Coma Wife Exposes Betrayal

Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work. But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room. He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar. When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves. But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him. The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune. Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret. Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised. Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows. At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox. But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress. "How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.

Jake Demidov is the perfect student. Rich family background, excellent grades and mysterious personality. Teachers respect him, boys envy him and girls worship him. All girls but one, Lisa Thompson, the new student. Just on her first day, she's able to run Jake's jacket. Furious, he asks her to pay for it. Seeing she can't, they come into an agreement. Work for me till we graduate. There's more to it though. As the spend more time together, feelings form and Lisa realizes Jake isn't as perfect as he seems.

I'd been in love with Tanner for five years, making him the center of my universe. But after he denied our relationship for the hundredth time, I decided it was time to let go. I stopped asking him to bring me to his friends' gatherings and, as he wanted, gave up my role as his secretary to his childhood friend and quit the job. I even sent our engagement dress to the woman he truly considered his fiancée. When he erupted in anger, I quietly responded, "Mr. Fox, we're just regular friends." Tanner’s past words were like a boomerang, now hitting him hard, while I learned that loving myself was more important than loving anyone else, and I wouldn’t look back. Walking down the deserted street in my four-inch heels, my mind was a haze. I didn’t see the bicycle coming until it knocked me to the ground. My knee was scraped, and the new shoes blistered my feet. The cyclist quickly jumped off, helping me to a nearby bench.

For eight years, I was raised to be his queen. My entire world was built on the promise that I would marry Dante Moretti, the future Don of the city's most powerful family. But on the eve of our betrothal, I overheard his plan. He was going to cast me aside for another woman, Isabella, and a street orphan he would pass off as his heir. He publicly humiliated me at his party, introducing her as his true queen. When a crystal chandelier fell from the ceiling, he used his own body to shield her, leaving me to be crushed beneath it. Later, after falsely accusing me of attacking her, he shoved my head under the freezing water of a pool, hissing that my love for him was "disgusting." But the truth that finally destroyed me was worse. For ten years, Dante had been obsessed with a scent he thought was mine. It was all a lie—a custom perfume Isabella had been wearing all along. I was never the one he wanted; I was just a case of mistaken identity. After he broke my bones and shattered my spirit, I finally made a choice. I accepted my brother's offer to escape to the rival Falcone territory. As our jet prepared for takeoff, I blocked Dante's frantic calls without looking back. This time, I was leaving for good.

The first time I died, it was from a cancer my mother couldn' t afford. My father, who had left us for his wealthy mistress, refused to pay for my treatment. In a desperate attempt to save me, my mother tried to sell her kidney on the black market. She was scammed and left to die in an alley. She died of an infection a week before I finally succumbed to the cancer, alone in a hospital bed. I' ll never forget him telling my begging mother that his new family had expenses, handing her a few hundred dollars as if she were trash. Then, I opened my eyes. I was fourteen again, healthy, watching the divorce happen all over again. My father looked at me, expecting me to choose my mother. "Blake," he said, "you' ll have to choose who you want to live with." I remembered the hunger, the cold, and my mother' s broken body. I met her tear-filled eyes, my own heart shattering. "I choose Dad."

In high society circles, one secret is widely known. Aaron, heir to the illustrious Aaron's Family, has a taste for threesomes. And his rule is simple: Megan must always be one of the two women—because she’s his official girlfriend, his chosen one, the future mother of his child. As usual, Megan entered the penthouse suite of The Carthage with a camera in hand, a used pregnancy test clutched between her fingers. She stared down at the two clear red lines, hesitating. Should she tell Aaron about this second pregnancy? But as soon as she stepped into the living room, she heard it—muffled yet unmistakable—the sounds of a woman’s moans drifting from behind the slightly ajar bedroom door. Everyone assumed that whenever Aaron wanted to play, the other woman would join in for a threesome with Megan. But that wasn’t the truth. Megan had always been the one stationed by the wall, operating the camera. Aaron made her stay from start to finish, watching him with others—all to punish her for once choosing power and status over him. This time, though, Megan froze. Through the crack in the door, she glimpsed the blurred profile of the woman on the bed. It was Abigail, her younger sister—the one their father had taken after the divorce. Wearing lingerie from his favorite brand, Abigail’s body was dotted with love bites, her lips slightly swollen. Her fingers traced teasing patterns over his chest. Aaron’s shirt hung open, a cigarette between his lips, and he gave her backside a firm, familiar squeeze. Megan’s legs went weak. She had to look away. Their moving bodies felt like needles stabbing her eyes. A tight, suffocating pressure built in her chest, and her hand clenched unconsciously around the pregnancy test. Lost in the moment, she heard Aaron’s cool, amused voice. “Want to know?” Abigail pushed lightly against his chest, her tone coquettish. “How do I know I won’t be the next Megan? What if I get pregnant? Would you just flush our five-month-old baby down the drain too?” The words hit Megan like a physical blow. Her vision blurred; a sharp sting rose in her nose. That was their first daughter. That single sentence brought the memory rushing back—the tiny, chubby face, the features that looked so much like her father, as beautiful as Aaron himself. A buzzing filled her ears, drowning out the conversation inside. But when she focused, she saw Aaron’s expression falter for a second. He took a deep, harsh drag from his cigarette, coughed, then simply smiled without answering—a smile cold and numb. Abigail pouted. Aaron planted a light kiss on her cheek. “Enough. You’re nothing like her. That stuck-up act of hers is a total turn-off. Don’t compare yourself to her; it’s beneath you.” Abigail laughed. “True. But what if she gets pregnant again? I don’t believe you haven’t touched her since.” Aaron exhaled a final cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, his eyes unreadable, his voice flat. “She won’t. I had one of her ovaries removed. It’ll be hard for her to get pregnant again. Megan’s so damn gullible. Offered enough money, she signed the consent form without even reading it. Less hassle for me.” He let out a derisive snort. That soft, mocking laugh snapped Megan back to reality. Her hand flew instinctively to her lower abdomen, and the pregnancy test slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. The sharp sound was lost under Abigail’s giggle. Megan felt invisible hands clamp around her throat, strangling the air from her lungs. Aaron’s words echoed in her mind. She remembered their first child. They were just teenagers, naive and in their first year of university when she found out. Too thin to show much, Megan hadn’t realized she was pregnant until she was over four months along. Lying in a hospital bed, feeling the baby’s heartbeat, she hadn’t told Aaron. A week later, the Family found out. They dragged her to an operating table. She begged and screamed, “Aaron, save our baby!” But under the blinding surgical lights, the anesthesia dragged her consciousness into a hollow, numb void. Helpless, she could only watch as they forced her into a late-term abortion—and then, right in front of her, flushed her child down a drain. When the drugs wore off, Megan clutched her freshly operated abdomen, blood pooling around her ankles. And that was the moment Aaron arrived. He thought she’d chosen to abort. The misunderstanding was born. He hated her for “getting rid” of their child, never giving her a chance to explain. He left her alone in the villa to recover. A month later, he returned, dragged her back to the hospital without a word, calling it a “minor check-up,” and made her sign some papers. She never imagined his revenge would be removing one of her ovaries. And after she tried to escape, he ruined her reputation. Night after night, he made her watch as he took his pleasure with others, reducing her to a hollow shell—just another piece of equipment in the room, there to record his vengean