Waldo Friesinger
12 Published Stories
Waldo Friesinger's Books and Stories
The Fiancee Who Came Back From the Dead
Romance I was Elara Vance, a Juilliard violinist living my dream, with a scholarship and the loving support of my charming boyfriend, Julian Thorne.
When he urgently needed my O-negative blood after a supposed sailing accident, I rushed to give it, only to find him perfectly healthy days later, laughing with friends, my half-empty blood bag casually discarded.
My "loving Julian" was a monster, boasting about his "masterpieces of revenge" – a cold, cruel game he orchestrated for his jealous friend Seraphina.
He'd sabotaged my career, fed me sugar pills after a staged pool accident, framed me for shoplifting, and even publicly humiliated me while declaring his love for another woman.
Then, I overheard his final plan: to set fire to my guesthouse during our "romantic getaway", trapping me in his apartment like a prisoner.
His every affectionate word, every grand gesture, was a lie designed to break me, turning my love into a searing humiliation and soul-deep betrayal.
But I wouldn't be his victim.
I fabricated my own fiery demise and escaped to London, reinventing myself as "Nightingale," a celebrated violinist.
When Julian, consumed by a disturbing obsession, dragged me back to New York, announcing our forced marriage, I knew the lavish wedding would be the perfect stage for my ultimate counterattack. The Unwanted Fiancée Is A Legend
Mafia For three years, I played the role of the submissive, boring fiancée to pay off a blood debt.
My mother gave her kidney to save the Moretti Matriarch, and in return, I was promised to Dante, the heir. A life for a life.
I cleaned his estate and wore his ring while he treated me like furniture.
But my silence only bought me humiliation.
Dante didn't just cheat; he brought his mistress, Roxy, into our home for dinner.
He called me a "glorified housekeeper" on a recording and then broke our engagement via an Instagram post, tagging me to ensure the entire underworld saw my shame.
When I went to return the family crest, they wanted a show.
Roxy mocked me in front of Dante’s soldiers, snatched my mother’s antique jade pendant—the only thing I had left of her—and shattered it on the dirty club floor.
Dante laughed, thinking I was helpless.
They thought I was a hothouse flower who would faint at the smell of exhaust.
They didn't know the "boring" girl had a racing license hidden under the floorboards.
They didn't know I was "Ghost," the legendary underground racer they all bet on.
Roxy handed me a spectator ticket to the Death Race, telling me to watch how the big boys play.
I took the ticket, but I didn't go to the stands.
I walked to the starting line, put on my helmet, and decimated the track record.
When I took off that helmet in the winner's circle, Dante’s face went pale.
And when Lorenzo Falcone, the most dangerous man in the city, stepped out of the shadows to wipe the blood from my hand and claim me as his own, Dante realized the truth.
He hadn't just lost a fiancée.
He had signed his own death warrant. Too Late For Regret, Mr. Carlson
Billionaires I stood at the edge of the ballroom, a black blot on my husband’s perfect canvas. While Jensen Carlson stood under the crystal chandeliers as the master of his universe, the guests whispered that his "friend" Aubree was a much better match for him than I ever could be.
My stomach was twisting in sharp, jagged cramps from what I knew was acute appendicitis, but to the Carlson family, I wasn't a wife—I was a utility. My mother-in-law called me a "drill bit" and ordered me to drive Jensen home like a servant because his "optics" mattered more than my internal organs.
When I arrived, Jensen didn't ask why I was shaking; he just snapped that my black coat was "depressing" and told me to stop "fidgeting" with my medication. He spent the night whispering to Aubree, then came home and fed my divorce papers into a shredder, mocking me for thinking I could survive a week without the Carlson name. The next day, he humiliated me in front of my entire department, accusing me of flirting with staff just as I was about to collapse from the pain.
