Love Desire: No Quits, No Regrets

The Blind Billionaire's Scandalous Fake Wife

I woke up in a sterile hospital room with a throat like sandpaper and eyelids that felt sewn shut. I expected to see the water-stained ceiling of my tiny Queens apartment, but instead, I found myself tethered to expensive machines in a room smelling of funeral lilies. The nurse didn't call me Ainsley Bentley; she called me Mrs. Eaton, and she told me the year was 2024. Before I could process the four-year gap in my memory, the Eaton matriarch stormed in, calling me a "little actress" and throwing a newspaper at my legs. The headline screamed that I was a scandalous commoner wife who had just caused a DUI crash. Within hours, a ruthless lawyer named Preston was at my bedside, demanding I sign a separation agreement that stripped me of everything. He showed me grainy photos of me with another man, accusing me of infidelity and "endangering the family reputation." My so-called best friend, Kirstie, even tried to bribe me with fifty thousand dollars to flee to Paris, whispering that my husband was an unstable monster who would destroy me. When I finally confronted my husband Carson, the billionaire "Blind Prophet of Wall Street," he looked at me with chilling indifference through his dark glasses. He was convinced I had sold his location to the paparazzi for a tabloid payout, betraying him at his most vulnerable moment. I didn't understand any of it. I didn't remember the marriage, the scandals, or the luxury. But when I looked in the mirror, I found a jagged, violent scar running down my back—a "war wound" that didn't belong to a yoga instructor. I realized I knew how to cite matrimonial law by heart and how to neutralize a physical threat with a single move. "I'm staying," I told the family of sharks as I stood my ground in their massive estate. I refused to sign the papers. Instead, I found a micro SD card hidden in a hollowed-out lipstick and realized I wasn't just a victim of a crash. I was a variable they hadn't accounted for, and I was going to find out exactly who I was before they could finish what they started.

Too Late For Regret: The Heiress's Revenge

I spent a decade learning to save lives as a trauma surgeon, only to discover my parents had sold mine to the highest bidder. To end a turf war, I was forced back into the underworld to marry Ivan Hughes, a rival mob boss known for his brutality. I thought I was just a pawn in a business merger, but then my steady surgeon’s hands began to tremble, and a metallic taste filled my mouth. I ran my own toxicology report in secret. Positive for arsenic. My mother wasn't just forcing me into a loveless marriage; she was slowly poisoning me. I broke into my father's safe and found the truth: a birth certificate for Ivan’s secret son with his mistress, and a chain of emails between my mother and my fiancé. "The dosage is being increased," my mother wrote. "By the wedding night, she will be too weak to protest. You can dispose of her quietly after the heir is secured." My blood turned to ice. They were using me to transfer my trust fund to Ivan, planning to bury me and replace me with his mistress before the honeymoon even started. They thought they were killing a helpless girl. They forgot that a surgeon knows exactly where to cut to cause the most damage. I taped a microphone to my ribs beneath my white silk gown and walked onto the stage of our engagement gala. I didn't take the microphone to say "I do." I took it to burn their empire to the ground.

The Wolfless Omega Is The Alpha King's Daughter

I stood at the gala, clutching my belly, waiting to tell Alpha Gabe about our child. I was the pack's "Wolfless" orphan, but I was his fated mate. Surely, an heir would change everything. But under the spotlight, Gabe didn't call my name. He wrapped his arm around Harper, a wealthy heiress, and announced she was carrying the future Alpha. When I screamed the truth, he didn't just deny me—he looked at me with pure disgust. "You are a genetic dead end," he spat. "Do not mistake my kindness for affection." They didn't exile me. They dragged me to the basement. First, they planned to steal my baby for Harper. Then, when jealousy rotted her mind, they decided to kill it. My own foster parents held me down, having sold me to clear their debts, while a doctor approached with a silver scalpel. "It's a Rogue mistake," Gabe said, watching me struggle against the straps. "End it." With seconds left, I begged for one final phone call. I dialed the number on an old, yellowed card I'd hidden for years. Gabe laughed, thinking I was calling a friend. But when the voice on the other end spoke, the room shook with an aura that forced the Alpha to his knees. "I am Antony Dean, the Lycan King," the voice roared through the speaker. "And I am ten minutes away." Gabe had rejected a nobody. He didn't know he had just declared war on the Princess of the Royal Pack.

