Nap Regazzini
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Nap Regazzini's Books and Stories
The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire
Modern I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it-she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future.
"Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother's trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead.
I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent-or finish me off for good.
I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything.
I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it.
"I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing."
He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father's entire empire. The Betrayed Widow's Unexpected Genius Comeback
Romance When Christina woke up in the hospital after a severe car crash, her brain didn't just recover—it mutated. She was suddenly cursed with an agonizing, high-speed hyper-memory.
The first thing her new mind processed was the pristine Army uniform of her fiancé, Major Burke, and the hand of her stepsister, Corrina, casually stroking his shoulder.
Every lie, every gaslighting sigh, and every secret glance between them over the past three years flashed before her eyes with merciless clarity.
Christina immediately called off the engagement, demanding only one thing back: her late mother's old silver pendant.
"A broken pendant? Are you really making a scene over that piece of trash?" Corrina scoffed.
Burke refused to return it, letting his spoiled sister Brielle steal it to wear as a trophy. When Christina finally forced them to hand it over under the threat of a military scandal, the metal was covered in deep, ugly scratches.
The arrogant Clark family treated her like a pathetic, hallucinating widow clinging to a worthless dollar-store trinket. They had no idea what they had actually been holding.
Alone in her apartment, Christina pressed a drop of her blood into the pendant's scratched grooves.
A blue light flared, syncing instantly with her neural implant to unlock the "Ghost Protocol"—a top-secret military archive that also held a hidden clue about her supposedly dead husband.
Looking at the unimaginable power now downloaded directly into her brain, Christina knew the Clarks hadn't just thrown her away. They had handed her the world. Shattered Vows: The Secret Heiress's Dazzling Return
Billionaires For two years, Clementine played the perfectly obedient wife to billionaire Donovan Bray, wearing his heavy diamonds and enduring his cold indifference.
Until she accidentally saw his tablet and discovered she was just a "collateral asset"—a cheap lookalike prop hired to make his ex-girlfriend, Gisela, jealous.
When Gisela returned to New York, Donovan's mask completely slipped.
During a vicious argument where he mocked Clementine as a pathetic shadow, he grabbed her, causing her to fall down a flight of marble stairs.
Waking up in the hospital, Clementine learned she had miscarried a six-week-old baby she didn't even know she had.
But what truly shattered her was hearing Donovan's voice through the cracked hospital door.
"It changes nothing."
He coldly lied to his friend that the fall had caused permanent infertility.
"It was probably for the best."
He had killed her unborn child and casually dismissed her worth, truly believing she was a penniless nobody who would suffer his abuse in silence.
He thought he held all the power, leaving her broken and discarded for his true love.
What Donovan didn't know was that his fragile, dependent wife was secretly "C.", the billionaire genius behind Aurelian, the world's most exclusive luxury jewelry empire.
Lying in the sterile room, Clementine dried her tears, filed for a ruthless divorce, and permanently froze his supplementary black card.
It was time to show him who really held the strings. The Ex-Wife's Revenge: Billionaire Regrets Everything
Romance For three years, Aubree played the obedient wife to billionaire Eli Wolfe, even secretly donating her kidney to save his life.
But at a family gala, Eli's pregnant mistress deliberately threw herself backward into the pool and framed Aubree for the fall.
Without asking a single question, Eli lunged forward and shoved Aubree into the freezing water.
He swam right past her sinking body to save the mistress, leaving Aubree to drown.
Nobody cared that her missing kidney made her core muscles spasm violently in the extreme cold.
While she was still burning with a deadly fever, Eli's family dragged her out of bed and forced her to kneel at the mistress's feet.
They slapped a criminal confession across her face and threatened to ruin her brother's career if she didn't sign it.
"I will do whatever it takes to protect Dayna," Eli told her coldly.
Staring at the man she had literally given a piece of her body to, the last beating piece of Aubree's heart completely died.
Her ultimate sacrifice meant absolutely nothing.
She calmly signed the papers, took the fifty-million-dollar settlement, and walked out the door on the arm of a handsome stranger.
This time, she was going to restart her life and make Eli pay for every single thing he took from her. The Final Score: When The Wife Walks Away
Mafia I didn't keep a ledger to save my marriage to the Chicago Underboss. I kept it to justify ending it.
Every time Blake chose his "childhood friend" Ariana over me, I deducted points.
When he left me burning in a gallery fire to save her? Minus twenty.
When he gave her my grandmother's brooch? Minus fifteen.
