A Quiet Sadness Remains

His Celebrity Mistress's Downfall

I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance and cut ties with my family, all for my boyfriend of five years, Ignatz. But just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant with our child, he dropped a bombshell. He needed me to take the fall for his childhood sweetheart, Everleigh. She'd been in a hit-and-run, and her career couldn't handle the scandal. When I refused and told him about our baby, his face went cold. He told me to terminate the pregnancy immediately. "Everleigh is the woman I love," he said. "Finding out you're pregnant with my child would destroy her." He had his assistant schedule the appointment and sent me to the clinic alone. There, the nurse told me the procedure carried a high risk of permanent infertility. He knew. And he still sent me. I walked out of that clinic, choosing to keep my child. At that exact moment, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a glowing article announcing that Ignatz and Everleigh were expecting their first child, complete with a photo of his hand resting protectively on her stomach. My world shattered. Wiping away a tear, I found the number I hadn't called in five years. "Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm ready to come home."

The Billionaire's Regret: My Hidden Wife

I sat at a mahogany table long enough to land a plane on, signing the papers that ended my two-year marriage to billionaire Eric Koch. He didn't even show up for the divorce; he was in a private cigar lounge downstairs, sending his lawyer to hand me a five-million-dollar check to buy my silence like I was a discarded employee. For two years, I had perfected the role of the "mouse"—the plain, timid wife Eric looked right past, never suspecting I was actually Rose, the world-renowned designer behind a secret fashion empire. I never told him I was the "angel" who dragged his unconscious body from a burning car years ago, the woman he’d been searching for while he ignored the one across the breakfast table. To celebrate my freedom, I had a one-night stand with a stranger in a penthouse, only to wake up and realize the man I’d just slept with was my ex-husband. Before the ink on our divorce was dry, Eric used his billions to buy my studio, trapping me in a contract that forces me to work for him as a "lowly assistant" or face a fifty-million-dollar penalty. I watched in silence as a fame-hungry actress paraded around his office wearing my stolen heirloom locket—the only proof of my true identity—claiming she was the mystery woman from his bed. Eric looked right through my frumpy disguise with the same cold indifference he showed his wife, never realizing the woman he was hunting was standing right in front of him. I couldn't understand how he could be so obsessed with finding a ghost while treating the living woman who saved him like garbage. Why was he so determined to own every piece of Rose while he had spent two years throwing Aislinn away? "Tell him nothing," I whispered to my reflection as I reapplied the thick foundation that masked my face. "You're dangerous, Ann Reese," he told me later, his eyes narrowing as he sensed a familiar spark behind my thick glasses. I adjusted my bun and looked him in the eye, ready to play the long game. He thinks he’s bought my future, but he’s about to find out that Rose doesn’t just design couture—she designs ruins.

Forsaken by the Alpha, Chosen by Fate

I woke up before dawn to slice strawberries for my husband, Gabe, excited to finally tell him I was pregnant. As a "Wolfless" Omega, I had always been looked down upon, but I thought this baby proved I wasn't broken. But Gabe didn't come home alone. He walked in with Harper, a woman wearing the silk robe he had bought for me, reeking of his scent. He didn't kiss me. He didn't ask how I was. Instead, he sat her in my chair. "Make more pancakes," he ordered. "Harper is hungry." When I refused, demanding he explain why another woman was wearing my clothes, he didn't apologize. He used the Alpha Command. The pressure slammed me to the floor, crushing my bones and threatening the life inside my womb. I had to crawl out of the room while they laughed. My adoptive parents didn't save me; they sold me out for a council seat and a diamond necklace. Then came the public execution of my heart. At the Ascension Ceremony, Gabe took the microphone and rejected me in front of the entire Pack to make Harper his Luna. But they didn't just kick me out. They dragged me to a dirty, back-alley clinic. His mother ordered them to "remove the parasite" inside me. I screamed as they strapped me down. But as the needle touched my skin, the steel door was ripped off its hinges. The Alpha King stood in the debris, his eyes burning with golden rage as he looked at the necklace I wore. "Who dares touch my daughter?" he roared. I wasn't a defect. I was the lost White Wolf Princess. And the man standing behind the King wasn't just a guard—he was my true mate.

