Yue Manshuang
12 Published Stories
Yue Manshuang's Books and Stories
Too Late For Regret, Mr. CEO
Romance Arden woke up hoping last night's intimacy meant her crumbling four-year marriage was finally healing.
Instead, Federico tossed a thick divorce agreement onto the bed.
He coldly accused her of thinking about his brother and announced his perfect ex-girlfriend, Brooklyn, was returning.
To force her signature, the trust fund keeping Arden's mother alive on life support was suddenly frozen.
Federico then kicked Arden out of the master suite, banishing her to a windowless, musty maid's room.
When Brooklyn later faked a car crash to play the victim, Federico didn't hesitate to blame Arden.
He kicked down her door, hauled her up by the collar while she was burning with a severe fever, and threw photos at her face.
The sharp edges sliced her cheek, leaving a trail of blood.
"If you ever touch a single hair on Brooklyn's head again, I will personally bankrupt your family."
Arden stared at the man she had loved since she was fourteen.
He actually believed she was a jealous, calculating murderer.
The sheer, bottomless malice in his eyes shattered the last pathetic ember of hope she had left.
Wiping the blood from her cheek, Arden swallowed a handful of fever pills dry.
Love was dead, and she was done begging.
She put on her sharpest black suit, painted her lips a bold red, and marched straight into his company's executive boardroom to take back her life. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Designer
Billionaires For three years, I was the dutiful wife of billionaire Ervin Valdez.
On our third wedding anniversary, he came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, pinned me down, and brutally mocked me.
His mistress, Sylvia, had even sent me a fake ultrasound report to force me out of the picture.
In Ervin's eyes, I was just a vicious, calculating liar who used a pregnancy to trap him into marriage.
He didn't care that I had actually lost that baby, nor did he know the trauma of my gambling father selling me to a dark club where I was assaulted by a stranger.
When I finally handed him the signed divorce papers, giving up all assets, and left the penthouse with nothing but an old suitcase, he just sneered.
"She is playing a game of hard to get. She won't last three days before she comes crying back."
He froze all my bank accounts, let his mistress humiliate me in public, and waited coldly for me to starve and beg.
He thought my entire existence relied on his wealth, completely confident that I would inevitably surrender to his control.
But he was wrong.
I calmly opened my old laptop, bypassed the complex encryptions, and looked at the dozens of unread emails from top-tier global brands begging for my return.
I resurrected my hidden identity as the legendary jewelry designer "R," and walked straight into the top design firm in Manhattan.
"It is time to find myself again." My New Eyes Saw His True Lie
Modern After the accident that took my parents and stole my sight, my childhood friend Leo swore he would be my eyes. For years, I believed him, my dark world revolving around the boy who described every ray of sunlight for me. I was even undergoing a risky, experimental surgery to restore my vision, just for him.
Then, I saw the truth with my own eyes. On his phone screen, I was just the "little blind girl" he had to take care of, a burden he was tired of carrying.
The cruelty didn't stop. He let his new flame publicly humiliate me, and when she faked an injury, he forced me to apologize for a "carelessness" that never happened.
The final betrayal came in a dark sea cave. He abandoned me to the rising tide and the pitch-black darkness, leaving me to face the same terror that had once consumed my entire world. He chose her.
He broke his promise. He broke me.
So I left. I found my own vision, my own strength. Three years later, I returned for my first solo art exhibition, and when I saw his face in the crowd, I knew he was about to see everything he had forced me to be blind to. The Scar He Left: Finding True Love
Modern For three years, I was Colton’s hands and feet. I wiped the sweat from his brow and taught him to walk again after the accident that nearly killed him.
He promised me a future.
But the moment his ex-girlfriend, Charlie, returned from Paris, I became nothing.
"She was just the crutch I needed to walk to you," I heard him tell her.
At his recovery party, Charlie shattered his late father’s cherished wooden puzzle box and blamed me. She shrieked that I had poisoned her soup out of jealousy.
Colton didn't hesitate. He didn't check the security footage. He didn't ask for the truth.
He gripped my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks, and forced the scalding broth down my throat.
"Eat it! Prove you're not crazy!"
He roared while I choked on blood and blisters, the hot liquid searing my skin. He chose the woman who abandoned him over the woman who saved his life.
I took the severance check, deleted every photo, and vanished into the night.
Six months later, I was accepting an award for my new rehabilitation clinic in Australia, wearing a diamond ring given to me by a man who treats my scars like gold.
Colton stood in the back of the auditorium, looking like a ghost. He had finally discovered that Charlie was a fraud who faked her "spiritual journey" to get illegal plastic surgery.
