Victor Hale
10 Published Stories
Victor Hale's Books and Stories
Bound to Him: A Spirit's Dark Return
Modern The last time I heard my boyfriend Arthur' s voice, he was telling me to stop being so dramatic. I had been kidnapped by a man he' d bankrupted, and I was begging for my life.
"This is a new low, even for you," he said, his voice cold with annoyance. "I don' t have time for these games."
He hung up on me to deal with a work crisis for his partner, Genesis. My kidnapper, realizing no ransom would ever be paid, strapped a bomb to my chest and left me to die.
The explosion killed me, but it didn't set me free. Instead, my spirit became tethered to Arthur, a cruel, invisible chain forcing me to follow him.
I had to watch as he investigated the murder of a "Jane Doe," never once suspecting the unrecognizable victim was me. He saw my final text message-the one telling him I was pregnant-and called it a sick, manipulative lie before blocking my number and erasing me from his life.
I was a ghost, bound to the man whose indifference was my death sentence, forced to watch him grieve for a stranger while cursing my name.
I thought this was my eternal punishment. But a year later, I overheard his new fiancée, Genesis, bragging to her friends. And I finally learned the truth about who really sent my killer to my door. The Fake Heiress Marries a Top Tycoon
Romance The day after my father passed away, my stepmother, Destinee Vaughn, wasted no time bringing my father's biological daughter, Lola Haynes, back from the countryside.
She threw a paternity test report in front of me and demanded I leave the Haynes Group.
My fiancé, Caden Fletcher, who loved me deeply, apologized, his eyes red with unshed tears, "I'm sorry, I can only marry the heir of the Haynes Group."
I wasn't my father's biological child.
But they didn't know my mother was the daughter of a mafia boss.
The lady that Eura's biggest mafia leader had been searching for was me. Nine Years, One Betrayal
Romance Today was our ninth wedding anniversary, and I arrived at the airport, bouquet in hand, ready to surprise my wife, Jessica, after her "business trip." Instead, I found her wrapped in a young man's arms, sharing a long, deep kiss. My world went silent.
The roses in my lap felt impossibly heavy as I watched her with this stranger, a boy who looked fresh out of college. Then, her text flashed on my phone: "Plane just landed! So tired. Can't wait to see you, honey! XOXO." The blatant lie hit harder than the betrayal itself.
That night, she came home, smiling, feigning affection, even pulling out an anniversary gift – a sleek, silver watch. A wave of nausea washed over me. It was the exact same watch the young man at the airport was wearing. She spoke of love and forever, her words like ash in my mouth. Was any of it real?
She spun more lies, claiming her trip was to San Francisco, not Chicago, and trying to pass off the watch as an innocent mistake. Her desperation to maintain the facade was almost fascinating, a grotesque parody of the woman I thought I knew. I felt a strange detachment, watching my life unravel.
The situation worsened when she tried to comfort me, mistaking my coldness for work stress. Her phone rang, and I knew it was him – Liam Davis. I locked myself in the bathroom, feeling the filth, and then made a call. I hired a private investigator.
The next morning, the investigator' s photos confirmed my worst fears: Jessica and Liam, intimate, entangled. The rage I had suppressed began to simmer, fueled by the sheer audacity of her deceit. How could she have poisoned every moment of our shared life for two years? The Ex-Best Friend's Cruelty
Modern The old man hit the pavement hard.
One moment I was walking to meet my best friend, Jessica, for coffee, the next my medical student instincts screamed.
"Sarah, stop!"
Jessica's grip on my arm was tight, her face a mask of alarm.
"Don't get involved," she hissed, warning of scams and pickpockets.
Her words, and a past trauma of kindness exploited, made me pause, just for a second.
A fatal second.
In that life, I listened.
I stood by, fear warring with my training, as precious minutes ticked away.
Mr. Henderson, the veteran, died before the ambulance arrived.
The public fallout was immediate and brutal.
Jessica, my best friend, painted me as a cold, heartless medical student in a viral interview, cleverly omitting her own role in dissuading me.
"Heartless Med Student Lets Veteran Die."
That headline destroyed my life.
I was suspended from medical school.
My boyfriend left me.
My address was leaked, and I received death threats, trapped as a pariah in my own home.
Jessica, meanwhile, thrived, becoming a celebrated symbol of civic virtue, funneling donations from a foundation in Mr. Henderson's name into her own pockets.
The weight of the world's hatred, Jessica's betrayal, and crushing guilt became too much.
I lost everything.
My future.
My will to live.
The last thing I remembered was Jessica's triumphant smile on a talk show.
Then, darkness.
Until I was ripped from it.
My eyes flew open.
The scent of hotdogs, a taxi's screech, humid air.
I was back.
Standing on the same sidewalk, my bag in hand.
Twenty feet away, Mr. Henderson was just beginning to crumple to the ground.
This wasn't a memory.
It was happening again.
The thud of his body was the starting gun for my second chance.
I didn't waste a second. His Terminal Lie, Her New Life
Romance For eight years, I truly believed I had the perfect marriage with Ethan.
Then came the "terminal illness" diagnosis, a convenient tragedy that allowed him to have children with another woman, Chloe, supposedly for his parents' legacy, not ours.
I swallowed my pain, playing the role of the understanding wife while Chloe, pregnant with their third child, paraded her triumph in my home, erasing every trace of my presence.
