Dabanetcher

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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The bedroom was dimly lit, emanating a depressing aura. Melissa Sherman fell on the floor, clutching her stomach.

The pregnancy caused her discomfort. The stomach cramps were unbearable. Her face was pale as paper. She was drenched in a cold sweat.

Just then, the bedroom door flew open, and a man came into her sight.

Melissa reached out her hand, asking for help. "Honey, help me..."

However, a shiver ran down her spine when she met the man's cold, distant gaze.

"Melissa, is this what you want?" The man's voice dripped with disgust. "You played tricks and made me sleep with you. Do you think that will make me fall in love with you?"

Melissa and Everett Mayfield were engaged since childhood. Eventually, the two got married under their parents' arrangement. However, Everett didn't like her.

They were married for three years, but everyone knew her husband had no feelings for her, and she was just the nominal Mrs. Mayfield—nothing more than that. Therefore, everyone ridiculed her for three years.

Two months ago, the Mayfield Group held a banquet, and Melissa attended it as Everett's wife. Unexpectedly, she and Everett had sex that night.

Regardless of how much she explained, Everett thought it was her plot.

Melissa frantically shook her head. "No, it wasn't me. I was drunk that day. I don't know what happened... Please trust me..."

Melissa felt a piercing pain in her stomach. She stretched out her hand and held Everett's trousers in desperation. "My stomach hurts. Can you please take me to the hospital?"

"God, are you still acting?"

Everett's face turned grim when he heard the word "hospital". "Do you think you can get away with pushing Arielle downstairs and causing her miscarriage by pretending this way?"

His words were like a bolt from the blue. Melissa's eyes widened in horror.

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