Married To A Five-Year Deception

The White Wolf's Pregnant Mate, Marked For A Second Chance

The Healer told me I was finally pregnant. After two years of doubt, I was carrying the heir to the Blackstone Pack. This pup was supposed to be the key to our future, solidifying my place as the Alpha's Luna. But just as the joy set in, a Mind-Link from my best friend shattered my world. It was an image of my mate, Damien, pressing another woman against a wall, his mouth devouring hers. When I confronted him, he dismissed it as "blowing off steam," blaming the pressure of needing an heir. But the real blow came when I overheard his mother praising his mistress, Seraphina. She was six months pregnant with what they called a "true Blackstone heir." While I, his fated mate, was just an "empty shell." Fifteen years of love and loyalty, all for nothing. The business empire I built for our pack was just a tool. Our pup, the miracle I was cherishing, was worthless to them. I was just a political necessity with a weak bloodline, waiting to be replaced. That night, at the Full Moon Celebration, I was supposed to announce my pregnancy and beg for their acceptance. Instead, I walked onto the stage, looked Damien in the eye, and spoke the ancient words of severance. Then, I opened a private channel to the one man who could help me burn it all to the ground. "Kaelan," I sent. "I agree to your plan."

The Tycoon's Daughter: A Bitter Inheritance

My mother' s hand, fragile as a bird' s wing, tightened around mine. For eighteen years, she' d sacrificed everything, her hands chapped and sore from cleaning houses, all so I could go to Northwood University. But with her dying breath, she whispered a secret that shattered my world: "Your father… Richard Thompson." Richard Thompson. The tech mogul whose face graced magazine covers. My father. It was impossible. A fever dream. "He has to matter now," she rasped, revealing a promise he' d made to care for me. The last thing she said before the flatlining monitor screamed her final moments was, "He will hate it. He will hate you. But he will do it. Make him keep his promise." I walked out of that hospital an orphan, holding a crumpled number that was both lifeline and curse. When the sleek black car pulled up to my crumbling apartment, I knew my life was over-and just beginning. My new home felt like a museum, or a very expensive prison. My half-siblings, Emily and Ben Thompson, greeted me with icy disdain. "Stay in your lane," Ben sneered, "The one you came from." I was a ghost in their pristine mansion, eating alone, walking on tiptoes, a cheap paperback thrown in the trash when I dared leave a trace. Then came the university lecture, taught in French, which I couldn't understand. My scholarship, my mother' s sacrifice, felt meaningless. Just as panic swelled, Ben, still with closed eyes, slid his tablet onto my desk. Real-time translation, a silent lifeline, an unexpected act of protection. "Don' t fall behind. It' s embarrassing," he grunted. And then Jessica, the girl I thought was a friend, outed me in the cafeteria. "So you' re the tech mogul' s bastard daughter," she announced, her voice dripping with venom. She mocked my mother, sneered at my attempts to belong, and shoved me, my lunch tray clattering to the floor. I saw red. Something inside me snapped. I lunged, my fist connecting with her nose. Blood, screams, chaos. Expulsion loomed. But my father didn' t come. He sent his assistant, who bought off Jessica' s family with a briefcase full of cash. Another message: I was worthless, easily bought, and completely alone. The bullying escalated. Vandalized lockers, spilled books, tripping hazards. No one would sit with me. I ate lunch in a bathroom stall, enduring it all in silence. Until one afternoon, in a deserted alley, Jessica and her friends cornered me. "No one' s here to save you now," she gloated, "Your rich daddy doesn' t care, and your fake siblings hate you." Just as the football players moved in, a black Audron screeched around the corner. Ben and Emily emerged, their faces cold and menacing. Ben punched a football player, breaking his nose. Emily slammed Jessica' s head against a brick wall, dragging her whimpering form before me. "You touched our sister," Emily' s voice was dangerously quiet. "She is a Thompson. Now you know the rule." Back at the mansion, in the aftermath, Ben explained their silent contempt. "We hate you, but you' re our problem. And we don' t let anyone else mess with our problems." Then, in the sterile bathroom, with Emily bandaging my cuts, they revealed their mother' s tragic death, her art destroyed by Richard. And how their own dreams had been crushed by his iron will. My gift, the glass butterfly, had not been an offering. It had been a ghost. My tears, long held back, finally fell. "He' s trying to break you," I whispered to Ben in the cold, dark basement where Richard had imprisoned us. "He wants obedient successors," Ben replied, recounting his dreams of game development, his mother' s art, all crushed by Richard' s ambition. "I hate him," Ben confessed, his voice raw. "Me too," I whispered back, a cold, hard rage solidifying within me. Then, Emily' s studio, a vibrant space of creation, was a scene of methodical, vicious destruction. Her hands, tools of her trade, wrapped in bandages, tendons severed. "He cut her," Maria, the maid, sobbed. "She will never… sew again." My fear burned away, replaced by a cold, clarifying rage. "You' re the only one he can' t break," Emily said, her empty eyes burning with desperate intensity. "You have to be our shield, Sarah. You have to be our weapon. Get strong. Get smart. You have to be the one to break him." "Okay," I said, my voice steady and clear. "I will."

