He Thought I'd Stay: His Mistake

From Broken Sister To Beloved Wife

After our parents died in a plane crash, my brothers were my whole world. That ended the day they brought Francis home-a manipulative liar they treated like a saint while he systematically turned them against me. He framed me for everything, from fake injuries to sabotaging the neuro-linker compound that was my life's work. My brothers always chose his crocodile tears over my truth. "He's in the hospital, Jenna. Thanks to you," Bryan snarled over the phone. They even offered him my childhood bedroom right in front of me, as if I was already a ghost. They had no idea I was about to become one. I had a one-way ticket to Zurich and a contract with their biggest rival, a man who saw my value when my own blood saw a problem. I wasn't just running away-I was taking all of their secrets with me.

The Rat In Shadows: His Downfall

I endured 121 needle marks on my stomach for the child my husband, Braden, and I desperately wanted. But as I lay on the procedure table, moments from our embryo transfer, he walked out. He left me for his high school sweetheart, Isabella, who was hysterical over her son's scraped knee. He paraded her around in public "family" photos while his own family shamed me at dinner for being too "stiff." When Isabella's son shoved me to the floor, Braden rushed to comfort the boy, not me. He looked at me with pure disgust. "How can you possibly think you'd be a good mother when you behave like this?" he spat. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice shaking but clear. "The funniest part is, Braden? I canceled the embryo transfer." Then, in front of his entire family, I said, "I want a divorce. And this time, I'm not kidding."

My Hellish Wife: A Second Chance

The sharp, metallic scent of rain on asphalt filled the air, a smell I hadn't registered in thirty years. I opened my eyes not to a hospital, but to the familiar gray ceiling of the apartment I once shared with Olivia Hayes, the date on the calendar October 12th, 2024. My phone buzzed, her name, Olivia, lighting up the screen. In my first life, I' d answer, and her panicked voice would tell me she' d made a terrible mistake, using company funds for a gift-not knowing then it was for her secret lover, Mark Jenkins. Without hesitation, I' d drain my savings and take out a high-interest loan to save her job and reputation. In return, she married me, and for the next three decades, she made my life a living hell. I remembered everything: the constant belittling, her sneering at my passion and controlling every dollar I earned while lavishly spending on herself and Mark. I remembered the fights, the chilling silences for weeks, always her punishment for not being ambitious enough, for not earning more, for not being Mark Jenkins. The worst memory was our daughter, Lily. I cherished her, gave her everything Olivia denied me emotionally, believing she was my reason to endure. But as she grew, Olivia and Mark poisoned her mind, twisting my sacrifices into control, my love into a cage. On her sixteenth birthday, after I' d worked months to buy her a car, she looked at Mark, calling him "Dad," shattering my world. The phone kept buzzing, insistent, desperate. I remembered my death at fifty-eight, alone, my last moments filled with regret and Olivia telling paramedics not to hurry. This time, there would be no sacrifice, no bailing her out. This time, I wouldn't be the hero. I wouldn't be the fool. I swiped to decline. Then I called Richard Sterling, Head of Internal Audit. "Mr. Sterling," I said, "this is Ethan Davis. I have reason to believe there's been a significant misappropriation of funds in the marketing department. I think you should look into Olivia Hayes."

Heartbreak and a Hollowed Home

"I need the money, Sarah," Mark said, his voice smooth and confident. "All of it. It's for us." He talked about a new business venture, a sure thing that would set them up for life. I believed him, loved him, and trusted him. The next morning, I withdrew our entire life savings for him. A week later, our baby boy, Liam, started coughing. It quickly grew worse. His small body felt hot. The doctor said it was his heart; he needed immediate surgery. I called Mark, desperate. "Mark, it's Liam. He's sick. The doctor said he needs an operation right away. We need the money." "The money's gone, Sarah. It's tied up in the investment." His voice was cold, distant. When I pressed him, he snapped, "Don't be so dramatic. He's probably just got a bad cold. You're overreacting." He hung up. Desperation took over. I worked three jobs, earning every dollar. But it was never enough. Liam's medical bills piled up. While I was scrubbing a stranger's floor, the hospital called. Liam had taken a turn for the worse. I raced to his side, but it was too late. My son died in a sterile hospital room. I couldn't even afford a proper funeral. They gave me his ashes in a plain cardboard box. Days later, I saw Mark outside a high-end jewelry store, laughing, his arm around Jessica White. He bought her a glittering diamond necklace. The truth crashed down on me. There was no investment. There was only Jessica. He had taken our life savings, our future, our son's only chance at life, and spent it on her. How could he? How could I have been so blind? My son was dead because of his lies. The man I loved betrayed me, destroyed everything, then protected the woman who mocked my dead child. I had nothing left to lose.

