Edward married Sophia to fulfill all righteousness and look good in the eyes of the public. But deep down he hates women and their prejudice.
Edward married Sophia to fulfill all righteousness and look good in the eyes of the public. But deep down he hates women and their prejudice.
The sound of glass clinking against polished wood echoed in the grand study, where Edward Blackwell, with his perfectly tailored suit and cold, calculating eyes, stared out at the sprawling skyline of the city below. The lights twinkled like stars-stars he once thought he was above. In the silence of the room, his fingers traced the rim of the glass, as though searching for something to steady the chaos inside him.
Outside, the world adored him-captivated by the genius of his wealth, the sharpness of his mind, and the effortless charm that poured from his lips. He had the empire, the mansion, and the life that others could only dream of. But at the heart of it all, there was something he couldn't shake: a disgust, a loathing of the people who surrounded him, the ones who held his name in reverence. And, most of all, the woman who slept in the bed beside him each night-Sophia, his wife.
She was beautiful. Brilliant, even. She was everything society had told him to desire. But to Edward, she was nothing more than a delicate ornament-her grace, her smile, her intellect all just parts of a perfect façade he had been forced to construct. His father had arranged this marriage, pushing him into it with an iron fist, demanding he marry Sophia to ensure their family's legacy. "A man like you can't afford to be seen alone," his father had said, his voice devoid of warmth, like a machine running on ancient, inherited rules.
In the early days, Edward had believed the marriage would be simple. He would play the part, maintain the image, and walk away when the time came. But he hadn't counted on the growing irritation-Sophia's soft voice in the morning, her quiet suggestions in meetings, the way she tried to carve out a place for herself in a world that had no intention of letting her in. Every word she spoke to him felt like a challenge to his control, every glance a reminder that she was not just a reflection of his success, but a person with thoughts, ambitions, and desires of her own.
And yet, even now, when he knew the truth-that he had never loved her, that he had married her as a means to an end-he still found himself trapped in the gilded cage of their life together. He couldn't divorce her; not yet. The scandal would be too much, the public too unforgiving. So, he tolerated her, his words cutting sharper with each passing day. But in the stillness of the night, when his thoughts ran unchecked, the true ugliness of his soul surfaced: he despised her.
There was a truth he couldn't deny: Edward Blackwell was a man who had everything, and yet, he was terrified of losing it all.
He remembers how it all started.
Edward stands before his father, a towering figure of authority in the opulent study, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the marble floor. The weight of his father's gaze is suffocating, as if every decision in his life has been mapped out long before his birth. The old man's voice cuts through the air, firm and commanding.
"You will marry Sophia Davenport. It's time for us to secure our legacy," his father demands, the words leaving no room for objection.
Edward's stomach tightens, a flicker of rage crossing his face, but he keeps it hidden behind his cold exterior. He can already feel the pressure to maintain his family's public image and status. His father has never understood him, never cared about his desires. Marriage is nothing more than a business transaction-a way to present the perfect image of a successful, upstanding man.
Edward forces a smile, suppressing the anger building in his chest. "Of course, Father. Whatever you say."
The arranged marriage to Sophia, a woman of grace and beauty, will shield him from the whispers of society. But as he stares at the photograph of her in his hands, he feels nothing but disdain. She's just another piece of the puzzle in his carefully crafted life. He wonders if she even knows how hollow it all feels.
He recalls how they met and immediately regrets accepting his father's decision because left for him he wouldn't even think of marriage but it was for the best so he thought.
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."
For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"
Lyric had spent her life being hated. Bullied for her scarred face and hated by everyone-including her own mate-she was always told she was ugly. Her mate only kept her around to gain territory, and the moment he got what he wanted, he rejected her, leaving her broken and alone. Then, she met him. The first man to call her beautiful. The first man to show her what it felt like to be loved. It was only one night, but it changed everything. For Lyric, he was a saint, a savior. For him, she was the only woman that had ever made him cum in bed-a problem he had been battling for years. Lyric thought her life would finally be different, but like everyone else in her life, he lied. And when she found out who he really was, she realized he wasn't just dangerous-he was the kind of man you don't escape from. Lyric wanted to run. She wanted freedom. But she desired to navigate her way and take back her respect, to rise above the ashes. Eventually, she was forced into a dark world she didn't wish to get involved with.
For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.
I gave him three years of silent devotion behind a mask I never wanted to wear. I made a wager for our bond-he paid me off like a mistress. "Chloe's back," Zane said coldly. "It's over." I laughed, poured wine on his face, and walked away from the only love I'd ever known. "What now?" my best friend asked. I smiled. "The real me returns." But fate wasn't finished yet. That same night, Caesar Conrad-the Alpha every wolf feared-opened his car door and whispered, "Get in." Our gazes collided. The bond awakened. No games. No pretending. Just raw, unstoppable power. "Don't regret this," he warned, lips brushing mine. But I didn't. Because the mate I'd been chasing never saw me. And the one who did? He's ready to burn the world for me.
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.
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