Tangye Wanzi
15 Published Stories
Tangye Wanzi's Books and Stories
One Night With The Wrong Brother
Modern I thought I was waking up in the arms of Arthur, the man I loved. But as the morning light hit the Hamptons estate, the man buttoning his cuffs by the window turned around with eyes like chips of ice. It was Augustus Riddle, Arthur’s cruel younger brother, and I had just spent the night whispering confessions of love into the wrong man's ear.
The night I thought was a beautiful beginning turned into a devastating nightmare. Instead of comfort, Gus treated me like a stain on his expensive carpet, scribbling a check for "services rendered" before shoving me into a dark service corridor to hide my existence from his brother.
"How much does it cost to buy your silence?"
He sneered, before leaving me barefoot in a torrential downpour while he drove away in a luxury Cadillac. Four years later, I am a struggling actress in Los Angeles, working double shifts as a barista just to keep the lights on. My life was finally stable until my roommate dragged me to a high-end dinner to meet her new "influential" boyfriend. The man sitting at the table, looking more arrogant and lethal than ever, was Augustus.
He spent the entire night humiliating me, calling me a pathetic amateur and a social climber in front of my only friends. When I fled into the rain and collapsed on the sidewalk, skinning my knee until I bled, he watched from his car. He saw me clutching a plastic baggie containing the taped-together pieces of that four-year-old check—the only proof of my shame. He looked at me like roadkill, rolled up his window, and drove off into the dark.
I couldn't understand why he was doing this. Why did he hate me enough to crush me, yet remember that I couldn't handle the smell of cigarette smoke? Why did he leave me bleeding in the street, only to send expensive medical supplies and coffee to my door the very next morning?
"I'm moving out."
I told my roommates, realizing that Gus Riddle didn't just want to destroy me; he wanted to haunt me. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out with eighty dollars to my name, finally ready to disappear into the city before he could burn the rest of my life to the ground. Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Runaway
Mafia I watched my husband, the most feared Capo in New York, sign away our marriage with the same cold indifference he usually reserved for ordering a hit.
The nib of his Montblanc pen scratched against the paper, drowning out the rain hitting the coffee shop window.
He didn't bother to read a single word.
He thought he was signing routine shipping manifests for the family business.
In reality, he was signing the "Dissolution of Union" papers I had hidden beneath the cover sheet.
He was too distracted to check. His eyes were glued to his encrypted phone, frantically texting Sofia—the widow, the tragic beauty, the woman who had haunted our marriage for three years.
"Done," he grunted, tossing the stack into his armored SUV without even glancing at me.
"Business is concluded, Elena. We leave."
Moments later, his phone rang with her special emergency tone.
His demeanor shifted from cold boss to frantic protector instantly.
"Driver, divert. She needs me," he roared.
He looked at me with zero affection and ordered, "Get out, Elena. Luca will take you home."
He kicked me out of the car into the pouring rain to rush to his mistress, completely unaware he had just legally granted me my freedom.
I stood on the curb, shivering but smiling for the first time in years.
By the time the Don realizes he just signed his own divorce, I will be a ghost in San Francisco.
And he will have nothing left but his shipping logs and his regret. Just A Placeholder: Dying For His Mistress
Mafia I stood on the tarmac clutching white magnolias, watching the man I loved hand his loyalty to the woman born to destroy me.
Dante Cavallaro, the Ruthless Underboss, didn't just leave me for Sofia Moretti.
He revealed that for two years, I wasn't his lover. I was a human shield.
The heavy iron bangle he forced me to wear wasn't a gift for my protection.
"It's a Malocchio anchor," he sneered as I lay paralyzed on the floor. "It drains the wearer's luck to keep Sofia healthy. You are just the filter."
My body began to rot from the inside out, my nerves dying one by one.
When I was finally on my deathbed, unable to move or speak, Dante didn't cry for me.
He cried because his tool was broken.
He forced the cursed bangle onto his own wrist, begging the universe to keep me alive so I could continue to suffer in Sofia's place.
"Please," he sobbed into my sheets. "Don't leave me alone with the bad luck."
I used my last breath to make a wish—not for him, but for my freedom.
I closed my eyes and died.
Exactly one hour later, Dante's phone rang.
