Nine Divorces, One Last Stand

Service Was Mediocre: Reviewing My Billionaire Lover

I woke up in a luxury penthouse with a blinding headache and bruises on my thighs, staring at the man who was about to ruin my life. Cullen Hunter, the most dangerous billionaire in Los Angeles, was stepping out of the shower, ready to discard me with a signed check and a cold look of disdain. Then the memories hit me like a physical blow. I realized I had woken up in the "Death Flag" scene of a script—this was the exact morning Avery Hall was supposed to be kicked out, humiliated, and started her downward spiral into a tragic death. The nightmare escalated within minutes. My own brother, Ernest, called to tell me I was no longer a member of the family, freezing my trust fund and evicting me from my apartment. He believed the lies of our "perfect" adopted sister, Cheslie, who had leaked her own private photos and framed me for it just to gain sympathy. Even my fiancé, Preston, couldn't wait to dump me in public, calling me a "crazy bitch" before running straight into Cheslie’s waiting arms. I was suddenly homeless, bankrupt, and the most hated woman in the city. My family wanted me to crawl back and apologize on my knees for a crime I didn't commit, while the man I had just spent the night with watched my destruction with boredom. I didn't understand how they could all turn on me so fast, or how I was expected to survive in a world where the script was literally written for my failure. "Avery, don't make this difficult," Cullen warned, waiting for the tears he thought were coming. But I refused to play the victim. I pulled three hundred dollars of my last bits of cash, slapped them onto Cullen’s nightstand, and told him the service was mediocre. I wasn't going to beg for love or mercy anymore; I was going to rewrite the ending of this story and become the most dangerous femme fatale Hollywood had ever seen.

The Savior He Rejected For Her Evil Sister

For years, I was nothing but a biological spare part for my sister, Isabella. My bone marrow kept her vibrant while I withered in the attic. I thought my mate, Alpha Dante, would eventually see me. I was the one who saved him from the blizzard years ago, not her. But when a neon sign crashed down outside the jazz club, Dante didn't look at me. He tackled Isabella, shielding her pristine body, while I was crushed beneath burning silver-plated metal. I woke up in agony, only to find Isabella accusing me of trying to kill her. Dante didn't smell the lies. He only saw his "traumatized" fiancée. "Fifty lashes," he ordered, his eyes cold. "Use the Wolfsbane whip." I hung from the dungeon ceiling, the poison searing my bones, watching the man I loved cover Isabella's eyes to spare her the sight of my blood. The final straw came during a car crash days later. Trapped and bleeding internally, I begged for his help. He looked at the fire licking my legs, then at Isabella's scratched arm. He picked her up and walked away, leaving me to burn. That night, the bond in my heart died. I didn't beg anymore. I left a single cassette tape on his desk—the recording of me singing to him in that blizzard—and vanished. By the time he realized he had tortured his true savior, I was already gone.

Leaving The Billionaire Who Loved His Ex

My father was dying on a hospital bed, and I was frantically calling my husband, Ethan. He didn't answer. Later, he claimed his battery had died while he was on a crucial business trip. But a photo sent by my best friend revealed the sickening truth. Ethan wasn't working. He was in a London café, looking at Olivia—the ex-girlfriend he swore he hadn't seen in five years—with pure desperation and love. His phone was sitting right there on the table between them, face up and fully charged. I swallowed the betrayal and played the perfect, grieving wife when he returned. But then I found the locked drawer in his study. Inside wasn't just a shrine of photos of her; it was a journal. The ink was barely dry on the latest entry. "I pray the child has Olivia's eyes. If it looks like her, I can pretend I didn't settle for the safe, boring option. Ava is a good placeholder, but she isn't Her." He didn't want a family with me. He wanted to use my body to recreate a ghost of the woman he actually loved. He planned to turn our unborn child into a prop for his twisted obsession. I wiped my tears. The next morning, I handed him a stack of documents to sign, hiding the divorce papers in the middle. Then, while he was busy texting her under the table, I walked into a clinic to remove the only thing binding us together. He thinks he is the mastermind. He has no idea he has already lost the game.

