From Shadow Lover To Her Own

My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

Five Years, A Fading Love

For five years, I was Grafton Mcleod's shadow. I wasn't just his assistant; I was his alibi, his shield, the one who cleaned up his messes. Everyone thought I was in love with him. They were wrong. I did it all for his brother, Justen—the man I truly loved, who made me promise on his deathbed to look after Grafton. The five years were up. My promise was fulfilled. I handed in my resignation, ready to finally grieve in peace. But that very night, Grafton's cruel girlfriend, Cherrelle, dared him to a deadly street race he couldn't win. To save his life, I took the wheel for him. I won the race but crashed the car, waking up in a hospital bed. Grafton accused me of doing it for attention, then left to comfort Cherrelle over a sprained ankle. He believed her lies when she said I pushed her, shoving me against a wall so hard my head wound split open again. He stood by while she forced me to drink glass after glass of whiskey he was deathly allergic to, calling it a test of loyalty. The final humiliation came at a charity auction. To prove his love for Cherrelle, he put me on the stage and sold me for the night to another man. I had endured five years of hell to honor a dead man's last wish, and this was my reward. After escaping the man who bought me, I went to the bridge where Justen died. I sent Grafton one last text: "I'm going to be with the man I love." Then, with nothing left to live for, I jumped.

The Scapegoat Fiancée: I Am No Substitute

Seven years. That was the price I paid for my sister’s crime. My fiancé, Dante, the most ruthless Don in New York, called my prison sentence "mercy." He promised we would go back to how things were once the debt was paid. But when I walked out of those gates, I didn't find a husband waiting for me. I found him peeling grapes for my sister, Chiara. They sat at the family table, telling me I was unstable. They demanded I break our engagement so Dante could marry her instead. They claimed she was fragile, dying of leukemia, while I was "strong enough" to handle the rejection. They didn't know the truth. They didn't know that while I was in solitary, I was dragged to a clinic to donate my bone marrow—without anesthesia—to save her life. I gave my freedom and my bones for this family. Yet, when I told Dante the truth, he looked me in the eye and called me a liar. He chose the sister who framed me over the woman who sacrificed everything for him. So, I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I simply disappeared. Two years later, when Dante finally found me in a gallery in Paris, begging on his knees with his wrist slashed in desperation, I didn't feel love. I looked at the man who destroyed me and said, "Security, please escort this gentleman out."

The Face Swap Scandal

My fiancée, Chloe Miller, replaced my face with someone else' s on our engagement photos and posted them online, proclaiming "Liam Stone" her "soulmate" after "ten years of waiting." When I confronted her, she dismissed it as a "joke" for her followers, but at our lavish engagement party-which I paid for-she publicly disavowed me, feigning ignorance and crying harassment, leading to me being brutally beaten and thrown out by security. Waking up in the hospital with a concussion and broken ribs, I watched her and Liam flaunt their "new life" on social media, even occupying my apartment. Her subsequent call, laced with fake concern and an audacious request that I jump-start Liam' s car, truly opened my eyes. The pain of betrayal was immense, but it was nothing compared to the sickening realization that I had wasted five years, abandoning my family for a manipulative parasite. The absurdity of her demands, even after all this, finally brought a cold clarity. I hung up, dialed my mother, and asked if the arranged marriage offer was still on the table, ready to reclaim the life I had foolishly cast aside.

The Shattered Wife's Ascent

My husband, David Chen, the CEO of "InnovateX," called for a celebration on our fifth anniversary. He announced, with a theatrical wink, that the two representatives for the Global Tech Summit in Hawaii would be chosen by a game. He drew his own name first, then reached into the glass bowl, his hand going straight for a specific spot, and pulled out a precisely folded slip: his much-younger assistant, Emily White. A wave of whispers and knowing glances went through the office. Emily, wearing the new perfume I' d noticed in our bathroom, practically ran to him, her red nails lingering on his arm after an embrace that lasted far too long. I stood frozen, the silent partner, the co-founder, the wife whose marriage was a secret to protect his "young, bachelor CEO" image-an image he was now building with Emily. The next morning, Emily sabotaged a crucial presentation I' d spent two months perfecting. David, instead of holding her accountable, punished me. He canceled my trip and ordered me to fix "my department's mistake" over the weekend, all while comforting Emily and giving her credit for my work in front of the entire company. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest. Later, I found an elegant Vera Wang box on our bed, a dress I' d dreamed of. My heart leaped, hoping for an apology, a real celebration of our secret marriage. But David nonchalantly explained it was for a client, "to seal a deal." Hours later, I found his phone, a notification for "E's final dress fitting tomorrow" on the screen. The wallpaper was Emily, in my wedding dress, with his chilling caption: "My future Mrs. Chen." The glass shattered in my hand. My entire world shattered with it. The silence in our once-shared home was deafening, the truth a cold, hard slap. This wasn't about business; it was about betrayal, about a life I poured my soul into, stolen and given to someone else. I was ready to vanish, a ghost in my own life. But the rage that simmered beneath my quiet compliance ignited a spark. Now, I wanted something more than to disappear. I wanted justice and I wanted everything back.