It was his father.
"Sofia just collapsed," he said. "Her heart just stopped."
I was the vessel.
And now that I was gone, the poison had come home to the King. Breaking The Cage: The Mafia Wife's Revenge
Mafia I was smoothing the red silk of my dress over a baby bump only I knew existed, preparing to tell my husband, the ruthless King of Chicago, that he was finally going to be a father.
But before I could share the news, the ballroom fell silent.
A woman walked in wearing a gold dress that was barely legal. It was Serena, the woman from the photos I had received just hours ago. She walked right up to us and handed Michael a silver tie clip.
"You left this in the suite, Michael," she purred in front of the entire city's elite.
When I demanded she leave, she smirked and threw her glass of red wine all over me. The liquid soaked into my dress, looking like a gunshot wound right over my womb.
I waited for Michael to defend me. To throw her out.
Instead, he looked at the crowd, terrified of a scandal.
"Don't make a scene, Liv," he hissed, his eyes cold. "Go upstairs and change. I'll handle this."
He turned his back on me and walked away with his mistress, leaving me dripping in crimson and humiliation.
My mother found me sobbing in the bedroom and slapped me sober.
"Tears are for the weak," she said. "Tonight, Michael Thorne loses everything."
We froze his assets. We destroyed his reputation. But that wasn't enough. I wanted to break his soul.
I looked down at my stomach. I would protect this child, but his father would never know he existed.
"Tell him I lost the baby," I whispered to the butler, my voice trembling with rage.
"Tell him the stress caused a miscarriage. Tell him he killed his heir."
Tonight, the golden cage opens. And Michael Thorne is about to find out that even a canary has claws. Escaping His Cage: The Phoenix Wife Returns
Modern Two minutes before midnight on the eve of my wedding, my phone buzzed.
I expected a sweet text from my groom, Liam.
Instead, I received a photo of him with his lips inches from another woman's neck.
The caption read:
"He's celebrating his last night of freedom. Are you sure you want to be the jailer?"
I didn't scream. I didn't cancel the wedding.
I walked down the aisle the next morning and looked at his handsome face.
I saw the scratch on his wrist—a souvenir from his mistress, Ava.
Later, I overheard him tell his best man that I was just the "safe bet," a boring broodmare to provide an heir while he had fun with her.
He thought I was a naive girl who believed in fairy tales.
He thought he had secured his perfect life when I said, "I do."
But he was wrong.
When I discovered I was pregnant a few days later, I didn't celebrate.
I realized this baby wasn't a blessing; it was a lock on my cage.
Liam wanted a dynasty? He wanted a legacy?
I looked at the positive test in my hand and made a cold, hard choice.
I wasn't going to just leave him.
I was going to destroy him.
I wiped my tears, packed my documents, and prepared to burn his entire world to ash.
The war had just begun. When Love Became A Lie
Romance The wedding dress, a Parisian dream, hung ready. My guardian, Daniel Hayes, the man stepping into the role of my husband in three weeks, surveyed me with possessive eyes. Everything was perfect, almost too perfect for the girl who lost her parents and world in a fire, only to be taken in by a generous "uncle."
Then, his phone buzzed. A name popped up: "Sarah." And beneath it, a picture of a smiling woman and a small boy grinning at the camera, with a message: "Kev and I are waiting. Don't be late." My perfectly constructed world began to crack.
He admitted it-Sarah was his fiancée ten years ago, before she left him. I was merely a "substitute," a convenient look-alike to fill the void she left. His affection, his care, our shared love-all a calculated lie. Then, an anonymous email confirmed my worst fears: he was still seeing her, even now, on the eve of our wedding.
"You're a monster," I told him, tears streaming down my face. He just stared, unmoved, his voice like ice: "The wedding will go on as planned, Olivia. You will not embarrass me." He wanted me to be a dutiful wife, a pawn in his twisted game.
The pre-wedding gala was a public humiliation. Sarah appeared, triumphant, with her son. Daniel, caught between us, didn't defend me. He paraded me before the woman he truly desired. It wasn't just betrayal; it was torture. And then came the ultimate blow: he hit me, in front of them, leading to the devastating loss of our unborn child.
