Sakakawea
14 Published Stories
Sakakawea's Books and Stories
Five Years, One Devastating Lie
Romance My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage.
Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer.
An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss.
They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them?
The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind?
I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately." Faked Death, Found Freedom
Modern At eight months pregnant, I discovered my husband Holden' s secret living trust. The password wasn't our anniversary, but the birthday of his young protégée, Anika.
His entire fortune wasn't for me or our unborn child. It was all for her.
When I confronted him, the truth was a death sentence. He called me a "vessel," a surrogate to carry an heir for Anika, who was too fragile to bear a child herself.
"She will raise him," he said, his eyes cold.
Then I found the recordings. Once our son was born, I was to be eliminated in a "tragic accident." My seven-year marriage was a lie, a transaction to produce an heir.
They wanted me dead and my baby stolen.
So I gave them one of their wishes. I faked my own death, burned my old life to the ground, and disappeared with my son. From Jilted Bride To Ruthless CEO
Modern I was Jocelyn Cruz, heiress to a billion-dollar empire, and I was supposed to marry my childhood sweetheart, Jake. My father had groomed him to be my king, and our life was a storybook romance.
But just before my 25th birthday gala, I saw him kissing Djuna-the fragile orphan my father took in, the woman I treated like a sister.
Their betrayal ran deeper than I could imagine. They drugged me to cause a riding accident, then gaslit me to make me think I was losing my mind. At a public auction, Jake froze my accounts and bought a family heirloom I cherished, only to gift it to her in front of everyone, leaving me broken and humiliated.
He wanted to shatter me, to turn me into a mindless puppet he could control.
So when he played a secret video of me crying for him at my own birthday party, I didn't break. Instead, I smiled. Because I had my own recordings, and I was about to show everyone the vipers he and his "true love" really were. His Cruelty, Her Rebirth
Romance I died once, charred by the flames that consumed me in a house set ablaze by the man who vowed to destroy me. On his 23rd birthday, I was reborn back to a day they called the "blind pick," where 20 women vied for the chance to become Ethan Thompson' s wife.
In my past life, I drew the red card, believing it a fairytale beginning, only for Ethan to blame me when his true love, Scarlett, died in a car accident he barely remembered. He never believed me, never listened, his hatred burning hotter than any love we once shared.
He dragged me into our home, his eyes filled with terrifying darkness. "You took her from me," he whispered, tightening his hands around my throat. "Now I'll take everything from you." He beat me, doused the room in gasoline, and watched with twisted satisfaction as I burned, branded a murderer and unloved.
Reborn, I found Scarlett, the true manipulator, still alive, ready to claim Ethan' s love.
I avoided the red card that day, trying to escape a cursed fate Ethan, still the monster, forced me on my knees, made me watch him brutally murder my beloved dog, Sunny, and then cooked it for me to eat. He coerced me into donating my kidney to Scarlett, claiming I owed her, all while Scarlett and her mother, Maria, gloated about their deception, admitting they engineered every twisted event after my original death.
Why did they do this? How could Ethan be so blind, so cruel, after I saved his life?
But this time, I wouldn't be a victim. I signed the organ donation papers, but my escape was already in motion, orchestrated by my family and a forgotten friend. Died Alone, My Spirit Watches
Romance "We'll release one woman. Your choice, Mr. Shannon."
Facing the kidnappers, my husband didn't hesitate. He pointed at his sobbing high school sweetheart, Flora.
"Release Flora," he commanded, his voice steady. "She's fragile. Adrianne is tough enough to handle this."
I tried to tell him I was bleeding, that I was pregnant with our first child, but he pushed me toward the knife without a backward glance.
"Don't be dramatic, Adrianne," were his last words to me.
I died alone in that cold, dark basement.
But my soul didn't leave. I hovered invisibly, watching as my husband ignored calls from my phone for two days.
He told his friends I was just "playing games" to punish him for saving Flora. He didn't know those calls were from my killers, laughing at his stupidity while his wife lay dead.
It wasn't until my brother dragged him to the morgue and ripped the sheet off my body that his arrogance finally shattered.
