Valeria
12 Published Stories
Valeria's Books and Stories
The 100-Point Divorce Plan
Romance For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave.
The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for.
In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in.
"Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer."
His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient.
"I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now."
He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure. Remarried To The Ruthless Mafia King
Modern I found the instruction manual for my own abandonment on a dark web forum while my husband scrubbed the scent of another woman from his skin in the bathroom.
The thread was titled "Burden Disposal Strategies."
The user, RatKing88, asked a simple question:
"How do I dump a loyal wife without triggering a war with the old guard? My parents love her more than me."
The replies were brutal. They suggested faking a dangerous mission, forcing a paper divorce for 'asset protection,' and then disappearing with the cash.
Moments later, Luca walked out of the bathroom smelling of cheap vanilla perfume and panic.
He grabbed my hands, his palms sweating, and spun a clumsy lie about a "Code Red" mission in Sicily.
"It is going to be a bloodbath, Sienna," he whispered, his eyes wide with manic energy. "We need to divorce on paper. It is the only way to protect you from the vendettas."
I felt a cold rage settle in my gut.
He wasn't a soldier going to war. He was a rat running off with his mistress and the family savings, leaving his stroke-ridden father and our daughter with nothing.
He planned to wait for his parents to die so he could return for the inheritance.
He thought I was just a naive, caged canary who would wait forever.
But he forgot that canaries are the first to smell poison in the air.
I didn't scream. I didn't expose him.
Instead, I looked him in the eye with carefully manufactured sorrow and signed the papers.
He thought he was escaping to freedom with a bag full of stolen cash.
He didn't realize he had just voluntarily abdicated his throne.
And I was going to take it. The Fiancé He Severely Underestimated
Modern My fiancé Jax and I built our Las Vegas empire from nothing. After fifteen years, he betrayed me for a "pure" girl named Ember, sacrificing a piece of our empire for her. He told our friends I was "too ruthless," and that he only felt "human" with her.
He arrogantly believed I could never leave, that I needed our empire-and him-too much.
To prove her victory, Ember found my mother's last keepsake, a small music box, and shattered it at my feet.
The man I'd sacrificed everything for saw me as a cold, calculating machine. He thought I was ruthless? He hadn't seen anything yet.
He believed I couldn't leave him. He was about to lose everything.
I picked up the phone and made a single call to his estranged, powerful family in D.C.
"Send him home," I said, my voice ice. "He's all yours." Unchained From A Toxic Marriage
Modern My husband, Donavon, was a serial cheater, but I was always one step ahead, catching him in the act. Then, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia.
The only person in the world who could save me with a bone marrow transplant was his latest mistress, Jazmyne.
To make matters worse, Donavon cut off all my funds, including the money for my mother's critical medical care. He forced me to publicly apologize to Jazmyne, humiliating me on a live stream while my mother died because the funds were delayed.
"You will make a public statement," he sneered. "Acknowledge your harassment of Jazmyne. Apologize for your past erratic behavior. And you will do it on camera."
Desperate and broken, I faked my own death by jumping into the Hudson River on that same live stream.
I needed him to believe I was gone.
Now, secretly saved and hidden away by a friend, I must fight for my life while navigating the twisted reality that my survival depends on the very woman who helped destroy me, and the man who orchestrated it all. Shattered Hand, Broken Heart, Burning Soul
Mafia The first blow cracked a rib, the second dissolved the world into pain. They dragged me into an alley, brutalizing me, shattering my drawing hand, and carving out my kidney.
Just before I blacked out, I saw them: Eleanor, my adoptive mother; Olivia, my sister; Sarah, my fiancée. Standing at the alley's edge, watching with cold, tense eyes as I lay bleeding.
Then, Eleanor' s chillingly calm voice cut through the haze: "Is it done?" A man confirmed my hand was shattered, and pointed to a cooler. My kidney. They had taken my kidney. Later, in the sterile hospital room, I overheard them. Eleanor confirmed my art career was destroyed. Olivia expressed relief. Sarah, my fiancée, twisted the knife: "This is for the best. Caleb couldn't handle the rejection."