His Poisoned Love, My Escape

My husband, Austen, the man the world saw as my devoted admirer, was the artist of my pain. He had punished me ninety-five times, and this was the ninety-sixth. Then, a message from my stepsister, Joyce, buzzed on my phone: a photo of her perfectly manicured hand holding champagne, captioned, "Celebrating another victory. He really does love me more." A second message from Austen followed, "My love, are you resting? I' ve asked the doctor to come. I' m sorry it had to be this way, but you must learn. I' ll be home soon to take care of you." I had always known Joyce was the trigger, but I never understood the mechanism. I thought it was just Austen' s own brand of cruelty, ignited by Joyce' s lies. But then, I found a voice recording of Austen's. His calm voice filled the silent room, "...number ninety-six. A broken hand. It should be enough to appease Joyce this time. But my debt must be paid. Fifteen years ago, Joyce saved my life. She pulled me from that burning car after the kidnapping. I vowed that day I would protect her from everything and everyone. Even from my own wife." My mind went blank. Kidnapping. Burning car. Fifteen years ago. I was the one there. I was the girl who pulled a terrified, crying boy from the back seat just before it exploded. His name was Austen. He had called me his "little star." But when I returned with the police, another girl was there, crying and holding Austen' s hand. It was Joyce. He didn't know. He had built his entire twisted system of justice on a lie. Joyce had stolen my life-saving act, and I was paying the price. Every cell in my body screamed one word: Escape.

From Disappointment to Destiny

The promotion letter for the head of the German division lay heavy in my hand. It was the job I' d always wanted, the future I' d painstakingly built, but I' d turned it down a year ago. "Don' t go, Ethan," Olivia had pleaded, her eyes filled with tears. "I need you here." So, I stayed, sacrificing my career, taking a lesser role to support her dreams, to be her stable foundation. Tonight was my 25th birthday, a simple steak dinner I' d cooked. The second plate sat empty. Olivia had texted hours ago: "Something came up with my study group. Will be a little late." I scrolled through social media, a habit born of waiting. Then I saw it: Alex Stone, Olivia' s younger colleague, his arm wrapped tightly around her at a loud, crowded bar. They were beaming, heads together, Olivia holding a colorful cocktail, not a textbook. The caption read: "Celebrating with the best." The air left my lungs. It wasn't just the picture; it was the casual intimacy, the audacious lie. A celebration. On my birthday. A sharp, cold feeling spread through my chest, a feeling I had ignored for too long. I remembered every sacrifice: selling my classic car for her tuition, sleepless nights proofreading her papers while she was out with "friends from class," driving hours in a snowstorm to fix her flat tire, only to be chastised for being late. I had given and given, believing that was love, building my world around her. But she was building a separate one without me. The pain was immense, but beneath it, something hard and resolute stirred. I had been patient. I had been loyal. I had been a fool. The unlit candle on the cake, a symbol of a celebration that never happened, haunted me. I didn't light it. I simply leaned forward and blew, extinguishing a flame that was never truly there. The silent puff of air in my mind was a roar. The decision was made, not in anger, but in the desolate quiet of profound disappointment. I was done. I picked up the promotion letter again. This time, it wasn't a sacrifice; it was an escape. I opened my laptop, pulled up my email, and wrote a short, direct message. A new chapter was about to begin, alone.

