Six Years Buried: The Daughter I Never Forgot

My Husband's Secret, My Silent War

On our third wedding anniversary, my husband's "best friend," Jade, told a room full of people about the night she spent kissing a scar on his hip. My husband, Julian, just laughed. He chose her, not me. That night, I found their secret group chat. They called me "the ball and chain." But the worst message was from Julian. He confessed he'd been swapping my birth control pills with placebos for a year, all while promising to be a sperm donor for her. He had held me while I cried over my "unexplained infertility," telling me I was all he needed. It was all a sick, calculated lie. The next morning, he left for her birthday trip, forgetting it was my birthday too. He told me to stay home. Instead, I got in my car and followed them. I was done watching my marriage die. It was time to burn his world to the ground.

You Live the Rest of Your Life on Your Own

On the day Colby married Ruben the heir to the Gibson Group, not a single member of the Gibson family attended the wedding to offer their blessings. Only Brenda, Ruben's grandmother, made a phone call to her. "Want to make a bet? If, by the third year, you both are still in love, I will persuade the Gibson family to accept you. On the contrary, you must leave Ruben, and I will find him a woman whose family status aligns better with his." Colby agreed confidently. Ruben loved her as if his life depended on it, even willing to cut off his family for her. How could their love not last three years? But she never anticipated that in the third year of their marriage, Ruben would betray her.

The Man Who Abandoned Her Love

For ten years, I thought Chase Strong was my savior, pulling me from my small Midwestern town to the glitter of New York City, where I became his devoted fiancée and a successful hand model. Then, a surprise manicure booked by Chase at his ex-girlfriend Karis' s salon left my hands ruined, destroying my career just days before a major contract. When my agent threatened legal action against Karis, Chase' s rage exploded, accusing me of ruining her business. Days later, he drove me deep into a national park, pulled me from the car, threw my purse on the ground, and drove away, leaving me stranded, pregnant, and with no cell service. After two days of terror and dehydration, I returned home to find Chase casually laughing with his friends about abandoning me, calling me a "placeholder" and mocking my career, revealing his true, cruel nature. I couldn' t understand how the man I loved, the father of my unborn child, could see me as a disposable object, especially after my own family had disowned me, leaving me truly alone and with nowhere to go. With nothing left to lose, I made a decision: I would cut all ties with Chase, starting with the baby, and reclaim my life, no matter the cost.

Dying for His Love, Reborn

"Ava, are you really going to propose to Liam again?" My best friend, Sarah, looked at me with worried eyes. I just smiled and adjusted my brand-new dress. This was the fourth time; it had to be a success. An hour later, I was at the Grand Hotel, clutching the custom-made engagement ring for Liam. He was making a "huge announcement," and his best friend said he wanted me there. My heart raced, certain this was it-after three years and three rejections, he was finally ready to accept me. But then, standing beside him in the spotlight, was a beautiful woman I' d never seen before. "This is Chloe Green," Liam announced, "My fiancée." My world imploded. The room erupted in applause, but to me, it was deafening silence. Hundreds of eyes turned to me-pity, mockery, amusement. I was the city' s biggest joke, watching him slip a sparkling diamond on her finger. When I tried to show him the ring I' d brought, he sneered, "You thought I' d ever want something from you? You thought I' d ever want you?" Then he threw my precious, custom-made ring into the dark, freezing river below the balcony, challenging me: "Go get it, then. If you can find that ring in the river, I' ll believe you." Despite my fragile health and my doctor' s warning, I jumped. I found it, shivering and half-drowned, and returned to him, only for him to declare, "This scar... Every time I see it, it makes me sick. I would never marry a woman like you. Get out of my sight." The scar was from the kidney I' d donated to save his life. I died alone in an empty chapel days later, a "dying wish" marriage proposal from me twisted into his cruel, public humiliation. My ghost, tethered to his hatred, watched him publicly propose to Chloe while I faded into transparency, my very existence erased by his disgust. But a private investigator and my doctor had the truth about my sacrifice-my hidden kidney donation, my last letter to him. They revealed it all, forcing him to confront the monster he had been.

Marry A Comatose Man I' d Never Met

I stared at my father, cutting through the tense living room silence. "I want to marry Blake Harrison." Just hours before, I' d woken to a terrifying truth: My life wasn't my own. I was the villainous side character, destined to be sacrificed to showcase Chloe Davis, the protagonist. The world' s script had a tragic ending for me: My brother, Mark, would disown me. My childhood crush, David, would forge a psychiatric evaluation. And my fiancé, Ethan, would use it to have me committed to a mental institution. I' d be the first casualty in their twisted love game for Chloe. I became Chloe's plaything. She "accidentally" locked me in a freezer, causing near-fatal hypothermia. Then she framed me for a "cut," leading to my forced skin graft. She poisoned me with mangoes, knowing my severe allergy, almost killing me, only for them to demand I apologize to her. They publicly humiliated me with my private photos and then killed my beloved cat, Snowball, cooking him into a soup she made me drink. I didn't understand how their devotion to Chloe made them so cruel. How could the men who once protected me become my tormentors, twisting every truth to fit Chloe's narrative? I refused to accept that fate. I would escape, reveal the truth, and rewrite my ending. My chosen path? Marriage to a comatose man I' d never met.

