Victor Hale
10 Published Stories
Victor Hale's Books and Stories
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. 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. 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
After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything
Rabbit My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune.
For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me."
He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster.
He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous.
The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built. 
/0/93261/coverorgin.jpg?v=e9085ac075f69d536a62d3e1be350496&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/99369/coverorgin.jpg?v=bf2cd13f94cc05719fd533ee69741a9f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/94123/coverorgin.jpg?v=7154867ff0468c66f5e4a9be33ef73ed&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86510/coverorgin.jpg?v=4fdfcf5ae25ac23a530c8cab5a496511&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86228/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106211411&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85732/coverorgin.jpg?v=204b5c3da39c85d793434e522ec9d5ae&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85727/coverorgin.jpg?v=e8ea037260f68b08d5f6c04c68cf82ab&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84497/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e2bbf844ac58f56714898e48b502885&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81856/coverorgin.jpg?v=1042ce9533f26e96703098da7eb715e0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81746/coverorgin.jpg?v=a39eb0d964aaf93bfb13cbc42f6444a4&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)
/0/65243/coverorgin.jpg?v=c379c588e73b2cdf26996617a080fa17&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101922/coverorgin.jpg?v=85446ccd5cc7810ecc42f10e6e51a892&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101424/coverorgin.jpg?v=bb859322a2b6ed17a7a183e399a0ef55&imageMogr2/format/webp)