My heart pounded with sick realization. For seven years, my achievements had been sacrificed for Caleb's "fragility." I was a fool, believing their love, their sisterhood, their devotion. I was an obstacle, a resource to be drained and discarded.
The party celebrating Caleb's scholarship, built on my ruin, raged downstairs-on my birthday, which they' d forgotten. I was bleeding, injured by a dog they claimed I' d attacked, forced to apologize by Eleanor, who shoved my head, sending me crashing. But as I lay broken, a new fire ignited within me.
I clutched a faded photograph: my real father. And on it, a phone number for my grandfather. "I've been waiting for your call, son. Tell me where you are. I'm on my way." The Bride Who Walked Away
Romance The church bells rang, but for the third time, my wedding day with Ethan Miller turned into a public humiliation.
He arrived an hour late, not in a tuxedo, but carrying a small, sick girl with Chloe Davis, his "childhood friend," trailing behind.
"Lily… she's my daughter, Ava," he stammered, accusing me of poisoning her right there in front of everyone.
The prestigious architecture fellowship, my future, everything I'd given up for him, shattered as I was branded a monster.
The flowers slipped from my numb fingers, scattering on the cold stone floor, a metaphor for the wreckage of my life.
My humiliation was complete as he and Chloe, then the police, accused me, and I later found myself locked in the hospital morgue, left to freeze.
Why was this happening? How could the man I loved believe such monstrous lies?
I pulled the diamond ring off my finger, dropped it with a clatter, and walked away, done with him, with them, with all of it.
I was choosing to live, to reclaim myself from the ruins he made, even if it meant burying the old Ava. The Twin's Fatal Deception: A Reborn Wife's Justice
Xuanhuan A grim news report flashed on screen: "Catastrophic lab explosion at Innovatech Robotics."
Then came the update that made my blood run cold: "CEO Mark Reinhart critically injured but alive.
His twin brother, David Reinhart, tragically declared dead." My husband.
Alive. But a chilling memory slammed into me.
Because this wasn't the first time this tragedy played out, just with the names reversed.
In my first life, Mark died, and David appeared, claiming amnesia.
But I knew it was Mark, changed and cruel.
He, along with his venomous mother and David's manipulative wife, gaslighted me, painting me as delusional.
They neglected my sweet Emily.
They smeared my name, turning the community against me.
It ended in fire and screams.
Emily and I didn't escape that guest house.
That nightmare of betrayal and agony was my first life.
Now, the roles were switched, but the lie was the same.
A cold wave of recognition, brutal and sharp, washed over me.
How could this be happening again?
No. This time, Emily needed me.
I wouldn't be the victim.
I would write a new ending.
Let Mark have his stolen life with Jessica; he would lose absolutely everything else.
My resolve hardened, sharp as steel. Too Late For Regret: The Girl They Broke
Young Adult I still remember the day my American Dream was brutally shattered.
I was a high school prodigy, with near-perfect scores, poised for Yale, ready to conquer the world with my intellect.
But my biological parents, David and Susan Miller, harbored a dark, selfish agenda.
They secretly bribed a corrupt admissions contact, orchestrating a malicious swap of my exceptional SAT scores and deeply personal Yale application essays with my utterly mediocre stepsister, Tiffany' s embarrassing string of failures.
Yale, astonishingly, accepted her, while every single top university I had dreamed of rejected me outright.
They publicly branded me a charlatan, a liar, ruthlessly humiliating me across the local media to cover their heinous crime.
My glittering academic career, indeed my very identity, was cruelly stolen, leaving me spiraling into a debilitating depression, utterly adrift and shamed, stranded in a local community college.
Years dragged on, and the Millers, now ostentatiously flaunting their burgeoning tech empire, ironically "reclaimed" me for a brazenly cynical PR stunt.