Her Betrayal, His New Horizon

"I need you to be understanding, Ethan." Chloe' s voice barely registered as she packed, her thumb flying across her phone screen. My girlfriend of three years, who I' d poured my heart and soul, and every penny I earned, into building her company, was leaving. Not for a business trip, but for her ex-boyfriend, Jake. His father had just passed away, and apparently, only Chloe truly understood him. "He needs me," she' d said, as if that explained everything. I sat on the edge of our shared bed, the words like a physical blow. Then came the kicker. "And my dad," she continued, "You know his health is fragile. He needs to see that I'm with a man who is supportive and understanding." This wasn' t just about Jake' s grief; it was a twisted test for me to prove my worth by financing her emotional affair. My money was good enough for her father' s exorbitant medical bills, my time good enough to build her empire, but my feelings? An inconvenience to be suppressed. A cold clarity settled in my gut: it was over. She didn't even say thank you when I handed her all the cash I had and the keys to my car-the car she demanded, along with money for Jake' s "funeral expenses." "I knew you'd understand," she' d said, just before walking out the door, leaving me in the sudden silence of the apartment I paid for, heading to comfort another man. The second the door clicked shut, I moved. Not with anger or hurt, but with a cold, clear purpose. I packed my work, my clothes, everything I owned-leaving behind every trace of her. Then, I canceled every payment to her and her demanding father. "It' s over, Chloe. Don' t come back to the apartment. You are on your own." I blocked her number, her social media. I felt only profound relief. For the first time in a long time, my future was mine.

The Billionaire's Calculated Comeback

The harsh fluorescent lights of the ER flickered over Sylvia' s pale face, her party dress torn, mascara smudged. She was my vibrant, wild fiancée-to-be, now fragile and broken from a "roofie" incident. I knelt at her gurney, proposing in that sterile room, promising to be her anchor, to always keep her safe. My life as a simple craft brewery manager felt real with her, far from the corporate schemes of my wealthy family. But the night before our engagement party, rushing to find her, I found her apartment door slightly ajar. Then I heard it: "Wasn't the fake roofie stunt enough? This isn't fair to Caleb!" and her callous response, "Caleb's just too... vanilla. I have needs." The 'roofie'-a performance. My devotion, my comfort, my entire world built on her calculated lie for "content." The woman I loved, mocked me, played me for a fool, shamelessly indulging in an illicit party with her sleazy manager. Every word of sincerity, every act of tenderness I gave her, was met with cold, manipulative mockery. How could the woman I was ready to marry be so utterly fake, so greedily hollow, so ruthlessly cruel? My world collapsed, but in the ruins, a new, chilling clarity emerged. I pulled out my phone, scrolled past her name, and dialed a number I hadn't touched in a year. "Dad. About that merger... I'm in." She thought she was playing games with a vanilla brewery manager. She had no idea she was messing with Caleb Wright, the heir to Wright Oil. The game was far from over. It had just begun.

The Wife Who Walked Away

For thirty years, I lovingly maintained our family home, a legacy from my parents. Now, in my late fifties, a promise resonated: the Italy trip my husband, David, made me under wedding fireworks. When I finally brought up that cherished dream, he scoffed, "Too old for that." Days later, on his laptop, I saw it: five plane tickets to Rome and Florence. For David, our son Mike, his wife Jessica, our grandson Leo. And my sister, Emily. Not for me. My dream trip, his very promise, was given to everyone else—especially Emily, whom David openly admired. This wasn't an oversight; it was a deliberate, casual cruelty. I drove them to the airport, listening to their excited chatter. At the curb, David publicly humiliated me over a "lost" passport, grabbing my arm. Even after it was found, he didn't apologize. They just rushed to the gate, leaving me alone. No one looked back. The humiliation burned, hotter than anything before. My family, my entire life, simply walked away, discarding me. Thirty years of giving, of being taken for granted, culminated in this brutal moment. This was my reward. I watched them disappear, then turned and walked out of the airport for good. I drove straight to a real estate agent, listing the house—my house, inherited and solely in my name. Then, I booked my own one-way ticket: Paris, France. My flight was in three days, the same day they were due in Rome. My old life was over.

Love Charm: A Runaway Bride

The rune manipulating skill was such an honor that it shouldn't be taken lightly. This incredible power honored her family for a century but at a greater price. Her grandfather had no choice but to disguise her as a man named Albert. It was the only way to protect the power she was born to yield. However, it was futile in the end. Murdered in cold blood, and by her sister no less. It still wasn't over though. She had reached the zenith of rune manipulation and achieved immortality. Reborn in a new body, it was time to avenge herself.

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.

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!"

Heartbreak Billionaire: He Should Never Have Let Go

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

My Alpha's Heartless Contract Wife

"Anya, a 'wolfless' in a world of powerful werewolves, was invisible, drowning her sorrows and desperately lonely. One drunken text, a desperate cry for attention, accidentally reached the Alpha, pulling her into his terrifying orbit. Now, she's trapped, a pawn in his game, forced to warm his bed while he waits for his true mate, her heart breaking with every stolen moment. As a 'wolfless' in the Blackwood Pack, Anya felt like an outsider, always yearning for a connection. One night, in a drunken haze, a misdirected text meant for her best friend landed in Alpha Declan Blackwood's inbox: ""Send me something hot."" Minutes later, the most powerful, terrifying man in the Pack stood at her door, claiming her with a possessive kiss that ignited a dangerous, unwanted fire. The next morning, his cold indifference shattered her world. Publicly humiliated and instantly fired, Anya became a pariah. Her dying mother's urgent need for a million-dollar heart transplant left her with an impossible choice: accept the Alpha's cold, transactional marriage proposal or watch her mother die. She became his ""placeholder"" wife, a contract, not a partner, all while battling a confusing attraction to the man who treated her as property. Why did he demand her, only to remind her constantly of her worthlessness, especially when everyone knew he waited for his true mate? Her world crumbled when she overheard Declan tell his returning ""true mate,"" Kristin Larsen, that Anya was ""just a substitute."" Despite the crushing betrayal and a strange, unyielding pull, Anya, fueled by her mother's desperate need, vowed to survive this gilded cage and reclaim her life before she lost herself completely."

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.

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.