Misfortunate

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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In a large, dark room of a five-star hotel, the curtain was firmly closed. Dirty dishes were scattered on the table. Red wine had spilled over the floor, which had totally soaked the carpet. In the dim light, two figures could be seen on the messy bed. The woman dug her fingers into the man's hair and gave in to his power. She completely lost herself to sexual pleasure as her body shook with desire.

She had been looking forward to this moment for a long time. How could she easily let him go this time? Her charming body rippled. She tried her best to follow him and wanted to keep him.

The man tightly hugged the woman, and they tossed around on the bed for hours. It appeared that he was also beginning to sink into the moment. Either that or he was drunk now and didn't know who she was, and so it no longer mattered to him.

The noises that could be heard from outside the room were unbearably painful for the listener.

Sarah sat on the sofa outside. She could clearly hear the sound from the room even without looking towards it. The door was open, so she could see them from the mirror on the opposite wall.

Her heart was broken. The man inside was her boss, and she loved him dearly. The woman inside the room was his mistress. She couldn't say anything about what they did in the hotel because she was just a secretary, inferior to a mistress. Why did he show it to her? Why? He clearly knew she loved him.

Sarah grasped the sofa tightly and dug her fingernails into the leather. Despite how sharp the pain was that now coursed through her fingers, it failed to distract her from the deeper pain in her heart.

Finally, the alarm clock on the coffee table rang; it had been requested by Charles. He needed to leave the hotel at three o'clock because he had an important meeting in half an hour. As his secretary, Sarah, must remind him. Even if he had a private rendezvous with his mistress, Sarah had to follow him. She couldn't understand why he wanted her to see that scene. Even if he didn't love her, he could at least consider her feelings, Sarah thought to herself.

Sarah held back her tears, but it was futile. She quickly wiped her tears away, tidied herself up, and plucked up the courage to walk into their room.

She dared not even look at them. She just knocked on the door and politely announced, "Sir, it's three o'clock. We need to be going back to the company."

It seemed that they were both satisfied. Thomas Charles was lying on the bed and smoking. His chiseled face could be clearly seen in the dim light. He was so handsome and perfect, particularly when smoking. His messy hair also made him even sexier.

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