Marry A Comatose Man I' d Never Met

My Husband's Secret, My Silent War

On our third wedding anniversary, my husband's "best friend," Jade, told a room full of people about the night she spent kissing a scar on his hip. My husband, Julian, just laughed. He chose her, not me. That night, I found their secret group chat. They called me "the ball and chain." But the worst message was from Julian. He confessed he'd been swapping my birth control pills with placebos for a year, all while promising to be a sperm donor for her. He had held me while I cried over my "unexplained infertility," telling me I was all he needed. It was all a sick, calculated lie. The next morning, he left for her birthday trip, forgetting it was my birthday too. He told me to stay home. Instead, I got in my car and followed them. I was done watching my marriage die. It was time to burn his world to the ground.

You Live the Rest of Your Life on Your Own

On the day Colby married Ruben the heir to the Gibson Group, not a single member of the Gibson family attended the wedding to offer their blessings. Only Brenda, Ruben's grandmother, made a phone call to her. "Want to make a bet? If, by the third year, you both are still in love, I will persuade the Gibson family to accept you. On the contrary, you must leave Ruben, and I will find him a woman whose family status aligns better with his." Colby agreed confidently. Ruben loved her as if his life depended on it, even willing to cut off his family for her. How could their love not last three years? But she never anticipated that in the third year of their marriage, Ruben would betray her.

The Man Who Abandoned Her Love

For ten years, I thought Chase Strong was my savior, pulling me from my small Midwestern town to the glitter of New York City, where I became his devoted fiancée and a successful hand model. Then, a surprise manicure booked by Chase at his ex-girlfriend Karis' s salon left my hands ruined, destroying my career just days before a major contract. When my agent threatened legal action against Karis, Chase' s rage exploded, accusing me of ruining her business. Days later, he drove me deep into a national park, pulled me from the car, threw my purse on the ground, and drove away, leaving me stranded, pregnant, and with no cell service. After two days of terror and dehydration, I returned home to find Chase casually laughing with his friends about abandoning me, calling me a "placeholder" and mocking my career, revealing his true, cruel nature. I couldn' t understand how the man I loved, the father of my unborn child, could see me as a disposable object, especially after my own family had disowned me, leaving me truly alone and with nowhere to go. With nothing left to lose, I made a decision: I would cut all ties with Chase, starting with the baby, and reclaim my life, no matter the cost.

Dying for His Love, Reborn

"Ava, are you really going to propose to Liam again?" My best friend, Sarah, looked at me with worried eyes. I just smiled and adjusted my brand-new dress. This was the fourth time; it had to be a success. An hour later, I was at the Grand Hotel, clutching the custom-made engagement ring for Liam. He was making a "huge announcement," and his best friend said he wanted me there. My heart raced, certain this was it-after three years and three rejections, he was finally ready to accept me. But then, standing beside him in the spotlight, was a beautiful woman I' d never seen before. "This is Chloe Green," Liam announced, "My fiancée." My world imploded. The room erupted in applause, but to me, it was deafening silence. Hundreds of eyes turned to me-pity, mockery, amusement. I was the city' s biggest joke, watching him slip a sparkling diamond on her finger. When I tried to show him the ring I' d brought, he sneered, "You thought I' d ever want something from you? You thought I' d ever want you?" Then he threw my precious, custom-made ring into the dark, freezing river below the balcony, challenging me: "Go get it, then. If you can find that ring in the river, I' ll believe you." Despite my fragile health and my doctor' s warning, I jumped. I found it, shivering and half-drowned, and returned to him, only for him to declare, "This scar... Every time I see it, it makes me sick. I would never marry a woman like you. Get out of my sight." The scar was from the kidney I' d donated to save his life. I died alone in an empty chapel days later, a "dying wish" marriage proposal from me twisted into his cruel, public humiliation. My ghost, tethered to his hatred, watched him publicly propose to Chloe while I faded into transparency, my very existence erased by his disgust. But a private investigator and my doctor had the truth about my sacrifice-my hidden kidney donation, my last letter to him. They revealed it all, forcing him to confront the monster he had been.

His Betrayal, Her Rebirth

My career as a marketing strategist was unstoppable. Then Chloe Davis walked in, a new hire with a smile too bright and a chilling claim: "I'm a reborn person." She started "predicting" disasters-a major client product failure, a restaurant fire-events that strangely came true, catapulting her to prophet status. Suddenly, my data-driven expertise meant nothing. My promotion, the one I had earned, was given to Chloe. When I confided in my boyfriend and colleague, Mark, about resigning, he looked at me with cold eyes: "Mr. Thompson will think you' re a flight risk. That you' re bitter." The next day, as I prepared to quit, Mr. Thompson confronted me with fake emails, expertly crafted by Mark, showing me colluding with our biggest rival. My resignation was refused; instead, I was publicly demoted to administrative duties, stripped of my dignity. Mark, my supposed partner, stood by Chloe, a triumphant smirk on his face. The humiliation was a physical weight, pushing me to the brink. In my previous life, consumed by despair, I took my own life on the marble steps of the agency that had once been my dream. But then, my eyes snapped open. I was back in the conference room, listening to Chloe's chilling introduction: "I'm a reborn person." This time, I wasn't going to be a victim.