Lying in the hospital, my heart hollow, I let him believe his feigned remorse. He wanted to "make it right," to "send them away." He thought he still had me, the forgiving, wounded woman. But the girl who loved him had died in that studio, with our child. A new plan, cold and sharp, began to form in the hollow space where my heart used to be. His Reckoning, Her Triumph
Romance Six years. That' s how long it had been since Mark Johnson chose to walk away, leaving me to face my family' s ruin alone.
Now he stood in my apartment, polished and powerful, fully expecting to find me broken and waiting for him.
Instead, I was sprawled on a worn sofa, cradling my sleeping baby, Liam.
Mark' s perfectly sculpted face twisted in disbelief, then disgust, as he laid eyes on my son.
"Whose is that?" he spat, then, eyeing my faded clothes and humble home, added, "I mean, who' s the father? Have you no shame?"
He offered to take me back as his mistress and "find a good family" for Liam, as if my child were dispensable cargo.
Then he grabbed my arm, revealing an ugly, jagged scar on my forearm-a relic from the "halfway house" he' d sent me to.
Chloe, my stepsister, ever the innocent puppet master, smoothly deflected his concern, painting me as a reckless delinquent.
It worked. Any flicker of understanding in Mark' s eyes hardened into contempt.
"You' ve become something ugly, Ava," he told me, letting go as if I were contaminating.
I knew he wasn' t disappointed in himself, only in me for not suffering prettily.
He lunged for my throat, then for Liam, snarling that my son's absence might "make me see reason."
Just as despair choked me, the door crashed open.
"Get your hands off of them."
Jake Stone, my friend, my partner, my savior, stepped into the room, his presence a shield.
He took Liam, comforting him before turning to Mark, his voice calm but lethal.
"I'm the man who's here now," he stated. "And I'm telling you to get out."
I stood beside Jake, tears drying, my voice clear.
"You left me to rot for six years. Jake was the one who pulled me from the wreckage. He' s more of a man than you will ever be." Love's Grave: A Final Sacrifice
Horror The shovel struck the dirt above me.
A dull, wet thud.
It was my grave, and I was floating above it, watching.
My ex-girlfriend, Ava, was there, livestreaming to thousands.
"We're doing this for Liam," she announced, her voice tight with artificial conviction.
Beside her, my former best friend, Liam Davis, grunted, driving the shovel deeper.
He was performing, for Ava, for the camera, for the lies he' d spun for five years about me haunting him.
Then, he unearthed my pine coffin.
The crowbar pried it open, revealing the horrific claw marks-my claw marks-inside the lid.
But also, my diary.
Ava, pale and trembling, pulled it from the mud.
She began to read my words, words that told of my love for her, of Liam's escalating cruelty, not mine.
Yet, she still clung to his narrative, selectively reading to justify her actions.
He' d almost poisoned me.
He tried to murder me.
The truth, stark and undeniable, spilled from the pages.
Then, my mother arrived.
She didn't just expose Liam's lies about an old fight; she revealed a truth that shattered Ava' s world: I was going to donate my kidney to save her life.
The man she' d desecrated, the monster she' d paraded online, was her silent savior.
Struck by a blinding guilt, Ava unearthed the diary's final, blood-stained entry.
My last words.
"Ava. Liam did this. I love yo-"
Unfinished.
The truth was absolute: Liam had not only framed me, he had buried me alive.
A raw scream tore from Ava' s throat.
The tears that followed were years too late, but they ignited a terrifying purpose.
She would make him pay. He Lied, I Thrived Anyway
Romance My relationship with Liam was a twenty-year slow burn, a homecoming everyone called perfect and meant to be.
Then, scrolling through my phone one Tuesday night, an anonymous post on a local gossip forum shattered that illusion.
It was a gushing narrative from a girl named Olivia, detailing secret meetings and gifts from a business school charmer-the same limited-edition sneakers I' d seen Liam coveting, the ones he told me were sold out.
Beneath it, a comment read, "He even lied to his clingy childhood friend 'girlfriend' that they were sold out just so he could surprise me. He says he\'s only with her because his parents like her."
Clingy childhood friend. The words felt like a punch, blurring my vision. My heart raced as I dialed Liam, his warm greeting a stark contrast to the betrayal I' d uncovered.
