My Sweet Super Wife
10 Published Stories
My Sweet Super Wife's Books and Stories
The Day My World Shattered
Modern On our fifth wedding anniversary, my three-year-old daughter Kenisha' s rare illness led to a shocking discovery. A DNA test revealed she wasn't my biological child.
That same day, I overheard my husband, Corbin, confessing the truth to his mistress. They had swapped their baby for mine in the delivery room, declaring my real daughter dead-all part of a long con to steal my family's fortune.
When I confronted him, they turned the tables.
They framed me for killing Kenisha's pet rabbit in a fit of rage, had a corrupt doctor declare me mentally unstable, and imprisoned me in our penthouse under the guise of "treatment."
My husband, the man I loved, had not only stolen my child but was now trying to steal my sanity and freedom, all while turning the daughter I raised against me.
But they made one mistake. They thought I was broken. With my father's secret help, I escaped that gilded cage. Now, I'm going to find my real daughter, and I'm going to make him pay for every single lie. Too Late For Your Proposal
Modern My boyfriend, Carter, chose a ski trip with his manipulative "best friend," Bridget, after I gave him an ultimatum. "If you go, we're over," I had warned. He just laughed and told me not to come crying to him when I got lonely.
But while he was gone, the stress of his silence and Bridget's taunting Instagram posts sent me to the hospital with a bleeding stomach ulcer.
Lying in an urgent care bed, hooked up to an IV, I saw him liking her posts-pictures of them looking like a happy couple, with captions mocking me. He wasn't just ignoring my pain; he was actively endorsing it.
In that sterile room, something inside me didn't just break; it turned to ice. The years of begging for his affection, of fighting for his attention, simply evaporated.
So when he came home expecting his favorite dinner, I had a surprise for him instead.
"We broke up," I said, pointing to the moving boxes that held every last trace of him.
He pulled out a Tiffany bracelet, claiming he was going to propose. But it was too late. I had already called the movers. His Substitute Love, A Fatal Truth
Romance For five years, I was the cherished ward of Ambrose Aguilar, the man who saved me. I thought he loved me, until his pregnant first love, Katharine, returned. I was just her substitute.
That same day, I was diagnosed with a fatal blood disease, my only hope a transplant from family I never had.
Ambrose' s kindness turned to cruelty. He watched as Katharine tormented me, framed me, and finally ordered me killed.
But the cruelest twist came from a DNA test: Katharine, the architect of my suffering, was my biological mother.
She sacrificed her life to give me the transplant. Now I'm starting over, leaving the man who broke me to the ruins of his own making. His Other Family, My Shattered Life
Romance The two pink lines on the pregnancy test were a burst of pure joy, and I immediately called my husband, Ethan, a hero firefighter in our Cleveland hometown.
His voice on the phone was full of such happiness it brought tears to my eyes as he promised to come straight home.
But he never made it; a massive warehouse fire claimed his life, leaving me a pregnant widow, heartbroken and clinging to his identical twin brother' s comforting vow to take care of me.
My grief turned into a living nightmare when the arsonist gang Ethan had put away began harassing and attacking me, spray-painting threats on my door and cornering me in dark alleyways.
I nearly lost our baby, trapped in a relentless cycle of fear and isolation, with the man I believed was my brother-in-law "protecting" me.
Then, fleeing another violent break-in, I overheard an earth-shattering conversation at the Clark family home that revealed the horrifying truth: Ethan was alive.
He had faked his own death, letting me mourn him while he lived comfortably with his brother's widow, Molly, who was also pregnant with his child, coldly waiting for "a little more time" before returning to me.
The man I loved and grieved watched me suffer, watched me nearly lose our baby, all while orchestrating my pain and prioritizing his other family.
How could the hero I adored be such a monster, betraying me so cruelly for a woman he thought more "fragile" than his suffering wife and unborn child?
With the image of his charred helmet now nothing but a symbol of his monstrous lie, I made a desperate call, accepting firefighter Andy Lester' s wild offer to marry him-for protection, for escape, for a chance to finally run. When the Golden Goose Bites Back
Modern The annual end-of-year meeting at Lester Properties was always a performance, and as their top broker, I was ready for my big commission payout-over $500,000. I was the firm's golden goose, the one who closed impossible deals, and my massive year-end bonus was my true salary.
But this year, my boss, Matthew Lester, decided to turn my success into a public ambush. He announced there would be no bonuses due to a "tough market," then, with a predatory smile, suggested I "volunteer" my record-breaking commission to be distributed among the team.
The room erupted, not with gratitude for me, but with greedy demands from my colleagues, led by the jealous Molly Chadwick. They piled on the pressure, painting me as selfish if I refused, celebrating as I made a forced "agreement." My hard-earned money was being stripped away, stolen by my boss and celebrated by my colleagues.
How could my own company, the people I' d made millions for, do this to me? How could they, and Matthew, so casually demand a year of my life's work while my "teammates" cheered?
They thought they had broken me. They thought I was a fool who would meekly surrender. Oh, no. They had no idea what they had just started. The CEO Who Knew My Thoughts
Romance My family's tech company, ChenTech, was bleeding out, and Dad, ever the optimist, clung to an email from Stryker Innovations: an invitation to their "Next Generation Leaders Program." I was supposed to be our savior, a burnt-out junior software developer thrown into the corporate lion's den. I hated it, but Dad's desperate hope was a heavy chain around my neck.
The orientation was chillingly efficient. Damien Stryker, the CEO, radiated an unnerving stillness. He immediately dismissed anyone who' d used clichéd motivational posters. My blood ran cold, but my minimalist presentation was safe. Then, a sharp, sarcastic thought cut through my anxiety: What a certifiable lunatic. His gaze snapped up, piercing the room, locking onto me. He knew.
