My Hundredth Death: A Mother's Vengeance

Divorcing The CEO: I'll Take Your Empire

I spent three years being the perfect wife to tech mogul Cash Ferguson, a forensic accountant playing the role of a low-risk asset to stabilize his public image. My world shattered when I saw a live CNBC broadcast from Sundance showing Cash tenderly hoisting a two-year-old boy onto his hip—a secret son born to a socialite mistress while he was supposedly at a business roadshow. When I confronted him with divorce papers, Cash didn't apologize; he laughed, calling me a "liability" and weaponizing my mother’s history of mental illness to claim I was genetically unfit to carry his heir. He didn't just reject the split; he locked the penthouse elevator and froze every one of my accounts, reclassifying me from a wife to a piece of disputed company property. "You came from nothing, Isidora," he sneered, tossing a credit card at me like a leash. "Stop being dramatic. I can afford a pet, but don't think you can survive a day in the real world without my name." The betrayal turned lethal when I discovered Cash had tracked down my mother’s stolen emerald brooch—my only connection to my past—and bought it as a gift for his mistress. He was using my trauma and my heritage to decorate the woman who had replaced me in his secret life. I realized then that Cash had made a fatal accounting error: he forgot that I was the one who built his shadow accounts and knew exactly where the fraud was buried. He wanted to treat our marriage like a hostile takeover, so I decided to give him a market correction he would never forget. I escaped down forty flights of stairs with nothing but a burner laptop and a plan to burn his empire to the ground. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d show him what happens when a forensic accountant initiates a liquidation protocol. I’m not just leaving; I’m going to make him crawl.

Sold for a Fake: The Alpha's Lost True Mate

On our fifth anniversary, my husband, Alpha Ethan, didn't give me a gift. Instead, he watched as his "invalid" mistress, Ilene, poured a tureen of boiling soup laced with Wolfsbane directly onto my chest. As the poison ate through my skin and I screamed in agony, Ilene clutched her heart and faked a panic attack, claiming my noise was hurting her. Ethan didn't call a doctor for me. His eyes glowed amber with power, and he turned his Alpha Command on his dying mate. "Stay down!" He forced me to lie paralyzed in my own melting flesh, unable to move or whimper, just so my screams wouldn't disturb the woman who had poisoned me. He scooped her up and walked away, leaving me on the restaurant floor. That night, the bond in my chest finally snapped. I didn't argue. I didn't fight. I simply burned every photo of us, masked my scent, and vanished into the night. It took Ethan two years to discover the truth. Ilene wasn't a fragile victim. She had been taking suppressants for years, hiding a healthy wolf while draining his bank accounts and laughing at his guilt. He slaughtered her in a rage and spent his fortune searching the globe for me, desperate to beg for forgiveness. But he was too late. He finally found me on the cover of an international art magazine. I wasn't the weak, wolf-less Omega anymore. I stood tall, glowing with the power of the legendary White Wolf. And the man standing next to me, with his hand possessively claiming my waist, wasn't him. It was the Lycan King.

My Alpha's Mistress, My Son's Unmarked Grave

On the fourth anniversary of my son's death, I went to the Pack Archives to perform a soul-soothing ritual for his spirit. But the records showed a truth I couldn't comprehend. My mate, Alpha Damien, had another child—a secret son with the she-wolf he'd sworn was just a crazed stalker. He lied through our sacred mind-link, claiming a pack emergency, but I found them at a secret manor, laughing. He, his mistress, and their boy—a perfect, happy family. Hiding in my own garage, I overheard the conversation that shattered my world. My son didn't just slip and fall into the river. He ran in terror, scared by the sound of their wild, careless mating nearby. Their affair killed my baby. As this horror crashed down on me, our mate bond, meant for love, became a tool of torture. It forced me to feel every second of his pleasure as he took her again, right there in the car, just feet from where I hid. He and his mother then framed me for abuse, had my son’s ashes dug up and flushed down a sewer, and beat me with a silver whip before leaving me for dead with a pack of feral Rogues. But I survived. And I made a choice. I wouldn’t seek revenge. I would seek oblivion. I found a pack that practiced forbidden magic, a ritual that could wipe my mind clean. I would erase him, our son, and every memory of my old life. I would be reborn.

Leaving Ashes, Finding Her Sky

I gave my husband, Chandler, one of my kidneys to save his life. In return, he married me. I was a girl from an orphanage; he was a New York tycoon. I foolishly believed his gratitude would one day turn into love. Then his first love, Kristyn, came back. When she was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder, Chandler dragged me to the hospital and demanded I give her my bone marrow. My doctors warned him that with my failing health, another major surgery would be a death sentence. He called me selfish and forced me onto the operating table. As the doors swung shut, I saw Kristyn, who was supposed to be dying, sit up in her bed. A wicked, triumphant smile spread across her face. Through the glass, she mouthed the words. "I don't have a blood disorder, you idiot." A nurse plunged a thick needle into my spine. They were draining my life away to appease a liar, all on my husband's orders. I died on that table, my last thought a prayer that I would never see him again. But when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in heaven. I was in a private medical facility, and my long-lost childhood friend, Elijah, was standing over me. He looked at me, his eyes burning with a protective fire. "I faked your death, Ava," he said, his voice cold with rage. "Now, let's make them pay."