They meticulously planned a grand "Ivy League Acceptance Gala," ostensibly to celebrate Tiffany's fabricated triumph, but unmistakably to publicly humble me once more, broadcasting my supposed inherent inferiority to their elite circles.
How could these deeply prejudiced individuals, who so deliberately engineered my devastating downfall, now so audaciously exploit me as a mere prop, truly believing I was still that fragile, broken girl they had so casually discarded years ago?
The profound injustice burned like a searing brand.
But they profoundly underestimated me.
They remained blissfully unaware of Eleanor and Marcus Vance, my true adoptive family, whose quiet but immense power had meticulously nurtured an unbreakable resolve within me.
They gravely mistook my composed silence for utter defeat.
Tonight, their meticulously engineered spectacle of triumph will spectacularly become their complete and utter unraveling.
Tonight, I reclaim every single part of my stolen future. From Layoff to Legacy: The Heiress's Rise
Romance My fingers flew across the keyboard, perfecting the last line of code for NextGen. Our idyllic Napa honeymoon with David was just weeks away, PTO approved. Everything felt perfectly aligned.
Then the email landed: "Your position... eliminated... effective immediately." Laid off. Just like that.
The same day David celebrated his massive promotion – a promotion he gained by orchestrating my downfall, facilitated by his affair with our boss, Olivia, who was carrying his child.
He chillingly called it a "calculated move for our future," even as Olivia, smug and cruel, demanded I move out of our shared condo, saying they "needed the space." She went further, publicly humiliating me at a company town hall, accusing me of corporate espionage and forcing a public apology. David' s only concern was his own career, whispering, "Don't make this worse for me."
The words "I apologize" tasted like poison. I stood there, trapped and utterly humiliated, my life in ruins, betrayed by the man I loved. He thought he was "protecting" me, but he had no idea what he had truly destroyed.
But as Olivia' s triumphant smirk spread, a new announcement boomed: "NextGen' s new Chairperson and acting CEO... Ms. Sarah Miller." My name. Because unbeknownst to them, I was Sarah Miller, heiress to Aura Holdings, the global tech giant that had just acquired their company. It was time for my own calculated move. Five Years' Love, Shattered by a Call
Romance My wedding to Ethan, the man I’d loved for five years, was weeks away.
Everything was set for our future, a beautifully planned life together.
Then the call came: Ethan’s high school sweetheart, Chloe, was found with severe amnesia, still believing she was his girlfriend.
Ethan postponed our wedding, asked me to pretend to be his brother Liam’s girlfriend, insisting it was "for Chloe’s sake."
I endured quiet agony watching him relive their past, his every loving gesture now for her.
Chloe’s Instagram became a public shrine to their "rekindled" love, #TrueLove emblazoned everywhere.
I even found a groundbreaking clinic for Chloe, hoping for an end, but Ethan brushed it off.
Then, I overheard him: I was just a "placeholder," a "good sport" who would wait, because I had "nowhere else to go."
Five years of my life, my love, my loyalty, reduced to a disposable convenience.
The cold, calculated betrayal punched the air from my lungs.
He thought I was trapped, that he could use me at will, then return to me, expecting gratitude.
Numb, I stumbled.
And then, I met Liam, Ethan’s quiet brother.
"I need to get married, Liam. To someone. Soon." The words escaped me.
Liam, who had watched silently, responded: "What if I said I'd marry you, Ava? For real."
A dangerous, desperate plan ignited within me, fueled by pain and a fierce desire for reckoning.
"Alright, Liam," I declared, a new resolve hardening my voice.
"But I have conditions: Ethan must be your Best Man, and he must give me away at the altar."
The charade was about to begin, but now, it was on my terms.
And Ethan had no idea the bride was truly me. You might like
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. 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. 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. After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire
Rabbit Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered.
Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak.
She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her.
Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears.
Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home." 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. 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. 
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