His 'Practice' Bride, Her Real Wedding

The Vanished Wife's Revenge: No Turning Back

My husband looked at the toxicology report proving the daughter of the Chicago Capo had poisoned my mother. Then, without missing a beat, he looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted to discuss the dinner menu for the gala. That was the moment I realized Dante Vitiello wasn't my savior; he was the devil in a bespoke suit. To protect his precious alliance with Chicago, he buried the truth. When my mother died from the arsenic, he didn't offer comfort. Instead, he forced me to sign annulment papers, claiming I was mentally unstable. He stripped me of my title, my home, and my dignity to marry Sofia Moretti—the very woman who killed my mother—all because she claimed to be pregnant with his heir. I stood in the freezing rain, watching a giant screen in Times Square as he proposed to her. He told the press that Sofia was his hero, the one who saved his life during the ambush in Chicago. He lied. Under my soaked hoodie, the jagged scar on my arm throbbed. I was the one who took that bullet for him. I was the one who stitched myself up in silence so he wouldn't feel indebted to me. He erased my sacrifice to build a throne for his mistress. He thought he had broken me. He thought Elena Vitiello would fade away in a crumbling apartment in Queens. But he forgot one thing: I was the one who built his encrypted laundering network. I held the keys to his entire empire. I threw my wedding ring into the trash can and lit a match. Elena Vitiello died that night. And the woman who rose from the ashes didn't want his love anymore. She wanted his ruin.

The Alpha's Secret Heir and the Vanished Luna

I was pregnant with the Alpha’s heir, yet Michael refused to Mark me, calling my concerns "hormonal" while he paraded another woman, Serena, as his future Luna. The betrayal cut deep, but the breaking point came at the pack celebration. Serena slapped me across the face in front of everyone, and instead of defending his pregnant mate, Michael looked bored and ordered me to stop making a scene. That night, I didn't just leave; I ripped the mate bond out of my own mind. The pain was blinding, but necessary. With my mother's help, I faked my death—and the death of our unborn child—to escape his toxic hold. For four years, I raised my son, Finn, on a hidden island, safe from the politics that nearly destroyed me. I thought I was free, until a ragged, broken man washed up on my shore. It was Michael. He wasn't the arrogant King anymore; he was a beggar who had spent years mourning a ghost. When he saw Finn, he fell to his knees, weeping at the sight of the boy who had his golden eyes. "Is he mine?" he begged. "He is mine," I told him coldly. "You lost him the day you chose her." I prepared to send him away, but then the alarms rang. Serena had found us, leading a rogue army to slaughter my son for dark magic. Michael looked at me, his eyes clearing for the first time in years. "I will be your shield," he vowed. He ran straight into the silver blades, taking the death blow meant for our child. As he died in my arms, I finally forgave him. Now, I stand over his grave not as a victim, but as the Alpha Luna who will rule the world he left behind.

My Fiancé's Ultimate Deception

After seven years of devotion, I finally became pregnant with my fiancé Coleton's twins. But he secretly terminated the pregnancy, claiming it was for my health. The real reason? His ex-girlfriend, Annis, suggested it. He came to the hospital late, a fresh hickey on his neck, and instead of comforting me, he forced me to post a public apology to Annis for causing her "drama." He even used my phone to flirt with her, planning their dinner date right in front of me while I was still bleeding from the procedure he ordered. When I refused to play along, he abandoned me at the hospital exit, causing me to fall and get a concussion. Later, I found them in our bed, and he had the audacity to invite me to their "celebratory" dinner. "You're doing this for me, right?" he asked, a hopeful smile on his face. "So I can finally be happy with Annis?" I looked at the man I had given my life to, the man who had just stolen our children from me, and saw a stranger. This time, there would be no tears, no second chances. I took the pre-nup he signed years ago-the one that gave me a huge chunk of his company if he ever betrayed me-and walked away for good.

Love's Betrayal, Fortune's Irony

I gave up my art scholarship to put my boyfriend, Armand, through law school. I worked three jobs and even took a knife for him, believing his promise that we would build an empire together. But the day he became a star lawyer, I found him kissing his client, Cassandra, in the snow. The shock caused a miscarriage. When I tried to end my life, he brought his mistress to my hospital bed to call me a lunatic. He then used my family to blackmail me, forcing me to play the perfect wife while he flaunted his affair. For years, I was his broken trophy, a testament to his power. He had the career I funded, the woman he chose, and complete control over my life. But on the night his mistress held me at knifepoint on a skyscraper rooftop, she didn't kill me. She turned and plunged the knife into Armand's chest instead. And as his legal wife, I inherited everything.

