STIGMA

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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Running through the empty halls， I race against the clock to reach my classroom on time. Stupid alarm clock...it was the sixth clock this month I“d unknowingly smashed to bits this month alone. Mum keeps on saying I pushed it off of the nightstand but I don“t see how it melted into a liquid this morning.

Turning the dial on my locker， quickly getting frustrated when the door won“t open， I stand back and run my shoulder into the rusty door. The door creaks open， rubbing my shoulder， I put in my jacket， my school bag and take out my things.

Slamming the door shut， I run to the second level for my first lesson， Chemistry with Mr Banks. I round the corner rushing to the last classroom down the hall. Not looking where I“m going， I slam head first into a wall and I fly back a few meters， groaning， I feel my cheeks heat up.

"Hey!" A deep enchanting male voice murmurs from above me."You alright?"

Warm hazelnut brown eyes that are shining in excitement stare down at me， bulging muscles straining against his thin black T-shirt， a long-fingered hand stretched out towards me.

Taking it， I feel a jolt of electricity go down my spine spreading a warmness through me as it travels leaving little tingles in its wake.

"Oh!" I gasp as he pulls me to my feet， my small， 5 foot 4 frame against his probably 6 foot 2 body. My breasts pressed against his muscular chest， my cheeks heat up at this realisation. "Sorry."

"It“s alright，" he mutters， the excitement in his eyes fading replaced by a coldness.

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