The Code Monkey's Revenge

Framed By Love, Unleashed By Vengeance

I was a top patent lawyer until my husband and his lover framed me, destroyed my career, and sent me to prison. For seven years after, I was presumed dead, living as a ghost in a warehouse. Then, they found me. My ex-husband, Edgar, and our son, Kody, showed up, shocked to see me alive. They lured me to Kody' s 18th birthday party, but it was a lie. The party was a surprise engagement celebration for Edgar and Celena, the very woman who ruined my life. In front of everyone, Edgar told me to "let go." My own son even begged me. "Mom, please," he cried. "Just say you're sorry." Sorry? For what? For surviving the car crash they orchestrated to kill me? I looked at the boy I once loved more than life itself. In the sudden silence of the ballroom, I smiled and asked, "Kody, do you remember the night Celena asked you to slash my tires?"

Eighty-Eight Betrayals, One Escape

My fiancé stood me up for the 88th time, leaving me at the courthouse to rush to his adopted sister' s side. I went home and overheard their twisted plan: they wanted me to get sterilized so I could raise their secret love child. When his sister later tried to poison me, he screamed at me to apologize. He even locked me in the basement, knowing my severe claustrophobia, to punish me for "upsetting her." The man I loved was a monster, and I had been his fool. After he left on a business trip, I packed my bags, accepted a dream job across the country, and sent him one last text. "We are over."

A Compass, A Betrayal, A Life

The first sign was a hotel receipt I didn' t recognize, crumpled in my husband' s suit pocket, for an "Ocean View Suite" for two. He was supposed to be at a tech conference that night. The next evening, I followed him. He left his office building with a woman, his new assistant, Chloe Davis. They were laughing, and his hand was on the small of her back as they entered a fancy downtown restaurant. I watched them inside, looking like a couple in love. When I stumbled and dropped my purse outside, I heard Chloe say, "She' ll never find out, Mark. She' s too trusting." And Mark replied, "I know. But Ava… she' s sensitive." "Sensitive." The word felt like a slap. I confronted them, only for Mark to defend Chloe, who feigned illness and leaned on him. Then I saw it: my fifth-anniversary gift, an architect' s compass, dangling from Chloe' s neck. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen. I was three months pregnant. Mark chose her, shielding her as if I were the threat. I collapsed, blood pooling on the pavement, my baby gone. He had killed our child. Yet, in the hospital, he sided with Chloe again, letting her lie about her miscarriage, then using my dog, Daisy, to force my apology. Why did he abandon me so utterly, so cruelly? How could the man I loved destroy everything we had built, and then blame me? I was lost, but a new resolve sparked within me. I was not alone. My loyal Daisy, waiting at home, was my last pure comfort. I called my lawyer and asked for divorce papers.