His Betrayal Created A Ruthless Queen

My marriage ended the way the world found out about it: on a police report that landed on my desk. I was a prosecutor who had moved back to San Francisco to save my political marriage to tech billionaire Hilton Austin. When I confronted him at the hotel, I found my husband on one knee, not proposing, but tenderly tying his influencer mistress' s shoe. That night, he abandoned me on a dark highway to rush to her side, causing me to miscarry the child I was secretly carrying. At the hospital, he publicly accused me of faking the pregnancy, slapped me, and then cut my arm with a piece of broken glass. "Now you have a reason to be in the hospital," he said coldly. The love I' d held for him since I was sixteen didn't just fade; it was murdered. He thought he had broken me, but he only created a monster. I used my family's power to have him thrown in jail. When he begged for a second chance, I brought in my childhood friend, Adrien, and delivered the final, killing blow. "The baby wasn't yours," I said, my voice like ice. "It was his."

My Life, His Deadly Design

My life was a perfectly crafted blueprint of happiness. I was an architect, and my daughter, Lily, was my beautiful design. Then Sophia came along, filling spaces I hadn't known were empty, and her angelic son, Lucas, instantly became Lily' s "best brother." But on our first family camping trip, I found a horrifying collection: a dozen broken dolls, hair snipped, limbs twisted, eyes gouged out. "Lucas said it's his collection," Lily whispered. He smiled his innocent smile, claiming he "just found them and gave them a home," and Sophia rushed to his defense, completely blind. Then Lily fell sick, a strange, spiderweb-like rash spreading across her body. Lucas, the doting brother, sat by her hospital bed, winding a beautiful antique music box-his father' s, he said-filling the room with gentle melodies. But when no one was watching, his sweet expression would vanish, replaced by a cold, detached curiosity as he stared at Lily' s fading form. The day Lily died, that infernal music box was still playing. Her death wasn't an accident; I saw the cold, unnerving stillness in Lucas' s eyes. He had poisoned my daughter, enjoying every slow, agonizing moment. My world was annihilated, consumed by grief and the chilling melody of that music box, until everything went black. Then I gasped, eyes flying open, the scent of grilled burgers and fresh-cut grass in the air. I was holding a velvet ring box, and Sophia was smiling, her voice full of love. "Yes, Ethan, I' ll marry you." It was the day of our engagement party. The day before the nightmare began. And standing next to Sophia, holding her hand and beaming up at me, was Lucas, the monster hiding behind an angel' s face. I was back. I had been given a second chance, and I would not waste it.

Irresistible Seduction: Married For Deception, Loved For Real

Five years into marriage, Hannah caught Vincent slipping into a hotel with his first love-the woman he never forgot. The sight told her everything-he'd married her only for her resemblance to his true love. Hurt, she conned him into signing the divorce papers and, a month later, said, "Vincent, I'm done. May you two stay chained together." Red-eyed, he hugged her. "You came after me first." Her firm soon rocketed toward an IPO. At the launch, Vincent watched her clasp another man's hand. In the fitting room, he cornered her, tears burning in his eyes. "Is he really that perfect? Hannah, I'm sorry... marry me again."

After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash

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

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.

Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback

Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic. Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold. "Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'" The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip. Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet. I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child. But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame. "I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done." I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down.

Craving The Wrong Brother

She spent ten years chasing after the right brother, only to fall for the wrong one in one weekend. ~~~ Sloane Mercer has been hopelessly in love with her best friend, Finn Hartley, since college. For ten long years, she's stood by him, stitching him back together every time Delilah Crestfield-his toxic on-and-off girlfriend-shattered his heart. But when Delilah gets engaged to another man, Sloane thinks this might finally be her chance to have Finn for herself. She couldn't be more wrong. Heartbroken and desperate, Finn decides to crash Delilah's wedding and fight for her one last time. And he wants Sloane by his side. Reluctantly, Sloane follows him to Asheville, hoping that being close to Finn will somehow make him see her the way she's always seen him. Everything changes when she meets Knox Hartley, Finn's older brother-a man who couldn't be more different from Finn. He's dangerously magnetic. Knox sees right through Sloane and makes it his mission to pull her into his world. What starts as a game-a twisted bet between them-soon turns into something deeper. Sloane is trapped between two brothers: one who's always broken her heart and another who seems hell-bent on claiming it... no matter the cost. CONTENT WARNING: This story is strongly 18+. It delves into dark romance themes such as obsession and lust with morally complex characters. While this is a love story, reader discretion is advised.  

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.