REGINA SIMONDS
10 Published Stories
REGINA SIMONDS's Books and Stories
He Chose His Ex, I Chose Vengeance
Romance On the day I was supposed to marry Giovanni Moretti, he publicly declared I was his brother’s girl.
He called off our wedding at the last minute. His ex, Sofia, had amnesia after a car crash, her memory reset to a time when they were still deeply in love.
So he cast me aside in my wedding dress to play the part of her devoted boyfriend.
For a month, I was forced to live as a "guest" in the Moretti estate, watching him dote on her and rebuild their past, all while promising he would marry me as soon as she recovered.
Then I overheard the truth. Giovanni had the cure for her amnesia locked away in his safe.
He wasn't trapped. He was indulging, savoring a second chance with the love of his life. He was confident I was his property, that I would simply wait until he was done. He told his men he could have us both.
He used his brother's name to humiliate me. Fine. I would use his brother's name to destroy him.
I walked into the office of the true power in the family, Don Domenico Moretti. "Your brother said I am your companion," I told him. "Let's make it real. Marry me." Her Own Kind of Happy Ever After
Romance My lake trip with Ethan, my fiancé and a rising finance star, was supposed to be our last pre-wedding hurrah.
I' d meticulously packed for two, my suitcase sitting beside his, ready for our perfect getaway.
Then Chloe, the estate manager's daughter my family oddly favored, pulled up with her child, claiming Ethan had invited them.
Without a glance, Ethan shooed me out of the car, promising to return after dropping them off at the resort an hour away.
The humiliation burned as I watched him drive away, Chloe smugly waving from the passenger seat.
Hours later, my phone buzzed with Chloe' s Instagram stories: Ethan laughing, steering a speedboat, his arm casually around her shoulder in a sunset photo.
They were celebrating lake life while I was abandoned.
When I confronted him, my own mother and brother, Liam, sided with Chloe, accusing me of just being "jealous" and "dramatic."
The final blow came on my birthday.
Ethan gifted me a beautiful diamond necklace, only for Chloe to reveal she had an identical one, saying Ethan got it for her as a "thank you" for helping him choose mine.
It wasn't just betrayal; it was a brazen insult, confirming I was nothing but an afterthought, discarded by my fiancé and dismissed by my family.
But in that moment, pain sharpened into an unyielding clarity.
I wouldn't wait anymore, not for anyone.
I blocked Ethan, then secretly packed a single bag, leaving my engagement ring and the mocking necklace behind.
My gilded cage was about to open as I boarded a bus, bound for a new life, far from the Hawthornes and their suffocating expectations. When Betrayal Burns: A Husband’s Revenge
Romance Something was wrong with Olivia. Small things at first: a new perfume, hidden texts, glossy shopping bags from stores we couldn' t afford.
Then, during a video call from my business trip, the camera shifted, and I saw a men' s watch on her nightstand. A big, silver one. It wasn' t mine. Her smile snapped, her eyes darted away, and she stammered, calling it a "surprise" before disconnecting.
When she texted an hour later, full of false cheer, I noticed new, expensive diamond earrings that I hadn' t bought. She claimed my sister, Sarah, had given them to her "ages ago." Her stories fell apart under the slightest probe. She was a terrible liar, her panic barely concealed by forced smiles. My gut screamed, but I clung to hope.
But the cheap, plastic keychain she gave me as her "surprise" upon my return, while her brand-new designer handbag sat on the counter, next to the memory of that expensive watch, shattered any illusions.
I became withdrawn, playing the broken husband. Yet, when I "forgot" my wallet and returned home, I heard Olivia whisper to Sarah about "Mr. Davies" and a deal. My sister, my own flesh and blood, had sold my wife to her boss for a promotion.
The realization was a physical blow. My wife, my sister-they had betrayed me in the most heinous way imaginable. They thought I was an idiot, a clueless fool. But the game had just begun. When the Oil Heiress Strikes Back
Romance I thought our 10th anniversary party was the night Ethan, my musician boyfriend of ten years, would finally propose.
Ten years I'd dedicated to supporting his dreams, putting his ambitions above my own, quietly funding our life.
But instead of a ring, he abandoned the party for his ex-girlfriend, Molly, only to post a cringeworthy picture later that night on Instagram.
It was him and Molly, her head on his shoulder, holding up a sonogram with a caption: "Starting a new chapter. Sometimes the most beautiful songs are the ones you come back to."
The humiliation was instant, public, and absolute.
The next morning, Molly called me from HIS phone, chirping about him making her breakfast, and Ethan scoffed at my pain, calling me "needy" for being upset he announced a baby with his ex on our anniversary.
He even had the audacity to keep Molly hidden in my luxury downtown condo, the one he deemed "blood money" unfit for his artistic integrity, demanding I cook for them when I confronted him there.
How could the man I loved, the partner I had built a life with, treat me with such utter contempt and cruelty, forcing me into this grotesque spectacle in my own home?
That's when I picked up the phone, not to argue, not to beg, but to call my father's legal team and serve them both with an immediate eviction. Chloe's Legacy: A Vow of Vengeance
Sci-fi Six years ago, my best friend Chloe and I made a pact: escape our dead-end town and conquer the world. We thrived. My husband, Alex, was Governor, and Chloe, pregnant and radiating joy, celebrated at his inaugural ball. This was our victory, our grand triumph.