Contaminated Love, A Wife's Escape

For five years, I chased my husband Liam' s love, a tech mogul I deeply adored. Then, after three incredible nights where I finally felt like his wife, I stumbled upon a chat on his computer. It was with my sister, Chloe, and it revealed a horrifying truth: those intimate moments were a cruel setup. Liam recorded them, sent them to Chloe, and messaged, "This way she' ll finally leave me alone. Don' t worry, Chloe, I' d rather die than touch her. You' re the only one I love." My world shattered. An audio file played Chloe' s sweet voice, "Oh, Liam, I' m so touched! You found so many people to mess with her just to protect my reputation?" So many people? Liam' s reply sickened me: "She' s so loose, it' s a blessing anyone would touch her. Besides, I have all the compromising photos and videos, so she can' t blame anyone even if she knows." The man who held me for three days wasn' t Liam. He sent strangers. I fled, my body screaming contamination, only to have Chloe, wearing Liam' s shirt, block my entry back home. "Liam was just adding my face to the system, and I think I accidentally deleted yours. My bad," she smirked. Liam emerged, his voice flat, "Chloe needs this room. It' s closer to me." He ordered me to a distant guest room, then handed me a pill. "Take this. I' m not ready for kids yet." It hit me: he worried I' d get pregnant with a stranger's child-a child he' d arranged. Later, listening to their laughter from the master bedroom, rage simmered. Then Chloe, wearing Liam' s sacred bracelet, whispered close, "Every month, he spends a week with me at a secluded resort. That' s our special time… He even says he feels sick when he sees you at home." Before I could react, she scratched my arm, drawing blood. "Ava, you bitch, stop pretending! I hate your pitiful act! I want to take everything from you!" She shoved me, a vase shattered, leaving a gaping wound on my arm. Liam rushed down, sweeping Chloe into his arms. "Chloe, does it hurt? I' ll take you to the hospital." He saw her nails' marks but blamed me. "Ava, you' re still so manipulative! You' ve always framed Chloe!" he roared. "Go to the basement tonight. Don' t come out until you' ve copied a hundred books!" He stepped over my prostrate body, crushing my arm. Bleeding, broken, I crawled to the ER. "No anesthesia," I told the doctor. "I want to remember this. I want to remember the pain." I needed every stitch to burn away my foolish love. I signed the divorce papers. Back in the mansion, trapped in the basement, I heard fireworks. Liam was celebrating Chloe' s "recovery." Five days later, Chloe feigned reconciliation, offering me tea. Liam forced my mouth open and poured the scalding liquid down my throat. My flesh screamed. I woke in a hospital, my throat ruined, my face Liam' s only concern. "Don' t worry," he told me, "Your face won' t scar." My face. Not my voice. Not the agony. I croaked, "Let me go." He hung up, leaving me to call my lawyer: Deliver the papers. Relief washed over Liam when I handed him two documents. He quickly signed, thinking I wanted property, not realizing the divorce agreement lay beneath. My phone rang moments after he left for Chloe. A headline screamed, "Socialite Scandal: Architect Ava Miller' s Wild Lifestyle Exposed, Intimate Photos Leaked." My private photos. My voice raw, I called 911. The IP address traced to Chloe. Liam' s call came, "Ava, are you crazy? Chloe was just messing around, it didn' t even hurt you. Do you have to be so petty?" He still thought I didn' t know the truth. He warned, "I' ve already had the case dropped. No one in this city will take your case now." My mother called, screaming, "You' ve disgraced our entire family! If you don' t apologize to her immediately, you are no longer our daughter!" "I won' t be your daughter anymore," I replied, then hung up. At the airport, Liam messaged: "I' ll give you a child." I sent him the signed divorce agreement. "Liam, I won' t bother you anymore. I' ll make way for you two." I boarded the plane, leaving him, my family, and my shattered past behind.

The Road of A Unwanted Wife To Her True Home

The first time I saw proof of my husband' s affair, it wasn' t some hushed secret, but splashed across the internet for everyone to see. Grainy paparazzi photos showed Ethan Carter, the formidable head of Carter Industries, at a parent-child carnival, dressed in a ridiculous bear mascot costume, holding a little boy' s hand and smiling at the woman beside him. That woman was Isabella, his ex-fiancée, and the boy was their son, Leo. They looked like the perfect family. My first instinct was to call my PR team to scrub the photos, but Ethan had already beaten me to it, making them vanish, a stark reminder that our marriage was nothing more than a strategic business merger. Then, they arrived at my doorstep: Ethan, Isabella, and Leo-a picture-perfect trio, while I, his legal wife, stood an outsider in my own home. Leo, a three-year-old, kicked my shin and shrieked, "You stole my dad!" Ethan, instead of chastising his son, turned his icy gaze on me and declared, "He' s just a child. Besides, Isabella raised him alone all these years. I owe her." His words cut deeper than any physical blow. In three years of marriage, he had never once scolded me, yet now, he defended his ex-fiancée and her child against me, his wife, with a chilling coldness. That night, Isabella, with a triumphant smirk, flaunted a hickey, whispering, "As long as Leo is around, Ethan and I can never truly be cut apart. Give him back to me." My composure cracked, replaced by a cold, searing rage. Love? For people like us, it was the most insignificant thing in the world. Three strikes, Ethan. You' re out.

