The Unseen War

His Lover's Dawn, My Cold Floor

For three years, my estranged husband, Dayton Cole, paraded his childhood sweetheart around while I upheld our billion-dollar family merger. His latest hotel scandal splashed across the news, and I was once again called to clean up his mess, playing the part of the devoted wife. But this time was different. My best friend handed me divorce papers, urging me to finally choose myself. Yet, Dayton cornered me, using my family's ambitions as leverage. He demanded I maintain our charade for three more months-a performance that included sharing his bed. He'd humiliate me, calling me a tool for his family's image, then turn around and whisper that I was a beautiful woman he couldn't let go of. His jealousy flared when another man showed me kindness, yet he spent his nights rushing to his lover's side. The ultimate degradation came when he forced me to sleep on the floor of our shared room at his family's estate, declaring he had no desire for a wife who didn't want him. But in the dead of night, as I shivered on the cold floor, I felt his arms wrap around me, his lips brush my temple in a secret, tender gesture. I woke up alone, the warmth gone. A quick check of social media showed a new post from his sweetheart, thanking her "quiet strength" for being there at sunrise. That was the moment everything snapped. The game was over. He could have his fragile flower. I was taking back my life.

The Alpha King's Erased Mate

My fated mate, Alpha Liam, called our love a fairytale blessed by the Moon Goddess. But fairytales are lies. I discovered his was a pregnant mistress he publicly called "my queen." She sent me selfies wearing the sacred Mating necklace he gave me, while our pack whispered I was just the "bloodline problem" to be handled once his true heir was born. So on our anniversary, I handed him a gift. Inside were divorce papers and my official rejection. Then, I disappeared.

No Mercy for the Past

I was reborn, back to the day my daughter and my husband's old flame were kidnapped. Over the phone, the kidnappers demanded I choose one. In the background, my daughter Anne and another girl sobbed. My husband Jed Bennett snatched the phone, his eyes bloodshot, and roared at me, "Katrina has claustrophobia! Save her first!" In my past life, he chose Katrina Watson, and it cost my daughter's life. I laughed, tears streaming down my face. "Mommy... I'm scared..." came Anne's faint cry through the receiver. Jed bellowed again, "Amelia! Choose! Save Katrina!" I looked at him, nodded slowly, and took the phone. Then, calmly, I said into it, "Do it."

Jilted Bride, Shattered Illusion

For four years, I sponsored an artist from Queens, Demetrius Rogers. I paid his mother's medical bills, sent his sister to prep school, and funded his entire career, turning him from a nobody into a star. I did it all because he was the spitting image of my dead fiancé. Tomorrow was our wedding. But tonight, standing outside his family's home, I overheard the truth. He was plotting with his high school girlfriend, Cayla, to leave me at the altar. He never loved me; it was all for the money. His mother, whose life I saved, called me arrogant and said I looked down on them. His sister, whose future I paid for, said she only ever wanted Cayla as her sister-in-law. Cayla demanded that he not only leave me, but publicly humiliate me in front of everyone. And Demetrius, the man whose world I had built from nothing, agreed. I had tried to buy a substitute for a dead man, and this was the price. They thought I was a fool to be used and discarded. But they were wrong. The next morning, I recorded a video. "Demetrius," I said to the camera, "I know your plan to leave me at the altar. I'm saving you the trouble. I'm leaving you first." I sent the video to be played at the church just as the ceremony was to begin, then boarded a one-way flight to London.

The Unburnt Man's Revenge

The smell of gasoline and the horrifying image of my own son, Leo, smirking as he flicked a lighter, consumed me in my last moments. My wife, Olivia, stood beside him, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. In that agonizing instant, I learned the bitter truth: Leo wasn't my son, but the product of IVF with Alex, Olivia's childhood love, a man supposedly long dead. I had spent three decades building an empire for Olivia's family, the Millers, out of gratitude for them taking in an orphan. All for a love that was a lie. Olivia confessed her secret, revealing how she had always loved Alex and despised me, the obstacle to her true happiness. The flames roared, my silent scream lost in the inferno. I died burning, betrayed by the woman I cherished and the son I raised, a fool who had wasted his entire existence. But then, I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses and champagne. I was standing in a lavish suite, wearing a tuxedo. My body felt young, strong, unblemished. It was my wedding night, thirty years ago. Olivia, panicked, snatched her buzzing phone. "It's Alex," she whispered, "He says he's going to jump." She looked at me, not with love, but with raw, desperate fear for another man. Her father burst in, forbidding her to leave. She froze, then reluctantly agreed, blaming me with her eyes for the life she was forced into. My throat burned with the memory of the fire. I remembered every sacrifice-my ambitions, my eighteen-hour days, raising Leo. A son who wasn' t mine. A life built on deceit. A death born of her twisted obsession. She slapped me, her words meant to humiliate. "Say something, you pathetic social climber!" This time, things would be different. I caught her wrist. "No." I would not be the devoted husband or sacrificial lamb. My past was a brutal lesson. This time, I would save myself. I released her wrist. "The wedding is off."

