The Abstract Of Her
/1/127579/coverbig.jpg?v=2ea34f2e2c2f3053a637d5acfe2fbf25)
His Unwanted Wife, The Hidden Genius
I flew back to New York on my twenty-fifth birthday, carrying vintage gold cufflinks I spent weeks finding for my billionaire husband, Declan. But when I walked into our townhouse, I found him throwing a massive victory party with Sloane, a glamorous socialite, standing by his side as the proud hostess. "Don't cause a scene. Go upstairs." Declan coldly dismissed me in front of his guests. Even Poppy, the rookie player whose shattered ankle I had painstakingly rebuilt, rolled her eyes and ignored me to suck up to Sloane. Hiding in the shadows, I heard the maids gossiping that everyone thought Sloane was the future Mrs. Hartford. To make matters worse, I discovered Sloane had stolen my anonymous, groundbreaking medical algorithm and was planning to present it as her own. First my husband, then the girl I mentored like family, and now the scientific foundation I had built with my own hands. Declan even texted me to cancel our birthday breakfast without a single apology, treating me like an annoying afterthought. My tears vanished, replaced by a freezing clarity. I signed the divorce papers, leaving them on his desk with zero demands for his money. Then I packed my bags, booked a one-way ticket to Boston, and prepared to destroy them on the global stage.
Chapter 1
Aurelia Vance POV:
I had been married to Declan Hartford for three years.
Today was my twenty-fifth birthday, and I had flown back from Boston in secret, hoping for one quiet evening with my husband.
I'd spent a week carefully picking out a pair of gold cufflinks as a gift for my husband.
But the laughter spilling from the front door told me I was already too late: the woman who had taken my place at his side was already inside.
The heavy oak door swung open before I reached the porch. Three young players from the New York Titans, Declan's NHL franchise, stumbled out with crystal tumblers of scotch, laughing loudly. They barely glanced at me as they passed.
I stepped into the grand foyer. The heat hit me instantly,expensive champagne, roasted tenderloin, cigar smoke.
Dozens of people filled the double parlor: executives, scouts, wives in designer dresses.
In the center stood Declan, tall and broad in a bespoke charcoal suit. Beside him, laughing into his ear, was Sloane Whitfield, her backless silver dress catching the chandelier light. Her hand rested on his forearm like she belonged there.
Before I could take another breath, a blur of blonde hair darted past my elbow.
"Sloane!" Poppy Delacroix cried, throwing her arms around Sloane's slender waist. "You were completely right about the catering! This is literally the best victory party the team has ever had!"
Poppy is fourteen, a junior elite forward prospect.
I scouted her two years ago from a crumbling youth league, back when she was at her lowest.
Her parents had once shown me great kindness, and I knew they had already passed away, leaving her all alone in the world.
Declan and I adopted her together.
I rebuilt her shattered ankle with a custom rehabilitation plan.
I had always loved and cared for her as both a mother and a sister.
Now, she did not even glance in my direction.
Declan turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd until his eyes locked onto mine. The easy grin on his sharp jaw vanished instantly. His brows drew together in a hard, irritated line.
He excused himself from Sloane, cutting through the throng of players with long, impatient strides.
"Aurelia," Declan said, stopping two feet in front of me. His voice carried zero warmth. "What are you doing here?"
My throat felt like sandpaper.
"I took the four o'clock flight from Boston," I whispered, clutching the strap of my bag until my knuckles turned white. "It is my birthday, Declan. I thought we could—"
"We are celebrating the division win," he cut in, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. "The board is here. The sponsors are here. Sloane spent four consecutive days coordinating this event so the organization could project stability."
He did not look at me. His gaze slid past my shoulder to the bar, like I was a waitress who had wandered into the wrong room.
"Don't cause a scene," he added quietly. "Go upstairs."
A soft, mocking murmur rippled through a cluster of players' wives standing near the grand staircase. Two women with platinum blowouts exchanged knowing glances over their flutes of Dom Pérignon.
"I didn't know," I said, my voice barely audible over the swelling music. "I am sorry."
I turned toward the staircase, my legs trembling beneath my wool trousers.
Near the landing, Poppy was adjusting her designer jacket in the hallway mirror.
"Poppy," I said softly, pausing beside her. "How is your ankle feeling after Thursday's third period? Did you complete the isometric sequence I sent?"
Poppy rolled her eyes, sighing loudly as she pulled out her phone.
"Aurelia, please, not right now," she muttered without looking at me. "Sloane is introducing me to a marketing director from one of our partners. I don't have time for your spreadsheets."
