My Wife's Other Life

My marriage to Ethan was a practical arrangement, but I secretly longed for true love. When I unexpectedly discovered I was pregnant, a fragile hope blossomed-perhaps this baby would finally forge a real family. That hope shattered instantly. Outside the clinic, I found Ethan tending to his college sweetheart, Chloe Vanderbilt, dramatically faking a migraine. He dismissed me entirely, ordering me to run errands for her, treating me like an errand girl, not his wife. Chloe's return was a relentless, calculated campaign. Her carefully curated social media posts, featuring Ethan's relaxed smiles and comforting embraces with her, became a constant public humiliation. He'd rationalize his growing closeness, always prioritizing her "fragility" over my very existence. The final blow came via a video: my husband, kissing her deeply at a gala I was told I was "too tired" to attend. Overwhelmed, I confronted him, signing the divorce papers he' d pre-signed years ago. But Chloe wasn't done. She set a vicious trap, coercing a former friend to falsely accuse me of plotting against her. Ethan, blinded by Chloe's performance, instantly believed I was capable of malice, dismissing my desperate pleas. The ultimate devastation struck: Chloe deliberately pushed me down the stairs, resulting in a brutal, agonizing miscarriage. Ethan, finding us, rushed to Chloe's side, cradling her fabricated injuries, utterly abandoning me as I lay bleeding, my child slipping away. In that harrowing moment, all love and hope died, replaced by an unyielding resolve to uncover the truth and finally, irrevocably, reclaim my life from their poisonous lies.

My mother, Evelyn, was born deaf-mute, burdened by an ancient prophecy: she would speak three times, and disaster would follow each utterance. I, Sarah, grew up under this constant, quiet dread. The first words came when I was a teenager, a rough whisper to my father, David: "Don't go, David." Hours later, he plunged from our high-rise balcony, an "accident" that shattered our lives. But I saw the grainy security footage: Mom stood in the doorway, simply watching him fall, her face a chilling, unreadable mask. She then vanished to her hometown, Blackwood Creek, leaving me with a growing, terrible suspicion. Five years passed, my fiancé Mark brought a fragile peace, but Mom's cryptic second words to him at a public dinner reignited the whispers. The next night, Mark was climbing his balcony railing, vacant-eyed, just like Dad, saved only by his parents' timely intervention. Then, the staticky, desperate phone call: Mom's third utterance, "Sarah, listen to me. You have to get away... Mama loves you." Her voice was raw with terror, not manipulation. Moments later, the news screamer: Evelyn Hayes found dead, an apparent suicide in Blackwood Creek. Suicide? After that warning, after that desperate love? My heart screamed; the official story felt like a carefully constructed lie designed to hide something monstrous. I refused to believe it. My mother's last terrifying words, her love, and her impossible death demanded answers. Blackwood Creek held those secrets, and I swore to uncover them, no matter the cost.

My life was finally looking up. The email glowed on my phone: "Congratulations, Sarah Miller!" – a full scholarship to a top university, my ticket out of our small town and a way to honor my parents' memory. My sister, Emily, who' d been my rock running our family diner, Miller' s Plate, since Mom and Dad passed, screamed with joy with me. But our joy shattered when Mark Henderson, the spoiled son of the town's most powerful developer, swaggered into Miller's Plate. He and his thugs brutally assaulted Emily, leaving her broken and our diner in ruins, just because she refused to sell our land. The nightmare deepened at the police station. Chief Williams, clearly in Art Henderson' s pocket, dismissed it as a "mutual altercation" and advised me to take their dirty money. Then, my scholarship was mysteriously rescinded, erasing my future. My home was savagely vandalized, and our beloved cat, Patches, was found dead, a cruel message pinned to his collar: "Next time, it' s you." Every lawyer turned me away, and our once-supportive neighbors, cowed by the Hendersons' influence, looked the other way. I felt utterly crushed, alone against an empire of corruption and violence. My sister lay critical in the ICU, our home was a wreck, and they' d taken everything. What else was left for them to destroy? Amidst the wreckage, I stumbled upon my late Marine father's old footlocker. Inside, I found his Medal of Honor. "Semper Fi," he used to say – Always Faithful. A desperate, impossible hope ignited: if the local system was broken, maybe his military family, General Peterson, could remind them what justice truly meant. I clutched the medal, buying a bus ticket to Camp Lejeune, ready for the fight of my life.

