After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets
I sat alone at my long marble dining table, staring at a plate of cold truffle risotto. My husband, Jere, was late again, claiming he was stuck in a "war zone" of a board meeting for a multi-billion dollar merger.
A single Instagram notification shattered the silence. It was a photo of a candlelit birthday dinner, featuring a man's hand resting on a white tablecloth. I recognized the slight veins, the jagged scar on the thumb, and the navy-faced Patek Philippe watch I had spent six months tracking down as a wedding gift. Jere wasn't in a boardroom; he was celebrating his ex-girlfriend Irina's birthday while texting me to "don't wait up."
The next morning, I followed him to a VIP hospital wing. I watched through a cracked door as my husband cuddled a five-year-old boy and whispered tender promises to Irina. When he came home, he tried to buy my silence with a rare pink diamond bracelet, but I found the receipt: he had bought two identical ones. He had branded his wife and his mistress with matching jewelry, using hidden trackers to keep us both on a leash. When I confronted him, he didn't flinch. He coldly reminded me that he owned my father's massive debts and could send him to prison for insolvency fraud with one phone call.
"Stop with the attitude, Deliah," he said.
I felt like a ghost haunting my own life, trapped in a gilded cage by the man who paid for my mother's heart surgery while keeping a secret family across town. The humiliation peaked at our rescheduled anniversary dinner when Jere received a text, threw a stack of hundreds at me like I was a stranger, and abandoned me in a crowded restaurant to rush back to her.
"Pay the bill," he commanded before walking out.
Standing in the wreckage of a shattered crystal vase back at the penthouse, I realized my silence was the only thing keeping his empire standing. I pulled the crumpled divorce papers from my purse and signed my name with a steady hand. I wasn't just walking away; I was calling his sister to help me burn his perfect world to the ground.
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Chapter 5
Two days later, Deliah was sitting on the sofa, reading a legal blog about asset division on her tablet. She heard the front door open and quickly swiped the screen to a recipe for roast chicken.
Jere came home early. He looked pleased with himself, the tension from the last few days seemingly evaporated. He walked into the living room and placed a long, velvet jewelry box on the coffee table.
"For the anniversary I missed," he said, loosening his tie.
Deliah stared at the box. It was black velvet, long and slender. It looked like a coffin for her dignity.
"Open it," he urged, sitting next to her.
She reached out and flipped the lid. Inside lay a stunning diamond tennis bracelet. It was platinum, heavy and substantial, encrusted with rare pink diamonds that caught the light and shattered it into a thousand sparkles.
Jere watched her face, expecting gratitude, expecting the awe that usually worked.
Deliah felt nothing. It was just a rock. A cold, hard rock paid for with guilt. "It's beautiful," she said flatly.
Jere took it out of the box. "Let me put it on you."
He took her wrist-the one that wasn't bandaged-and clasped the bracelet. It felt heavy and cold against her skin.
He kissed her hand. "I know I've been busy. This is to say thank you for being patient. For understanding the pressure I'm under."
Deliah realized he was buying her patience. He was paying a retainer fee for her silence.
She looked at the bracelet, then at him. "Did you pick this out yourself?"
Jere hesitated. It was a micro-second, a tiny glitch in his programming. "Of course."
Deliah reached for the velvet box, her fingers brushing against the silk lining of the bag it had come in. As she pulled the box closer, something white fluttered out from the side pocket of the shopping bag.
It was a receipt.
Jere stiffened, his hand twitching as if to snatch it back, but he stopped himself, realizing that reaction would look worse. He forced a relaxed smile, but his eyes were alert.
Deliah picked it up, feigning playfulness. "Let me see the damage. I bet this cost a fortune."
She scanned it quickly. Her blood froze in her veins.
Item: Platinum Pink Diamond Tennis Bracelet. Quantity: 2.
Two. He had bought two identical bracelets.
"Why two?" Deliah asked, her voice dangerously calm. She held the receipt up, her eyes locking onto his.
Jere didn't miss a beat. He didn't stutter. "One for my mother," he said smoothly. "Her birthday is coming up next month. You know how she loves diamonds. I thought since I was there..."
It was a plausible lie. Victoria Bolton was a known jewelry hoarder. It made perfect sense.
Deliah wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him. But her gut was screaming. It was a physical sensation, a twisting in her intestines that told her he was lying to her face.
She put the receipt back on the table. "That's generous of you. Your mother will love it."
Jere relaxed visibly. His shoulders dropped an inch. He thought he had dodged the bullet. He thought she was stupid.
"We should celebrate properly," he said, putting the receipt back in his pocket. "Dinner tomorrow? Per Se?"
"Per Se sounds perfect," Deliah agreed.
She touched the bracelet on her wrist. It glittered mockingly under the chandelier. She wasn't going to dinner to celebrate. She was going to wait for the lawyer to finish the paperwork, and she was going to serve him at the table.
Jere went into his study to take a call. Deliah sat alone, staring at the pink diamonds. She needed to find out who the second bracelet really went to. Because she knew, with absolute certainty, that Victoria Bolton wasn't getting anything pink. Victoria hated pink.
