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The Truth About His Mistress
Gavin I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch.
Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son."
My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional."
His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp.
Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family."
He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back."
The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized.
How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family?
But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified.
They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation.
They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear.
I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust. Weeks Before My Wedding, My Fiancé Forgot Only Me
Gavin My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away.
After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future.
Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me.
I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call.
"Total genius move," he boasted to friends.
His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding.
Heartbroken, I feigned belief.
I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies.
He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency.
After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first.
He even tried to cut me off financially.
How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster?
His betrayal poisoned every memory.
I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty.
His audacity left me reeling.
But I wouldn’t be his victim.
Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed.
I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter.
I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom. When Love Died, Freedom Began
Gavin The jagged glass bit into Amelia Hayes' s cheek.
"Help me," she choked into the phone, but her husband, Ethan Caldwell, snapped: "Amelia, for God' s sake, I' m in a meeting."
A sharp blow, then darkness.
She awoke not in her blood-slicked car, but in her opulent master bedroom, the calendar marking three months after her wedding. Three months into a marriage that had already begun to kill her.
Ethan stood by the window, his voice softening, "Yes, Jessica, tonight sounds perfect." Jessica Thorne, his true love, the shadow over Amelia' s first life. The familiar ache in Amelia' s chest gave way to a chilling, new fury.
For seven miserable years, she had given Ethan desperate, unyielding devotion.
She endured his coldness, his brazen affairs, his emotional abuse, all for a flicker of his attention.
She had become a shell, a caricature, ridiculed by Ethan' s circle and condescended to by his family.
The profound injustice, the sheer blindness of his indifference, was a bitter pill. Her heart, once broken, now felt nothing but a hollow echo of unrequited love.
Then, at a gala, a cruel act involving Eleanor' s ashes, and Ethan, without hesitation, shoved Amelia, his accusations echoing: "You are a disgrace."
He comforted Jessica while Amelia' s head reeled from the impact. That was the final straw.
No tears, no anger. Just a cold resolve. She delivered a small velvet box to his penthouse. Inside: the wedding ring and a divorce decree.
"I. Want. You. Out. Of. My. Life. Forever," she stated, her voice clear. She was reborn to be free. The Day My Fairytale Died
Gavin My life with Ethan Hayes was a true New York fairytale. He was devastatingly handsome, a brilliant tech CEO, and our engagement was the stuff of lifestyle blogs and glittering society columns. I poured my heart into our eight years together, building a perfect future, a "Golden Couple" image people envied.
Until I found the texts: "Can't wait until she's out of the picture for good. You promised." And then the photos, the eggplant emoji, the casual cruelty of a Cartier bracelet – "one-of-a-kind," he'd said – glinting on *her* wrist, identical to mine. Chloe Vance, an old college acquaintance, was his secret "escape," his "excitement." Not just a fling, but a long-term, calculated betrayal.
He lavished gifts on me, charming me even as he publicly defended her, dismissing my concerns. He even gave his pregnant mistress his family heirloom, the one he swore was meant only for me. My birthday ended with him ditching me for her manufactured crisis, only for me to receive a photo of Chloe's pregnancy report. Eight years. A lifetime of promises. All built on his lies.
How could someone be so utterly, flawlessly deceptive? My love for him turned to ice, replaced by a searing ache of betrayal and a cold, quiet rage. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't scream. I pressed call on Liam Walker's name, a man from a past I’d left behind, and uttered four words that would change everything: "Marry me, Liam." It was time for a reckoning. And I knew just how to deliver it. The Wife He Designed
Gavin My life with Ethan Cole, the charismatic tech CEO, was perfect.
I was his beloved wife, carrying our first child, convinced I was the center of his universe.
But when my father fell ill, Ethan disappeared from my life, only to reappear in a crushing photo: his arm intimately around my successful cousin, Olivia Hayes.
My world shattered.
The betrayal ran deeper than I could have imagined.
I discovered I was merely a meticulously chosen stand-in, a grotesque copy of Olivia, the woman he truly loved.
He even desired our child to have *her* features, a living link to his obsession.
Every tender gesture, every shared dream, was a calculated lie, meaning my marriage, my love, and my pregnancy were all built on his monstrous deceit.
A cold rage blossomed within me; how could I have been so blind?
He believed he owned me, that I would never leave, especially with a baby on the way, confident I was a compliant fool.
He was terribly wrong.
I would not be his vessel, his substitute.
When he least expected it, while he was still flaunting his obsession, I quietly underwent an abortion.
Then, using his arrogance against him, I meticulously orchestrated my escape, securing my divorce and vanishing without a trace.
He thought he was playing me; I showed him exactly who was being played, leaving him a devastating truth about his own making. His Nasty Little Virgin
viviane *Warning* This book contains explicit content and it's rated 18+. They can be read as standalone as they are all age-gap romances.
Hope y'all are ready for a pleasant ride.
xoxo.
"Oh, please, sir. Please, fuck me!" I screamed in delirium.
The heat from him disappeared for a moment, and I was sad and scared. Where did he go? What had I done wrong now? But he returned, sheathed and ready to plunge into me.
