The Billionaire's Blind Devotion

The Wife Who Vanished: His Eternal Regret

The champagne was still bubbling in my hand when a five-year-old boy ran onto the ballroom floor and screamed "Daddy" at my husband. Then his mistress, Hayden, walked in wearing a dress that cost more than my car, announcing to the stunned crowd that they were a family. Instead of kicking them out, Emilio protected them. The next day, when I confronted them, Hayden lied and claimed I tried to hurt her. Without hesitation, Emilio shoved me hard to "protect" his real family. I fell backward onto the concrete curb. While I lay there bleeding, losing the baby I had wanted for years, he didn't even check on me. He stepped over my body to comfort his mistress and illegitimate son, leaving me to wait for the ambulance alone. In the hospital, I learned the sickening truth: he had only married me years ago because he thought I was terminally ill and would die quickly. Now that I had survived, I was just an inconvenience blocking his happy ending. He even tried to force me to sign away my assets to save his company from a scandal caused by his mistress. "You're nothing without me," he sneered. I looked at the check he offered to buy my silence and tore it up. If he wanted me gone so badly, I would grant his wish. I arranged for a one-way ticket to Zurich and left a single white tulip on his pillow—the flower of the dead. To the world, Elana Acosta died on that pavement. But Elana Valeri was just getting started.

The CEO's Substitute: Love In London

My husband Kamden and I were the most powerful couple in New York, an unbreakable alliance of wealth and influence. To the world, we were perfect, especially with our new baby daughter, Penny, waiting for us at home. But the illusion shattered at the Jasper Stone gala when Cason Vincent walked in. He wasn't just a rival; he was a dead ringer for Kamden—a cruel, predatory mirror image who seemed to know the secrets of the year I spent in London. In front of the city’s elite, a socialite screamed that I was a fraud, accusing me of using Kamden as a "substitute" for the man I truly loved. The music stopped, and the room turned into a sea of judgmental whispers. I expected my husband to shield me, but the paranoia in his eyes was sharper than any rumor. He grabbed my scarred left hand—the one I had ruined to save his life years ago—and squeezed it until I winced in pain. "Am I just a replacement?" he hissed, his voice trembling with a terrifying insecurity. He didn't see the wife who had sacrificed her world-class piano career for him; he saw a woman who had settled for a copy. The injustice of it felt like a physical blow. I had destroyed my body and my future to keep him safe, yet he was ready to believe a stranger’s lies over three years of marriage. He didn't want the truth; he wanted me to beg for his forgiveness for a sin I never committed. I realized then that my silence wasn't an admission of guilt, but my last shred of dignity. I pulled my hand away and walked out of the gala alone, leaving Kamden standing face-to-face with the man who had come to dismantle our lives.

From Death to Divorce: Her Rebirth

A sharp pain shot through my head, pulling me from a deep darkness. I opened my eyes to my luxury penthouse, but I shouldn't have been there. I remembered dying. The memory was cold and sharp: my protégé, Dustin, sold me out, and my husband, Graves, watched our company crumble, leading to my fatal heart attack. Then, Graves appeared, his charming, empty smile unchanged. But he wasn't alone. A young woman, Alex Salazar, stood behind him, clutching her cheap handbag. Graves introduced her as an intern, saying she had nowhere to stay and would be living with us. My eyes fell to her neck, where a dark hickey was partially hidden. The date on the nightstand confirmed it: I had traveled back in time to the exact day Graves brought Alex home in my previous life, the beginning of my long, painful nightmare. Last time, I had screamed and thrown things, starting my humiliation. A strange calm washed over me. I had been given a second chance, not to win him back, but to escape. "Of course," I said, my voice even, "The poor thing. We should take care of her." Graves looked surprised, then relieved. He thought he had won. "In fact," I continued, pulling out divorce papers, "I'll make sure she's comfortable. You just have one small thing to do for me." I wanted the Malibu property. "Give me that, and I'll walk away quietly. You can have your new life. You can take care of this... orphan."