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8.1
A marriage of half a decade that Emily Winchester had poured her heart and soul into crumbled in a night after catching her sister and husband lustfully entangled. Her soon-to-be ex releases her nudes to the world, framing her with infidelity. She leaves the marriage with a little more than the clothes on her back, and desperately trying to pay for her grandmother's hospital bills, is aligned with New York's notorious playboy billionaire, Sean Woods, as he's looking for a contract wife.
What happens when a single night encounter is all that is needed for the most eligible bachelor in the country to have his sights set on her? Will she just turn into one of his many conquests or be the one woman who claims his heart alone?
8.9
Debora went to prison to protect the man she loved, only to end up a paroled convict living under the roof of her abusive foster parents.
When they found her positive pregnancy test from a one-night stand, they threatened to kick her out and send her straight back to a cell.
Just as they were about to report her, the stranger from that dark hotel room suddenly appeared.
He paid her foster parents one million dollars to marry her and take her away.
Debora thought she was finally safe.
But the moment they were alone, he looked at her with pure, venomous hatred.
He didn't want a wife; he wanted a prisoner.
He believed Debora was the ruthless murderer who had destroyed his life in a car crash, and he planned to make her suffocate in her own despair.
He didn't know she was just a scapegoat.
To survive and protect her baby, Debora found a job at a bridal shop, only to run into the real culprit—the man who actually drove the car and framed her.
He was now happily engaged to a wealthy heiress.
They deliberately ruined a priceless wedding gown and blamed it on her.
"Kneel on this floor and apologize, or I'm calling the police to revoke your parole!"
Why did she have to rot in hell for his sins, while the man she married wanted to destroy her?
Just as her trembling knees were about to touch the cold marble floor, the heavy glass doors were violently shoved open.
Her billionaire husband strode in like a force of nature, his eyes locked onto the wealthy couple with a terrifying, destructive rage.
7.9
Meet Maya Brooks, a 22 year old who dropped out of school after her father was murdered and her family lost everything.
Determined to uncover the truth behind his death, she takes a job as a personal maid to Ryan Greenville a 25 year old, irresistible CEO known for using and dumping women.
Cold, powerful, and emotionally guarded, Ryan never planned to fall for anyone again until Maya entered his life.
As their worlds collide, dark secrets begin to surface.
Get ready for a thrilling journey of love, revenge, and hidden truths.
8.2
Trapped in a deadly fire at my own engagement party, my lungs burned as I reached a shaking hand out to my fiancé for help.
He stopped and looked right at me through the thick smoke. But instead of saving me, he wrapped his jacket tightly around my stepsister and ran, leaving me to burn.
I barely survived. But when I woke up in the hospital, my father and stepmother didn't even ask about my injuries.
They threw a stack of legal documents right onto my bed.
"Sign the papers, Avah. Step aside. Jaclyn is far better suited to be Kain's wife."
My fiancé then stormed into the room, publicly humiliating me with false rumors of an illegitimate child and threatening to bankrupt my company.
Four years of swallowing my pride to be the perfect, obedient pawn for our family business, all for nothing.
They threw me to the wolves without a single second of hesitation, expecting me to just lower my head and cry like I always did.
But the fire had burned that pathetic version of me away.
I ripped out my IV, letting the blood drip onto the sheets, and tore their contracts straight down the middle.
"The engagement is over."
I threw my million-dollar ring right at my ex's chest, then picked up the phone to call my trust lawyer. They wanted to take everything from me, so I was going to make them bleed.
8.4
They say marrying Cassian Blackmoor is a death sentence.
Seventeen wives. Seventeen funerals. One widower no one can explain.
They call him cursed. They call him dangerous. Some call him a murderer who hides behind wealth and silence. But no one can prove anything - and no one dares accuse a billionaire who buries his wives with the same calm devotion he once loved them with.
Eloise Laurent knows the rumors. She knows the whispers. She knows the stories about the widower whose brides never live long.
Instead, she falls for him.
For the quiet sadness in his eyes.
For the way his voice softens only for her.
For the way he loves like he's terrified of losing her.
And maybe he should be.
But when she discovers a hidden grave bearing her own name, Eloise realizes something far worse than rumors is waiting for her inside his house.
9.2
I was a Parsons-trained designer, but with my family drowning in over half a million dollars of debt, I delivered coffee just to survive.
One clumsy mistake—spilling a latte in a corporate lobby—put me on the radar of the city's most ruthless billionaire, Christian Mercer.
A week later, I wasn't fired. I was summoned to his office on the 85th floor, where he laid out a contract.
He knew everything: my student loans, my mother's crippling medical bills, the foreclosure notices piling up on our kitchen table. He offered to wipe it all away, plus pay me five million dollars.
The price was one year of my life as his wife.
He called it a "mutually beneficial transaction," coldly stating my desperate circumstances made me the perfect, compliant candidate. I wasn't a person to him, just an asset to be acquired to solve a problem he refused to explain.
But when I found the eviction notice taped to our apartment door, my pride was a luxury I could no longer afford. I signed his contract. After a sterile City Hall ceremony, he left me alone in his cold, empty penthouse with a final, chilling instruction.
"The public part of our agreement begins now, Mrs. Mercer," he said, his voice void of any emotion. "Act accordingly."