"Oh, thank God," I said breathlessly.
He chuckled a little; slowly he slid in, adjusting me on the sink, aligning me to his dick. Each thrust sent me further into a manic need to come. Perhaps I was screaming, because his hand covered my mouth. For a brief moment, I was frightened. I was panting so hard it blocked my need to breathe, but then his voice was in my ear.
"Come for me, bluebird."
Worshiped Him, Whipped By Him
Gavin I was just a 20-year-old NYU art history student, interning at my dad’s real estate firm. But my world privately revolved around Marcus Thorne—my father’s handsome, brilliant business partner. My crush on him was pure, all-consuming, utterly naive. He’d always been so kind, a true gentleman.
At a charity gala, I watched Izzy Vance, Marcus’s associate, subtly ply him with drinks. When I tried to help him to his suite, Izzy "found" us, her perfectly timed gasp and a discreet phone flash sealing my fate.
The next morning, headlines screamed: "NYU Intern Olivia Chen Caught in Compromising Position with Marcus Thorne." Blurry, damning photos accompanied them. Marcus’s icy call followed: "Izzy found you taking advantage of me! My reputation is in shreds because of your childish stunt!" He believed her. Completely.
Whispers and hostile stares at my father’s office became unbearable. The kind man I’d adored now looked at me with absolute disgust. My dreams shattered. How could he be so blind? So cruel? This wasn't the Marcus I knew. This felt brutally unfair.
That week, the naive girl who worshipped him died. In her place, a colder awareness dawned: the world was not kind, people not what they seemed. He thought I was playing games, but I was done. This was my turning point. Three Times I Died, His Calls Unanswered
Gavin I returned to Arizona after four years, happily engaged and hoping to invite my guardian, Marcus, to my wedding.
But I found a nightmare: Marcus was engaged to Chloe Davenport, my high school bully.
He instantly dismissed my wedding news as a “lie,” blindly favoring Chloe as she systematically tormented me.
He allowed her to frame me, forced apologies, and let her steal my cherished artwork.
When I reported it, he quashed the police investigation, accusing me of “causing trouble” and confining me.
His cruel disregard and blind favoritism was a profound betrayal.
Overwhelmed by injustice, I resolved to cut all ties.
I repaid every cent he'd spent, leaving a note: “The debt is repaid. I'm gone.”
As I flew to Florence, Marcus’s delusion crumbled.
He raced across continents, frantic to stop my Tuscan wedding.
He burst in, desperate and tearful, only to find me radiant.
Calmly, I revealed the three times I nearly died, alone and abandoned, after he sent me away – each time, my calls unanswered.
My unwavering happiness with David, and the cold truth of his neglect, utterly shattered him. My Nobody Husband, The President's Brother
Gavin I opened my eyes, and the familiar gilded ceiling of my childhood bedroom swam into view. I was twenty-two again, on the day of the "Future Leaders" charity gala. This was it.
But this wasn't a fresh start; it was a horrifying replay. Because in my first life, this very day marked the beginning of my agonizing descent into hell. All thanks to Ethan Hayes.
He hated me, blaming me for losing his "true love," Izzy Vance. He systematically destroyed my family, ruined my esteemed father's career, and wiped out everything I held dear. My family's assets were frozen, our reputation shattered. My father, broken by shame, suffered a stroke. I was condemned to a miserable, impoverished existence, ostracized, until I died alone.
I had been a naive girl, a pawn in a cruel political game I never understood. His vindictive revenge was suffocating, impossible to fight. Now, reborn, the terror of that past clawed at my chest, alongside an unyielding, burning resolve.
This time, I wouldn't be his victim. I would save my family at any cost. My desperate plan: fade into obscurity, avoid any powerful connections, and use an unassuming stranger as my strategic shield. What I didn't know was that my chosen "nobody" would shatter all expectations, revealing a destiny more shocking and powerful than revenge itself. My Life for His Vengeance
Gavin My husband, Liam Walker, threw an anniversary party – not for us, but for his vibrant new girlfriend, Chloe Vance. I was just the caterer, forced to serve them in his opulent penthouse.
Five years ago, my parents’ drunk driving killed his entire family. For these five years, Liam has systematically destroyed me. This party was just another testament to his calculated cruelty, as he toasted to 'leaving the past behind,' his eyes boring into mine.
He watched Chloe 'accidentally' scald me, only to rush to her side. My heartfelt gestures, like baking his favorite cake, were met with contempt and tossed into the trash. He believed every one of Chloe’s lies, accusing me of violence and even forcing me to donate a kidney to save Chloe after she 'fell' under my 'attack.' He left me to rot, bruised and barefoot, among the graves of our families.
His vengeance was absolute, a torment I couldn't escape. Why did he hate me so profoundly, yet chain me to his side? What untold agony drove his every cruel impulse, and what was the true cost of surviving such a monster? I was tired, so tired.
So I jumped from the Blackwood Bridge, embracing the cold bay. "It's over," I whispered. But instead of oblivion, I woke, gasping, to a miracle. It was the day before the accident that took his family. The day before our lives crashed. We had a second chance, but could a broken past ever be truly mended?