Yi Mo
13 Published Stories
Yi Mo's Books and Stories
Betrayed By Love, Saved By Sacrifice
Romance My husband, Julian Mcgee, the golden boy of Manhattan and heir to a powerful dynasty, was once utterly devoted to me. He defied his elitist parents for our love, promising me forever.
Then Katia French appeared. I found a secret folder on his laptop, filled with hundreds of her photos and detailed analyses of her life. It was an obsession laid bare.
He promised it was nothing, just "curiosity," and I, clinging to the memory of the man who adored me, chose to believe him.
His "handling it" was to begin an affair, bringing her to public events and humiliating me.
When I found out I was pregnant, I hoped our baby would save us. For a few weeks, he seemed joyful.
Then Katia called, claiming Julian wanted a baby with her too, and that my "score" in his affection was dropping.
In a moment of raw frustration, I slapped her. His punishment was swift and brutal.
He had me arrested, three months pregnant, leaving me in a cold holding cell.
He even leaned down to my belly and whispered, "Your mother was naughty. This is her punishment."
The man who once moved heaven and earth for me now abandoned me to a cell, prioritizing his mistress. My fairy tale had become a nightmare, and I couldn't understand how it had come to this. From Ashes To His Embrace
Romance The cold barrel of a gun pressed against my head. I had one last call to save my life, and I chose her: my Issy.
But the woman who answered was a stranger. When I told her they were going to kill me, that her cousin Jordan had set me up, she was impatient.
"I have no time for this," she said, her voice like ice. "Jordan and I are finalizing our engagement party invitations."
Engaged. To the very man who wanted me dead. I pleaded with her, reminding her of our life together, of the memory loss from the treatment her family forced on her.
"I don't have amnesia," she snapped. "I remember everything that matters. You're a mechanic from Ohio. I'm an heiress. We live in different worlds."
She told me she loved Jordan, that he was her equal and I was nothing. The click of the phone hanging up was louder than the gun cocking behind me. I wasn't afraid of dying anymore. The woman I loved had already killed me.
Just as I closed my eyes, the warehouse doors burst open. A dozen figures in black suits disarmed my captors in seconds. A tall woman in a power suit stepped out of the light.
She offered me a business proposal: a marriage contract. In exchange for my signature, she would provide protection, resources, and a complete escape.
It was my only way out. Ten Years a Ward
Modern For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world.
On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him.
But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!"
He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds.
Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe.
The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself.
The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.
I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt.
I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number.
"Dad," I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York." When True Love Costs Everything
Romance My studio was a monument to dust and dreams, haunted by stack of canvases and a growing pile of final notices.
Then I saw it: a news notification celebrating Mark Johnson, the tech mogul, philanthropist, and the man I' d saved four years ago when he was dying in a hospital bed.
When I called for help, his polished fiancée, Jessica, answered, her voice dripping with condescending sweetness as she dismissed my emergency as a financial ploy and him as "moved on."
Mark came to the phone, his voice cold and hard, accusing me of faking my illness and abandoning him for money when he had nothing, throwing scraps of charity at me before hanging up.
Later, in our old coffee shop, I saw them, a picture of perfect happiness, until Jessica spotted me and signaled Mark, who humiliated me publicly, snarling that I was a "pathetic, manipulative, greedy liar" trying to cash in on his success.
At the gallery where I found work, they ambushed me again; Jessica deliberately poured water on me, and Mark, with icy contempt, declared I deserved even less, driving me to kneel and wipe the floor in a desperate, public act of self-abasement.
Overwhelmed, I collapsed, and my best friend, Emily, screamed the truth: I was his anonymous kidney donor, dying because of it, but I, burdened by an inexplicable need to protect him, denied everything, reaffirming his narrative of me as a greedy con artist.
His face contorted between Emily' s raw grief and my fabricated confession, he chose the easier lie and transferred a fortune into my account, a monstrous payment to 'buy' my lies and rid himself of me forever, unknowingly funding my funeral.
But my dying words shattered his carefully constructed reality, revealing the devastating truth.
In a horrifying turn, Jessica, seeking to regain Mark and eliminate me, lunged to smother me with a pillow, only to be stopped by Mark, who, in the ensuing struggle, accidentally pushed her through a window to her death.