The dismissive edge in her voice hit me harder than Declan's coldness. I had stayed up until three in the morning reviewing her biomechanical scans while she was recovering from surgery, and now I was just an annoyance in the way of her social ascent.
I walked up the rest of the stairs and entered the primary suite—the massive, sterile bedroom allocated to me under our prenuptial agreement.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled out the velvet box. The gold cufflinks gleamed under the bedside lamp, cold and useless.
Downstairs, cheers erupted. The sound vibrated through the floorboards.
I walked to the French doors overlooking the rear garden. Down on the illuminated patio, Sloane was directing two servers by an ice sculpture. Declan stood beside her, his head bent down as he listened to her speak, his hand casually brushing the small of her back.
They looked like the couple the city expected them to be.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out, hoping against hope.
It was an email notification.
"Happy Birthday, Aurelia. Remember that true science requires patience and solitude. You are meant for greater arenas than New York boardrooms. -Dr. Edmund Sterling."
My mentor at Harvard was the only person in the world who had remembered.
I typed a brief "Thank you, Professor" and shut off the screen.
Hours passed. The bass eventually quieted, replaced by the occasional clatter of glassware and slamming car doors. My throat burned with thirst.
At two in the morning, I padded downstairs in my stocking feet to fetch a glass of water from the butler's pantry.
As I rounded the corner near the service hallway, the voices of two newly hired catering maids stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Miss Whitfield is stunning," the first girl whispered, scraping dessert plates into a bin. "Mr. Hartford's girlfriend carries herself like royalty."
"A girlfriend?" the other asked, pausing. "But isn't Mr. Hartford rumored to be married? Is it inappropriate to be this close with Whitfield?"
"Married?Where did that come from? Even if there was one, they must have split long ago. I've worked three events here this month, and Miss Whitfield is the only woman hosting by his side. Everyone knows she's the future Mrs. Hartford."
I shrank back into the cold shadow of the archway, my blood turning to ice.
In the home where I held a legal marriage certificate, my presence had already been wiped clean.
/0/24535/coverbig.jpg?v=470c97362c8e11a19eef3604aa67ca64)
The Impact of Her
Robert was the Prince of the Kingdom of Western Wind. And he had everything. The crown. The adoration of the people. The utmost respect of noblemen inside and out of their borders. But amidst all the riches and privileges given to him by birth, Robert was unhappy with his life. Shackled to an arr
/0/2487/coverbig.jpg?v=866535e8150181f2bb886b71afc2088c)
/0/84536/coverbig.jpg?v=bcce18ff4b066233e426da4c13cb367b)
The Price of Her Fame
For seven years, I poured every ounce of my being-my savings, my career, my very essence-into Olivia Reed' s music career. I was the silent force behind her rise, the architect of her dream, believing her success was ours. Then, at her album launch, the night she finally made it, she publicly decla
/0/84118/coverbig.jpg?v=55815989d38c2492d85a66d6af5de218)
The Ghost Of Her Past
The last thing I remembered was a crushing weight in my chest, and the impossibly cruel words about my son not being mine. Then, everything went black. I thought I was dead, a broken man on my own lawn, betrayed by the wife I' d mourned for a decade. But I opened my eyes to the scent of lilies an
/0/82619/coverbig.jpg?v=bacdd52029ba7180a0b243ce10f29014)
The Price of Her Obsession
Ethan Cole, heir to a formidable dynasty, was hopelessly infatuated with Seraphina Vance. When a devastating explosion nearly claimed her life, he defied all odds, secretly risking his own to fund a clandestine rescue, even letting another man claim his heroic sacrifice. But that man, his security
/0/85452/coverbig.jpg?v=d59070a842b054ed0e121a317520adf3)
The Scars Of Her Disdain
The hospital air, cold and sterile, usually a familiar hum, felt wrong that day. My sister, Lily, lay broken and small in that bed, her artist' s hands swollen and bandaged, a machine breathing for her. Someone had done this. The doctor' s words-"blunt force trauma," "critical condition"-blurred i
/0/85869/coverbig.jpg?v=8e7797a4ce6fcaed55b0cd76308dfae5)
The Price of Her Indifference
"Mommy." That single word, uttered by my five-year-old daughter, Lily, should have been a moment of pure joy. Instead, it detonated the fragile peace I' d clung to for five years, ever since Lily' s mother, Sophia, abandoned us to chase after her ex. Sophia froze, her plastered-on smile for her ne
