My Fiancé Married Me To His Brother

His Wife's Replacement and Her Deadly Secret

My husband, Cleve, built a world-class research center for me. He was my knight in shining armor, the man who saved me after my family went bankrupt. But when my brother died tragically under my care, my husband didn't comfort me. Instead, he began grooming a replacement-a young protégé named Ivanna, funding her transformation until she became a younger, softer version of me. He gave her my jewelry and the keys to our private lake house. He publicly undermined my life's work at the center he built, calling my proven methods "old paradigms." He told our friends I was unstable, that my grief was making me "aggressive." The final blow came when he stumbled into my room, drunk and desperate. He tried to kiss me, to reclaim me, but the name he whispered was hers. "Ivanna." When she appeared in the doorway, he didn't hesitate. He took her side, looked at me with cold disgust, and threw me out of my own home. Lying in a hotel room, sick with a fever born from a long walk in the cold rain, I finally understood. My life had been a lie. He hadn't just replaced me; he had tried to erase me. But my escape wasn't just about survival. It was about the evidence I found before I left-a receipt showing that the drug that killed my brother was paid for by Ivanna, using Cleve's corporate credit card. I didn't just run away. I left him to discover he'd been protecting a murderer.

My Boss's Costly Game of Love

For five years, I poured my soul into my career and my secret lover, my boss Hudson. But for the fifth time, he gave the promotion I bled for to my incompetent rival, Kaitlyn. My world shattered when I overheard him callously admitting our entire relationship was just a "cost-effective strategy" to keep me motivated without the director's salary. The humiliation didn't end there. He physically forced me into a deeper bow before Kaitlyn, re-injuring my back. When I finally quit, his revenge was swift: an assignment to a notoriously dangerous remote site. That night, I was brutally attacked. My desperate emergency call to Hudson went straight to voicemail. A notification later revealed why: he was on stage at a company party, singing a love duet with Kaitlyn while I was fighting for my life. The man I loved had left me to die. After I cut all ties and finally started to heal, he showed up at my parents' door, begging for forgiveness. This time, I wouldn't just walk away. I would make him face every lie he ever told.

Ten Years A Prisoner, Now Free

The first thing I felt was a single tear tracing a path down my temple. For ten years, my body had been a prison, a vessel for a consciousness trapped in a silent, black ocean. My fiancé, David Chen, stood over my bed, his face a mask of shock. "Sarah?" he whispered, his voice trembling, right before he confessed, "If it weren't for that accident... Emily would have been my fiancée. We wronged her." These words confirmed the haunting whisperings from my coma. I had felt everything: the burning dyes Emily tested on me for her "revolutionary" fabrics, my body becoming a roadmap of her cruelty. I heard David agree to it all, authorizing the transfer of my fortune to fund her reckless ventures. He had called her his true love on a stage lit by my money, while I lay in a managed care facility, a footnote in my own story. Now, he looked at me with false sincerity, "Just one more treatment, Sarah... After this, I promise, I'll love you. I'll take care of you forever." His belated affection was worthless, his promises ash. Why was he suddenly trying to mend things? Why claim he loved me now, after a decade of betrayal? Another tear escaped, not for sorrow, but for a cold, hard fury that had simmered for a decade. It was the last tear I would ever shed for him. That night, a fire started in Emily Miller's celebrated design studio. It wasn't an accident. It was a message.

Reborn to Rewrite

The fluorescent lights of my bedroom ceiling seared my eyes, but it was the calendar that truly paralyzed me. Today' s date. The exact date I swore I' d never live through again. The day Tiffany Evans, with her carefully crafted mask of vulnerability, first asked to stay over. My heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. Because I remembered. With chilling, vivid clarity, I remembered every agonizing detail. Tiffany. Her insidious lies. The false accusation of sexual assault that exploded like a bomb, obliterating my brother David's D1 scholarship, his reputation, his entire future. I watched our golden boy, the star quarterback, turn into a ghost haunting our home. Then came the tragic street race, his desperate escape that led only to death. Mom and Dad, their love and lives stolen by grief, followed soon after. My own end? A blur of white-hot rage, a final, bloody confrontation with Tiffany that claimed both our lives. I' d pitied her once. That pity cost us everything. This time, the familiar scent of my mom' s laundry detergent on my sheets felt like a cruel joke. The betrayal of Mark Jenkins, David's jealous best friend and Tiffany's willing accomplice, still stung like a fresh wound. How could I have been so blind? But then, it clicked. The shock, the jolt of pure adrenaline. I was back. A second chance. A terrifying, incredible gift. No pity this time. No room for error. I knew Tiffany's game. And this time, I wouldn't be a pawn. I would be the ultimate player, ready to rewrite our fate.