He lied about the sneakers, easily, poorly, confirming my worst fears.
His flimsy denial crumbled when I confronted him with Olivia' s account, his "nervous edge" a stark contrast to my unwavering fury.
My best friend Maya' s warning echoed: "I don\'t trust him, Chloe. The way he was looking at her... it wasn\'t friendly." How stupid I felt for defending him.
Then, the final blow: Olivia' s public profile, a cascade of photos-his hand in hers, his familiar smile reserved for her, captioned "My one and only. Soon the whole world will know." Posted just an hour ago.
The heartbreak was physical, but beneath it, a cold, sharp anger stirred. This wasn't a misunderstanding; it was a cruel, deliberate deception.
I hung up, no more lies needed, meeting my own clear gaze in the dark phone screen. I was no longer just a heartbroken girl; I was a girl who had been played for a fool, and I would not let him get away with it. Liam's Shadow, Chloe's Lie
Romance The "True Harmony" system was perfect, a monument to the future I, Ethan Miller, was eager to build with Chloe, my fiancée of a decade. Our wedding, a meticulously planned extravagance, was just one week away, a celebration of the life we'd spent years creating.
Then, she walked into my study, and in a soft, flat voice, delivered words that detonated my entire world: "I can't marry you next week. I have to marry Liam first."
Liam. Her stepbrother. The man she confusingly called her "first love," now demanding she fulfill his deceased mother's "dying wish" for her to settle him. My shock curdled as she explained it was "just a formality" – she'd marry him, then divorce him, for "filial piety." My life, our future, reduced to a mere inconvenience.
The insult deepened when she asked for a "dowry" – a few million dollars for Liam. I was not her partner; I was her bank, and Liam, the beneficiary. When her fabricated apologies came, they were delivered with Liam's leftovers, the subtle taunt a final blow. What was this absurd wish, this sudden, desperate need that obliterated our years together? How could the woman I loved so easily betray and humiliate me for a man who seemed to be nothing but a perpetual burden?
My initial shock hardened into cold resolve. If Chloe, the supposed woman of my dreams, prioritized a con artist over me, then my answer was simple: "I need a new bride." Cursed by My Best Friend
Horror Savannah stood at my desk, her smile unsettlingly bright, holding a tiny antique bottle.
"For you, Chloe," she purred, her voice dripping with fake sweetness, "a special family recipe for good fortune."
But a chill ran down my spine the moment I saw it.
The bottle. The smell. The lie. It all came flooding back with agonizing clarity.
I remembered the grotesque rash, worse than any psoriasis, erupting across my skin.
It was red, raw, and it smelled like rotting meat, coarse black hair sprouting from inflamed patches.
Doctors were confused, their creams useless.
My own reflection became a monster.
Ethan, my boyfriend and boss, looked at me with disgust before abandoning me for good.
I was fired from the job I loved, my career turning to ash.
I died alone in my apartment, ostracized and broken, the foul reek of my own decaying flesh my final breath.
Then I remembered the truth I learned after death: It wasn't a disease.
It was a vicious Hoodoo curse, a 'crossing' fed by that very essential oil.
A "gift" from my best friend, Savannah.
She wanted my job, my beauty, my entire life.
And she took it all.
But now, I was back.
My skin was clear, my body whole.
I had a second chance.
And this time, she wouldn't win. The Wedding That Wasn't
Romance Victoria Hayes, heiress of the New York Hayes family, was poised to marry Ethan Miller.
For four years, I' d meticulously molded him from a broke university kid into a successful entrepreneur.
He was my creation, meant to be a living echo of Julian Vance, my first love, tragically lost.
But on the eve of our wedding, a chilling overheard conversation shattered my perfectly constructed world.
I discovered Ethan, his pathologically obsessive ex Chloe, and even his family, were plotting my public humiliation at the altar.
His whispered "Alright. I'll do it" twisted my stomach, revealing the man I' d idealized was a cheap, cruel fake.
He later abandoned me during a fire alarm, grabbing Chloe first, leaving me trampled and injured.
I overheard him confess he "despised" me, viewing me only as a controlling ATM.
The agonizing pain wasn't for him, but for my wasted years and his utter contempt.
How could I have been so foolish, investing so much in such a calculating fraud?
