From Fiancee to Free

From Fiancee to Free

Gavin

5.0
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The hospital lights hummed as I leaned against the cold wall, my body aching from a long shift, but my stomach coiled with a deeper anxiety. My fiancé, Dr. Mark Jensen, the rising star surgeon, was an hour late for dinner, consumed by his revolutionary new device. I decided to surprise him in his lab, a small romantic gesture to end a grueling day. But the smile died on my lips as I found him too close to Emily Carter, his research assistant, her hand tracing patterns on his arm, their heads bent intimately over schematics. "The prototype is almost perfect," she murmured, "Just us." The air between them was thick with a betrayal that had nothing to do with medicine. Mark' s head snapped up, his face shifting from unguarded affection to pure shock as he saw me. He tried to dismiss it, to blame his monumental work, but Emily' s saccharine sweetness painted me as a jealous fiancée, and Mark latched onto her excuse. He twisted it, making my hurt seem like an attack on his ambition, until I saw the truth: this was a secret partnership, one that excluded me entirely. When Emily whispered, "He needs someone who supports his dreams, not someone who holds him back," my world shattered. How could the man I was to marry in three months, the man who preached integrity, be so blind, so callous? His words – "You're either with me, or you're in the way. Decide." – were a brutal ultimatum. He had chosen his ambition, and her, over me. I ripped off my engagement ring, the symbol of a broken promise, dropping it onto the floor between us. The small clatter was the sound of our future shattering. With a final, decisive tap, I blocked his number and drove away from the building, leaving behind a life that felt like a lie. I was heading home, towards my waiting family, knowing one thing with chilling certainty: this was over, and a new, terrifying chapter of my life had just begun.

Introduction

The hospital lights hummed as I leaned against the cold wall, my body aching from a long shift, but my stomach coiled with a deeper anxiety.

My fiancé, Dr. Mark Jensen, the rising star surgeon, was an hour late for dinner, consumed by his revolutionary new device.

I decided to surprise him in his lab, a small romantic gesture to end a grueling day.

But the smile died on my lips as I found him too close to Emily Carter, his research assistant, her hand tracing patterns on his arm, their heads bent intimately over schematics.

"The prototype is almost perfect," she murmured, "Just us."

The air between them was thick with a betrayal that had nothing to do with medicine.

Mark' s head snapped up, his face shifting from unguarded affection to pure shock as he saw me.

He tried to dismiss it, to blame his monumental work, but Emily' s saccharine sweetness painted me as a jealous fiancée, and Mark latched onto her excuse.

He twisted it, making my hurt seem like an attack on his ambition, until I saw the truth: this was a secret partnership, one that excluded me entirely.

When Emily whispered, "He needs someone who supports his dreams, not someone who holds him back," my world shattered.

How could the man I was to marry in three months, the man who preached integrity, be so blind, so callous?

His words – "You're either with me, or you're in the way. Decide." – were a brutal ultimatum.

He had chosen his ambition, and her, over me.

I ripped off my engagement ring, the symbol of a broken promise, dropping it onto the floor between us.

The small clatter was the sound of our future shattering.

With a final, decisive tap, I blocked his number and drove away from the building, leaving behind a life that felt like a lie.

I was heading home, towards my waiting family, knowing one thing with chilling certainty: this was over, and a new, terrifying chapter of my life had just begun.

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When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts

When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts

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5.0

On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news. He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city. The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.” For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets. My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me. So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts. He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked. He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree. He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.

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I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

The Wine Press
4.5

I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.

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