I had given up my PhD for this man and secretly written the code that built his billion-dollar empire, yet he viewed me as nothing more than a "depreciating asset." Even as I lay shivering on the hardwood floor because his mother locked the guest rooms to force me into his bed, he only sneered, asking if he was "that repulsive" when the pain made me vomit.
"If you're not in the car by seven, I'll cut off your grandfather's medical funding."
That was the final thread. I didn't go to the gala. Instead, I reclaimed my original patents, wiped my server access, and met him on the curb with a cardboard box and a resignation letter.
"I'm not your wife anymore, Jensen. And I'm not your employee."
As my Uber pulled away, leaving him clutching a revoked patent and a divorce petition, I realized I wasn't losing everything—I was finally starting to breathe. Too Late For Your Grand Remorse
Romance For nearly a decade, I was the perfect wife to Grant Sloan, sacrificing my own dreams to support his meteoric rise. But when I saw a photo of him at a company gala with his young intern, Kylee, his hand on her back and a smile I hadn't seen in years, I knew my marriage was over.
My world shattered further when my younger sister, Aubrie, was assaulted by her boss. I begged Grant, a top lawyer, to help her. He coldly refused, claiming his caseload was full, only to later stand in court as the defense attorney for my sister's attacker-who turned out to be Kylee's brother.
The betrayal was absolute. Fueled by Kylee's vicious online campaign, Aubrie was driven to suicide, jumping from the courthouse roof as Grant and I watched. The final, sickening blow came when Kylee desecrated Aubrie's grave, grinding her ashes into the dirt over a plot she wanted for her dead puppy.
Grant, finally seeing Kylee's monstrous nature, brutally punished her and her brother. He came back to me, broken and begging for forgiveness, even staging a grand public proposal.
He thought his remorse could erase the blood on his hands and the ashes on the ground.
I looked at the man who had destroyed my life and offered him a single word.
"No." The Wife They Sacrificed
Romance My life was perfect for ten years, filled with love from my husband, Mark, and our son, Liam, as I created beautiful jewelry. Then, a horrific car accident shattered everything, leaving Liam severely injured.
Doctors said Liam needed extensive skin grafts, recommending I, his mother, sacrifice my own skin to avoid scarring. Despite my sensitivity to pain medication, I endured excruciating procedures, my body becoming a patchwork of healing wounds, all for my son.
I overheard Liam and Mark: the "skin grafts" were a lie. My pain, my sacrifice, was for my twin sister, Scarlett, to fix a botched cosmetic surgery. My husband and sister had been having a decade-long affair, meticulously orchestrating a grand deceit.
My perfect life was a calculated cage of betrayal, the love I felt a one-way street ending in humiliation. The scars on my body burned with a different pain now, a mark of their monstrous deceit.
Rage, cold and pure, replaced my despair. I wouldn't just be heartbroken. I would burn their world to the ground. Her Ex's Lies, A Broken Love
Modern Dr. Evelyn Reed, one of the city' s most respected veterinarians, always put her animal patients first, a dedication that had earned her a quiet but fierce reputation.
But her professional world was about to shatter around the deathbed of her difficult client, Mr. Harrison, a wealthy man whose golden retriever, Champ, was her true patient.
In his final breaths, Mr. Harrison shockingly accused Evelyn of being his abandoned wife, claiming she' d taken his money and left him to die.
Her ex-boyfriend and supervisor, Dr. Mark Johnson, cruelly presented fabricated texts as "evidence," publicly humiliating her, while young interns, whom she' d mentored, turned on her, their faces filled with judgment.
The nightmare intensified as Mr. Harrison' s cousin, Brenda, and a disgruntled ex-employee, Todd, burst in, physically attacking Evelyn, destroying her phone, and further painting her as a monster, all while Mark stood by, then shoved her, demanding she kneel and apologize, cementing her isolation and despair.
How could a life built on integrity unravel so quickly and viciously, by the lies of a dying man and the betrayal of those closest to her?
