The Incubator Wife's Revenge

A Substitute No More, A Queen Returns

For five years, I was Jameson Blair's fiancée. For five years, my brothers finally treated me like a sister they loved. Then my twin, Haleigh-the one who left him at the altar-returned with a fake cancer story. In five minutes, he married her. They believed her every lie. When she tried to poison me with a venomous spider, they called me dramatic. When she framed me for ruining her party, my brothers whipped me until I bled. They called me a worthless substitute, a placeholder with her face. The final straw came when they tied me to a rope and left me dangling over a cliff to die. But I didn't die. I climbed back up, faked my death, and disappeared. They wanted a ghost. I decided to give them one.

Till Death, A Bloody Vow

My husband Adam and I built our empire on a vow made in blood: "Till death do us part." For fifteen years, that promise was our foundation. Then I found the photos of his mistress. He refused a divorce, trapping me with our vow while she called to announce her pregnancy. He chose her, even hitting me to protect her. At their wedding, I played a recording of him calling me "damaged goods" and "barren." "What use is a wife who can't give you an heir?" he'd asked her. But his mistress had sent me a little wedding gift: a file detailing the kidnapping I'd suffered years ago. It wasn't a random attack. Adam had planned it. He orchestrated it to break me, and in the process, he caused the miscarriage of our only child. The final report in the file was his own medical records. I wasn't the one who was barren. He was. And her baby wasn't his.

Ashes to Phoenix: A Love Reborn

I pulled my fiancé from a car wreck just seconds before it exploded. The fire left my back covered in hideous scars, but I saved his life. For the four years he was in a coma, I gave up everything to be his caretaker. Six months after he woke up, he stood on stage at his comeback press conference. He was supposed to thank me. Instead, he made a grand, romantic declaration to Estelle, his childhood sweetheart, who was smiling from the audience. His family and Estelle then made my life a living hell. They humiliated me at a gala, ripping my dress to expose my scars. When I was beaten in an alley by thugs Estelle hired, Julian accused me of making it up to get attention. I lay in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, while he rushed to Estelle’s side because she was "scared." I overheard him tell her he loved her and that I, his fiancée, didn't matter. All my sacrifice, my pain, my unwavering love—it meant nothing. To him, I was just a debt he had to repay out of pity. On our wedding day, he kicked me out of the limo and left me on the side of the highway, still in my gown, because Estelle faked a stomach ache. I watched his car disappear. Then I hailed a taxi. "The airport," I said. "And step on it."

The Comeback Queen

For three years, I' d been Noah' s on-again, off-again girlfriend, believing his rare kindness was love and his frequent dismissals just tests of my devotion. This constant cycle of heartbreak always ended with me patching things up, swallowing my pride, and showing up with apologies I didn' t understand. The ultimate humiliation came at a party he threw, right after he' d broken up with me via text, only to reveal it was a bet: he' d wagered I' d come crawling back. He' d publicly ridiculed me, then casually discarded the custom-made game controller I' d poured my soul into for our anniversary-the same anniversary that was tomorrow. My world shattered, but the final blow wasn' t his callousness, but his demand for me to abort our child, all to protect his reputation and settle a childish rivalry. But the truth behind our first meeting, a cruel set-up designed to make him my "hero," ignited a fire within me, transforming the pain into a fierce resolve to reclaim my life, secure my future, and fight for the family Noah never truly valued.

Beyond the Betrayal: Her New Beginning

I woke up, not from sleep, but like snapping back into a nightmare I'd already lived. The cramped cabin's stale air, pine scent – hauntingly familiar. Jake stood there, hand out, his voice wheedling: "Sarah, Brenda needs that locket." Brenda. The name sent a cold shiver down my spine. My mother' s locket was still at my neck. Last time, I' d blindly given it to them, believing Brenda' s lies about feeling close to my mom. It was my first, fatal mistake. Brenda claimed it brought her luck, and it did. For her. While I… I died. On a remote hiking trail, an "accident" watched by both Brenda and Jake. His shifty eyes, fixed on me, pushed the same line: "Brenda just feels so close to your mom with it." A predator, I thought. A searing memory flashed: Brenda flaunting my locket, smiling, as I lay broken in that ravine, utterly abandoned. The betrayal, agony, my sickening idiocy pursuing love that led to my death. The sheer injustice burned. But not again. "The locket?" I feigned confusion. "Oh, I think I lost it." His face fell. Good. This time, I would live. I would fight. I just needed to hold on ten more days. My brother, Major Mike Collins, was coming.

No More Broken Songs

My life as Gabrielle Fuller, Nashville' s sweetheart known for songs of love and forgiveness, seemed picture-perfect. My husband, Caleb Scott, the city' s "Kingmaker" producer, publicly repented for his first affair, solidifying our image as the golden couple who weathered any storm. I'd even secured our future with a brutal post-nup years ago, a secret safety net if his "mistakes" ever escalated. Then, one rainy Tuesday, searching for tax documents, I stumbled upon a hidden folder on Caleb' s computer. "Archives," password-protected. I typed the date of his first affair, and it opened to reveal hundreds of video files. My breath hitched. Caleb. And Molly. Not just pictures, but damning videos from last week. I watched as Molly, pregnant, sat on his lap, mocking me. "Gabrielle is easy," Caleb sneered, "She wants to believe in fairy tales. As long as I play the prince, she'll never look behind the curtain." My world imploded. The carefully curated image of our perfect marriage, the love story that fueled my career, was a meticulously crafted lie. My husband, the man who' d promised forever, was a master manipulator, not just cheating but planning to steal my future, my dream of a family, by faking my infertility and adopting the child his mistress was carrying. The pain was a physical blow, yet through the shock, a cold, hard clarity emerged. I wasn't going to collapse. I was going to fight back. And I knew exactly how to make him pay.

He Chose First Love, I Chose the Alpha King

I gave him three years of silent devotion behind a mask I never wanted to wear. I made a wager for our bond-he paid me off like a mistress. "Chloe's back," Zane said coldly. "It's over." I laughed, poured wine on his face, and walked away from the only love I'd ever known. "What now?" my best friend asked. I smiled. "The real me returns." But fate wasn't finished yet. That same night, Caesar Conrad-the Alpha every wolf feared-opened his car door and whispered, "Get in." Our gazes collided. The bond awakened. No games. No pretending. Just raw, unstoppable power. "Don't regret this," he warned, lips brushing mine. But I didn't. Because the mate I'd been chasing never saw me. And the one who did? He's ready to burn the world for me.

Secrets Of The Neglected Wife: When Her True Colors Shine

After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."

Too Late, Hubby, I'm The Tycoon's Darling Now!

For three years, Averie pushed herself through a secret marriage, waiting for the day she could finally wear a white dress and be seen as his wife. The night before she could finally walk down the aisle, he confessed without a hint of hesitation that he was marrying the woman who once rescued him instead. The "fake" divorce agreement she signed for him shattered into a real, icy breakup that finally freed her wounded heart. When he returned in remorse, begging for just one more chance, a ruthless business magnate pulled Averie close and muttered coldly, "You're too late. She's my woman now."

The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"