My Husband, The Monster

The world shattered in a flash of white-hot light, and the screaming began. My husband, John, once the living proof of my life' s work, a hero reborn, transformed into a monster right before my eyes. He wasn't just violent; he was unrecognizably enraged, tearing at reinforced barriers with superhuman strength given by the very neural chip I designed to heal his mind. In the ensuing chaos, a heavy stanchion swung, hitting me. I woke up in a sterile hospital room, a hollow ache where my baby bump used to be. Our child was gone. John, who had caused this, sat nearby, his face a battleground of conflicting emotions. He blamed me, "Our child is dead because your work wasn' t good enough, Eve." His words twisted the dagger. Not only had he stolen our child, but he also accused my life's dedication, corrupted by my shrewd rival, Vivian Thorne, whose name on his lips felt like the ultimate betrayal. They stripped me of everything-my project, my license, my credibility-a public execution at my hospital bed. Then, Vivian, with a sickeningly sweet smile, proposed using my dead son's genetic material, combined with my stolen neural map, to create her "perfect" being. The horror paralyzed me. This wasn't just theft; it was a profane violation. I was forced to concede, typing out the master password to my life' s work. But then, a flicker of something new ignited within me. "You have no idea what you' ve just done," I whispered. Trapped, tortured, alone, a faint whisper echoed in my mind from the depths of despair. It's not over. It was my own voice-clear, strong, a promise of retribution.

Building Love, Breaking Hearts

The studio lights were blazing, but a different kind of heat spread through me-the fizzing anticipation of finally revealing my four-year secret with Liam, my celebrated architect boyfriend. He was "ArchitectGod," I was "ChefSweetheart," and our in-game mansion, "Evermore Estate," held the truth of our love. Tonight, on the "Building Love" finale, I' d log in live and propose. Just minutes before the broadcast, I found a quiet corner backstage. My thumb hovered over the familiar game icon, a smile touching my lips. But instead of our virtual home, a sterile system notification popped up: "Your partnership with 'ArchitectGod' has been terminated. You have been removed from the shared property 'Evermore Estate.'" My mind went blank. My message to Liam, "What's going on?" was met with three chilling words: "It's over, Ava." Then, a 10,000,000 gold coin transfer. A severance package. My secret life, dismissed with meaningless game currency. The online forums exploded: "ArchitectGod just dumped ChefSweetheart!" Before I could breathe, I was ushered onto stage. The host announced Liam's "new partner"-Chloe Green, a rival designer. Liam, the man I loved, stood beside her, his face a mask of cool indifference. My blood ran cold as Chloe announced they' d been "collaborating secretly in the game for a little while now." They had stolen my life, online and off. My stomach clenched. This wasn't just a breakup; it was a public execution. I stood frozen under the hot lights, their betrayal burning into my soul. Why? How could he do this? I had to fight back.

The Second Chance She Stole

My mother' s voice, thick with religious fervor, announced her latest decree for SAT season: 100 days of no secular music, no TV, no internet. This wasn't the first time. I remembered falling down the stairs, Molly's raging accusations still ringing in my ears, right before the darkness consumed me. Now, I was 16 again, trapped in the same suffocating reality, but with the chilling knowledge of how it all ended for me. My twin sister, Molly, quickly embraced Mama's extreme rules, her 'pious' facade masking pure laziness, while I quietly perfected my escape plan. As Molly spiraled into isolation at school, earning the nickname "Amish Girl," my mother, Debra, only tightened her grip, even forbidding basic hygiene. The SAT scores revealed my 1580 against Molly's dismal 850, shattering Mama's carefully crafted image, especially on live stream. Instead of facing reality, Mama demanded I sacrifice my Duke acceptance, "for Molly's sake," a sister who had literally killed me in my past life. How could my own mother expect me to give up my entire future, again, for the one who destroyed me? Why was I back? This time, I wouldn't argue, I wouldn't compromise, and I certainly wouldn't die for their delusions. This time, I was getting out, even if it meant watching them burn their own lives to the ground.

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.

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.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

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.

Too Late For Regret: The Genius Heiress Who Shines

Blinded in a crash, Cary was rejected by every socialite—except Evelina, who married him without hesitation. Three years later, he regained his sight and ended their marriage. "We’ve already lost so many years. I won’t let her waste another one on me." Evelina signed the divorce papers without a word. Everyone mocked her fall—until they discovered that the miracle doctor, jewelry mogul, stock genius, top hacker, and the President's true daughter… were all her. When Cary came crawling back, a ruthless tycoon had him kicked out. "She's my wife now. Get lost."

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.

Love's Sweetest Surprise: From Brokenhearted To Billionaire's Wife

For five years, I believed I was living in a perfect marriage, only to discover it was all a sham! I discovered that my husband was coveting my bone marrow for his mistress! Right in front of me, he sent her flirtatious messages. To make matters worse, he even brought her into the company to steal my work! I finally understood, he never loved me. I stopped pretending, collected evidence of his infidelity, and reclaimed the research he had stolen from me. I signed the divorce papers and left without looking back. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum and would eventually return. But when we met again, I was holding the hand of a globally renowned tycoon, draped in a wedding dress and grinning with confidence. My ex-husband's eyes were red with regret. "Come back to me!" But my new groom wrapped his arm around my waist, and chuckled dismissively, "Get the hell out of here! She's mine now."