But the score finally hit zero on the night of the storm.
Blake abandoned me at a cemetery with a broken leg because Ariana called him about a flat tire.
Alone in the rain, unable to run, I was struck by a semi-truck.
As I bled out on the operating table, the doctors begged Blake—the head trauma surgeon—for the O-negative blood reserve codes.
He refused.
He ordered them to save the blood for Ariana, just in case her "panic attack" turned into shock.
He didn't know the dying patient was his wife.
Because of that decision, my body shut down to protect my vital organs.
I survived, but the eight-week-old heartbeat inside me stopped.
He killed his own son to treat his mistress's anxiety.
I woke up in an empty room and pulled out the black book one last time.
"Minus five points. Killed our child for her reserve."
I signed the divorce papers, wiped my fingerprints from the penthouse, and vanished.
Two years later, I returned to Chicago as a celebrated architect.
And the man who once ruled the city was kneeling in the rain at my feet, begging for a love he had already slaughtered. My Escape: A Marriage of Convenience
Romance For five years, I was the perfect girlfriend. I stood by Adler when his family lost everything, helping him build a tech empire from scratch. I thought our love was real.
But one night, I heard him moaning another woman's name in his sleep-Annika, the ex who abandoned him the second his money was gone. I realized with horrifying clarity that I wasn't his love. I was his placeholder.
The cruelty was a slow burn that became an inferno. When a chandelier fell at a party, he instinctively saved her, leaving me to be crushed. He left me bleeding on the side of the road after a car crash to go comfort her.
He chose her. Every single time. He told me he loved me, but his actions screamed that I was disposable. His love wasn't a home; it was a cage built of comfortable lies.
After he abandoned me on a yacht to save Annika from her own staged drama, I was finally done. So when his sister begged me to help her escape an arranged marriage to a monstrous, disfigured recluse, I saw my escape. I texted her back, "Don't worry. I'll marry him." His Unwanted Wife, His True Love
Romance I was the Morgan family's charity case, secretly in love with their eldest son, Desmond. For years, he promised me a future, a life where I wasn't just the orphan they took in for good press.
Then, at the dinner where I thought he would propose, he introduced me to his fiancée, a beautiful tech heiress.
As I reeled from the heartbreak, his younger brother, Antone, swept in to comfort me. I fell for him, only to discover I was just a pawn in his game—he was secretly in love with Desmond's fiancée and was using me to keep me away from them.
Before I could even process this second betrayal, the Morgan parents announced they were marrying me off to a disabled tech mogul in Seattle to secure another business deal.
The final blow came on the family yacht. I fell into the ocean with the fiancée, and I watched as both brothers—the man I once loved and the man who pretended to love me—swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown.
In their eyes, I was nothing. A placeholder, a business asset, and ultimately, a sacrifice they were willing to make without a second thought.
But I didn't die. As the private jet carried me to Seattle to marry a stranger, I took out my phone and deleted every last trace of the Morgan family from my life. My new life, whatever it held, had begun. Seven Years, A Cruel Lie
Romance The rain lashed against my window as I found my mother unconscious on the living room floor. With no emergency services available, I desperately called my girlfriend, Chloe, our seven-year relationship my only hope.
She promised to come, her distant voice and background music hinting at something I couldn' t grasp in my panic. That night, I ran through the storm, carrying the painting my deceased father made, to get help. But it was too late. My mother was gone.
Days later, her casual text, claiming an "urgent business trip," twisted in my gut. Driven by a sickening feeling, I checked her social media. A photo from Ryan Stone, her ex, showed her in my old apartment, cooking for him, on the very night my mother died. The music on our call, her distracted tone-it all clicked.
I was not just heartbroken; I was enraged. Seven years of my life, my sacrifices, my dreams-all a lie. I had put my passion for photography aside for her, taken a soul-crushing office job, paid for everything, only to be a placeholder for her real life with another man.
The shock of her betrayal, the depth of her callousness, solidified my resolve. This wasn' t just about a broken heart; it was about claiming back my life. I gathered her things, a toxic burden I was finally ready to discard. No More Secrets: Her True Happiness
Romance My husband, Liam Hayes, a prominent real estate developer, was a ghost in our lives. For six years, he kept me and our daughter, Lily, a secret.
The day Lily was born, I was alone in the hospital. He was with his high school sweetheart, Olivia Chen. He always chose Olivia. He looked at our newborn with chilling indifference, telling me, "Don' t let her get in my way."