Broken Wife, Billionaire Husband's Vengeance

My step-brother and his girlfriend ambushed me in my own penthouse, their eyes burning with a hatred I' d never seen. They called me a thief, a whore, and accused me of trying to steal their inheritance with the "bastard child" I was carrying. Their fists and stilettos rained down on me. A final, vicious kick to my stomach ended everything. I felt the life inside me slip away, a crimson tide staining the marble floor. They celebrated, believing they had protected their "family honor." My desperate pleas that the baby's father was the powerful Jerimiah Mcpherson were met with scornful laughter. "That old man can' t have kids!" they sneered. As they bound my hands and threw me into the pool to finish the job, the door exploded inward. It was him. Jerimiah. My husband. The look on his face as he saw me, bleeding and broken, and understood what they had done to our child, was not just rage. It was the promise of a slow, agonizing hell they had just unleashed upon themselves.

Thirty-Eight Divorces, One Betrayal

Today is my fifth wedding anniversary. It's also the day my husband, Ethan, asked me for a divorce for the 38th time. He does this for Ilene, his childhood friend. The woman who crashed her car on our wedding day, leaving her unable to have children. Ever since, he's been repaying a debt of guilt, and I've been the price. For five years, I endured the cycle of divorce and remarriage. But this time was different. Ilene pushed me down a flight of stairs. Ethan found me bleeding and promised me justice. He swore he would make her pay. But days later, the police called. The security footage of the incident had been mysteriously erased. There was no evidence, no case. That night, Ilene had me kidnapped. As her men tore at my clothes in the back of a van, I managed to call Ethan. He rejected my call. I jumped from the moving van. And as I ran for my life, bleeding on the cold asphalt, I made a vow. This time, there would be no 39th remarriage. This time, I would disappear.

The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

Mated to The Quadruplet Bullies

Clocking 18, Suzie had just one thing in mind, to take revenge on everyone who has bullied her, including her father and the quadruplet brothers, one of them which she has given her entire heart only for him to shatter it. But hours before her shift, the goddess played a trick on her, mating her to the same brothers she desperately wanted to play with their lives. What would become of Suzie’s revenge especially now that the four brothers want to be with her? Even with their lives in danger, all they want is for their mate, whom they have tortured all this years to love and forgive them. Would this be possible for Suzie? Or would she turn a blind eye and watch their lives turn miserable? Find out.

His Unwanted Wife, The World's Coveted Genius

Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."

The Billionaire's Cold And Bitter Betrayal

I had just survived a private jet crash, my body a map of violet bruises and my lungs still burning from the smoke. I woke up in a sterile hospital room, gasping for my husband's name, only to realize I was completely alone. While I was bleeding in a ditch, my husband, Adam, was on the news smiling at a ribbon-cutting ceremony. When I tracked him down at the hospital's VIP wing, I didn't find a grieving husband. I found him tenderly cradling his ex-girlfriend, Casie, in his arms, his face lit with a protective warmth he had never shown me as he carried her into the maternity ward. The betrayal went deeper than I could have imagined. Adam admitted the affair started on our third anniversary-the night he claimed he was stuck in London for a merger. Back at the manor, his mother had already filled our planned nursery with pink boutique bags for Casie's "little princess." When I demanded a divorce, Adam didn't flinch. He sneered that I was "gutter trash" from a foster home and that I'd be begging on the streets within a week. To trap me, he froze my bank accounts, cancelled my flight, and even called the police to report me for "theft" of company property. I realized then that I wasn't his partner; I was a charity case he had plucked from obscurity to manage his life. To the Hortons, I was just a servant who happened to sleep in the master bedroom, a "resilient" woman meant to endure his abuse in silence while the whole world laughed at the joke that was my marriage. Adam thought stripping me of his money would make me crawl back to him. He was wrong. I walked into his executive suite during his biggest deal of the year and poured a mug of sludge over his original ten-million-dollar contracts. Then, right in front of his board and his mistress, I stripped off every designer thread he had ever paid for until I was standing in nothing but my own silk camisole. "You can keep the clothes, Adam. They're as hollow as you are." I grabbed my passport, turned my back on his billions, and walked out of that glass tower barefoot, bleeding, and finally free.

Free At Last, Untouchable Now

For three years, Natalie gave everything to be the perfect wife and mother, believing her love and effort could finally earn her a place in their hearts. Yet her sacrifices were met with betrayal from her husband and cold rejection from her son. In their eyes, she was nothing but a manipulator, using vulnerability to get her way. Her husband turned his back, her son misunderstood her, and she never truly belonged. Heartbroken yet determined, Natalie left her old life behind. When her family finally begged for a second chance, she looked at them and said, "It's too late."