REGINA MCBRIDE
8 Published Stories
REGINA MCBRIDE's Books and Stories
The Scars She Hid From The World
Modern 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. Woke Up Engaged To My Rival
Romance I spent seven years as the secret benefactor of the man I loved, waiting for the day he would finally acknowledge our relationship. I traded my sharp business suits for a soft silk dress, ready to tell the world that the brilliant artist Andre Wilcox was finally mine.
But at our anniversary dinner, the truth hit harder than any corporate betrayal. I sat inches away, hidden by a partition, as Andre laughed with his ex-girlfriend. He called me a "suffocating burden" and a "checkbook with legs" that he only tolerated until he became famous.
Devastated and drowning in vodka, I stumbled into a nightclub and ran straight into Charls Wiley, my most hated business rival. In a haze of pain and alcohol, I clung to his expensive suit while paparazzi cameras flashed, sobbing that I loved him and begging him not to leave me. He swept me into his arms to escape the scandal, but our getaway ended in a horrific car crash that left us both buried in shattered glass.
When I woke up in a hospital suite, the trauma had wiped my memory clean. My brain, unable to process Andre’s cruelty, filled the gaps with the only man who was there when the world went dark.
"Charls, darling, you're hurt," I whispered, looking at my sworn enemy with pure, unfiltered adoration.
I truly believe the man who tried to destroy my company is my devoted fiancé. My mother and Charls quickly realized that a fake engagement could save our stock prices and seal a fifty-million-dollar merger, so they decided to let the lie live.
Now, I’m recovering in the arms of a shark, calling my nemesis "Hubby" while he waits for my memory to return so he can finish the war he started. Wedding Day Humiliation: A Love Lost
Romance The wedding music had been looping for over an hour.
Everyone was looking at me, standing alone on the stage under the ridiculously expensive floral arch.
My fiancée, Sophia Reed, was absent on our wedding day.
My phone buzzed. It was a video call from Sophia.
A wave of relief washed over me. Her face would pop up, she' d apologize, and the party could continue.
But it wasn' t her face that filled the giant screen.
It was a scandalous scene, broadcast in high definition for hundreds of our closest friends and business associates.
A smug man' s voice asked, "Am I better than Ethan Miller?"
Then Sophia' s voice, breathless, replied, "Liam, you' re so much better."
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. My smile froze.
My brain kicked into overdrive. I calmly activated the screen recording function.
The crowd erupted, phones out, filming the spectacle. Sophia' s family stormed towards me.
Her father yelled, "Ethan Miller, turn off your phone!"
"Mr. Reed, what' s the point?" I asked, gesturing to the sea of phones. "Everyone' s already seen what they shouldn' t. My reputation is ruined. The wedding is a joke. So let them see it all. Let them see I' m the victim. That' s the best way to salvage my image now."
Despite everything, I found myself handing him his emergency heart medication.
I, Ethan Miller, the self-made man, who had endured so much for their family, including agreeing to marry Sophia despite knowing her secrets, was now publicly humiliated.
But then, the unbelievable happened.
"It' s fake!" she blurted out, her voice trembling. "It' s all fake! It's makeup! Even the video… it was pre-made AI footage. It wasn' t me…!"
My mind, usually so quick and decisive, short-circuited.
Why would she do this? Why orchestrate such an elaborate, humiliating lie?
I knew then that I had to find out. Betrayed By Love, Rebuilt By Fate
Modern The award felt heavy in my hands, a testament to my genius as Ava Monroe, the best structural architect in the business.
But the triumph was short-lived.
Overnight, the newly completed Olympia Skyscraper collapsed, and suddenly my stepsister, Chloe Vance, was on every news channel, her face a mask of tragic sorrow.
"I had a vision. A premonition of the collapse," she declared, looking directly into the camera, her eyes seeming to find mine. "I tried to warn Ava Monroe. But she did nothing. She said she needed to wait. To let the problem get worse so her firm could charge a higher fee to fix it. It was about the money."
The world stopped.
My firm fired me, Liam, my fiancé, abandoned me, and my father, Mr. Monroe, disowned me, siding with Chloe.