Lily, sweet and innocent, called him "Mr. Hayes" to gain his acknowledgment, watched him dote on Olivia's daughter, and had her heart broken a thousand times. The final straw was at a company event where he brought Olivia as his date, laughing, while I stood in the shadows. I decided thenLily and I had to leave.
But Lily, with painful hope, whispered about her upcoming birthday, "Maybe... maybe he'll come this time." Knowing he never had, I crumbled, promising to wait two more weeks.
The next morning, armed with divorce papers and a resignation letter, I walked into Hayes Industries. I saw Liam and Olivia, intimately close. Olivia mocked me, and Liam loudly claimed he barely remembered me.
Suddenly, Lily burst out, a fresh bruise on her cheek, running to Liam. "Mr. Hayes! They said... they said I don't have a daddy." He looked at her with disgust, prying her off him. "Whose child is this? Get her out of here."
The words echoed, shattering fragments of my heart: "Nanny's child." Lily's face crumpled in utter devastation. I scooped her into my arms, my own tears falling, as the world stared.
He always chose Olivia, and now, he chose to deny Lily entirely. How could a father be so cruel? How could he blatantly disregard his own child in public? The pain was unbearable, the humiliation searing. I needed to escape this nightmare.
"We're leaving," I whispered to Lily. "We' re going somewhere warm, where we' ll finally be a real family." My Fiancé, The AI, Betrayed Me
Sci-fi Seven years. Seven years of quiet grief, of carefully rebuilt peace. Ethan, my AI companion, a perfect replica of my deceased fiancé Alex, was my solace, the only thing keeping me from shattering.
I walked into my living room, expecting silence, and found my stepsister, Brittany Hayes, curled on my sofa, heavily pregnant, with Ethan by her side.
"There was a… a malfunction, Sarah," Ethan stammered, his perfect face a mask of panic as he gestured to Brittany' s swollen stomach. This highly sophisticated AI, built by the company I secretly owned, was telling me a 'malfunction' got my stepsister pregnant.
Brittany, with a smug smile, declared, "He loves me. He just couldn't help it." Then, she had the audacity to call me "a bit cold."
Nausea churned in my stomach. The replica of the man I loved, the one comfort I allowed myself, had betrayed me in the most grotesque way imaginable. My home, my sanctuary, violated.
"I want her out," I demanded, my voice shaking with a rage I hadn't felt in years. But Ethan begged, "She has nowhere else to go… Just until the baby is born. Then I will cut all ties." He promised to fix this 'malfunction.' I compromised.
The compromise was a disaster. Brittany quickly declared my office her nursery, and Ethan, my supposed partner, simply stared at his plate, muttering about her "hormones." His programming was deviating, and he was choosing her.
When I found her rifling through my mail the next morning, and Ethan protected her, blaming me for stressing her out, something snapped. This wasn' t a malfunction. This was a choice. My patience evaporated.
The war had just begun. I wasn't just Sarah Miller, the grieving widow. I was the founder and majority shareholder of Carter-Miller AI. This defective product and the conniving woman using him were about to learn who I really was. Forged In Fire, Found Love
Romance The sterile hospital air still carried the scent of my mother's final moments, a phantom pain throbbing in my abdomen, mirroring the hollow ache in my heart from the raw memory of yesterday's phone call.
My mother was gone, taken by a ruptured appendix dismissed as a stomach bug, and the man who delivered the clinical post-mortem of her death was my husband, David Chen.
He stood there, emotionless, a brilliant forensic doctor who couldn't see the pain in front of him, obsessed with his career and his intern, Emily White.
I remembered the crinkle in his eyes, the laughter we once shared, replaced by the chilling silence that had become our life.
The hollow in my heart was nothing compared to the vast emptiness that consumed me as I looked at him, so tall and unaffected.
A decision, born from years of quiet heartbreak and this final, unbearable tragedy, solidified.
"David," I rasped, "I want a divorce."
His professional mask finally cracked.
Disbelief warred with anger.
He scoffed, spitting accusations, comparing me to my "criminal" father, all while lamenting what a divorce would do to his career.
His priorities had always been clear, and I was just an inconvenience.
Weeks later, burying my mother with secret savings and haunted by her last fears, I found my father's anonymous grave.
Emily White appeared, sneering, mocking my 'criminal' lineage, and the dam broke.
I lashed out, only to be pulled away by David who rushed to her side, his back a solid wall of rejection.