Love’s End, Her New Beginning

For five years, my life was Liam Vance, the visionary I helped build an empire with, sketching user interfaces on napkins and designing the very buildings that housed his dreams. Then he brought Chloe Davis home, an aspiring influencer all wide eyes and soft smiles, and my world started to crack. He began showering her with affection, calling her "pure," while subtly eroding my confidence, telling me I was "too ambitious," "like a shark." The criticism was a constant hum, culminating in his promise to marry me "just as soon as you learn to be as sweet and compliant as Chloe." The humiliations started small, then grew brutal. I was forced to kneel and spoon-feed Chloe while our friends watched, locked in a freezing server room until I missed a career-defining project, and made a human target for a combat drone, all while his staff called her "Mrs. Vance." Each atrocity chipped away at me, symbolized by the architectural models he' d had custom-made for our future, each one now sinking into the river, a painful reminder of a lie. I had no choice but to endure, trapped by the scholarship he funded for my younger brother, Ethan, my only family, my only weakness. But when, at a public gala, he let his men strip me naked and throw me onto a stage while he proposed to Chloe, something inside me snapped. Then, there was Ethan. In a cold, glass-walled conference room, Liam, fueled by a possessive rage, pulled a gun and shot my innocent brother, killing the only family I had left. The world went silent, everything turning to dust, but in that void, a cold, sharp resolve began to crystalize. I burned the last model, a miniature wedding chapel, watched our future turn to ash, and finally, unequivocally, walked away, leaving him and five years of memories behind.

The Masked Heiress: Don't Mess With Her

Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins-a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. "It's time to reveal your true identity, darling."

My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret

My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine. Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family. To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset. They both thought I was a broken doll they could control. I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice. She sang it, and now her career is over. Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground.

HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)

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.

The Billionaire's Secret Twins: Her Revenge

I was four months pregnant, weighing over two hundred pounds, and my heart was failing from experimental treatments forced on me as a child. My doctor looked at me with clinical detachment and told me I was in a death sentence: if I kept the baby, I would die, and if I tried to remove it, I would die. Desperate for a lifeline, I called my father, Francis Acosta, to tell him I was sick and pregnant. I expected a father's love, but all I got was a cold, sharp blade of a voice. "Then do it quietly," he said. "Don't embarrass Candi. Her debutante ball is coming up." He didn't just reject me; he erased me. My trust fund was frozen, and I was told I was no longer an Acosta. My fiancé, Auston, had already discarded me, calling me a "bloated whale" while he looked for a thinner, wealthier replacement. I left New York on a Greyhound bus, weeping into a bag of chips, a broken woman the world considered a mistake. I couldn't understand how my own father could tell me to die "quietly" just to save face for a party. I didn't know why I had been a lab rat for my family’s pharmaceutical ambitions, or how they could sleep at night while I was left to rot in the gray drizzle of the city. Five years later, the doors of JFK International Airport slid open. I stepped onto the marble floor in red-soled stilettos, my body lean, lethal, and carved from years of blood and sweat. I wasn't the "whale" anymore; I was a ghost coming back to haunt them. With my daughter by my side and a medical reputation that terrified the global elite, I was ready to dismantle the Acosta empire piece by piece. "Tell Francis to wash his neck," I whispered to the skyline. "I'm home."

The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge

For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist. The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran’s "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite." When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome. I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out. But Kieran forgot one thing: my father’s multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city’s most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy. I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins—the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street—and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake.

Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player

Zane and I were together for ten years. When he had no one, I stayed by his side, supporting his hockey career while believing at the end of all our struggles, I'll be his wife and the only one at his side. But after six years of dating, and four years of being his fiancée, not only did he leave me, but seven months later I receive an invitation... to his wedding! If that isn't bad enough, the month long wedding cruise is for couples only and requires a plus one. If Zane thinks breaking my heart left me too miserable to move on, he thought wrong! Not only did it make me stronger.. it made me strong enough to move on with his favourite bad boy hockey player, Liam Calloway.