His Betrayal, My Erased Memory

Four years after my son Leo drowned, I was still lost in a fog of grief. My husband, Eli Stark, the tech mogul, was the public' s saint, a devoted father who built a foundation in Leo' s name. But when I went to finalize Leo' s death certificate, a clerk' s casual comment shattered my world: "Mr. Stark has another dependent child listed." The name hit me like a physical blow: Cody Sharpe, son of Kasey Sharpe, the woman who had stalked Eli for years. I found them, a perfect family, Eli laughing, a happiness I hadn't seen in years. Then, I overheard Kasey confessing to Eli that his affair with her was why he wasn't watching Leo the day he died. My world crumbled. For four years, I had carried the guilt, believing Leo' s death was a tragic accident, comforting Eli who blamed himself for a "work call." It was all a lie. His betrayal had killed our son. The man I loved, the man who had built a prison of grief around me, was living a happy life with another family. He had watched me suffer, letting me blame myself, while his secret festered. How could he? How could he stand there and lie, knowing his actions led to our son' s death? The injustice burned, a cold, sharp rage replacing my grief. I called my lawyer, then my former mentor, Casey Long, whose experimental memory erasure research was my only hope. "I want to forget," I whispered, "I need to forget everything. Erase him for me."

The Man Who Forgot Her

My fiancé, Floyd Meyers, announced he was canceling our engagement. He was proposing to Jaylah Ryan, an heiress, all because a psychic claimed I was the cause of his misfortune. Jaylah then falsely accused me of tearing her expensive gown. Floyd ordered his guards to slap me fifty times and forced me to kneel in the snow all night to mend it. When Jaylah's mother needed an emergency transfusion of my rare blood type, he dragged me to the hospital to be used as a living blood bag, without anesthetic. He threatened my mother and my dog, forcing me to repair an architectural model for him. When Jaylah engineered another incident, he threatened to burn my mother's hands unless I confessed to a crime I didn't commit. My own mother, terrified, screamed at me to sacrifice myself. With a numb heart, I chose my own hands, enduring the searing agony of hot coals until they were ruined and blackened. As I lay dying, he appeared only to snarl, "I hope you die and rot in the ground. I never want to see your face again." The truth shattered me when the psychic confessed Floyd had paid her to lie. He had orchestrated my downfall from the start. When I confronted him, he forced champagne down my throat and drowned me in the pool. But I woke up again, back on the day I first met Floyd Meyers.

My Husband's Affair, My Anniversary Gift

"You'll be my wife on paper only. You'll have everything-except my heart. You'll never be Marina." For five years, Lily lived as David's secret wife-his poised secretary by day, his invisible stand-in by night. Every cold touch reminded her she was just a replacement. Every whispered "Marina" cut deeper than the last. Their marriage was born from an accidental night-a mistake he turned into a contract. He wanted nothing but an image and a convenience, yet she foolishly gave him her whole heart. So when the real Marina returns, Lily knows her time as the placeholder is up. David's actions make it clear: she was only ever a convenient replacement. Without a fight, she signs the divorce papers and walks away, surrendering the position he always wanted to give to another. But why is it that the man who once swore he'd never love her... now refuses to let her go? David doesn't understand why Lily's absence haunts him. Why her quiet strength burns him in ways Marina never did. All he knows is that he's determined to get her back. By any means necessary. Even if it meant breaking her all over again. She paid the price for loving him once. Now, he'd pay for losing her forever.

My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

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.

The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

Treasured Beyond Measure: Three Brothers, One Queen

From childhood, Stephanie knew she was not her parents' real daughter, but out of gratitude, she turned their business into a powerhouse. Once the true daughter came back, Stephanie was cast out-only to be embraced by an even more powerful birth family, adored by three influential brothers. The second ruled the battlefield. "Stephanie's sweet and innocent; she would never commit such crimes. That name on the wanted list is just a coincidence." And the youngest controlled the markets. "Anyone who dares bully my sister will lose my investment." Her former family begged for forgiveness-even on TV. Stephanie stood firm. When the richest man proposed, she became the woman everyone envied. The eldest ran the boardroom. "Cancel the meeting. I need to set up the art exhibition for my sister!" The town was turned upside down.

The Mute Heiress's Fake Marriage Pact

I was finally brought back to the billionaire Vance estate after years in the grimy foster system, but the luxury Lincoln felt more like a funeral procession. My biological family didn't welcome me with open arms; they looked at me like a stain on a silk shirt. They thought I was a "defective" mute with cognitive delays, a spare part to be traded away. Within hours of my arrival, my father decided to sell me to Julian Thorne, a bitter, paralyzed heir, just to secure a corporate merger. My sister Tiffany treated me like trash, whispering for me to "go back to the gutter" before pouring red wine over my dress in front of Manhattan's elite. When a drunk cousin tried to lay hands on me at the engagement gala, my grandmother didn't protect me-she raised her silver-topped cane to strike my face for "embarrassing the family." They called me a sacrificial lamb, laughing as they signed the prenuptial agreement that stripped me of my freedom. They had no idea I was E-11, the underground hacker-artist the world was obsessed with, or that I had already breached their private servers. I found the hidden medical records-blood types A, A, and B-a biological impossibility that proved my "parents" were harboring a scandal that could ruin them. Why bring me back just to discard me again? And why was Julian Thorne, the man supposedly bound to a wheelchair, secretly running miles at dawn on his private estate? Standing in the middle of the ballroom, I didn't plead for mercy. I used a text-to-speech app to broadcast a cold, synthetic threat: "I have the records, Richard. Do you want me to explain genetics to the press, or should we leave quietly?" With the "paralyzed" billionaire as my unexpected accomplice, I walked out of the Vance house and into a much more dangerous game.