Abandoned at Reunion
The fifth time Kason and I planned to remarry, he bought me a house and an expensive ring. He seemed genuinely committed, and I thought it might finally work out this time. But when we got to the city hall, he rushed off to see his ex after hearing she wasn't feeling well. When I called him, he snapped, "What's more important, a life or getting remarried?"
Five times we tried to remarry, and each time he ditched me at the mere mention of his ex. I finally decided not to marry him again and left the city to pursue my dreams. Kason searched the whole town trying to find me. "What? Priscilla's got a fever?" Kason furrowed his brows, speaking into the phone. My heart sank, skipping a beat. Not this call again.
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Chapter 5
Kason took me to the house he had bought for me. It was beautifully decorated and ready for us to move in. As soon as I opened the door, a massive bouquet of roses greeted me from the living room.
"Makayla, check out the surprise Kason set up for you!" Suddenly, several of Kason’s friends appeared, popping party poppers.
Kason gently took my hand. "Makayla, I really love you. I’ve changed the date for our marriage license."
Just as I was about to respond, a woman’s voice came from the doorway.
"Kason, I'm not feeling well. Could you help me get some medicine?"
It was Priscilla. How did she find us here? And in the middle of winter, she wore just a thin coat.
Kason quickly let go of my hand, grabbed a jacket from the entrance, and draped it over her shoulders.
"Get the medicine yourself. I'm tied up."
"Kason, I really feel awful..." Her voice was soft, her nose red, eyes brimming with tears, looking as if a gentle breeze could make her cry.
Part of me almost felt sorry for her, but Kason remained cold and unmoved, saying, "Hurry up and leave. You’re not welcome here."
Suddenly, tears began streaming down her face.
"Fine, I'm going, I'm going..."
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8.1
The phone call shattered my world at 3:47 AM.
"Miss Evans? This is Detective Morrison with the NYPD. I'm calling about your father, George Evans."
My hand trembled against the receiver, the weight of my seven-month belly making it hard to sit up in bed. Noah stirred beside me but didn't wake.
"What about my father?" The words came out as a whisper.
"I'm sorry to inform you that he was found deceased in his study this evening. It appears to be suicide."
9.5
I watched Isabella's hands tremble as she held the letter, her eyes scanning the page for the third time. The Juilliard School letterhead gleamed in the afternoon light filtering through the study windows. "Mom," she whispered, her voice catching. "I got in."
Time seemed to freeze as those three words hung in the air between us. For a moment, I wasn't Victoria Chen, CEO of a billion-dollar conglomerate. I was simply a mother watching her daughter's dreams materialize before her eyes. "Let me see," I said, reaching for the letter. My eyes confirmed what her tears already told me. Isabella Sterling—my Isabella—had been accepted to the most prestigious dance program in the country. Every blister, every late-night practice, every sacrifice had led to this moment.
8.3
It was an ordinary Tuesday evening in Manhattan. Rain tapped against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse. The city lights blurred outside. Buster, my golden retriever, slept heavily across my feet. Zachary was in Paris. He told me he had a crucial tech summit. I believed him. I sat on our velvet couch and scrolled through Instagram. A tagged photo popped up on my feed. My thumb stopped.
9.5
The nurse's words echoed in my ears as I sat in the sterile examination room, my hands trembling slightly against the paper-covered table. Pregnant. After all the disappointments, the negative tests, the quiet nights of hoping—I was finally carrying Benjamin's child. "Mrs. Hill, your blood work confirms it. You're approximately six weeks along." Dr. Mitchell's smile was warm as she handed me a small folder of information. "Everything looks healthy so far."
I pressed my hand against my still-flat stomach, a surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. A baby. Our baby.
7.3
I just got my billionaire husband to sign our divorce papers. He thinks it's another business document.
Our marriage was a business transaction. I was his secretary by day, his invisible wife by night. He got a CEO title and a rebellion against his mother; I got the money to save mine.
The only rule? Don't fall in love.
I broke it. He didn't.
So I'm cashing out. Thirty days from now, I'm gone.
But now he's noticing me. Touching me. Claiming me. The same man who flaunts his mistresses is suddenly burning down a nightclub because another man insulted me.
He says he'll never let me go. But he has no idea I'm already halfway out the door.
How far will a billionaire go to keep a wife he never wanted until she tried to leave?
8.0
For three years, I've been the wife of Dante Moretti, the head of the Chicago Bratva. My only purpose was to give him an heir. Today, I stared at the second pink line on a pregnancy test—a death sentence.
But my husband didn't want a wife. He wanted a vessel.
Hiding outside his office door, I heard him talking to his sister, Isabella. They were placing a million-dollar bet on the gender of my unborn child.
"But what about her?" Isabella asked. "Once she gives you the heir, she’ll be useless."
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
"She served her purpose," Dante said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "A broodmare is only valuable when it can produce. After that…"
He didn't have to finish. In his world, useless things are discarded. Violently. Every touch, every calculated smile had been a lie to secure his dynasty.
He saw a legacy, not a child. He saw a vessel, not a wife.
The only way to win his game was to knock the whole board over. I pulled out my phone and called the clinic my friend had told me about.
"Yes," I said, my voice a stranger’s, hollow and steady. "I'd like to schedule a termination."