Overcome with guilt and armed with the truth, Mark then made the ultimate sacrifice, donating his healthy kidney to save my life, fulfilling his promise to "pay me back" and giving me a second chance I would live for both of us. The Impostor Husband, The Vanished Daughter
Horror The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.
It was a heavy, unnatural quiet where my daughter Lily' s humming should have been.
"Lily?" I called out, my voice too loud in the dusty living room of my husband Daniel's childhood home.
No answer.
A knot of unease tightened as I searched the house, my heart beginning to pound.
When I found Daniel upstairs, he was calm, too calm.
"I can' t find Lily," I said, breathless.
He smiled, but his eyes were empty.
"Olivia, honey, we' ve been over this. You don' t have a daughter. There is no Lily."
The world tilted.
He pulled out medical records, diagnoses of postpartum psychosis, years of therapy.
Every piece of my memory, twisted, manipulated.
My husband and his mother, Patricia, looked at me with pity and annoyance, like I was a problem, not a person.
"You' re lying," I whispered, holding a small drawing I found, a crayon picture of a girl in a yellow dress, with one word: LILY.
They had erased every trace-photos, her booster seat, everything.
Even my best friend, Sarah, my supposed therapist, denied Lily' s existence.
I was trapped, my reality crumbling around me.
But the real Daniel was allergic to peanuts.
The man beside me ate the peanut butter toast without a flinch.
He wasn' t my husband.
He was an impostor, and he, along with the whole town, was involved in something ancient and evil.
They were preparing a sacrifice.
My daughter.
Lily was real, and she was in danger.
I had to save her, no matter the cost. Unexpected Husband, Unexpected Freedom Won
Modern The green blur of the NYSE ticker board was moments from displaying NexusAI, the culmination of my life' s work.
But then, Richard Sterling, my notorious former mentor, appeared, demanding I put his scandalous son, Julian, on my board, or he' d tank my IPO.
This was the ninth time; a product launch, a funding round, all held hostage at the last critical second, his network ready to poison the well.
He left me stranded, just as a tech gossip headline flashed: "My favorite tech genius is about to get married to her project. So heartbroken!"
Liam, my rival and the source of the quote, was my last resort.
Fifteen minutes and a frantic blur of rerouted documents later, the bell rang, and 'NexusAI' flashed on the board-with Liam as my new, impromptu partner.
We barely made it, securing my freedom from Richard's tyrannical grasp, or so I thought.
Later, in his car, Richard attempted to reassert control, offering me exclusive gifts as a transactional "peace offering," a ritual I knew far too well.
Then came the sinister news: Julian' s fiancée, Isabella, needed a blood transfusion, and Richard insisted her rare blood type matched mine, demanding I donate.
He even offered me his hand in marriage, a grotesque bribe, to control me once more.
When I refused, he sent burly security guards to forcibly drag me to the hospital' s donation room, intending to drain me literally and figuratively.
Just as the needle hovered over my vein, the door burst open.
Liam, pure fury in his eyes, stormed in, having heard my desperate screams from his pocket-dialed phone.
"Get your hands off my wife," he snarled, revealing our secret marriage and pulling out the marriage certificate.
Richard' s face crumpled, the truth unraveling everything he thought he controlled.
As I gathered my last belongings from the apartment Richard had given Isabella, I found a diamond earring and a repair receipt in my desk.
The receipt was in Richard's name, confirming a horrifying truth: the baby Isabella was carrying was Richard' s, not Julian' s.
The fortress Richard built was not for protection, but to hide a monstrous secret.
I walked away from the crumbling empire, leaving Richard and Julian in its ruins.
Now, with Liam by my side, I' m building something truly mine, a future where freedom and partnership are the only assets I' ll ever need. The Ava Protocol
Sci-fi The first thing I felt was a dull, persistent beeping. I forced my heavy eyelids open, staring at a sterile white ceiling. This wasn't home, not even a hospital-just a cold, modern corporate infirmary.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my chest as I looked at my hands. Small. Delicate. Not mine. My name is Ava. I am Commander Ava Rostova, lead engineer of the Olympus Station project, a celebrated astronaut. The last thing I remembered was the decompression alarm. Now, the face in the mirror wasn't Ava's-it was a young woman with wide, terrified brown eyes, maybe twenty.