With her career, reputation, and dignity in ashes, Evelyn, cornered and with nothing left to lose, knew she had to fight back. His Perfect Revenge, Her Final Escape
Billionaires After losing my family and fortune, I became Ethan Hayes's prisoner, trapped in his opulent mansion, relentlessly forced to repay a debt I didn't truly owe.
My only value to him was my kidney, a perfect match for his ailing sister, Chloe, the one he held above all else.
Ethan controlled every aspect of my existence, subjecting me to relentless humiliation.
Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, I found myself pregnant with his child—a child he believed he could never father.
I swallowed a bitter cocktail of abortion pills, vowing that this child would never serve as another pawn in his twisted game of revenge.
At Chloe's lavish birthday gala, Ethan didn't just publicly broadcast a humiliating video of my most vulnerable past; he later stood by as Chloe cruelly orchestrated the death of Buddy, my beloved Golden Retriever, my last shred of solace.
Their combined malice shattered me, pushing me to an unbearable breaking point.
How could I endure such pervasive evil, constantly reminded of a debt that wasn't solely mine, subjected to such calculated torture and public disgrace?
My despair transformed into a burning, unyielding resolve to defy him one final time.
I secretly held one devastating card: a severe anesthesia allergy, a fact conveniently absent from his records.
On that sterile operating table, as he prepared to claim my kidney, I would not just die; I would ensure his hard-won victory, his twisted revenge, and his very definition of control crumbled to ash in his hands.
My death would be my ultimate act of rebellion, unraveling his carefully constructed lies and finally granting me release. The Chef Who Refused to Break
Modern Sarah Miller was the golden child of the Culinary Institute of America Prime, her perfect knife cuts and innovative dishes earning her an easy path to culinary stardom.
Then, out of nowhere, Brittany, the clumsy, struggling student, presented a dish that was not just extraordinary, but impossibly perfect, far beyond her capabilities.
My own critically acclaimed duck was overshadowed, then my skills mysteriously vanished, causing me to fumble even the simplest techniques. Dean Antoine, my mentor, publicly accused me of fraud, expelling me from the prestigious CIAP in front of baffled critics.
I was left broken, my career ruined, cleaning grease traps in a rundown diner, while Brittany became a national sensation. How could her sudden genius be so flawless, so familiar, borrowing my very ideas before I could even develop them? Was I going crazy, or was this calculated?
Then I remembered the tiny, almost invisible blinking device Brittany wore. A cold realization hit me: her "genius" wasn't her own; it was stolen. Whatever it was, it was also actively draining me. They wanted me gone, but they had awakened something far more dangerous: a chef who understood true skill wasn't about flashy tricks, it was about rock-solid fundamentals, and I would master every single one to expose the truth and reclaim my name. The Golden Boy's Fall
Young Adult Summer Hayes, a quiet scholarship kid, poured her heart and savings into a magical promposal for her secret crush, Kingston Academy's golden boy, Ethan Prescott. He was the only one who saw her, even defending her once, making her believe he was different.
But just as she waited, her phone buzzed. Her glitchy "ghost channel" app, a live stream of the elite, showed her decorated gazebo. The chat exploded with cruel comments, then Ethan' s best friend outlined the "plan": Ethan's identical twin, Caleb, would pretend to accept, then publicly humiliate her, all while Ethan watched for sport.
Her carefully crafted dream shattered. The boy she admired was a predator, turning her vulnerability into perverse entertainment. As Caleb arrived, feigning surprise, the depth of Ethan's betrayal burned, searing cold.
How could someone so seemingly kind be so utterly cruel? The initial shock dissolved into a chilling, furious resolve. They wanted a show? They' d get one, but not the one they planned.
As Caleb approached, Summer took a shaky breath, tears stinging. "Oh, Ethan," she began, correcting herself with a tearful sigh. "I mean, Caleb. This looks like it' s for Ethan, but it' s not. It' s for you." The game was on, and Summer was ready to play to win. Strike Three, You're Out
Modern My six-year-old son, Danny, was vibrant and healthy, until my estranged wife, Sarah, demanded he donate his liver to her ex-lover, a washed-up football star.