/0/67717/coverbig.jpg?v=20250123155911)
The price of her heart
The Price of Her Heart Avery Monroe, a talented yet struggling artist, has always dreamed of making a name for herself in the world of art. Despite her dedication, her paintings have never gained the recognition they deserve. Faced with mounting debts and the responsibility of caring for her sick m
/0/18623/coverbig.jpg?v=3450a60433e05136701430e344ca57c1)
Ex-wife's Temptation
Anne followed a certain contract: she would get married to Kevin and give birth to his child by the end of the year. Otherwise, she would lose it all. However, it was easier said than done. Faced with humiliation day by day, she had run out of patience. This time, she didn't want to give in. On
/0/80879/coverbig.jpg?v=3df558bc0eadeed22c8a183980b188ca)
Her Crown of Thorns
Zara, a twenty-year-old struggling to make ends meet with two demanding jobs in the city's underbelly, finds solace in a secret sketchbook filled with bold fashion designs. Despite her meager circumstances, her imagination runs wild with dreams of luxury and creativity. That is, until she meets Etha
/0/78441/coverbig.jpg?v=24aa9133563f41581192e1f5c4108c8b)
Echoes of her kiss
A quiet, brooding seaside town-out of season, filled with gray skies, the scent of salt, and crashing waves. A distant lighthouse watches like a sentry over secrets buried in time. Juliet Johnson returns after eight years-now a solitary, reclusive artist-summoned by a letter from her brother, Jone
/0/67548/coverbig.jpg?v=f853d9adeae1c192af68fc46dffd943d)
Bane Of Her Existence
One thing Danielle Frost swore with her life was that she would surely make Jacob Miller pay. After fifteen years of unrequited love, Danielle is humiliated in a grand way by Jake and this scars her for life. Three years later, Danielle and Jacob are forced to work together or face their worst fears
/1/104056/coverbig.jpg?v=c4f8a3fa64432f6a2e365f4bdf146e3b)
Her Men Of Ruin
"I'm going to have to f^ck you if you keep this up," he growls. "I'll bend you over and bury my c0ck deep in your needy little pu$$y." Heaven moans. His words only fuel the fire inside her, and the knowledge of her turning him on makes her rock faster, arching her back more until her cl!t drags hard
/0/83897/coverbig.jpg?v=7215f5eec55b69b0d7df89e70e7a17da)
The Architect of Her Own Ruin
Matthew Scott, my fiancé and business partner, looked at me with that serious expression I used to find charming. He told me our architecture firm, our shared dream, was on the verge of bankruptcy. I didn't hesitate when he asked me to invest every dollar of my life savings – the down payment for
/1/132977/coverbig.jpg?v=2d08bdc4cf5713bd4e791ad9b841a71b)
Thorns Of Her Reborn
They took her baby, burned her home, left her for the dead. They never thought she would come back. Five years ago, Lyra Vance was a quiet gardener in the mountains. Then she made one mistake. She saved a bleeding stranger who was running from hitmen and hid him in her home. She trusted him. She did
/0/50718/coverbig.jpg?v=23c183a997e9bc55df120f06d0f83c98)
Another side of her
How far is she willing to go to get her twin back in her life? London couldn't answer this question if her life depended on it. The limits to what she's willing to do for her twin doesn't exist. Pretending to be her sister for a dinner party? No big deal. That is, until she finds herself in the ver
/0/84059/coverbig.jpg?v=034d17b701e4667e4cebbcd9ebcb5b74)
The Architect of Her Own Demise
"Gabrielle? Are you awake?" The whisper cut through the dark, the same saccharine sweetness that had once chilled me to the bone. My eyes snapped open, a breath catching in my throat. I wasn't in the cramped, lonely apartment where I'd taken my own life. I was back in my Boston University dorm, sop
/0/18366/coverbig.jpg?v=8a30b42e3c99c372d843f7db057d24d6)
Rebirth of Martial God
Traversing back to the ancient Prime Martial World from modern age, Austin finds himself in a younger body as he wakes up. Yet, the young man he possesses was a miserable dimwit, what a bummer! But it doesn’t matter as his mind is sound and clear. Possessing this younger and stronger body, h
/0/86856/coverbig.jpg?v=c26dd155170dfbde0a0e8060f318726a)
The Unseen Scars of Her Lies
My passport was in my hand, my bag zipped, when my girlfriend, Sophia, walked in, fresh from a trip with another man. "What are you doing, Ethan?" she asked, her voice airy as she flaunted a high-end jewelry bag. She still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. But when I told her I was leaving her
