming. Then, Tiffany dared Chloe to perform a dangerous, fifteen-foot dive for his amusement. When I tried to intervene, silent security guards blocked me, and Mike arrived, not to help, but to scold me for "making a scene." Worse, he then pressured Chloe himself, viewing his own terrified child as a mere pawn for "his business deal."
My heart didn't break; it turned to ice. The man I had secretly built felt no loyalty, only contempt, for his family. How could the man I loved betray us so casually, willing to trade his daughter' s fear for a business deal? This wasn't just a marriage; it was a grotesque parody orchestrated by him.
That was the moment. With a hand steady as stone, I reached into my sundress pocket for the simple device that would reclaim everything. Mike had no idea whose world he was truly living in. The Man Who Killed My Father, The Father of My Son
Romance I was a top trauma surgeon, living a life dedicated to saving others, trying to bury the ghost of a past love.
Then he walked back into my life – Dr. Ethan Cole, the man I swore I’d ruined six years ago, my brilliant ex-boyfriend, now my new co-chief.
And he brought a dazzling fiancée.
His coldness was a physical blow; he denied our entire history, returning cherished mementos and blocking my attempts to explain.
His fiancée, Sophia, relished in publicly twisting our past, painting me as a career saboteur.
I was humiliated, utterly alone.
My heart screamed.
He knew the truth about the manipulation that caused our first breakup – I’d learned he found out years ago.
So why this cruel, calculated torment?
Why endure his icy indifference, his public disdain?
It was beyond comprehension.
But nothing prepared me for the ultimate betrayal: when my beloved father collapsed, clinging to life, Ethan, the only surgeon who could save him, coldly refused.
My father died, and I was left with nothing but shattered trust and a burning question: Was this his vengeance?
I packed my bags, determined to disappear forever, but fate had a twisted secret waiting for me. 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. 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. 
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