"She was carrying your child, you idiot!"
Staring at my pale, lifeless face, the crisis manager who thought he could fix everything fell to his knees, a broken man.
But tears won't bring me back.
And now, he has to pay. Betrayed Bride, Reborn Architect
Romance My masterpiece, "Greenhaven," was about to change the world.
Five years of my life, my soul, poured into sustainable architecture, culminating tonight in a grand unveiling.
I scanned the ballroom for David, my fiancé, my partner in work and life.
We were a team, meant to marry after this launch.
But he was distant, cloaked in late-night meetings, telling me to trust him.
Then I saw him on stage, not with me, but with Victoria Hayes, my ruthless rival, her arm possessively around his waist.
The CEO announced "Elysian Fields," a project backed by David Thompson and Victoria Hayes.
My designs flashed on screen, every detail mine, but my name was nowhere.
The applause was thunderous.
David leaned into the microphone, his smile sickeningly bright.
"Victoria has not only been my partner in business but has become the partner of my heart. We're engaged."
Cameras flashed, capturing their faces, the thieves who stole my life's work and my future.
My phone vibrated: a text from my boss.
"Don't come to the office tomorrow. You're done. We can't be associated with this kind of scandal."
Blacklisted, ruined.
In one moment, I lost my project, my fiancé, my career.
My world, built around David, crumbled.
I stumbled out into the night, nowhere to go.
My apartment was our apartment; my friends our friends.
I had one last, desperate hope: my estranged uncle Robert.
He was a disgraced civil engineer, a recluse I hadn't spoken to in a decade.
"Sarah?" he answered, his voice raspy.
"Uncle Robert," I choked, "I need help. I have nowhere else to go."
A long pause, then: "I have a car coming for you. It will be there in twenty minutes. It will bring you to me."
He hung up.
Sliding down the cold brick wall, I understood.
I was leaving my old life behind, a lie.
I was running toward a future I couldn't imagine, a future that began with a man I barely knew.
My only family left.
But the betrayal didn't stop there.
Weeks later, David arrived at my uncle's, demanding I sign away my design rights, threatening to sue me for breach of partnership.
Victoria emerged, displaying expertly faked emails framing me for industrial espionage.
"Sign the papers, Sarah," Victoria hissed. "Or this gets leaked to every news outlet and the district attorney. Industrial espionage carries a hefty prison sentence."
Just when I thought I was utterly trapped, two large men grabbed me.
"Take her. We'll hold her somewhere she can have time to reconsider her position."
I was thrown into a car, plunged into darkness.
They weren't just destroying my career; they were taking my freedom.
The cold isolation in their private facility was designed to break me, but it only fueled my rage.
Victoria appeared, demanding I sign a confession, cementing their false narrative.
"No," I defied.
The guard tasered me.
But the real breaking point came when Victoria, with chilling calm, slammed a heavy book onto my hand, twisting my fingers at unnatural angles.
"Architects are nothing without their hands," she sneered.
My scream echoed the agony and a new, burning hatred.
They were celebrating their wedding in my designed atrium in two days, while I was imprisoned, crippled.
They aimed to destroy me, but they had only forged me into something stronger.
This was no longer about a career or a broken heart.
This was about justice.
This was war. The Marriage Built on Lies
Young Adult The day my parents told me I was transferring schools, my world ended for the first time.
"Leo is a bad influence. A musician with no future, and he's too old for you," my mother stated, her lips a thin, unforgiving line.
Two weeks later, I was adrift in the sterile halls of Northgate Prep, an art portfolio heavy in my hand, feeling like a ghost.
Then I met Ethan.
He seemed to light up the gray afternoon, a kind, talented musician who understood my dreams of New York and the Ashton Conservatory.
Our pact to conquer the city together felt like a promise of a masterpiece.
But the night before our audition, he handed me a "herbal supplement" that made the world tilt.
I remember his whispered "I'm sorry, Chloe" just before he left me disoriented and helpless in a dark, grimy alley.
I woke up to a pounding head, a filthy, torn dress, and a missed audition.