My mother' s memorial garden was vandalized; the cornerstone, a piece of my heart, ripped out and thrown into the river.
I dove in, desperate to get it back, but the current dragged me under, the cold despair a crushing weight.
Then I gasped, sucking in clean, dry air.
I was in my bed, sunlight streaming through the window.
It was the morning of the collapse, before the accusations, before my world ended.
This time, it would be different. A Second Chance, Fall In Love Again
Romance The sharp pain in my head was nothing compared to my stepsister Sarah' s screams.
My fiancé, Liam, already by her side, shot me a look of pure accusation: "Chloe, what the hell did you do?"
Sarah clutched her ankle, twisting her face in agony, then whispered, "She was just… upset that you were holding my hand."
A gentle poison. Liam' s suspicion solidified into certainty, his eyes hardening with disgust as he scooped Sarah into his arms.
"Her ankle looks broken. We can' t carry her and help you walk. You' ll have to wait here."
He abandoned me in the middle of nowhere, my own leg throbbing, my head pounding, leaving me utterly alone with a profound, bottomless despair.
In the hospital, Sarah and her doctor brother, Dr. Evans, casually manipulated Liam, fabricating a diagnosis of a mere bruise for my fractured leg, and suggesting I was "not well."
Liam, blinded by guilt and Sarah' s lies, agreed. The man I loved was gone, replaced by an angry stranger who punished me for a pain he refused to see.
He pushed my wheelchair, demanding an apology, completely ignoring the new, blinding agony ripping through my leg as it jolted.
A dark discoloration rapidly spread from my knee, yet Dr. Evans dismissed it as "just the bruising settling."
They were going to send me to a mental institution. I looked at Liam, then at the ring he tossed to the floor-our future, discarded.
Something within me broke, a cool, clear voice whispering: Let go of this life. I can give you a new one.
I shed my old self, my art, my love for Liam. I was Chloe no more. As I finally walked onto the hospital rooftop, Liam' s scream cut through the air.
He lunged, a desperate, impossible attempt to save me, only to fall with me. The Price of Disownment
Billionaires My father, Rufus Scott, paraded Ethan Lester around our grand ranch, praising him as the "son he always wanted" instead of me, Wesley, his actual son.
I watched from the sidelines as Ethan, my father' s new favorite, subtly poisoned the minds of Scott Oil & Gas board members against me.
Then, in front of our entire wealthy Texas social circle, my own father coldly declared me a disgrace, disowned me, and ordered me thrown off my family' s property.
The humiliation was a physical ache, a public execution of my inheritance, leaving me with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal.
But just as the security guards moved in, the rhythmic thudding of a helicopter echoed overhead, and a suit-clad man stepped out, changing everything with two words: "MIT admissions." The Billionaire's Divorce Threat
Billionaires I was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar tech corporation, but my wife, Chloe, knew me only as Ethan Miller, a modest app developer.
I cherished the idea that her love for me was pure, untainted by wealth or status, so my true identity remained my closest secret.
That carefully constructed life crashed down when I arrived at Austin' s most exclusive club for a crucial business meeting.
Instead of an empty suite, I found Chloe, encircled by her snobbish friends, her waist possessed by Blake Harrison, a rival who clearly relished my perceived "lowly" status.
Before I could process the scene, her friend Tiffany sneered, "Chloe, darling, is this your… little app developer?"
Then, Chloe herself, face flushed with embarrassment, whispered urgently, "You can't be here. This isn't your world, Ethan. You're embarrassing me." And, louder for the room, "Are you stalking me?"
The accusation hit me like a physical blow.
Me? Stalking her? After all I' d built, all I' d sacrificed for us, she saw me as an embarrassment, someone who couldn't even belong in a fancy club without her.
A cold, hard certainty settled in my gut: She's ashamed of me. Was our entire relationship built on a lie of my own making, or hers?
The pain was sharp, but beneath it, a decisive edge hardened. "Chloe," I stated, my voice flat, cutting through the smug chatter, "I want a divorce."
The room fell silent. Little did they know, this was just the prologue to a truth that would shake their world to its foundations. You might like
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." 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. 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 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." 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.