It wasn't enough for them; Chloe, with her mother's vile "holy water," attempted to poison me, leading to a miscarriage and cardiac arrest, all while Ethan watched, then struck me, and forced me to sign our divorce papers with my own blood.
I was left for dead, abandoned by the man I loved, my world collapsing around me with a sickening thud.
But I wasn't dead, and neither was my resolve.
Now, it' s my turn to reclaim my life, piece by agonizing piece, and expose the monstrous lies that stole everything from me. Reborn: No Sacrifice for Him
Romance "I' m turning it down." My words, quiet but firm, echoed in the university president' s opulent office as I rejected the Ivy League scholarship that was supposed to be my golden ticket.
This scholarship, the one I' d bled for, I had given up for him-Ethan Hayes, my fiancé, who convinced me his struggling "first love," Chloe, needed it more.
In my past life, I watched him rise to tech billionaire status, only to be discarded like an old toy. He and our son, Leo, kicked me out, calling me an embarrassment, while Ethan flaunted Chloe, who conveniently reappeared once the money flowed again. I died at 45, penniless and alone, my life a footnote in his grand story.
The sting of that memory, a cold, hard stone in my chest, fuels me now. I don' t understand how I believed his lies, how I let myself be erased. How could I have been so blind?
But now, I' m back. This time, there will be no sacrifices for Ethan, no quiet suffering. This time, I hold the pen, and I will write my own future. A Phoenix Rises
Modern The hum of the server room was a familiar lullaby as I watched years of my life, "Echoes of Eternity," approaching launch. This was my statement to the world, my proof to Liam.
Then, he walked in, my brother, Liam Reed, and his words, laced with doubt and veiled threats, twisted the air around me.
"It won't fail," I insisted, but the tremor in my voice betrayed my desperate hope for his belief, not his constant, suffocating need to control me, to protect me from myself.
His PR manager, Scarlett, smirked, calling my masterpiece a "small indie title," a "shame" that my work ended in humiliation, all while Liam stood by, indifferent.
The crushing failure of my game, the torrent of angry messages, and Liam' s public statement blaming my "unproven indie studio" hit me like a physical blow, stripping away my hard-won independence and shattering my belief in him.
He called, his voice dripping with false concern, claiming he "mitigated the damage," while I knew the truth: he destroyed everything. He always said he was protecting me, but his love was a gilded cage, his protection a prison.
I screamed, "You destroyed everything!" But his reply, calm and infuriating, solidified my resolve: "You're too emotional, too naive."
He wanted me to come home, to come back under his umbrella, but staring at his number, a terrifying yet exhilarating realization dawned on me: I was truly on my own.
That' s when Noah Vance's email, a lifeline from a rival I barely knew, landed in my inbox: "An Opportunity."
I knew then, this was my chance. I would rise from the ashes, a phoenix, not for his approval, but for myself. My life, my choices, my future-they were mine now. Second Chances, New Vows
Romance Ethan Miller, a dedicated veterinarian, cherished his seemingly stable life and loving marriage to Jessica in the picturesque town of Aspen Ridge.
He envisioned a future brimming with warmth and family, a life built on trust.
Then, a chilling discovery shattered his world.
He uncovered Jessica's secret affair with Kyle Vance, a man whose polished charm masked a far darker truth: he was a cunning con artist.
But Kyle wasn't content with just infidelity; he embarked on a systematic campaign to destroy Ethan.
Horrifyingly, Jessica became his shocking accomplice, actively participating in the elaborate gaslighting.
Ethan found himself relentlessly framed with fake injuries, subjected to public humiliation, and ultimately accused of attempted murder through chillingly fabricated audio recordings.
His reputation, meticulously built over years, crumbled.
The community turned its back, whispered accusations following his every step.
His home became a battleground, then a prison, finally lost to the man who stole his wife.
How could the woman he adored become so consumed by deceit, so willing to destroy him?
The betrayal was an agonizing wound, the sheer injustice leaving him hollowed out, utterly lost, and questioning his own sanity.
Stripped of everything-his home, his career, his dignity, and any shred of trust-Ethan realized there was no fight left.
He fled Aspen Ridge, a broken man, seeking refuge and silence, determined to forge a new future built on cold pragmatism, far from the ashes of his past. Where Concrete Daisies Bloom
Romance I' d finally done it.
My resignation letter officially landed on Mr. Henderson' s expensive mahogany desk, putting a ruthless period on years of being Ethan Cole' s secret convenience.
But freedom was fleeting.
Isabella, his fiancée and my tormentor, summoned me to Ethan' s TriBeCa penthouse, wielding an old, whimsical sketch of mine like a weapon, then slapped me clean across the face.
Ethan arrived, and instead of defending me, he smoothed Isabella' s perfect, glistening fake tears, dismissing me as someone who "meant nothing" -just "a release."
Emboldened, Isabella snatched my portfolio, spilling my architectural dreams-designs for community centers-and pouring red wine directly onto them, staining my future crimson.
Ethan then tossed a wad of cash at my feet, his voice flat: "For the dry cleaning. Now get out."
I stumbled out into the New York downpour, each raindrop a tiny hammer pounding home the gut-wrenching humiliation of being so utterly worthless to the man I' d loved.
How could he, the center of my naive world, watch as my dignity and dreams were drowned in wine, then casually toss money as if I were a broken possession?
But in that deepest moment of despair, something snapped.
I was done being their discarded convenience, their emotional punching bag; I would disappear and rebuild a life where my peace wasn' t for sale, no matter what it took. You might like
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. Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. 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." 
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