Phoenix Project: Her True Self

The date of my father' s funeral, circled in red on the kitchen calendar, also marked the day I decided to leave Mark. The decision settled into me with a cold, hollow certainty as I washed dishes, my hands immersed in warm water but my soul feeling frozen. Then, a black government car pulled up, out stepped General Sterling, my father' s commanding officer and once mine, now the only one who checked in on me. He sat in my living room, explaining the program needed me, that my name was at the top of the list for the elite "Phoenix" project. I, Elara Vance, once an expert pilot, a national hero who saved lives, now spent my days scrubbing floors, my hands chapped and unpolished. Just as the General tried to remind me of the woman I used to be, the front door burst open. My son, Leo, raced in with Julia, our neighbor, and her son Cody, excitedly showing off an expensive drone Julia had bought for him, a replacement for one Mark had claimed was "falling apart." Mark, my husband, walked in right behind them, beaming, ruffling Leo's hair, completely ignoring me and the uniformed General in our living room. He looked right past me, telling me to "make some snacks for the boys" as if I were a servant, a humiliation that burned, a decorated officer reduced to fetching food in my own home. Julia gave me a sweet, pitying smile, while my son cheered as Mark replaced my framed picture in my flight suit with the drone box on the mantel. Mark then cruelly asserted that my dead father and my past meant nothing, that I was "weak" and had "gotten soft," while Julia suggested I was unwell and should "lie down." Then, Leo, my own son, shoved me. I fell, hitting the coffee table, a blinding pain shooting through me; through the agony, I saw Leo's triumphant face and Cody's subtle thumbs-up-they had planned it. Lying in the hospital, my hip throbbing, I overheard Cody and Leo gloating about their plan: my injury meant I' d "go away for a long time," and Julia could replace me, becoming Leo' s new mother. My son, my own flesh and blood, had been turned against me, wishing I was "more like your mom," echoing Mark' s casual cruelty and Julia' s saccharine poison, shattering the last fragments of hope for my family. In that sterile, silent room, a cold, hard clarity descended: the lie I' d been living was over, and the bond with them was severed. The medical staff then revealed Julia needed a directed blood donation, as I was a match for her rare type. Mark, accompanied by Julia, demanded I give blood to the woman who conspired against me, showing more concern for her than for his injured wife. "No," I said, looking at him with pity. General Sterling reappeared, revealing Julia's anemia was chronic and had disqualified her from military service years ago. Understanding the game, I agreed to the donation, knowing it would lull them into a false sense of security, a final act before destroying their carefully constructed world. Drained and alone after the donation, Leo visited, offering a wilted flower, murmuring that Cody said I' d be mad and "probably won\'t come home." Watching him walk away, every flicker of maternal instinct died; he was theirs, and I was finally, blessedly free. Two days later, discharged, I returned to a house reeking of Julia' s perfume, my photo gone, and Julia directing a cleaning lady in my kitchen. When Mark, irritated, said I was "in no position to make demands" and tried to physically escort me to my room, something snapped. In one fluid motion, I sidestepped his grab, used his momentum against him, and pinned him face-down on the living room carpet in a compliance hold. "You are mistaken," I whispered, my voice that of Commander Vance, of Phoenix. "I am not weak. I am not your patient. And this is not your house." I ordered Julia out, then walked out myself, leaving Mark and Julia in the ruins of the life they thought they controlled, ready to reclaim my own.

Secret Baby: The Jilted Wife's Final Goodbye

I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant. But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over. "Sign it," He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise. I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth. "It's just cramps," I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could. Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus. Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down. He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.

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...

Rising From Ashes: The Heiress They Tried To Erase

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises

My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.

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."