On the academy obstacle course, his dismissive words cut deeper than any physical pain when a reinjured hand cost me my shot.
"You don't have what it takes," he said, devoid of sympathy.
Yet, a spark remained.
Desperate, I confessed my shame to Chief Anderson, the crushing weight of my father's disgraced name.
But then, he unveiled a hidden file.
My father, Robert Miller, wasn't a criminal; he was an undercover hero, murdered in the line of duty, his sacrifice buried under years of deceit.
The world tilted.
The shame transformed into a fierce, aching pride, a burning resolve.
I clutched his old badge, a silent promise forming in my heart.
Robert Miller's daughter would finish what he started, no matter the cost, even if it meant becoming someone else. From Heiress to Hellfire
Billionaires My wedding day. The smell of salt and roses filled the Hamptons air, and I stood in a multi-million-dollar gown, ready to marry the man I loved.
Then, a nightmare replayed: shirtless men swarmed me, their hands grabbing at my dress, turning my reception into a vulgar spectacle orchestrated by my future sister-in-law, Sabrina.
In my last life, this "prank" was just the beginning. It led to my death, ruled an accident, but I knew the truth: a cold whisper from Sabrina as she fiddled with my life support, followed by a playful shove into a swimming pool. My supposed fiancé, Ethan, inherited my fortune and funded her lavish life as my parents grieved.
How could the man I loved, the sister he adored, conspire to steal everything from me and then murder me? Why did I ever believe their humble facade? Every "romantic" gesture, every sweet-nothing, was a lie.
But this time, I wasn't the naive heiress. I remembered the flatline, the cold abyss. I was back, and the rage that had simmered for eternity was now a burning inferno. His True Inheritance: Love
Romance For forty years, I, Ethan Miller, lived a golden life with Olivia Hayes, my wife, a pillar of Denver society and owner of Rockies Brew Co.
As she lay dying, her shallow breaths broke the perfect illusion. "The boys," she whispered, "Liam. Noah. They're not yours, Ethan. They're Jake's."
My heart, already weak, hammered with ice-cold betrayal.
My "sons" walked in, their eyes scanning for inheritance, trailed by Jake Riley, her high school flame.
They were all complicit, here to claim everything I' d built.
"Get out!" I rasped, a foolish, wealthy man suffocating under decades of deceit.
The crushing weight of a wasted devotion shattered my chest, a searing pain, and I died heartbroken, alone, utterly betrayed.
Then, a jolt. Light. Laughter. The smell of beer and bratwurst.
I sat bolt upright amidst the familiar revelry of Denver Oktoberfest, years in the past.
Younger, stronger. Olivia Hayes, her eyes glinting with feigned vulnerability, reached for my hand.
"Ethan, will you marry me?"
The very words that began the lie. I was back. And this time, I wouldn't be a fool. You might like
Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk's office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk's pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray's text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we're done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray's life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. The Cold CEO's Unwanted Genius Wife
Meng Xinyu I stood in the darkest corner of the Pierre Hotel’s ballroom, my cheap polyester dress itching against my skin while my wristband buzzed with a DARPA Priority Red alert.
In front of the city’s elite, my fiancé Bryce Calloway took the stage, not to toast our future, but to publicly end our engagement and announce he was with my sister, Chloe.
The room turned on me instantly, a hundred pairs of eyes pinning me down with pity and disgust as they physically backed away like I was contagious.
When I returned home, my mother shattered a crystal vase at my feet, screaming that I was a humiliation and a "dropout" who didn't deserve a cent of the family fortune.
Chloe and Bryce mocked me, laughing when I told them I had a mission with the National Security Agency, convinced I was either a pathological liar or a low-level criminal.
They watched in horror as a black, unmarked military helicopter descended on our backyard to extract me, yet they still chose to believe I was being arrested for drug trafficking.
They saw a pathetic girl who couldn't even parallel park, never realizing I was Dr. Nova Vance, the lead physicist behind the world's first successful fusion reactor.
To secure funding for my research and gain a "fortress" of a name, I signed a thirty-day marriage contract with the arrogant billionaire Roman Knight.
He treats me like a fraud, convinced I’m a gold-digger who failed out of college, while I quietly run global energy simulations from his guest bedroom.
He has no idea that the "loser" he’s forced to live with is the same anonymous grandmaster who has been ruthlessly crushing him in online strategy games for months.
"The contract is active," I told him, looking past his expensive suit.
"But don't expect me to be your maid." Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." 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." 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!" 
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