A video of me, vulnerable and incoherent in that alley, had gone viral.
My mother disowned me, her rage shaking the very foundations of my life.
My quiet father, broken, showed me a text from an unknown number: "How does it feel to see your daughter's future ruined?"
Five years passed in a haze of medication and therapists, the vibrant artist replaced by a frightened woman.
I was diagnosed with severe anxiety, depression, and PTSD-a living ghost of the girl I once was.
Why me? What had really happened that night?
Then, Ethan reappeared. He found me in my squalid apartment, filled with profound sadness, and took me in, promising to fix everything.
He cared for me, he loved me, or so I thought, as he meticulously rebuilt the gilded cage around my shattered life. Divorce, Design, and True Freedom
Romance The scent of expensive perfume and cheap ambition hung heavy in our penthouse, a silent testament to David' s reign.
He paraded aspiring influencers through our home like trophies, their bright young faces a constant reminder of the life he flaunted.
I, Sarah Miller, the successful interior designer, was merely an accessory, observing from the periphery as he draped his arm around a blonde named Tiffany, asking me to help her pick a profile theme color.
My reflection in the glass showed a stillness, a silent defiance to his polished, empty smile.
Later, after the glitter and champagne spills were gone, he cornered me, not with affection, but with business: "We need to be more aggressive with fertility treatments. I' ve scheduled you a new consultation for Monday."
Three years of invasive tests, painful injections, and crushing disappointment, now weaponized against me.
Then came the ultimate blow: he wanted to use a surrogate, one of them, for his legacy, expecting me to manage it.
The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest as he pulled me into a hollow embrace, whispering, "You' re the only one I love, Sarah."
The very next day, a new girl, Emily, was paraded through the penthouse, her wide, innocent eyes mocking my reality.
He kissed her, deeply, passionately, right in front of me, then looked straight into my eyes before turning back to her with a whisper that made her giggle.
That night, sitting in my design studio, the last piece of this life that was truly mine, I drew a line.
A final, absolute line that would redefine everything. Betrayed Heart, Shattered Life
Modern My life, once a vibrant canvas of architectural dreams, had become a masterpiece of quiet devotion to my husband, David, and our son, Ethan.
Then came Victoria Chase, David' s sleek, ambitious business partner, and her "Aura" brand-a wellness empire built on hollow promises.
Suddenly, my gifted ten-year-old, Ethan, whose art was his very soul, was deemed a "liability," his vibrant oil-and-turpentine world clashing with Victoria' s sterile, minimalist vision.
David, blinded by ambition and Victoria' s deceptive charm, whisked Ethan away to a mysterious "Pathways Institute" – a place Victoria touted as "creative re-education" but which sent a chill down my spine.
"They help children channel their talents into more constructive, marketable, and socially acceptable forms," he' d said, a chilling echo of parental consent disguising something far more sinister.
My desperate pleas, my warnings of psychological damage, were met with David' s contempt: "You, with your failed architecture career and your outdated, sentimental ideas about 'art' … You don' t get a vote."
Just two weeks later, the phone call came, flat and devoid of emotion: "Ma'am, there's been an incident. He's gone. A massive cerebral hemorrhage."
While David and Victoria celebrated their launch on a lavish yacht, popping champagne and basking in their "perfect success," my brilliant, hopeful boy lay in a cold morgue.
My world shattered, then coalesced into a razor-sharp fury as I called David, his party' s laughter a grotesque backdrop to my guttural announcement: "Ethan is dead. While you were popping champagne with your mistress."
I declared total war upon his very existence: "This is not just me leaving you, David. This is me erasing you… You have no son. You have nothing. You lost it all today. I hope your brand was worth it."
The "Miller women," my grandmother used to say, "feel things deeper… When we are betrayed, the world feels it."
Now, the world would indeed feel the shattering of my heart, and the ancient knowing awakened within me, ready to reclaim what was mine and unleash the cosmic balance they had so carelessly broken. Roots of Our Love: A Quirky Romance
Fantasy I woke up from a three-month coma to a world that wasn' t mine.