The Son Who Broke Her

Tomorrow was my thirteenth wedding anniversary. I found a receipt in Mark's suit pocket for two at The Oak Room, our spot, sparking a small, hopeful smile that he remembered. I planned a surprise, baking his favorite lemon cake and wearing the blue dress he loved, driving downtown to meet him. But he wasn't inside the restaurant. He was across the street, entering the St. Regis Hotel with Emily Stone, his first love and now his indispensable secretary. Her tinkling laugh, his gentle smile – a betrayal that hit harder than any physical blow. The cake box became heavy, my dress felt cheap. I dialed his number, but my son, Alex, answered, annoyed. He dismissed my concerns, defending his father's "meeting" and calling me disruptive. "Just stay home," he ordered, before hanging up and blocking my number. That night, Mark returned, echoing Alex's accusations, calling me a spy and telling me to "know my place." He forced me onto the balcony during a storm, demanding I "think about my role." The next morning, feverish and aching, I placed divorce papers before him. He scoffed, mocking my pain and easily claiming full custody of Alex. Alex, summoned by Mark, delivered the final, crushing blow: "I'm a Jenkins. I'm not her son." My heart, a block of ice, shattered. That day, as I crawled away, left to bleed on the driveway by the son I raised and the husband I loved, I realized I had endured affairs, neglect, and belittling. But this? This was the end. The final, brutal severing. From that moment on, a new resolve hardened within me: I would reclaim my life, piece by painful piece, leaving them to their perfect, hollow existence.

The Billionaire's Secret heirs

After a blackout one-night stand, Celine discovers she's pregnant by a stranger she knows nothing about. Three years later, Hunter Reid returns to town. He's cold, ruthless, and obsessed with perfection. When their paths cross, Hunter finds Celine's kindness and naivety infuriating-but he can't ignore the pull he feels toward her, no matter how much he tries to deny it. Celine, confused by his hatred, does her best to steer clear of him, but fate keeps throwing them together. As secrets unbox, she's faced with a choice: risk her heart for a man whose icy gaze hides dangerous truths, or walk away to protect her child's future. Can Celine break through Hunter's walls, or will his past shatter their chance at happiness?

SCORNED EX WIFE : Queen Of Ashes

Camille Lewis was the forgotten daughter, the unloved wife, the woman discarded like yesterday's news. Betrayed by her husband, cast aside by her own family, and left for dead by the sister who stole everything, she vanished without a trace. But the weak, naive Camille died the night her car was forced off that bridge. A year later, she returns as Camille Kane, richer, colder, and more powerful than anyone could have imagined. Armed with wealth, intelligence, and a hunger for vengeance, she is no longer the woman they once trampled on. She is the storm that will tear their world apart. Her ex-husband begs for forgiveness. Her sister's perfect life crumbles. Her parents regret the daughter they cast aside. But Camille didn't come back for apologies, she came back to watch them burn. But as her enemies fall at her feet, one question remains: when the revenge is over, what's left? A mysterious trillionaire Alexander Pierce steps into her path, offering something she thought she lost forever, a future. But can a woman built on ashes learn to love again? She rose from the fire to destroy those who betrayed her. Now, she must decide if she'll rule alone... or let someone melt the ice in her heart.

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.

Savage Obsession: The Remorseful Tycoon Wants A Second Chance

A year into the marriage, Thea rushed home with radiant happiness-she was pregnant. Jerred barely glanced up. "She's back." The woman he'd never let go had returned, and he forgot he was a husband, spending every night at her hospital bed. Thea forced a smile. "Let's divorce." He snapped, "You're jealous of someone who's dying?" Because the woman was terminal, he excused every jab and made Thea endure. When love went cold, she left the papers and stormed off. He locked down the city and caught her at the airport, eyes red, dropping to his knees. "Honey, where are you going with our child?"

Burned By Him, Reborn A Star

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

Between Ruin And Resolve: My Ex-Husband's Regret

After two years of marriage, Sadie was finally pregnant. Filled with hope and joy, she was blindsided when Noah asked for a divorce. During a failed attempt on her life, Sadie found herself lying in a pool of blood, desperately calling Noah to ask him to save her and the baby. But her calls went unanswered. Shattered by his betrayal, she left the country. Time passed, and Sadie was about to be wed for a second time. Noah appeared in a frenzy and fell to his knees. "How dare you marry someone else after bearing my child?"