He came to beg for forgiveness.
But when our eyes met, I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel love.
I turned my back on him and walked into the light. When Love Poisons Your Dream
Modern Tomorrow was the grand opening of my dream restaurant, "Aura," a place I'd poured my life and soul into. As I stood there, taking it all in with my girlfriend and business partner, Sarah, a man from the Department of Health showed up for a "surprise inspection" based on an "anonymous tip."
My blood ran cold when he walked directly to the walk-in, pulling out rancid meat and a dead rat from a container I' d never seen. Within an hour, my restaurant was padlocked, and the next morning, my face was plastered across every news site, branding me a "Chef's Dream Restaurant a Health Hazard." My 15 years of relentless work were instantly ruined.
I stumbled home, desperate for Sarah' s comfort, only to find her on the phone, her back to me, whispering, "It went perfectly, Mark. Better than we could have hoped." My culinary rival, Mark Davies. My heart stopped as she continued, "He completely fell apart. He looked like a kicked puppy." Then the chilling revelation: "The money is safe. I moved the last of it this morning. He never even checked the accounts. He trusted me completely."
She had embezzled everything, justifying it as a "mercy killing" for my career. The betrayal was a physical blow. The world tilted, and I fell, hitting my head, the last thing I saw Sarah' s cold annoyance. I woke up in a hospital, two days later, to news that my license was permanently revoked. My life, my name, my future – all gone.
They thought I was weak, finished. They had killed Ethan Miller, the chef. But a ghost could do things a living man couldn' t. A plan, desperate and insane, began to form. I reached for the phone, dialing a number I hadn' t called in years. "Chef Dubois," I whispered. "It's Ethan. I need your help. I need to disappear." His Blind Wife, His Regret
Romance The light hit me, sharp and clear, after five years of living in a blurry world. My sight was back, a miracle spurred by my pregnancy.
But the miracle quickly turned to horror when I returned home from the doctor's. I saw my husband, Liam, on a news channel, announcing his engagement to another pregnant woman named Chloe, and proudly stating he was divorcing me-his "blind wife."
I watched in daze as he treated Chloe with tenderness I' d never seen, even feeding her the special nutritional soup our housekeeper made for me.
That same night, suffering from intense pain, I reached out to him, but he coldly dismissed it as "just pregnancy cramps," preferring to text Chloe next to me.
Later, I found him kissing Chloe, their voices drifting, revealing his contempt: "She's blind and deaf to the world, Chloe. She only knows what I want her to know."
The contempt, the betrayal, and the public humiliation scorched through me, leaving nothing but a vast, empty void. How could the man I loved, the man I sacrificed my sight for, be such a cruel, selfish stranger?
I knew then what I had to do. I would play their game, be the foolish wife, until my baby was safe. Then, I would leave, and he would finally see who he had truly lost. Betrayed by Trust: A Love Story
Mafia It was my birthday, and my stepsister, Tiffany Stone, stood before me, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. In her hands, she held my mother' s cherished vintage record, the last thing I had left of her. Then, with a sharp, deliberate motion, she shattered it on the marble floor, stomping on our mother' s smiling face.
That night, they came for me-a black van, no license plates. They dragged me from my bed to an abandoned warehouse, smashing my hands and feet with a cold metal pipe. Then came the gasoline, poured over me as I screamed. My therapist, Dr. Ethan Sterling, the only person I trusted, had given me a distress beacon, but as I reached for it, I heard his voice over a walkie-talkie: "Keep her alive, but don' t actually kill her." My blood ran cold, hope replaced by an abyss of despair.
I woke up in the hospital, and Ethan sat by my bedside, a mask of concern. But before I could speak, my father stormed in, slapping me and accusing me of faking my kidnapping for attention. Tiffany, my stepmother, and my half-brother joined in, a united front of accusation. Ethan then forced me to my knees, instructing me to apologize. My heart shattered.
Back home, I overheard Ethan and Tiffany, him comforting her for being "shaken" by "what happened." I found out my mother's irreplaceable necklace was up for auction. At the auction, I tried to buy it back, but Ethan outbid me, then publicly proposed to Tiffany, who promptly shattered the necklace and then shoved me down a grand staircase. I lay there, bleeding, as Ethan turned his back to comfort Tiffany.
I knew they would never see me, never believe me. Why did he betray me? What did I do to deserve this endless torment from the people who were supposed to protect me? How could the man who promised to save me be the one orchestrating my downfall?