The Scent of Betrayal, A New Path

My life with Isabella was a dream, a meticulously crafted illusion of love and partnership, sealed with a unique cologne she commissioned for me. Then, one Tuesday morning, that perfect scent, our scent, suddenly made her flinch. She claimed an allergy, dismissed it as "too strong," and I, a fool for her comfort, stopped wearing it. A week later, I found her clutching a worn hoodie in our laundry room, reeking of cheap deodorant and unfamiliar youth. Her casual dismissal, "It' s Ethan' s. He' s that new intern I' m mentoring," struck a chilling chord. The way she spoke of him, the hunger in her eyes I hadn' t seen in years, the word she used- "nurturing" -echoed a past life, a forgotten version of us. I tried to confront her, publicly, thinking our history meant something. I was brutally wrong. She offered to buy me out with pennies from our pre-nuptial agreement, then surgically sabotaged my Wall Street career, ruining me financially. When I had nothing left, she showed her true monstrosity: she kidnapped my kind, loving parents, tying them up in a dark warehouse. Her demand was simple: sign the divorce papers, sign away everything, and they would live. I signed. The next day, the warehouse exploded. "A gas leak," the police report said. I knew it wasn' t. I stood on the edge of my office building, ready to end it all, when I woke up. I was in my bed, sunlight streaming through the window, my phone buzzing. The date on the screen was the day I first heard the name Ethan Cole. This was no longer about love or reconciliation. This was about survival. This time, there would be no confrontation. This time, I would just disappear. But first, I had to save the only people who mattered. "Dad?" I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Listen to me very carefully. I need you and Mom to pack a bag. I' m booking you a flight. I want you to go on that world cruise you' ve always talked about. Tonight."

He Played Her False: She Played Her Way Out

My Juilliard cello degree was just background noise to the perfect smile I plastered on for my husband, Wesley' s, political fundraisers. For eight years, I was "Mrs. Wesley Lester," a pretty prop, while my priceless 18th-century cello sat in its case, my only sacred space, untouched by him. Then, he grabbed it-not the case, the actual instrument-and shoved it into the arms of Gabrielle, his childhood friend and campaign manager, without a single thought. I watched in horror as her lacquered nails scraped a searing line across its varnish. My husband, the man I sacrificed everything for, didn' t even flinch. He handed my soul to another woman as if it were a coat, then fussed over her while I stood there, burning from his complete dismissal. Later, burned by scalding coffee after he literally carried Gabrielle past my collapse, he still left me there, choosing her comfort over my agony. Then, with my hands bandaged into useless clubs, he demanded I donate my rare blood for Gabrielle, claiming her life was "on the line" for a fabricated public sympathy play. How could he ask this? How could he drain my life force to sustain his pathetic lie? Why was I, his wife, solely a biological resource, while Gabrielle, healthy as ever, lay next to me, sighing dramatically, soaking up his attention? When she intentionally ruined my late mentor' s irreplaceable autographed music, something snapped. And as chaos erupted, with a fire alarm blaring, I saw him choose her again, turning his back on me as I lay fallen on the marble floor. But a strong hand pulled me up-a lifeline. This time, I wouldn't just leave; I would reclaim everything he had tried to bury.

The Rise Of The Ugly Luna

Lyric had spent her life being hated. Bullied for her scarred face and hated by everyone-including her own mate-she was always told she was ugly. Her mate only kept her around to gain territory, and the moment he got what he wanted, he rejected her, leaving her broken and alone. Then, she met him. The first man to call her beautiful. The first man to show her what it felt like to be loved. It was only one night, but it changed everything. For Lyric, he was a saint, a savior. For him, she was the only woman that had ever made him cum in bed-a problem he had been battling for years. Lyric thought her life would finally be different, but like everyone else in her life, he lied. And when she found out who he really was, she realized he wasn't just dangerous-he was the kind of man you don't escape from. Lyric wanted to run. She wanted freedom. But she desired to navigate her way and take back her respect, to rise above the ashes. Eventually, she was forced into a dark world she didn't wish to get involved with.

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.

When Love Is A Lie

Katherine endured mistreatment for three years as Julian's wife, sacrificing everything for love. But when his sister drugged her and sent her to a client's bed, Katherine finally snapped. She left behind divorce papers, walking away from the toxic marriage. Years later, Katherine returned as a radiant star with the world at her feet. When Julian saw her again, he couldn't ignore the uncanny resemblance between her new love and himself. He had been nothing but a stand-in for someone else. Desperate to make sense of the past, Julian pressed Katherine, asking, "Did I mean nothing to you?"

The Masked Heiress: Don't Mess With Her

Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins-a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. "It's time to reveal your true identity, darling."

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.

When Love Comes Late

In order to fulfill her grandfather's last wish, Stella entered into a hasty marriage with an ordinary man she had never met before. However, even after becoming husband and wife on paper, they each led separate lives, barely crossing paths. A year later, Stella returned to Seamarsh City, hoping to finally meet her mysterious husband. To her astonishment, he sent her a text message, unexpectedly pleading for a divorce without ever having met her in person. Gritting her teeth, Stella replied, "So be it. Let’s get a divorce!" Following that, Stella made a bold move and joined the Prosperity Group, where she became a public relations officer that worked directly for the company’s CEO, Matthew. The handsome and enigmatic CEO was already bound in matrimony, and was known to be unwaveringly devoted to his wife in private. Unbeknownst to Stella, her mysterious husband was actually her boss, in his alternate identity! Determined to focus on her career, Stella deliberately kept her distance from the CEO, although she couldn't help but notice his deliberate attempts to get close to her. As time went on, her elusive husband had a change of heart. He suddenly refused to proceed with the divorce. When would his alternate identity be uncovered? Amidst a tumultuous blend of deception and profound love, what destiny awaited them?