Then, a gunman appeared. Chloe, without a second' s thought, shielded me, taking the bullet meant for my chest. She collapsed, a crimson stain blooming on her white gown. As my world narrowed to her fading life, I saw my husband, Alex, not looking at us, but instinctively shielding another woman: Jessica Davenport, his high school sweetheart.
He chose her. In that moment of terror, he protected his ghost from the past, not his wife. Chloe whispered of a "reset" clause, a way back she'd hidden, before taking her last breath. My sister, my other half, gone because she protected me, while my husband protected someone else.
Rage, cold and hard, festered inside me. But then, a cryptic message arrived: Failsafe activated. Chloe' s final directive. It led to a vast, hidden network – private investigators, data miners, offshore accounts. Chloe had given me a weapon. She wanted a reset, to go back to a forgotten past.
But going back meant they would all get away with it. Alex. Ethan. Jessica. Instead, I decided to burn their entire world to the ground. The Baker's Billionaire: A Second Chance at Love
Romance I spent forty years as Amelia Dubois, the devoted wife to Senator Julian Vance, raising our twins and smiling for the cameras. I truly believed I had it all.
Then, on my deathbed at sixty, a devastating truth shattered my world: a secret prenuptial agreement with another woman, a hidden family, and my children declared illegitimate heirs.
My devoted life was nothing but a convenient cover story, dismissed by Julian as an "unfortunate loose end" as I slipped away.
Rage burned through my fading spirit, a fire so hot it could tear the world apart.
And then, I woke up, sticky and disgusted, twenty years old, beside the man who would ruin my life.
Not this time. Her Stolen Six
Modern For eight long years, a dull ache lived in my heart.
I' d endured six stillbirths, each a crushing blow.
My husband, Mark, always seemed supportive, telling me we' d get through it.
Desperate for him to be a father, I even hired his ex, Chloe, as a surrogate.
Their son, Miles, had just been born.
Then, at the hospital, a simple blood donation for my niece Amelia shattered my world.
My brother-in-law, Robert, panicked.
Trembling, he confessed: "Lily is your first baby, Sarah.
The one you were told was stillborn eight years ago.
Mark… Mark gave her to us."
My first daughter, alive. Stolen.
When I confronted Mark, he gaslit me, calling it "compassion" for his childless siblings.
His family begged me not to "destroy" Lily' s life.
Chloe, now living with Mark, subtly undermined me.
Mark dismissed my pain, giving me an ultimatum: leave if I couldn't be "reasonable."
He watched me grieve through six "stillbirths."
His family systematically stole every single one of our babies.
The man I loved betrayed me in the most monstrous way.
My entire life, built on his lies, disintegrated.
A cold, burning rage ignited within me.
His cruel ultimatum didn't break me; it forged me.
I wouldn't be reasonable.
I wouldn't calm down.
I grabbed my phone, dialing my lawyer.
I was going to fight for my children – plural. From Stand-In to Sterling
Romance My life with Ethan seemed perfect, a carefully constructed dream built over years of quiet happiness. I believed in our future, our unwavering love.
But then, his high school sweetheart, Jessica, died in a tragic accident. Weeks later, the chilling discovery of Ethan's suicide note: "Jessica was the only one. I can't live without her."
My world didn't just crumble; it exploded into a million shards of brutal betrayal. Our entire marriage was a meticulously crafted lie, a painful performance. I was nothing but a stand-in, a convenient placeholder for the woman he truly loved. Every shared smile, every whispered promise, now felt like a cruel deception.
The agony of that realization was a physical blow. Eight years, wasted. My heart was ripped open, not just by loss, but by the acidic burn of profound humiliation and the sickening injustice of being so utterly used and discarded.
How could I have been so tragically wrong about everything?
Then I woke up, gasping, back in my college dorm room, feeling the same nausea, seeing the same too-bright sunshine. My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan: "Sarah, we need to talk. It's about Jessica. I think I'm still in love with her. We can't do this anymore."
The exact same words. But this time, my tears were gone. This time, I finally knew how to change my story. From Love Story to Nightmare
Modern Our podcast, "City Girls Hustle," was finally hitting its stride, a dream built with my best friend, Sarah. We celebrated big deals, our chemistry charming listeners. Then, Kevin entered. My new, ambitious boyfriend, immediately eyeing our success, suggested he could "take us to the next level" – with him in control. Sarah felt an instant unease.
His charm turned venomous. He isolated me, whispering doubts about Sarah, orchestrating a humiliating public stunt, then meticulously destroying our podcast. Numb, I watched Sarah, my rock, forced out, leaving me burdened and hollow. Kevin’s grip tightened, his emotional and financial abuse escalating until one night, his rage, his shove, led to an agonizing loss: our baby.
Yet, his cruelty knew no bounds. Kevin posted a tearful video, blaming Sarah for my miscarriage and suing me for emotional distress! He twisted his monstrous actions into my crime. How could a person be so utterly depraved? That video, however, shattered my numbness. A cold, clear rage ignited. He had taken everything. Now he wanted my truth. No more. My hands shaking, I opened my laptop, ready to expose him. Then, I called Sarah. The real story was about to drop. 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. I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything
Rabbit My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune.
For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me."
He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster.
He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous.
The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built. 
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