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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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On a quiet, summer night in Wragos, Rosalynn Fuller sat on the sofa in her home, browsing through some news on her phone.

"Brian Hughes, CEO of Hughes Group, attended a social event with the famous actress, Eleanor Hilton. They later retired to a hotel and spent the night together. Intimate pictures of the two have been captured..."

This particular article was among the trending topics online, and it spread all over the Internet like wildfire.

Rosalynn pushed her black-framed glasses against the bridge of her nose and peered at the photos published with the article, her face devoid of any expression.

The pictures were blurry, but one could make out the silhouette of a man and a woman kissing by the window.

This man, Brian Hughes, was none other than her husband, and the heir to the wealthiest and most influential family in the city.

He was a powerful man who had control over the economic lifeline of the entire city.

As ridiculous as it would sound to most people, Brian had never set foot in their home since they got married two years ago.

In fact, he hadn't even shown up when their marriage was registered.

Instead, he had sent his lawyer to represent him, completing the entire process by proxy.

Rosalynn was aware from the start that Brian was against their union.

The only reason he had relented was because of his grandmother, Debora Hughes.

By some twist of fate, Rosalynn's grandfather had once saved Debora. When she expressed her desire to repay him for the favor, he had boldly requested her grandson to marry his granddaughter in hopes of giving her a comfortable and carefree life.

At first, Rosalynn had harbored some hope for her marriage.

But over the last couple of years, Brian had constantly seen dating various actresses. It was more than enough to disappoint her and shatter her naive illusions.

Rosalynn pursed her lips as she finished reading the article, then she went over to her contact list, searched for Brian's number, and called him.

This was the first time she had ever called Brian.

Soon, the call connected.

"Hello, this is Rosalynn."

"Rosalynn? Which Rosalynn?"

Brian's voice was deep and smooth. Although his tone was unmistakably cold, listening to him was quite a pleasant experience.

His words, however, were another matter entirely. Rosalynn sneered and clenched her fingers tightly around her phone.

He didn't even remember his own wife's name.

"This is your wife. At least on paper, anyway."

"Ah. What do you want?"

Brian's tone became even colder.

"I want a divorce," Rosalynn answered as she jabbed her glasses against her face.