The Bodyguard I Hired Is My Billionaire Husband

My father sold me to a monster to settle a debt. One minute I was a debutante at a gala, and the next, I was being hunted through the service corridors by my own stepmother’s security. I scrambled into a dark penthouse to hide, only to be pinned against the wall by a man whose body felt like a wall of searing heat. He smelled of rain and expensive cedar, his voice a low, pained growl as he gripped my wrist so hard the bone nearly ground together. The next morning, the "Wall Street Monster" arrived at our estate to collect his prize. My father signed the contract without reading a single page, trading me for a wire transfer while my sister laughed at my impending doom. "I heard he uses knives in bed," Kacy whispered, "Hope you have thick skin, sis." A balding, cruel man claimed to be my husband, but it was the silent bodyguard standing in the shadows who caught my tray when I stumbled. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, and his voice was the same gravelly baritone from the dark room the night before. I was terrified, caught in a web of lies about a disfigured beast who supposedly broke women for sport. I didn't understand why this "bodyguard" was looking at me with such predatory intensity, or why he was the only one who stepped in when my father tried to shove me. Then, inside the car, the bodyguard took off his sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes and a face that was devastatingly handsome. "I am Gideon Blackburn," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "And in this house, there is only one rule: Never lie to me." The monster wasn't who they said he was, and he was about to show my family exactly what happens when you try to destroy something that belongs to him.

A Scientist's Revenge: New Life

I removed an intern from an award nomination for stealing my dead sister's research. My husband, Craig, was furious. He chose to defend her, not me. His rage turned violent. He destroyed my life's work-a cure for Alzheimer's-then shoved me so hard I miscarried our child. He called me "dramatic" as I bled on the floor. Then he locked me in our home, a prisoner, forcing me to sign over my patents to his mistress, the woman who drove my sister to suicide. He thought he had broken me, that I was his to control. But when he tried to humiliate me in the most depraved way imaginable, I saw my chance. I threw myself from a second-story window. As I lay broken on the ground, watching him rush to his mistress's side, I made a vow. My revenge was just beginning.

When Love Collides With Dark Past

For two years, I was in love with a man I only knew as C.L. Our anonymous online relationship was my safe haven from a world that terrified me, built on one simple rule: we would never meet. That rule shattered with a single text. He was a bestselling author, and his publisher was forcing him on a book tour. "I need to meet you," he wrote. "I can't do this without you." My social anxiety spiraled. I broke the only rule I could control and told him we should end it. The next morning, my boss ordered me to deliver files to our company's top client-the notoriously private author, Cristian Lancaster. It was him. My anonymous lover was my boss. He looked devastated, as if he' d been crying over my message, but he treated me like a stranger. I later found out the truth: he' d known who I was for two years, quietly waiting for me to trust him. But as our worlds finally collided, a jealous manager saw her chance for revenge. She forced me into a dinner with a dangerous man from my past, a man who drugged my drink and drove me toward a desolate road. As the car sped into the darkness, I hit record on my phone, realizing this was no longer about saving our love story. It was about saving my life.

Mr. CEO, Your Wife Shocks the World

"I will marry you. Wait for me!" Mabel woke up. She had that dream again. In her dream, a man said he would marry her. Just a dream. Five years ago, she was set up by her stepsister and became pregnant out of wedlock. She lost everything, including her baby. Five years later, she was forced to marry her stepsister's fiance, Jayden, who was sick and going to pass away. Having no choice, Mabel decided to marry Jayden, not expecting that Jayden was the man...

Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

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.

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir

Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit. The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena. This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone.

Her Marriage Was A Lie, Her Happy Ending Wasn't

Three years into marriage, Rachael gave her all to Xander, even secretly using her newfound heiress fortune to save his struggling company. But the truth shattered her—her marriage certificate was fake, and his "childhood friend" was his real wife all along. When she confronted him, he shrugged her off with, "She's just a friend." Enough was enough. Rachael went back to her real family, soared in her career, and married Xander's rival. When Xander begged for another chance, her new husband pulled her close, flashing their marriage certificate. "She's already married—to me."