Then, a news headline flashed: "ROGUE FACTION THREATENS OLYMPUS STATION." My heart stopped. My station. And the leader of this rogue group, "Aethelred's Hand"? My brother, Leo. The grief of lost time, a lost body, now twisted into raw rage. How dare he? How dare he try to destroy our legacy?
The door slid open, revealing a cheerful intern with pink hair. "Mia? You're awake!" So, Mia. That was my name now. My mind, a steel trap, understood. This wasn't just waking up; this was something else entirely.
I was Ava, the commander, trapped in a stranger's body, facing a betrayal that cut deeper than bone. My brother, my supposed enemy, was threatening everything I had built. But my memories were intact, my will unbroken.
My mission became clear: I had to understand why Leo would do this. I had to get inside. I had to get back control of my station. My legacy was orbiting 250 miles above Earth, and I was going to take it back. The Woman They Thought Was Dead
Modern I woke with the violent jolt of the plane landing, but it wasn't the impact that shocked me deeply; it was the chilling, immediate memory of icy black water filling my lungs as an anchor dragged me down.
My husband, Captain Mark Vance, watched from the boat with eyes as blank as a winter sky-the last sight before my first life ended ten years ago.
Miraculously, incomprehensibly, I was alive, but the life I' d returned to was a meticulously crafted lie built on my erased existence.
My husband and best friend, Ashley Barnes, had stolen my identity, swindled my parents, and even sent my brilliant young daughter, Chloe, to a brutal camp, twisting her trauma into a story of her mother's "psychotic break."
Now, they flaunted a lavish life built on my ruin, with my very own child reduced to a bruised, silent servant in her own home, while guests used my family heirlooms for cheap hors d'oeuvres.
The betrayal was a deep, burning wound, but the sight of Chloe' s thin, bruised arms ignited a pure, glacial rage within me, a fury that promised a reckoning far colder than any Alaskan winter.
How could they stand so proudly, so shamelessly, after committing such unspeakable atrocities against me and my child?
This was no longer a scientist returning home; it was a ghost resurrected, armored by ten years of accumulated savings and a thirst for justice.
I walked into their opulent party, not for revenge, but to reclaim what was mine, armed with the truth and a fury that would shatter their carefully constructed world.
Tonight, the perfect facade they' d built would be exposed, and they would finally face the woman they thought they' d killed. The Woman Who Sold His Empire
Romance Ava Miller lived a dream life, running a successful interior design firm, and happily married to her college sweetheart, tech CEO Ethan Hayes.
Their bond felt unbreakable, solidified by years of shared history and Ethan's fierce vow never to cheat, a promise backed by a prenup securing 70% of his assets for Ava if he ever strayed.
But a creeping shadow emerged: Chloe Vance, a former intern, obsessed with Ethan, staging public scenes and faking crises.
Ava dismissed her as a nuisance, always trusting Ethan to handle such issues firmly.
On their third anniversary, Ava surprised Ethan at his gleaming office tower, a small gift in hand, wishing for a rare spontaneous moment.
She pushed open the door to his private office and found Chloe there, half-dressed in Ethan's silk shirt, suggestively caressing his cherished Montblanc pen-Ava's gift to him.
Ethan walked in, stopping dead, his eyes wide with guilt, looking first at Chloe, then at Ava.
He stammered, then shockingly asked Ava to "handle" Chloe, to "get her dressed," claiming she was "in a fragile state."
Ava was stunned; this was entirely unlike the man who once had security remove Chloe instantly.
Later that evening, she watched him carefully clean and pocket the very Montblanc pen Chloe had just defiled.
That was it.
The pen, his treasure, now tainted, yet still cherished above all.
A cold, hard clarity replaced her shock and pain.
The next morning, Ava walked to their safe deposit box and retrieved the prenuptial agreement.
Then she picked up her phone and called Liam Walker, Ethan's biggest business rival. From Inmate 734 to Mastermind
Romance I was a successful project manager, pouring my life into community revitalization, building a future with my wife, Chloe. I even gave up a promotion, a move to a bigger city, for her.