His Betrayal, Her Rebirth

My career as a marketing strategist was unstoppable. Then Chloe Davis walked in, a new hire with a smile too bright and a chilling claim: "I'm a reborn person." She started "predicting" disasters-a major client product failure, a restaurant fire-events that strangely came true, catapulting her to prophet status. Suddenly, my data-driven expertise meant nothing. My promotion, the one I had earned, was given to Chloe. When I confided in my boyfriend and colleague, Mark, about resigning, he looked at me with cold eyes: "Mr. Thompson will think you' re a flight risk. That you' re bitter." The next day, as I prepared to quit, Mr. Thompson confronted me with fake emails, expertly crafted by Mark, showing me colluding with our biggest rival. My resignation was refused; instead, I was publicly demoted to administrative duties, stripped of my dignity. Mark, my supposed partner, stood by Chloe, a triumphant smirk on his face. The humiliation was a physical weight, pushing me to the brink. In my previous life, consumed by despair, I took my own life on the marble steps of the agency that had once been my dream. But then, my eyes snapped open. I was back in the conference room, listening to Chloe's chilling introduction: "I'm a reborn person." This time, I wasn't going to be a victim.

Billionaire Boss? Nah, Just A Possessive Husband!

I just got my billionaire husband to sign our divorce papers. He thinks it's another business document. Our marriage was a business transaction. I was his secretary by day, his invisible wife by night. He got a CEO title and a rebellion against his mother; I got the money to save mine. The only rule? Don't fall in love. I broke it. He didn't. So I'm cashing out. Thirty days from now, I'm gone. But now he's noticing me. Touching me. Claiming me. The same man who flaunts his mistresses is suddenly burning down a nightclub because another man insulted me. He says he'll never let me go. But he has no idea I'm already halfway out the door. How far will a billionaire go to keep a wife he never wanted until she tried to leave?

The Forgotten Mother's Vow: Taking Back What's Hers

Isabelle's love for Kolton held flawless for fifteen years-until the day she delivered their children and slipped into a coma. He leaned to her ear and whispered, "Don't wake up. You're worthless to me now." The twins later clutched another woman's hand and chirped, "Mommy," splintering Isabelle's heart. She woke, filed for divorce, and disappeared. Only then did Kolton notice her fingerprints on every habit. They met again: she emerged as the lead medical specialist, radiant and unmoved. But at her engagement gala, she leapt into a tycoon's arms. Jealous, he crushed a glass, blood wetting his palm. He believed as soon as he made a move, Isabelle would return to him. After all, she had loved him deeply.

I Paid the Alpha King for One Night

For three years, I was the perfect, invisible wife. My husband, Jaden, called the songs I poured my soul into "trash," then secretly fed them to his pop-star mistress to make her famous. Then one night, after being drugged at a gala, I woke up in a stranger's bed. It wasn't just the betrayal that shattered me; it was the soul-deep certainty that this powerful, dangerous man was my true fated mate. I fled home in a panic, only to find a message on Jaden's phone confirming my worst fears. His mistress, the woman singing my songs on the radio, was pregnant with the baby he'd always told me I was too weak to carry. The nightmare deepened when I learned the identity of the man from the hotel. He was Carter Mcclain, the ruthless Alpha King-and my husband's older brother. He looked at me with eyes that knew my secret, his cruel smirk promising that my life was now a game for his amusement. Jaden had stolen my music, my dream of a family, and my future, leaving me trapped between his betrayal and his terrifying brother. He thought he had broken me, leaving me with nothing. He forgot he left me with the rage that wrote the songs. And I was about to write their final, brutal verse.

The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband

I sat in the gray, airless room of the New York State Department of Corrections, my knuckles white as the Warden delivered the news. "Parole denied." My father, Howard Sterling, had forged new evidence of financial crimes to keep me behind bars. He walked into the room, smelling of expensive cologne, and tossed a black folder onto the steel table. It was a marriage contract for Lucas Kensington, a billionaire currently lying in a vegetative state in the ICU. "Sign it. You walk out today." I laughed at the idea of being sold to a "corpse" until Howard slid a grainy photo toward me. It showed a toddler with a crescent-moon birthmark—the son Howard told me had died in an incubator five years ago. He smiled and told me the boy's safety depended entirely on my cooperation. I was thrust into the Kensington estate, where the family treated me like a "drowned rat." They dressed me in mothball-scented rags and mocked my status, unaware that I was monitoring their every move. I watched the cousin, Julian, openly waiting for Lucas to die to inherit the empire, while the doctors prepared to sign the death certificate. I didn't understand why my father would lie about my son’s death for years, or what kind of monsters would use a child as a bargaining chip. The injustice of it burned in my chest as I realized I was just a pawn in a game of old money and blood. As the monitors began to flatline and the family started to celebrate their inheritance, I locked the door and reached into the hem of my dress. I pulled out the sharpened silver wires I’d fashioned in the prison workshop. They thought they bought a submissive convict, but they actually invited "The Saint"—the world’s most dangerous underground surgeon—into their home. "Wake up, Lucas. You owe me a life." I wasn't there to be a bride; I was there to wake the dead and burn their empire 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.

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."