Instead of being dismissed, I was "promoted." Mr. Alistair Finch, Stryker' s chief of staff, informed me I was to be Damien's personal project assistant. My days became a bizarre loop of meticulously crafting his Colombian coffee (192 degrees, counter-clockwise stir) and organizing impossibly misfiled archives. Every mental groan, every cynical observation I made, he' d subtly echo or correct with a smirk I could almost feel. It felt less like a job, more like a cruel psychological experiment.
How could he know? The mind-reading was infuriating, humiliating. This man, who saw right through my carefully constructed facade, seemed to deliberately play with my thoughts, making me feel like a trapped rat. Was he just an eccentric genius, or something far more sinister? Was I truly losing my mind?
But then I started to notice: the companies he acquired often improved, employees thrived. The corporate wolf wasn't quite what he seemed. When his own stepmother, Eleanor, tried to weaponize me for corporate espionage, her veiled threats echoing his mind games, I realized the real danger wasn' t Damien. It was time to stop being a victim in this psychological maze and start fighting back. The Love He Killed
Fantasy My hands, once horrifically scarred, were healed by a cosmic bargain: save one struggling soul, Ethan Hayes, in another reality.
For eight years, I poured my life into his, turning a broken man with crushing debt into a tech titan. We built an empire, married, and for a time, I truly loved him, believing our future was forged in shared dreams.
But then, the architect of his redemption became the victim of his betrayal.
His intern, Chloe Vance, slid into our lives and straight into his bed.
Three years of his gaslighting, hidden affairs that became blatant, and the grinding neglect slowly extinguished the vibrant woman I once was.
The final, brutal blow came when Chloe, smugly pregnant, revealed Ethan had "gifted" her our vineyard estate-my home.
My heart, once shattered, had simply turned to ash.
I meticulously liquidated a fortune I' d fought to earn, preparing for an escape he' d facilitated with every lie and condescending guilt-gift.
He bought me diamond necklaces while Chloe flaunted her presence in our penthouse.
On my birthday, he cornered me, enraged, accusing me of threatening his new family, blind to the fact that his actions had already killed everything between us.
He was a stranger, a ghost clinging to a broken past.
I was long past anger, past pain-only a chilling resolve remained.
How could he not see? How could he not understand that the woman who healed him had been destroyed by him?
So, as he lunged forward, his face contorted with a fury born of his own making, I didn't resist.
Instead, I calmly whispered, "Happy birthday to me." And then, with a resolute step onto nothingness, I embraced my "death," not as an end, but as a long-overdue return to the life and self I was always meant to be. The Price of an Inheritance
Billionaires My whole world revolved around Ethan Vanderbilt, the wealthy heir, and our shared dream of a life in Aspen.
Our future, however, was conditional: he first had to secure his family's multi-billion dollar inheritance by having children with another woman, his childhood friend Brittany Hayes.
I became his secret, patient mistress, waiting in the shadows for my turn.
They had their first child, then another, and I was forced into the degrading role of nanny to his legitimate heirs, living under the Vanderbilt family's scorn.
Then, the unthinkable happened: I became pregnant with Ethan's child.
But a devastating fall during a desperate hike ended everything; I lost our baby.
His powerful family, the Vanderbilts, saw my immense loss not with compassion, but as a convenient solution to their "problem."
They coldly denied me anesthesia for the D&C, subjecting me to a brutal, agonizing procedure that left me not only physically and emotionally shattered but also likely infertile.
Ethan, lost in his new "perfect family" facade, retreated, leaving me trapped in their lavish prison, enduring vile taunts from his children.
How could the man I loved, who swore he'd choose me, allow such unspeakable barbarity, treating my body and my profound grief with such callous indifference?
And how could his spoiled son, EJ, deliberately destroy my last precious link to my deceased mother—a treasured voice recorder—right under his father's passive gaze?
As I lay bleeding, broken by that final act of cruelty, a rugged stranger, a man from the mountains, appeared at the door like a forgotten dream.
He was my unlikely deliverer, walking into my nightmare, ready to pull me from the wreckage and finally help me reclaim a life I thought was lost forever. Betrayed By The Beat: An Heiress's Revenge
Billionaires At his debut album party, I watched my boyfriend, Ethan White, on top of the world.
His success, though, was built on my quiet sacrifices, my hidden connections as Amelia Sterling, heir to a Texas oil fortune.
I'd given up everything to be "Amy," the girl who loved his music, not his money.
But his slick new manager, Sophia Rivera, had other plans.
She turned Ethan's triumph into my public execution.
On the giant screen, my face flashed, doctored photos painting me as a manipulative, cheating schemer.
"Gross Misconduct," read the bold red text next to my name as Ethan fired me, his eyes colder than I ever imagined.
He accused me of using him, of having a "sugar daddy," pointing to a photo of me with my own father.
Sophia smashed my phone and he locked me in our apartment, threatening to blacklist me from the industry, while she faked a pregnancy to solidify her place.
My heart shattered into a million pieces.
Every sacrifice, every hidden connection I pulled for him, twisted into a weapon.
How could the man I loved, for whom I gave everything, betray me so cruelly, so publicly?
Trapped and heartbroken, one last flicker of hope remained.
A battered burner phone, tucked away, for emergencies.
With trembling fingers, I called the only person strong enough to turn this nightmare around.
"Dad," I choked out, revealing the truth of Amelia Sterling for the first time in years.
Ethan White had just declared war on the wrong woman, and he had no idea what was coming. You might like
Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." 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!" 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. 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. 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. 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 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 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." 
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