My name is Luna Boudreaux. They call me the Oracle. For generations, my family, the Boudreaux, has served the powerful Devereaux dynasty. Our sacred duty: activate the Legacy Locket to choose the next Devereaux heir, who then marries me. Today was that day, the Locket ceremony, set to fulfill our destiny. But this wasn't my first time. In my previous life, I fell desperately in love with Beau Devereaux. He was handsome, charming, everything I thought I wanted. Blinded by adoration, I committed a terrible sin. I used forbidden Boudreaux magic, a profound spiritual sacrifice, to force the Locket to choose him. I gave him everything – my family' s power, our wealth, and my entire heart. The moment he ascended, he turned into a monster. He sneered, "What Oracle? Just your desperate trick to marry me." He annulled our marriage, annihilated my family' s reputation with twisted lies, blamed us for an "accident" he orchestrated involving his obsession, Chantelle Dubois. He stripped us bare. And then, he had me killed. To my dying breath, I couldn't comprehend how a love so fierce could transform into such cold-blooded cruelty, or why I' d been so profoundly, fatally wrong. But then darkness lifted. Now, I'm back. Same place, same moment, a terrifying second chance. Beau can have Chantelle. I won' t interfere. This time, the Locket will choose truly. Fate will decide. And maybe, just maybe, I' ll uncover why, in a future vision, Beau Devereaux was on his knees, begging me to marry him instead.

My name is Sarah Miller, and at twenty-two, my suburban New Jersey life felt like it was shrinking daily. The reason? Brenda Hayes, my father's "executive assistant," a title as flimsy as her tight dresses, who was steadily dismantling our family. She was younger than my mom, Carol, and my father, Rick, was completely under Brenda's spell, treating my kind, gentle mother like a faded photograph. I watched my mother's spirit dim, powerless, full of a quiet sadness that broke my heart. I saw the truth about Brenda and Rick' s affair, but my desperate protests only made my father angry and defensive, and earned me Brenda's chilling, venomous glare. One evening, driving home from my part-time library job, blinding headlights and screeching tires suddenly filled my vision. A monstrous crash. Pain, then utter darkness. My life, systematically destroyed by what I instinctively knew was Brenda' s work, became a body in a hospital bed, entangled in wires and tubes, in a persistent vegetative state. They called it a hit-and-run, convenient, but I was a prisoner in my own skull, aware of the injustice, burning with a helpless rage. Then, a flicker. I woke up. But it wasn' t my own body, nor was I in my sterile hospital room. My consciousness had inexplicably lodged itself inside my grandmother Esther' s body, recovering from a minor heart procedure in a different hospital. And when I saw the newspaper on the bedside table, a chilling realization hit me. The date was three months before my accident. I was in the past, in my grandmother' s aging body. This wasn't just impossible; it was a miraculous, terrifying chance. A chance to save my mother from her slow demise. A chance to stop Brenda Hayes before she could ruin everything. A cold, unyielding fury, sharpened by my previous helplessness, solidified within Esther' s frame. Brenda Hayes was finally going to pay, and this time, I had a plan.

Ten years. That's how long I, Ava Miller, meticulously built my dream life. I left behind my past as the "notorious mean girl" Ashley King. Now, I had Chloe, the kindest best friend, and Ethan Reed, my devoted husband. We were expecting our first child, a symbol of our perfect future. Then, I found Ethan's journal. Dusty and hidden, it revealed a truth colder than ice. My husband, Ethan, wasn't just 'reborn' – he remembered a past life. A past where I, Ashley, was his enemy. He married me not for love, but to "monitor the threat." To keep an eye on me, the monster he believed lurked within. Ten years of tender kisses, shared laughter, and deep conversations were a calculated performance. He loved Chloe, always Chloe. Every "gentle" touch, every "concerned" glance, was a lie. My world shattered when, at the summer fair, he shoved my pregnant body aside to shield Chloe. He accused me, "Did you do this?" Then, a car swerved, and without a second thought, he threw himself at Chloe, his body slamming into mine. I woke up in a sterile hospital room. Our baby was gone. My heart was torn between searing grief and burning rage. How could he have been so blind, so obsessed with a phantom? So cruel. I looked at the man who destroyed everything. "I want a divorce, Ethan." This fake life ends now. I will reclaim my story.