Then, the project funds vanished. Suddenly, I was not the esteemed manager, but 'inmate 734', framed by Chloe and her lover, Liam. Fabricated emails, false testimony, and her convincing tears-the jury believed every word.
My job, my reputation, gone. Imprisonment was just the start. After my release, Chloe paraded her fake concern, draining my dwindling inheritance for Liam's shady ventures. She even orchestrated a public "vow renewal," only to abandon me at the altar, rushing off to Liam's side for a fake emergency. The humiliation burned through me, hot and sharp.
How could I have been so utterly blind, so trusting? The betrayal didn't just sting; it poisoned everything. They thought I was defeated, a docile pawn. They mocked my analytical mind, thinking I was too broken by jail to fight back.
But they were wrong. My quiet acceptance became a cold resolve. Once dedicated to timelines, my meticulous nature now focused on one singular project: their meticulously planned downfall. I would make them sign away their own future, piece by agonizing piece. The Taste of Sweet Karma
Romance For seven years, I was his eyes, his hands, his constant companion.
I nursed Ethan through his blindness, celebrated his sight's return, and eventually became his lover.
I truly believed our bond, forged in his darkness and my unwavering devotion, was unbreakable.
But in the quiet bubble of his Escalade, I clearly understood every crisp Spanish word he spoke into his tablet.
He told his best friend, Ben, that his elopement with Victoria, the woman who abandoned him when he went blind, was set for tomorrow.
He chuckled, assuring Ben, "Sarah doesn't need to know. She'll always be there. She's not going anywhere."
My breath hitched as Vicky's brazen Instagram pictures of her marriage license confirmed their triumph, dated that very morning.
He barely registered my presence, quick to dismiss me, focused only on a message from his new wife.
At my own birthday party, Victoria gifted me a yapping Chihuahua, deliberately playing on my deep-seated trauma from a childhood dog attack.
Ethan pressured me to accept it, blind to my terror, then watched as I was drenched and cut by a collapsing champagne tower, shielding Victoria instead of me.
Seven years of sacrifice, of pouring my soul into his recovery, all reduced to a casual dismissal and a public humiliation.
How could he betray me so utterly, so casually, after all I'd done, after I gave him back his world?
My love wasn't a doormat, and he was wrong.
He thought I'd always be there, but this was the final breaking point.
I would sever this tie that had become a chain and disappear.
I would contact Eleanor Hayes, his powerful mother, to help me vanish, for good. From Fiance to Fury: The Gala Betrayal
Romance My Napa estate glowed under the California sun.
The Aura Foundation gala was meant to be my legacy, a chance to pour my tech success into something truly meaningful.
My fiancé, Brandon Maxwell, was the charming, supportive partner by my side, or so I thought.
Then the encrypted email arrived, a grainy photo of Brandon with another woman, Cassandra Rourke, a notorious PR shark.
The caption chilled me to the bone: "He's not who you think."
My heart hammered, a cold dread spreading through me like poison.
This couldn't be real; Brandon loved me, didn't he?
But then I remembered the hushed calls, the gifts bought with my cards, the subtle isolation from friends.
I overheard him at a pre-gala dinner, his voice low and conspiratorial, calling me "clueless" and this gala "a goldmine."
He laughed about how I trusted him completely, how he'd urged me to hire Cassandra's firm.
Devastation hit me like a physical blow.
My world shattered when I later found their vile texts and photos on his iPad, mocking my naivete.
"Evie's so naive, thinks this gala is about charity. It's about us, baby."
Even as I bled from a shattered decanter, he worried about the cost, not my injury.
He gaslighted me, telling me he loved me, yet defended his mistress publicly when she attacked me.
He watched me walk away, believing I was broken, that he had won.
I was branded the unstable, jealous woman, while he and his mistress paraded their "love."
Whispers followed me, painting me as a "psycho" ruining her own event.
I felt a profound shift, the naivete burning away, replaced by a cold fire.
I was no longer the victim, but the architect of my own ending.
The gala would indeed be unforgettable, but not in the way they imagined. 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. 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. 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. 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.
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. 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. 
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