HONEY MULLINS

On the first anniversary of our reconciliation, I thought my tech mogul husband and I had finally turned a corner. Then I discovered our entire marriage was a spectator sport. It was a cruel, year-long revenge game orchestrated by him and his lover, and I was the punchline. For their amusement, I was poisoned with food contaminated with dog feces, publicly humiliated with a twenty-million-dollar auction scam, and beaten until my ribs broke by his family's private security. I endured it all, playing the part of the clueless, loving wife while they laughed about it in a group chat called "The Jillian Andrews Comedy Hour." But their grand finale was a step too far. I overheard him calmly planning to leave me to die in a remote cabin during a blizzard, a "tragic accident" that would finally set him free to be with his mistress. He thought he was writing the final chapter of my life. He didn't know I was about to use his murder plot as my own perfect escape. I faked my death, vanished into thin air, and left him to explain to the world how his beloved wife disappeared off the face of the earth.

I was the perfect political wife, the brilliant strategist behind my husband Hamilton' s mayoral campaign. Our life was a masterpiece of ambition and domestic bliss. Then, a single message on his laptop shattered it all: a hotel key card, a winking devil emoji, and a note about their next "policy discussion." My first thought was our rebellious daughter, Bryanna. But the truth was far worse. The affair was with a young staffer, Kalie. And Bryanna wasn't a victim; she was an accomplice. I overheard her telling Hamilton that Kalie "gets him" and that I was just a "drama queen." She was covering for them, idolizing the woman destroying our family. My own daughter saw me as an obstacle, a burden. She and my husband were in on the lie together, laughing at me behind my back. They thought I was a fool. They were wrong. They broke the wife, but they unleashed the strategist. On election eve, in front of the entire city and live television cameras, I decided I would introduce the world to the real Hamilton Fields.

For three years, I played the part of a simple housewife for my husband, Cedric. I buried my true self-Eleanor Curry, heiress to a massive security firm-to be the quiet wife he claimed to love. Then a chemical plant exploded. In the chaos, Cedric shielded his teammate, Cassidy, and left me behind in a collapsing building. "Forget her," I heard him tell his men. "She' s useless. A dead weight." I survived, only for him to force me, while I was injured and feverish, to donate blood to Cassidy for her "severe" injuries. But then I overheard them laughing in the next room. Her injuries were a lie. It was all a "little lesson," he said, to teach me my place. As my own wound reopened and bled through my gown, I reached for the hidden device in my bag. "Falcon reporting." A gravelly voice answered instantly. "Welcome home, little bird. We've been waiting."

For five years, I worked three jobs to support my husband's dream. I poured my inheritance into his "debt" and believed we were building a life together. Today, I saw him on the news. My "struggling" husband, Jordan, is a billionaire heir, and our marriage was his five-year "Bootstrap Challenge." His real fiancée, Isabell, stood beside him. When I got home, our five-year-old son, Leo, looked at me with cold eyes. "You failed the test, Diana," he said flatly. "Daddy says you have a scarcity mindset." Then came the final call from Jordan. Leo wasn't mine. He was his and Isabell's child, and I was just a "socialization caregiver." My accounts were frozen. I was left with nothing. But they forgot about my father's last gift. An old laptop with an unchangeable blockchain ledger app, holding the immutable record of every hour I worked and every dollar I gave them. They called me an asset. Now, I'm coming to collect.

I was New Orleans' Golden Boy. My architectural firm thrived, and I was married to the charming Izzy. We were expecting our first child, a dream come true. My mother, Eleanor, and Izzy were my biggest cheerleaders, always at my side. Then, on the day of my biggest career presentation, they vanished. My calls went to voicemail. Rushing home, I found an anonymous video: my mother, Eleanor, marrying Richard Thorne-the man who ruined my father. Beside them, Marcus Thorne, his son, holding my pregnant wife, Izzy. "How will you explain whose child it is? After that sham ceremony with Ethan?" Izzy's voice, sweet as poison. My baby wasn't mine. My marriage, a fraud. My dream crumbled. My name was dragged through the mud. While my firm collapsed, Izzy sobbed on TV, portraying me as unhinged. My bank accounts were frozen. Alone, broken, my father's cherished watch shattered by Marcus, every moment felt like a twisting knife. Even the media turned on me, calling me "the crazy one." How could they? My own mother. My wife. The life I' d built, a meticulously crafted lie. I was cornered, stripped of everything, facing public humiliation. The betrayal was absolute, the pain, agonizing. Was this truly the end? Just as darkness threatened, a lifeline emerged. A mysterious text from Ava Chen, a reclusive tech billionaire. Then, she appeared, like a force of nature, stepping into the clinic where I lay beaten and accused. "Mr. Ethan Moreau," she declared, silencing the room, "is the esteemed future partner of Ms. Ava Chen. We will be escorting him." My fight wasn't over. It had just begun.

The noose bit my neck. My mission, set by a mysterious 'System' to save my dying real-life self, was to win 'absolute devotion' from four men. I'd failed. Framed by Seraphina Bellweather, the 'heroine,' my ex-boyfriend, mentor, brother, and childhood friend had all publicly abandoned me, branding me a manipulating pariah. Four years of hell followed, my attempts at escape through death repeatedly thwarted. Then came the chilling truth: fail here, and my real body would die, fueling Seraphina' s power. Imprisoned in her brutal 'wellness center,' her torturous 'treatments' slowly broke me. My heart burned with injustice. How could these men, once my world, so easily condemn me, blind to the manipulative monster orchestrating my downfall? Was I doomed to perish, or could I reclaim my fate? I refused to be her sacrifice. When they visited, seeing me as 'unstable,' I seized my chance. With a silent, deadly strike, I exposed Seraphina' s true nature and delivered a fatal blow. As they grappled with their guilt and betrayal, begging me to stay, I took my final leap-claiming my freedom, and sealing their 'absolute devotion' in death.

Alline married into the Mo Family, benefitting both families' business aspirations. Yet, her groom didn’t even show up for the wedding, and she had to face all the guests’ mockery alone. She had never even met her newly-wedded husband and only knew him from rumors: Mr. Hiram’s legs were disabled, and he was known as an inhumane and capricious man. But who was this man who hugged her every night? And who spoke cold indifferences in her ear? "Alline, you ruined my life! Let's go to hell together!" A terrifying secret lay concealed within the Mo Family. In the end, she chose to break away, hoping to escape from him, but she did not know that waiting for her was an even greater disaster.

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins-a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. "It's time to reveal your true identity, darling."

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.

Betrayed by her fiancé and stepsister a day before her wedding shattered all Lina's dreams about love. She was heartbroken and in pain. Being drugged and unknowingly loosing her virginity to a stranger is not as painful as being betrayed by her loved ones. She promised to make her pretentious step sister and her unfaithful fiancé pay back hundredfold for what they did to her. On her journey to seek revenge, the stranger she had a one night stand with, came knocking at her door with a marriage contract in hand. Without her knowing he was the one she has that blissful one night stand with, she agreed on the marriage contract for some reasons. Will she find out he was the one she had that blissful one night stand with? Will she fall in love with him after being betrayed? Will she be able to get her revenge on those that betrayed her? Find out in this amazing book "Contracted After Being Betrayed"

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune. For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me." He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster. He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous. The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built.