Drowning In Betrayal: Watch Me Shine Now
I was lying in the emergency room with acute gastroenteritis on my birthday, but my mother ordered me to rip out my IV needle.
She threatened to freeze all my accounts if I didn't show up to my adopted sister's high-society matchmaking party.
When I arrived, dragging my weak body, I caught my fiancé Julio protecting his mistress.
Worse, my adopted sister Billie framed me for stealing my own grandmother's heirloom earrings just to play the victim in front of New York's elite.
I refused to be their stepping stone and projected the evidence of Julio's affair on the massive ballroom screen.
In a rage, my father cursed me, and my mother slapped me across the face so hard my mouth bled.
During the ensuing physical struggle, my adopted sister, the mistress, and I all plunged into the freezing outdoor swimming pool.
My fiancé desperately swam to save his mistress, while my own brother rushed to pull my adopted sister above the water.
I stopped kicking and let my heavy, soaked clothes pull me down to the bottom of the black pool.
Why did my own flesh and blood treat me like garbage?
After a mysterious bodyguard pulled me from the water, I watched my family frantically wrap the other two women in warm blankets.
I didn't shed a single tear.
"I am no longer a part of this family. I never want to see any of you again."
I publicly canceled the engagement, turned my back on the wealthy estate, and walked away into the freezing winter night.
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Chapter 1
The cold liquid from the IV drip traveled down the plastic tube and bit into Amanda's vein. She pulled her knees to her chest on the narrow emergency room bed. Her stomach contracted violently. A fresh layer of cold sweat broke out across her forehead.
The noise from the family in the next curtained cubicle drilled into her head. She reached down with her free hand and pulled the thin white hospital blanket up to her chin. The movement tugged the needle taped to the back of her right hand. A sharp sting shot up her arm.
She reached into her coat pocket with her left hand and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up. The notification center was completely empty. Not a single text message. Not even a generic 'Happy Birthday' from a distant relative. A hollow ache settled right beneath her ribs, heavier than the stomach cramps.
The phone vibrated in her palm. The screen flashed with her mother's name. Mother. Amanda stared at the bright letters for two seconds. Her stomach gave another vicious twist. She slid her thumb across the glass to answer.
Meredith did not say hello. Her voice was sharp and cold.
"Pull that needle out of your arm and get to the estate right now."
Amanda gripped the edges of the phone. Her knuckles turned white.
"I have acute gastroenteritis," Amanda said. Her voice shook from the lack of energy. "The doctor said I need to finish this bag of fluids."
A sharp, clicking sound came through the speaker. Meredith was clicking her tongue against her teeth. It was the sound she always made when Amanda disgusted her.
"You always do this," Meredith said. "You always fake an illness on Billie's important days just to steal the spotlight. It is pathetic."
Amanda stopped breathing. Her chest felt like it had been caved in by a concrete block.
A nurse walked past the curtain, carrying a tray of fresh IV bags. Amanda lowered her voice to a whisper.
"I am not faking," Amanda said. "I have been throwing up since noon."
Meredith let out a dry laugh. "If you are not at the Long Island estate in thirty minutes, I am cutting off every credit card in your name."
Amanda bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue.
"Today is my birthday too," Amanda said.
The line went completely dead for three seconds. Then Meredith's voice came back, louder and harder.
"Shut your mouth. Today is the anniversary of Billie's biological father's death. You do not get to celebrate. You do not get to make this about you."
Amanda's eyes burned. The back of her throat swelled, but she forced the tears down. She pressed her hand against her cramping stomach.
"Is Julio coming to pick me up?" Amanda asked.
"Julio has been here all afternoon," Meredith said. "He is helping Billie choose her dress for tonight."
The stomach cramp hit her so hard she folded in half. She dropped her head toward her knees and let out a dry heave.
"Stop making those disgusting noises," Meredith snapped. "Thirty minutes. Do not embarrass me."
The call disconnected. A steady beep played through the speaker. Amanda let her arm drop. The phone slipped from her fingers and hit the white hospital sheets with a dull thud.
The nurse heard the noise and stepped into the cubicle. She looked at Amanda's pale face.
"Do you need something for the pain, honey?" the nurse asked.
Amanda shook her head. The vulnerability drained out of her eyes, leaving behind a flat, dead stare.
She raised her left hand. She grabbed the edge of the medical tape on her right hand. She ripped it back in one fast motion. She pulled the needle straight out of her vein.