My world didn' t just collapse. It ceased to exist. On the night of Tiffany' s fashion show, after being further humiliated by my family, I disowned them all, including Ethan, and, drawing a dagger, plunged it into my own chest, staging my death. The Wife He Tried To Erase
Modern My life was a carefully constructed ballet of order and purpose. As an ER doctor, I thrived in controlled chaos, with a loving husband, Mark, a rising star in the police force, and a seemingly ordinary life.
Then, one volunteering shift at a free clinic shattered everything. I was brutally attacked, injected with a mysterious virus, my very being violated by a gang.
But the real horror began when I discovered the footage-a humiliating video of my assault, captured and uploaded by my own stepson, Kevin. My career, my reputation, everything I had built, crumbled overnight, reduced to internet fodder.
How could this happen? Why would Kevin, the boy I tried to love, betray me so cruelly? The pain was a physical ache, deepened by the bizarre, almost theatrical sympathy from Mark, who swore he' d find my attackers.
The truth unfurled with sickening clarity: it wasn't random violence. Mark had orchestrated my assault, weaponizing a virus and manipulating his son to pave the way for his ex-wife, Sarah, to return. My loving husband had tried to erase me. The call to my former mentor at the FBI, Dr. O' Connell, was my only hope. The Vineyard Heiress: Unearthing the Truth
Romance My life at Johns Vineyards, one of Napa Valley' s most prestigious wineries, was perfect.
I was the 25-year-old VP of Operations, dating my boyfriend of eight years, Anthony, and living the legacy I'd been raised for.
Then, a new field hand, Sabrina Chavez, walked in, casually mocking my simple choice of wine.
Soon after, I found a discarded condom in our family picnic area, a disgusting violation.
Storming towards Anthony's office to vent, I stumbled upon a scene that froze me: Sabrina, in a revealing top, flirting brazenly with Anthony, who was flustered and complicit.
His pathetic excuses, her deliberate "trip" into his arms, and a button conveniently popping open, confirmed my worst fear: a betrayal happening right before my eyes.
The disgust choked me, but the real shock came when he chugged non-potable water, only for unedited CCTV footage to pop up showing him and Sabrina in a tool shed, their vile secret exposed.
Instantly, Anthony dropped his act, wrapping his arm around Sabrina, snarling that she was the "real" heiress, the one who "deserved" my life.
My world shattered. How could the man I loved turn on me so viciously, siding with a stranger who claimed my identity?
Amidst a dramatic board meeting and a public birthday humiliation orchestrated by Sabrina, aided by Anthony, I felt utterly alone and betrayed.
But just when all seemed lost, my brother Andrew, who had flown in, held crucial evidence: the full hospital security footage from my birth. He looked at the screen, a forgotten memory surfacing, and pointed at a tiny figure.
"I remember this," he whispered, his eyes widening. "I followed that nurse. She took my baby sister, Gabby, into that little dark room. I was worried she' d be scared of the dark."
He unknowingly corrected the swap, ensuring my place in the family. The truth was out, changing everything. Love's Bitter Truth
Modern For ten years, I was the picture of a devoted husband, building a life with Chloe in our comfortable Bellevue home.
My life felt stable, successful, exactly what her image-conscious parents approved of for their daughter.
Then came the news: Leo, Chloe' s tumultuous musician ex, had died.
A drug overdose, labeled suicide.
Days later, my wife, my Chloe, drove her car straight off the Deception Pass Bridge.
Grief-stricken, clearing out her laptop, I stumbled upon a password-protected blog.
"Leo1998."
Inside, ten years of her raw thoughts: "I married Ethan today... They just gave me a life sentence with his shadow."
Another entry: "I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming... I felt so disgusted afterward I scrubbed my skin raw."
My heart, already broken, shattered into a million pieces.
The woman I adored had spent a decade despising my every touch, every act of love, pretending I was another man.
My entire existence was a lie.
The words burned through me: disgust, resentment, pity.
My world collapsed beneath the weight of her betrayal.
How could my decade of unwavering dedication, my honest love, have been nothing more than a painful charade for her?
The sheer, pointless waste of it all.
Then, darkness.
But instead of an ending, I jolted awake to the smell of stale coffee, in my old college dorm.
My phone buzzed: a text from Chloe.
The date: September 15, 2014.
Ten years in the past.
The day of our first official date.
This time, I knew the cost of playing her fool.
This time, I would write my own story. Too Late, Mr. Thorne
Billionaires For ten years, I was Sarah, the billionaire tech mogul Alex Thorne’s secret girlfriend, a ghost hidden away while he built his empire.
I toiled in his marketing department, hoping one day he'd make us public.
But then my father, my only family, was dying, needing a treatment I couldn’t afford.
Alex wouldn't see me, not even for an emergency, and my father died waiting.