Doctors called it a miracle, but my phone was a disaster zone: hundreds of texts, a fan page dedicated to me, and a cringe nickname: "Ethan' s Girl."
The only problem? I had no idea who Ethan was.
Apparently, while I was unconscious, someone-or something-had been living my life, turning me into the town's most obsessive fangirl to a golden boy I' d never met.
Before I could even process it, my best friend burst in, dragging me to a bonfire to sing a love song to Ethan, making me wear a ridiculous "Mrs. Golden Leaf" hoodie.
I immediately became the target of the entire town' s mockery, especially from Ethan, who expected my usual fawning adoration.
Worst of all, I soon discovered that the "stalker" was a lovesick tree spirit who had borrowed my body, ruined my reputation, and given a piece of her soul-her very life essence-to Ethan as a lucky charm.
My entire life had been upended, my name dragged through the mud, all because of a plant' s one-sided crush on an arrogant jock.
But I wasn't that girl anymore, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let a glorified potted plant and a narcissistic hockey player dictate my future.
I was going to get that charm back, reclaim my life, and burn every trace of "Ethan's Girl" to the ground. The Mechanic's Vengeance
Modern My father' s FDNY badge wasn't just a piece of metal; it was the last tangible piece of my hero, a sacred legacy I cherished above all else.
My socialite wife, Chloe, tossed it to her ex-boyfriend, Julian, like a cheap souvenir, igniting a cruel chain of events that would devastate our lives.
When our seven-year-old son, Leo, bravely tried to reclaim his grandfather' s stolen badge, Chloe punished him by sending him to a brutal "behavioral modification" camp in the desolate Utah wilderness.
Days later, I found my bright, sensitive boy in a sterile Utah hospital room, lying in a coma, his small body ravaged by severe dehydration and hypothermia, clinging to life after a horrific "reflection exercise."
As I sat by his bedside, paralyzed by terror and helplessness, my phone buzzed with a taunting text from Julian: a smug picture of him and Chloe, glowing with happiness, accompanied by the chilling words, "Chloe's pregnant. Our little family is starting. Time for you to move on, buddy."
My world shattered with a sickening crunch, replaced by a searing, all-consuming rage as I comprehended that my son was dying because of her unbelievable cruelty, yet she was celebrating a new life with the very man responsible for his torment.
How could the woman I married, the mother of my child, betray her own son so utterly, choosing a manipulative, parasitic ex over our child' s desperate fight for survival?
Yet, in that sterile, echoing hospital room, a cold, unwavering resolve took root deep within me; I didn't call Chloe, who was too busy basking in her new life, but instead dialed the one man powerful enough to dismantle their entire twisted world: my father-in-law.
This wasn't just about my son's desperate recovery or a bitter divorce anymore; this was about unleashing an unstoppable reckoning that would make them pay for every single ounce of pain they inflicted upon my innocent child. The Price of Her Obsession
Modern Ethan Cole, heir to a formidable dynasty, was hopelessly infatuated with Seraphina Vance. When a devastating explosion nearly claimed her life, he defied all odds, secretly risking his own to fund a clandestine rescue, even letting another man claim his heroic sacrifice.
But that man, his security chief Marcus Thorne, shamelessly twisted the truth, painting Ethan as her envious tormentor. Seraphina, vulnerable and blinded by grief, believed Marcus' s lies, cultivating a fierce love for him and an unyielding hatred for Ethan.
After Marcus' s supposed death (for which she blamed Ethan), Seraphina became "The Matriarch" of a shadowy Order, imprisoning and ruthlessly torturing him for two decades. She inflicted a lifetime of calculated physical and psychological torment, watching his very spirit crumble under her cruel "300 years of suffering," until her new favorite, Lucian, took sadistic pleasure in shattering his hands.
He unearthed records within the Order-a sacred "Book of Truths"-revealing Marcus' s complete treachery and his own self-sacrificing innocence. Yet, she dismissed it as another pathetic lie, her hatred for him unshakeable. How could one man endure such profound, undeserved torment, built entirely on a monstrous, self-serving deception?