His Obsession, My Betrayal

One year with David Chen felt like paradise after Jake, but love, I learned, is a master illusionist. I thought I' d found solace in David' s arms, after my long-term boyfriend Jake unceremoniously dropped me for his high school sweetheart, Emily. Then, on our first anniversary, hunting for a rare comic, I stumbled upon David' s secret studio-not a creative haven, but a chilling shrine to Emily Carter, plastered floor to ceiling with her portraits. Hundreds of his letters lay scattered, each a meticulously dated testament to a seven-year obsession, detailing how he used my heartbreak, my trust, to orchestrate Jake and Emily' s reunion. I wasn' t a girlfriend; I was a pawn in his sick game, a means to an end for the woman he truly loved to get back with my ex. The betrayal was a violation, worse than Jake' s, a cold, calculated masterpiece of manipulation that turned my year of healing into a cruel deception. I had to escape, to sever this twisted knot of lies, and the only way out was to call my parents and accept the arranged marriage I' d always laughed at. Just as the decision formed, David' s cheerful voice echoed through the studio, followed by the shattering sound of groceries, and his fake smile dissolving as he saw the truth laid bare. He tried to smooth it over, playing the concerned lover, until I revealed my drastic plan: "I' m moving to New York. I'm getting married." His dismissive smirk was quickly replaced by panic as Emily Carter herself appeared, walking calmly into his web of lies, confirming his deception. Later, doubled over in agony, suffering from a ruptured appendix, I called him for help-the man I thought loved me. He hung up, choosing to tend to Emily' s "headache" over my very real, life-threatening pain, dismissing my screams as manipulative drama. The words "You're just trying to get my attention" echoed as my phone died, the realization slicing through me: he would rather let me die than displease her. Finally, face-to-face in the hospital, he saw me. He saw the IV, the monitors, the reality of my near-death while he' d coddled his fragile Emily just feet away, oblivious. Yet, his gaze hardened, turning from me back to her, and he walked away, promising to return, a promise I knew was as hollow as his love. I fled to New York, rebuilding my life, forging a new identity, finding unexpected peace with my arranged fiancé, Ethan. But the past wasn' t done. David found me.

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.

Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback

Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic. Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold. "Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'" The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip. Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet. I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child. But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame. "I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done." I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down.

Reborn Heiress: The Wolf's Vengeance Deal

I lay paralyzed on stiff white sheets, a prisoner in my own skin, listening to the rain lash against the window like nails on a coffin. My father, Elmore Franco, didn't even look at my face as he checked his clipboard. He just listened to the steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor-the only thing proving I was still alive. Without a hint of remorse, he pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the Do Not Resuscitate order. My stepmother, Ophelia, stepped out from behind him, wearing my favorite pearl necklace and smelling of cloying perfume. She leaned close to my ear to whisper the truth that turned my blood to ice. "It was the tea, darling. Just like your mother. A slow, tasteless poison." She chuckled as she revealed that my fiancé, Bryce, had a two-year-old son with my sister, Daniela. My inheritance had been funding their secret life for years, and now that the money was secure, I was an inconvenience they were finally scrubbing away. As my father yanked the power cord from the wall, the beeping died, and the darkness swallowed me whole. I was being murdered by my own flesh and blood, used as a bank account until I was no longer needed. I died in that sterile room, drowning in the realization that every person I ever loved was a monster who had been waiting for me to take my last breath. Then, I gasped. I woke up in a luxury hotel suite surrounded by silk sheets, five years in the past-the very morning of my wedding. Next to me lay Basile Delgado, the "Wolf of Wall Street" and my family's most dangerous enemy. In my first life, I ran from this room in a panic and lost everything. This time, I looked at the man who would eventually destroy my father's empire and decided to join him. "I'm not leaving, Basile. Marry me. Right now. Today."

Invisible To Her Bully

Unlike her twin brother, Jackson, Jessa struggled with her weight and very few friends. Jackson was an athlete and the epitome of popularity, while Jessa felt invisible. Noah was the quintessential "It" guy at school-charismatic, well-liked, and undeniably handsome. To make matters worse, he was Jackson's best friend and Jessa's biggest bully. During their senior year, Jessa decides it was time for her to gain some self-confidence, find her true beauty and not be the invisible twin. As Jessa transformed, she begins to catch the eye of everyone around her, especially Noah. Noah, initially blinded by his perception of Jessa as merely Jackson's sister, started to see her in a new light. How did she become the captivating woman invading his thoughts? When did she become the object of his fantasies? Join Jessa on her journey from being the class joke to a confident, desirable young woman, surprising even Noah as she reveals the incredible person she has always been inside.

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.

The Mute Heiress: Her Cold Silent Revenge

The Pierre Hotel smelled of old money and stale ambition, but all I could taste was the copper of my own rage. I stood in the back of the ballroom, a "mute" shadow in a silk dress, watching my sister Brande play the grieving saint on stage. She wiped away a fake tear, telling the crowd I was too "unstable" to attend my own engagement party. In reality, I was watching her share a secret, intimate squeeze with my fiancé, Chase Sterling, right under the blinding spotlight. When I finally hit "execute" and projected the video of them together in a hotel suite for the entire elite crowd to see, the room went cold. But the nightmare was just beginning. Instead of apologizing, my father crushed his scotch glass and told me to fix the mess. He demanded I issue a public statement claiming I had a mental breakdown and "hallucinated" the whole thing. "If you don't corroborate the Deepfake story, I'll have you committed to a facility with barred windows," he hissed. Brande just smirked from the corner, mocking me for being a "mute waste of space" who didn't even realize my own trust fund had paid for the diamonds around her neck. I realized then that in this family, silence wasn't a disability—it was a target. They thought because I didn't speak, I didn't have a voice. They thought they could use my silence to bury the truth and save their precious stock prices. They were wrong. I didn't just leak a video; I had the keys to every secret they ever tried to hide. I walked out of that hotel and straight into the black sedan of Julian Curtis, my father’s most ruthless rival and the only man who knew what really happened the night of the blizzard in Aspen. I handed him the encrypted files that would trigger a hostile takeover of my family’s empire. As the city blurred past, I looked at the man who held my future in his hands and typed one final message on my phone. "I'm not here to be saved. I'm here to be the knife."