Beyond the River's Edge

The last thing I remembered was the freezing water closing over my head, Brittany' s triumphant smile the final image in my mind. Then, a gasp. I shot up, coughing, not in the dark river, but in my bed, sunlight streaming through the window. Had it all been a nightmare? The public shaming, getting fired, the whispers, the utter despair that drove me to that river' s edge? A self-satisfied hum from the living room shattered the illusion. Brittany. My heart hammered. This wasn' t a nightmare. It was a second chance. Memories flooded back: my sweet, bubbly roommate turning into a viper. She started using my online identity, my photos, twisting them into something sordid. When I confronted her, she just laughed, "Chloe, don' t be such a prude. They love it. It' s just a bit of fun." I went to HR, but she got there first, twisting the story, painting me as a jealous, unstable friend. They believed her. The photos became more explicit, sent from my work email. I was publicly humiliated, labeled an exhibitionist. My boss couldn' t look me in the eye. The company fired me to "protect its image." My career, everything I' d worked for, was gone. Brittany thrived. She took my job, my desk, my life. She stood on the ashes of my career and pretended she was a hero. The final blow was the public scandal that nearly cost me my life. And then, it did. As the current pulled me under, she had won. But now I was back. The girl who died in that river took all my innocence with her. What was left was a cold, burning desire for revenge. And as I lay there, listening to the clicks of her camera, I knew exactly how I was going to get it.

His Final, Silent Gift

Five years ago, I secretly donated my kidney to save my fiancée, Chloe. I faked a scandalous breakup, making her believe I was a gold-digging traitor, so she wouldn't feel the burden of my sacrifice. Now, my remaining kidney is failing, leaving me with only months to live, while she thrives as a tech CEO. When our paths cross, she publicly humiliates me, treating me like dirt, and her new fiancé, Liam, brutally beats and frames me, systematiclly destroying my life. I' m dying, slandered as a monstrous gold-digger, yet I still choose to protect the woman I secretly saved, even while she unknowingly destroys what little life I have left. But when my best friend, Sarah, finally screams the truth, and Liam' s twisted confessions fully unravel, Chloe begins to see it all-the lies, the sacrifice, the undying love that led to my tragic demise. Will her agonizing realization come too late, or can she salvage a love story stained by an ultimate act of selfless devotion and enduring bitterness?

The Price of Her Fame

For seven years, I poured every ounce of my being-my savings, my career, my very essence-into Olivia Reed' s music career. I was the silent force behind her rise, the architect of her dream, believing her success was ours. Then, at her album launch, the night she finally made it, she publicly declared her producer, Liam Hayes, her "soulmate" and kissed him passionately on stage. My world shattered. When I confronted her, she dismissed me like a discarded tool, coldly telling me I was just a placeholder until Liam was ready. The humiliation was unbearable, amplified by the smug triumph in Liam' s eyes. But the real shock came later: Olivia and Liam had a five-year-old son, a child they' d hidden from the world. And the chilling realization? Olivia had secretly taken my DNA, just to confirm the child wasn' t mine, fearing a "paternity scandal" would damage her brand. What was I to her? A bank account? A convenient fool? The man who paid for her secret family, while she laughed behind my back? The betrayal cut deeper than any heartbreak. No longer the naive architect, I decided then and there: Olivia Reed had built her empire on lies and my sacrifice. It was time to tear it all down.

Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

Rejected Luna, Claimed by the King

As a wolfless charity case at the Hyde Pack's celebration, my world shattered when Braydon, my supposed protector, publicly announced Katherine Parrish as his Luna, erasing me. Heartbroken, I fled into a terrifying contract marriage with Alpha King Dallas Marshall for protection. Braydon's public assault and threats forced me to reveal my secret marriage, challenging the King. My "protection" felt like a prison. Braydon revealed I was a "key" to power, not a mate, confirming my fears. Enraged by my attempt to take a morning-after pill, Dallas forced me to swallow it, then branded my lips with a furious kiss. His chilling silence hardened my resolve. I immediately drafted an addendum to our contract, setting strict boundaries to reclaim control.

Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge

I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband’s aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason’s coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go. The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason’s mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside. The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal. I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate. But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone. "Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands." The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I’m starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak.

Captivation: Want Nothing But You

Her fiance and her best friend worked together and set her up. She lost everything and died in the street. However, she was reborn. The moment she opened her eyes, her husband was trying to strangle her. Luckily, she survived that. She signed the divorce agreement without hesitation and was ready for her miserable life. To her surprise, her mother in this life left her a great deal of money. She turned the tables and avenged herself. Everything went well in her career and love when her ex-husband came to her.

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.

One Night With My Billionaire Boss

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.