Reborn For Vengeance, Not For Love

The sterile scent of the morgue was the last thing I remembered, watching my own lifeless body while my mother sobbed for someone else. My death, labeled a suicide after pushing my foster sister Ashley down the stairs, was a lie. No one cried for me, Chloe Chen; only for Ashley Miller, my mother Sarah' s "precious" foster daughter. My mother's betrayal had been a slow poison: she' d stolen my inheritance, my future, even fabricated a criminal record for my decorated NYPD father to disqualify me from a prestigious government job, all for Ashley. The final blow was discovering the truth in my mother's safe: a secretly altered birth certificate listing Ashley as her biological daughter, and me as erased. The grief consumed me, and my final confrontation ended my life. Lingering as a ghost, I saw Ashley' s faint, triumphant smirk, very much alive, playing the tragic victim. Rage consumed me-a tearing force demanding justice, revenge. Then, the world twisted violently, dissolving into white light, pulling me backward through time. I gasped, sucking in a real breath of warm, lemon-scented air. I was in my childhood bedroom, my phone buzzing with the date: the day my background check for the government job began. I was alive. I was back. This wasn't just a second chance; it was a chance to fight. I heard my mother' s cheerful voice downstairs, cooing over Ashley: "Ashley, darling, come see what I bought you." She presented Ashley with an expensive designer bag, then offered me a cheap knock-off. In my past life, I' d forced a smile, but now, I saw the deliberate cruelty. "No, thank you," I said, my voice clear and firm. My mother' s smile faltered, her face hardening as I called out her insult and Ashley' s fake concern. When I denied Ashley was my sister, her fury erupted, culminating in a violent slap that left me bleeding. Any shred of hope for my mother vanished with that blow. She blamed me for Ashley's feigned injury, demanding an apology. "You hit your own daughter to defend a fraud," I spat, revealing I knew about Ashley' s true parentage, the truth about Jake Miller. Leaving their shattered lies behind, I contacted Officer Thompson, my father' s best friend, to uncover everything about Jake Miller and their scheme. He revealed the horrifying truth: my mother, a victim of human trafficking by Jake Miller at fifteen, had given birth to Ashley and abandoned her, consumed by guilt. Now, that guilt had been weaponized into a calculated criminal conspiracy by Ashley and the recently released Jake Miller. I was done being manipulated. At Ashley' s lavish "victory" party, poised to celebrate her stolen job, I delivered my counter-punch. As the clock struck 8 PM, Ashley' s name was missing from the State Department list. Mine was at the top. Then, the doorbell rang. Two NYPD officers, with David Thompson, delivered the crushing blows: my mother was arrested for fraud and bribery. Ashley' s meltdown began. I silenced my condemning relatives, exposing my mother' s hypocrisy and her scheme to slander my father and erase me. On the living room TV, I projected the forged birth certificates, revealing Sarah' s deceit and Ashley' s true parentage: the daughter of a human trafficker. "This is my father' s house," I told a stunned Ashley, opening the door. "Get out." She retorted with a threat: "My father will hear about this." Knowing Jake Miller' s greed, I set a trap, luring him into a confession that led to his re-arrest. I sent Ashley a photo of her father in handcuffs. I never heard from them again. The past was behind me. I was Chloe Chen, no longer a victim, but finally free.

The Cursed Heiress: Now I'm Their Billionaire Nightmare

Nadine reunited with her family, convinced she'd been discarded, rage simmering-only to find collapse: her mother unstable, her father poisoned; a pianist brother trapped in a sham marriage, a detective brother framed and jailed, the youngest dragged into a gang. While the fake daughter mocked and colluded, Nadine moved in secret-healing her mother, curing her father, ending the union, clearing charges, and lifting the youngest to leader. Rumors said she rode coattails, unworthy of Rhys, the unmatched magnate. Few knew she was a renowned healer, legendary assassin, mysterious tycoon... Rhys knelt. "Marry me! The entire empire is yours for the taking!"

Abandoned Luna: Now Untouchable

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.

Beg For My Love, Cold-Hearted CEO

Since she was ten, Noreen had been by Caiden's side, watching him rise from a young boy into a respected CEO. After two years of marriage, though, his visits home grew rare. Gossip among the wealthy said he despised her. Even his beloved mocked her hopes, and his circle treated her with scorn. People forgot about her decade of loyalty. She clung to memories and became a figure of ridicule, worn out from trying. They thought he'd won his freedom, but he dropped to his knees and begged, "Noreen, you're the only one I love." Leaving behind the divorce papers, she walked away.

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.

HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.