Her Regret, My Horizon

Her Regret, My Horizon

Catherine

5.0
Comment(s)
379
View
11
Chapters

It was our seventh wedding anniversary. Seven cars, seven apologies, one for each endless week she spent with him. My wife, Olivia, hummed, zipping up a suitcase clearly packed for Julian. "Don't forget to check out the new car, Ethan. It's a beauty," she said, her usual dismissive, cool kiss brushing my cheek. But this year was different. Julian called, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He explained Olivia had cut their trip short because he was "unwell." Then, he flashed his phone at me: Olivia, sun-kissed and laughing, vigorously rubbing sunscreen onto his bare back on a yacht. The date stamp on the photo? The exact day I was in the hospital with a stab wound and a concussion, after waiting hours for her to call. She was unreachable, I now knew, because she was with him. Every shiny apology car, every yearly 'trip' she took, suddenly felt like a cruel, calculated mockery. I wasn't her husband. I was her conveniently understanding placeholder. A gilded cage, built around my dreams of freedom. Yet, this time, there was no sting, no usual pain, just a flat, dull line. Three months ago, I' d booked a one-way ticket to Austin. Divorce papers lay signed on the dining table, waiting for her. My new life began the second her Uber pulled away.

Her Regret, My Horizon Introduction

It was our seventh wedding anniversary.

Seven cars, seven apologies, one for each endless week she spent with him.

My wife, Olivia, hummed, zipping up a suitcase clearly packed for Julian.

"Don't forget to check out the new car, Ethan. It's a beauty," she said, her usual dismissive, cool kiss brushing my cheek.

But this year was different.

Julian called, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He explained Olivia had cut their trip short because he was "unwell." Then, he flashed his phone at me: Olivia, sun-kissed and laughing, vigorously rubbing sunscreen onto his bare back on a yacht.

The date stamp on the photo? The exact day I was in the hospital with a stab wound and a concussion, after waiting hours for her to call. She was unreachable, I now knew, because she was with him. Every shiny apology car, every yearly 'trip' she took, suddenly felt like a cruel, calculated mockery.

I wasn't her husband.

I was her conveniently understanding placeholder.

A gilded cage, built around my dreams of freedom.

Yet, this time, there was no sting, no usual pain, just a flat, dull line.

Three months ago, I' d booked a one-way ticket to Austin.

Divorce papers lay signed on the dining table, waiting for her.

My new life began the second her Uber pulled away.

Continue Reading

Other books by Catherine

More
The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Modern

5.0

I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.

From Discarded Wife To The Don's Successor

From Discarded Wife To The Don's Successor

Mafia

5.0

I was tightening my husband’s tie for the photographers at the gala when my phone buzzed against my thigh. A single notification stopped my heart dead. Julius had just wired five million dollars—capital I had secretly stolen from my father to build his company—to an account named 'K. Drake'. When I confronted him later that night, he didn't apologize. Instead, he lured me to an empty warehouse and detonated a rigged gas line. I woke up in a hospital bed, my body broken and my mind racing. Julius stood over me, checking his watch, looking terrifyingly calm. "The baby is gone," he said dismissively, referring to the pregnancy I hadn't even told him about yet. "But Kenzie needs a bone marrow transplant. You're a match." He was holding our daughter, Ava, hostage. He told me if I didn't give his mistress my marrow, I’d never see my child again. He looked at me with total contempt. To him, I was just a boring, civilian housewife. A prop he had used and was now ready to discard. He had no idea who I really was. He didn't know that the "bank loans" I secured for him were actually laundered syndicate money. He didn't know that the father I "didn't talk to" was Horacio Horton, the most feared Don on the East Coast. I let them take the marrow. I let them believe they had broken me. Then, as soon as Julius left the room, I reached for the phone and dialed a number I hadn't used in ten years. "Papa," I whispered into the receiver. "Send the army." The civilian Florence died in that bed. The Mob Princess had just returned to take her throne.

You'll also like

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book
Her Regret, My Horizon Her Regret, My Horizon Catherine Romance
“It was our seventh wedding anniversary. Seven cars, seven apologies, one for each endless week she spent with him. My wife, Olivia, hummed, zipping up a suitcase clearly packed for Julian. "Don't forget to check out the new car, Ethan. It's a beauty," she said, her usual dismissive, cool kiss brushing my cheek. But this year was different. Julian called, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He explained Olivia had cut their trip short because he was "unwell." Then, he flashed his phone at me: Olivia, sun-kissed and laughing, vigorously rubbing sunscreen onto his bare back on a yacht. The date stamp on the photo? The exact day I was in the hospital with a stab wound and a concussion, after waiting hours for her to call. She was unreachable, I now knew, because she was with him. Every shiny apology car, every yearly 'trip' she took, suddenly felt like a cruel, calculated mockery. I wasn't her husband. I was her conveniently understanding placeholder. A gilded cage, built around my dreams of freedom. Yet, this time, there was no sting, no usual pain, just a flat, dull line. Three months ago, I' d booked a one-way ticket to Austin. Divorce papers lay signed on the dining table, waiting for her. My new life began the second her Uber pulled away.”
1

Introduction

12/06/2025

2

Chapter 1

12/06/2025

3

Chapter 2

12/06/2025

4

Chapter 3

12/06/2025

5

Chapter 4

12/06/2025

6

Chapter 5

12/06/2025

7

Chapter 6

12/06/2025

8

Chapter 7

12/06/2025

9

Chapter 8

12/06/2025

10

Chapter 9

12/06/2025

11

Chapter 10

12/06/2025