Left for dead, his memory wiped, he started anew as Elian, building a peaceful life. But when Princess Seraphina, now seeking atonement, found him and proposed marriage, it tore open old wounds. Now, with a celestial second chance, he must re-enter his past and meticulously unravel the threads of his own tragic fate. The Wife's Hidden Fortune
Modern The phone rang near midnight, a jarring sound that sliced through the quiet of my small apartment, a familiar dread seizing me before I even picked up.
It was the hospital, informing me my brilliant, valedictorian son, Alex, had been in an accident while working a late-night delivery shift, ending the call with the words no parent should ever hear: "He didn't make it."
My world shattered, I rushed to City General, only to stumble upon a scene that made the grief even more unbearable: my seemingly frugal wife, Jessica, in a shimmering gown, showering a stranger's son with a luxury car and a downtown loft at a lavish hotel party.
The horrifying realization crashed over me: the "stranger's son," Jake, was the hit-and-run driver who killed Alex, and Jessica knew, choosing to protect him, the child of her old flame, over our own son.
At Alex's somber burial, as his small casket was lowered, Jessica abandoned us, rushing off because Jake had a "migraine," her tire crushing the simple flowers our neighbor laid at Alex's graveside.
My grief twisted into a cold, unyielding rage, the agony in my chest mirroring the gnawing pain in my gut, later diagnosed as terminal cancer, a life worn down by sacrifices she never needed to make.
How could the woman I loved, the partner I trusted for two decades, have maintained such a monstrous charade, building a fortune while we barely scraped by, all for another man and his son?
With nothing left but a few months to live, I walked away from the city, from the lies, but the story wasn't over for Jessica, whose own dark quest for atonement was just beginning. You might like
After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir
Shirlee Melnick Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit.
The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena.
This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone. 
/0/89213/coverorgin.jpg?v=c48768381d82b76d4ea0f39656970b34&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102555/coverorgin.jpg?v=d210300266401538383930c5fa2037f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103582/coverorgin.jpg?v=fb5b6af4f48238271e0ff9827afb0637&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86907/coverorgin.jpg?v=ea2393805bc96447cef8c8e01f50eee3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101836/coverorgin.jpg?v=c3d36d47b14591d95da5fc639acfb91e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86637/coverorgin.jpg?v=12630a491edcd39376ac1d599fe7407a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86166/coverorgin.jpg?v=b80f9e99b1f00c681ce5082f4c56594c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86165/coverorgin.jpg?v=dab1ff0f5076fa29aaec203e9a53c960&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85852/coverorgin.jpg?v=76a6b0fc897223bc52fedf844ed3b4c2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83691/coverorgin.jpg?v=3c37a2e7228ab20ebc2e698bf2e4f745&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83452/coverorgin.jpg?v=8ef68c018f72e64cacc1566795374b31&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82619/coverorgin.jpg?v=bacdd52029ba7180a0b243ce10f29014&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82607/coverorgin.jpg?v=8c139ed2cbeae9354d2b288cb22b82a7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18489/coverorgin.jpg?v=3796b72138b49ad6b3f17c801780a089&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102856/coverorgin.jpg?v=ab447bb3dfea8a92331d6f2abd61bff7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102860/coverorgin.jpg?v=fd4279179a94dd229627ce7640bf190d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101423/coverorgin.jpg?v=46b8ac4ba2161e0b69a9b73304ac43c3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79054/coverorgin.jpg?v=248fd387f8a7ef06a95d551925555a22&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101926/coverorgin.jpg?v=368e7983714c1a0bd18be7d5ea10f6b7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101923/coverorgin.jpg?v=e39c3414725524d940dc167ac21cf8b0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/65656/coverorgin.jpg?v=bca7a26f976b281a1ac0e8d986049347&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101922/coverorgin.jpg?v=85446ccd5cc7810ecc42f10e6e51a892&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/65243/coverorgin.jpg?v=c379c588e73b2cdf26996617a080fa17&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101428/coverorgin.jpg?v=a6edc7fa863c44c8d677b68f6b8753a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)