I wasn't a victim; I was furious, utterly betrayed, and finally, free.
My illusion shattered, my resolve hardened, and I calmly called my mother: "Cancel the wedding. I'm coming to London."
Tomorrow, I' d depart, not as a jilted bride, but as the architect of his public downfall.
My path now clear, I was ready for a new life unfettered by shadows or substitutes. My Gift, His Curse: A Spectral Reckoning
Xuanhuan I'm Anya, and I see ghosts-a family gift that's always been a curse, until I found fragile peace at Serenity Glen, learning to manage my powers and appease the vengeful ghost, the Lady in Gray, who was finally nearing her eternal rest.
That fragile peace shattered the day I saved tech mogul Ethan Cole from death, exacting a vow of unwavering loyalty only for him to spend seven years flaunting an affair and dismissing me as "too mystical."
His betrayal escalated into a calculated torment: desecrating my home, stealing my protective amulet, orchestrating the demolition of Serenity Glen-my sanctuary-and even murdering my mentor, Elijah, all while forcing me into torturous blood transfusions for his mistress and secretly planning to abort my unborn child.
My world crumbled as I learned his "near-death" was a setup from the start, a manipulative ploy to exploit my spiritual connections, and Elijah's death wasn't an accident but planned murder, leaving me reeling from a betrayal so profound it defied comprehension.
As his mistress, Tiffany, revealed his full deceit and then spitefully destroyed my last sacred defense-my moonstone pendant-a primal rage erupted within me, unleashing a force far older and more vengeful than I could control, ensuring that the price of Ethan's betrayal would finally be paid. My Life, My Rules
Romance "Voices." That’s how I found Ethan a year ago, online, his deep, calm tones a warm blanket over my introverted self. Today, after months of online chats, my boyfriend was finally coming to meet me in person. My stomach churned with a nervous, hopeful excitement.
But then, as if a glitch in my reality, a transparent social media feed flickered into my vision, comments scrolling relentlessly. "LOL, 'vet him.' She means 'steal him.'" "Main Character Brit about to secure the love interest! Sarah who?" They were mocking me, predicting my popular, effortlessly charming roommate, Brit, would steal Ethan. "Girl, this ain't a hallucination. This is the script. You're watching your life's reality show."
My excitement shattered. Brit, always the queen to my lady-in-waiting, played her part perfectly, offering syrupy "concern" to check out my "online guy," later even faking an ankle injury just to get Ethan alone. Each comment from "The Feed," each calculated move from Brit, amplified my deepest fear: I was just an average side character, destined to be replaced.
Was this my inevitable fate? To watch my love story unfold as a footnote in someone else’s drama? The injustice of it all, this pre-written "script" I was supposed to follow, sparked a cold, determined anger deep within me.
No. This was *my* life. And I refused to be a stepping stone. I would not be the loser side character. I would fight for him, fighting back with every clever text, every subtle move to reclaim control, even a strategic lie, to ensure I wrote my own script. CEO's Aloof Wife: Where Your Love Lies
Romance As an outcome of a conspiracy, Stacie was forced to marry Andrew. On their wedding night, her husband warned her to never reveal their marriage to the world. At home, they would be a couple, but in public, they would be complete strangers. Thus, she ended up becoming his secret wife.
Any time she was in trouble, he would stand up for her and protect her, which warmed her heart. And just when she started to think that he loved her, he destroyed her fantasy. When news about their marriage came out accidentally, he mercilessly handed her the divorce agreement. At that moment, she knew. She knew that he had married her for her hundred billion legacies. You might like
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!" 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." 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 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." 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. Destiny's Choice: Married The Man They Called Unlovable
Lila Rivers Sophie stepped in for her sister and married a man known for his disfigured looks and reckless past.
On their wedding day, his family turned their backs on him, and the town laughed behind their hands, certain the marriage would collapse.
But Sophie's career soared, and their love only deepened.
Later, during a high-profile event, the CEO of some conglomerate took off his mask, revealing Sophie's husband to be a global sensation.
***
Adrian had no interest in his arranged wife and had disguised himself in hopes she would bail.
But when Sophie tried to walk away, Adrian broke down and whispered, "Please, Sophie, don't go. One kiss, and I'll give you the world." 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. 
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