Kaelyn devoted three years tending to her husband after a terrible accident. But once he was fully recovered, he cast her aside and brought his first love back from abroad. Devastated, Kaelyn decided on a divorce as people mocked her for being discarded. She went on to reinvent herself, becoming a highly sought-after doctor, a champion racer, and an internationally renowned architectural designer. Even then, the traitors sneered in disdain, believing Kaelyn would never find someone. But then the ex-husband’s uncle, a powerful warlord, returned with his army to ask for Kaelyn’s hand in marriage.

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

"Ahh!" She was in a moaning mess. She did not want to feel anything for this man. She hated him. His hands began to move all over her body. She gasped when he pulled down the back chain of her dress. The chain stopped at her lower waist, so when he zipped it off, her upper back and waist were exposed. "D-Don't touch m-ummm!" His fingers rolled around her bare back, and she pressed her head against the pillow. His touches were giving her goosebumps all over her body. With a deep angry voice, he whispered in her ear, "I am going to make you forget his touches, kisses, and everything. Every time you touch another man, you will only think of me." - - - Ava Adler was a nerdy omega. People bullied her because they thought she was ugly and unattractive. But Ava secretly loved the bad boy, Ian Dawson. He was the future Alpha of the Mystic Shadow Pack. However, he doesn't give a damn about rules and laws, as he only likes to play around with girls. Ava was unaware of Ian's arrogance until her fate intertwined with his. He neglected her and hurt her deeply. What would happen when Ava turned out to be a beautiful girl who could win over any boy, and Ian looked back and regretted his decisions? What if she had a secret identity that she had yet to discover? What if the tables turned and Ian begged her not to leave him?

"There will be no falling in love, we will only act as a loving couple when we are in public, we will share a room to make it believable, but no intimacy, touching is off-limits. We'll only have sex once a month, and that's solely to produce an heir. You won't interfere in my business, and I won't interfere in yours. You will be my wife in every sense and you will not be involved with any other man," he said, arrogance seeping from every word. I watch his mouth move, I'm not ready to fall in love with any man, especially not one as arrogant and egoistic as him. I can handle acting as a loving couple, and as for intimacy once a month. I can agree to that just to satisfy my sexual cravings with no strings attached. "Where can I sign?" I asked since I had nothing to lose. *** Nadine's wedding dreams turned to nightmares when she caught her sister and fiancé cheating! With a secret recording, she's ready for revenge. But then mysterious billionaire Logan West offers a deal: A Contract Marriage to take down her ex's empire. But what Nadine doesn't know is her life is getting complicated as she takes her chance to get revenge or risks everything for a chance at love?"

Rumors claimed that Fernanda, newly back with her family, was nothing more than a violent country bumpkin. Fernanda just flashed a casual, dismissive grin in response. Another rumor suggested that the usually rational Cristian had lost all sense, madly in love with Fernanda. This frustrated her. She could tolerate gossip about herself, but slander against her beloved crossed the line! Gradually, as Fernanda's multiple identities as a celebrated designer, a savvy gamer, an acclaimed painter, and a successful business magnate came to light, everyone realized they were the ones who had been fooled.

For two years Caitlin quietly wore Isaac's ring, trying to melt the frost from his heart-until his first love returned, pregnant. Devastated and hiding her own pregnancy, Caitlin presented divorce papers. Isaac ripped them apart with a sneer, "Tired of your games already?" Later, Caitlin stormed back into the spotlight-a billionaire designer with endless admirers. Desperate, Isaac pinned her to the wall, pleading, "Honey, give me one more chance."