As a paramedic, I knew the devastating risks, but Sarah, blinded by her obsession with this "hero" figure, forced the surgery through.
Soon after, in the pediatric ICU, Danny hemorrhaged and urgently needed blood - O-negative, Sarah's blood type.
But Sarah was at the "hero's" lavish "welcome home" party, celebrating, utterly dismissing my frantic calls as "drama."
My son died that day, his tiny hand growing cold in mine, while his mother reveled in the reflected glory of a man she idolized.
Then came the crushing truth: Sarah had pushed the surgeons for a riskier, expedited procedure, declaring Ace Henderson's life the absolute priority.
Still, the final, unforgivable horror was yet to come.
At Danny' s treasured Little League field, where I went to scatter his ashes, Sarah and Ace showed up for a live PR stunt.
Ace' s nephew, egged on by them, snatched Danny' s baseball urn, spilled his ashes onto the pitcher' s mound, and then stomped on them, gleefully shouting, "Strike three, you' re out!"
I was held back, screaming, watching my son's last remains obliterated by the very people he died for, by a mother's monstrous indifference.
How could such calculated cruelty be unleashed upon a child's memory, by those who should have protected him?
A part of my soul died on that dusty field, leaving only a vast, echoing void.
I vanished, abandoning my old life, certain peace was forever beyond my grasp.
But a discovery, a fragile legacy left by Danny, might just offer a path through the darkness. Ten Scars: A Billionaire's Cruelty
Billionaires For nine years, my life was a gilded cage, controlled by Wall Street titan Mark.
My photography dreams withered under his shadow, and ten forced abortions left me a hollow shell, each ending with his manipulative charm or self-pitying tears.
The latest procedure, just yesterday, left me weak, but I still had to pick him up.
I found him at the awards dinner, his arm around Jessica, his intern.
Then he kissed her, publicly, and announced her pregnancy.
“Sarah, darling,” he slurred, “Jessica’s pregnant.
And who better to mentor her than you? You’re practically an expert, aren’t you?”
The humiliation burned.
He mocked my pain, then tore my dress, doused me in champagne, and snarled about his iron-clad cohabitation agreement.
Rescued by my childhood best friend, Alex, I ended up in the hospital, my fertility gone.
Mark then falsely accused me of sabotaging his company with Alex, slapped me, and forced me to sign a chilling "consent form," threatening Alex's ruin.
Soon, I was drugged and barely clothed, shivering in a glass enclosure.
It was a depraved auction, with men bidding on me.
Mark’s taunts echoed: "Alex couldn't be bothered."
Was I truly abandoned?
My heart sank, consumed by despair.
How could this be my life?
Just as all hope seemed lost, a calm voice cut through the noise: "I bid all of it."
It was Mr. Harrison, Alex’s trusted lawyer.
A sudden, unbelievable turning point.
My rescue had begun. Taming My Unruly Sister
Modern The night after the SAT ended, my sister sent me a wish list.
"iPhone for 10,000 yuan, tablet for 5,000 yuan, computer for 8,000 yuan, clothes for 3,000 yuan, cosmetics for 2,000 yuan... totaling 50,000 yuan." I am just a working person with a monthly salary of 3,000 yuan, and my parents are both laborers. How can I come up with so much money for her all at once?
Our family scraped together and could only give her 20,000 yuan. But she not only didn't appreciate it, but also threatened to jump off a building.
My parents and I had no choice but to borrow money from everywhere, working multiple jobs a day to repay the debts.
When my parents died in a car accident due to overwork, my sister and her boyfriend were still indulging in luxury at a five-star hotel.
I also succumbed to the overwhelming pressure and depression and ended up committing suicide.
After being reborn, I personally sent her to work at a corrupt factory, and she became obedient. You might like
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. 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. 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. Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Da Lanlan I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. 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. Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. 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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