Heartbroken, I went to his penthouse to collect my things, only to find his icy COO, Jessica, lounging on his bed, wearing my silk robe.
Alex emerged, unfazed, then Jessica smirked, confessing she’d methodically sabotaged my career for a decade, suppressing my pay, blocking my promotions.
To my horror, Alex dismissed my ten years with him as a mere “transaction,” calling me a "liability" and siding with the woman who gleefully admitted destroying my life.
The man I loved, the man who could've saved my father with pocket change, had allowed this calculated cruelty to unfold.
How could my loyalty and love be so profoundly worthless to him?
But a quiet strength surged.
I raged, not about his money, but his fraud, his betrayal of a decade of my life.
Then, a surprising proposal from my childhood friend, David, offered a lifeline.
I quit, and with a defiant click, posted my wedding invitation, marrying David in seven days, announcing a true new chapter to Alex's entire company.
They threatened, slandered, but I was done being quiet; I had my own truth to tell, a new life to build, and this time, it was all mine. 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. Too Late, Mr. CEO: Watch Me Shine
Nieves Gómez Kayla stood outside the CEO suite, holding a custom suit for her fiancé, Brennon. They had spent seven years building a tech company from a freezing garage into a billion-dollar empire.
But through the cracked door, she heard the breathy laugh of Evelin, the newly hired director. Then came Brennon's low, careless voice.
"The wedding's a PR milestone for the IPO, nothing more."
Kayla's blood turned to ice.
"She's comfortable. Makes sense on paper," Brennon continued. "But you, Evelin. You understand ambition."
The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. She had written the core code that made him a billionaire. She had stayed up until 4 AM debugging while he slept on a futon. Now, he was mocking their relationship to his mistress and handing over her life's work to a woman who couldn't even read a data log.
Seven years of loyalty, reduced to a PR stunt. She didn't cry. Instead, a cold, violent clarity washed over her. Why should she let him keep the crown she forged?
Without a word, she pulled the three-carat diamond off her finger and dropped it into her bag. She walked out of the building, drafted her resignation, and accepted a VP position at his biggest Wall Street rival. It was time to show Brennon what happened when the real genius behind his empire decided to tear it down. 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. 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. 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. Bound By The CEO's Cruel Contract
Sibeal Sallese I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash.
To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars.
I thought it was a clean transaction.
But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty.
He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me.
My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire.
Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner.
"Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly.
His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand.
"Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler."
They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog.
I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain.
As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth.
But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood.
"She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison."
They murdered my parents.
I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call.
Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell. 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. 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. 
/1/114133/coverorgin.jpg?v=a099db0cbd3c01f11335e42f23f010bf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113674/coverorgin.jpg?v=da3842da724489104c520fc549d0d5db&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103891/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc57f2764ac76e7d8bd903d37027a27d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101394/coverorgin.jpg?v=9532f90e9932899ba343f7cb14147540&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86928/coverorgin.jpg?v=44970da81940a1b6c54f6d2941a67bf0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86899/coverorgin.jpg?v=3c7cc22d53f6ffc6a8a87d6520fc8d8a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86541/coverorgin.jpg?v=2ac41f7ce498f79a069a68188d670994&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85876/coverorgin.jpg?v=3aa912d3e257cbbcfc78e391785e390d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84821/coverorgin.jpg?v=f40d08ca243da1b3125dc0c5f85b6419&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83457/coverorgin.jpg?v=8116762f5729faa07acd532ab30e292a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80725/coverorgin.jpg?v=ed58483ae27f9654eb0f5222781002aa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18717/coverorgin.jpg?v=db728f6f77c84a84ab4b13c6e7408c67&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110344/coverorgin.jpg?v=ee9edc19532d5cad4529d092169ad91d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112769/coverorgin.jpg?v=dd6b6998663f70779359461368a87cc1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106591/coverorgin.jpg?v=7112ffc44f6337f03a03bec3d6824a38&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105410/coverorgin.jpg?v=68bf1b78d60cae51b9e167ecf8a0a734&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101423/coverorgin.jpg?v=7bf1dc2685ee6e3097492f6899d4a76f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106250/coverorgin.jpg?v=e4e3d94e67e6bc16aef1c6b8ac1afa18&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102860/coverorgin.jpg?v=fb1450ebea277ac6119b3b112743e9b6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112619/coverorgin.jpg?v=952d98135fb5acc8c5d1fdb6361bc388&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101424/coverorgin.jpg?v=bb859322a2b6ed17a7a183e399a0ef55&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102856/coverorgin.jpg?v=b1608f8b252c671e4efe9a90343f3a01&imageMogr2/format/webp)