The nurse gasped and reached out. She immediately slammed her hand against the red emergency call button on the wall. "Honey, stop! I am calling security if you do not put that down!" the nurse yelled, her voice thick with panic. "We have a situation in cubicle three!"
Blood welled up instantly. It dripped down her skin and stained the white blanket. Amanda grabbed a handful of cotton swabs from the bedside table and pressed them hard against the puncture wound. The sharp, localized pain in her hand made her brain feel incredibly clear.
She threw the blanket off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the cold linoleum floor. The room spun. Black spots danced in her vision. She grabbed the metal rail of the bed with both hands and locked her elbows until the dizziness passed.
The nurse handed her a thick bandage. Amanda muttered a quiet thank you. She peeled the backing off and slapped the bandage over the bleeding hole on her hand.
She picked up her phone and dialed Julio's number. The line rang. And rang. Every empty tone chipped away at the last piece of patience she had left.
The call connected.
Loud music played in the background. Then, the high-pitched, breathy laugh of a woman came through the speaker. Amanda went perfectly still. She knew Billie's voice. This was not Billie.
"What are you throwing a tantrum about now?" Julio asked. His voice was thick with annoyance.
Amanda took a deep breath. She pushed the stomach pain away.
"I am at the hospital," Amanda said. Her voice was completely flat. "Come pick me up right now."
"Traffic is terrible," Julio said. "Take a cab."
"If you are not outside this hospital in ten minutes, the engagement is over," Amanda said.
The background noise on the other end seemed to vanish. The silence stretched.
"Ten minutes," Julio hissed through his teeth. He slammed the phone down.
Amanda shoved her phone into the pocket of her wool coat. She grabbed the plastic water bottle from the tray and took a massive gulp. The ice-cold water hit her inflamed stomach lining. Her entire body shivered violently.
She walked over to the small metal locker in the corner. She pulled out her designer handbag. Her fingers brushed against the expensive leather charm hanging from the strap. Julio had given it to her last month.
A wave of pure disgust rolled through her stomach.
She gripped the charm, yanked it hard enough to snap the metal ring, and tossed it straight into the red biohazard bin next to the door.
She ran her fingers through her damp hair. She pulled her heavy coat tightly around her shoulders to hide how much her body was shaking.
She did not look back at the empty bed. She pushed the heavy double doors of the emergency room open and walked out into the corridor.
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7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
8.6
Marrying Theron Draix in a few days was a life long dream come true.
For seventeen years, I'd loved him, revolving my life around him, and in just three days, we should be married.
"Let's break up. I won't be attending the wedding," he said.
My life shattered in that instant.
Finding out he was in love with my adopted sister was worse. They had played me and controlled my emotions.
At the end, Mireya had killed me.
If I was given a second chance, I would never love Theron and never trust Mireya.
9.5
One night, I was a girl seeking vengeance in a velvet mask. He was the stranger who took me against a cold stone wall, his touch a silent, lethal promise.
Now, he is Caspian Blackwood-the most feared architecture professor at Aethelgard. When my "perfect" boyfriend, Dominic Calloway, cheats on me and sabotages my degree, Caspian offers a lifeline with a razor-thin edge: Be his silent, nude model for thirty days.
The rules are absolute. I must wear a silk mask and a weighted collar. I must never speak. I must hold the poses he demands until my muscles scream for mercy. In the lecture hall, he ignores me with arctic indifference. In the studio, his gaze is a physical weight, stripping me faster than his hands ever could. But as the charcoal scratches against the paper, I realize the "deal" isn't just for art. It's for the soul I accidentally gave him in the dark. Will the deal destroy his career, or consume me first?
9.0
Carli followed an anonymous text to a dark garage, only to find her fiancé of seven years tangled with another woman in his Porsche.
She smashed his window, threw her engagement ring at his face, and walked away.
But the betrayal didn't stop there. Her own family sided with the cheater. Her father slapped her across the face so hard she bled, demanding she hand over her late aunt's trust fund.
"If you don't do exactly as you're told tonight, I will freeze every credit card in your name," her father roared.
Forced to attend the exclusive Gutierrez family gala, Carli watched her ex-fiancé parade his cheap mistress to humiliate her, while her stepsister tried to publicly ruin her.
Suddenly, a violent screech echoed as the massive crystal chandelier above them snapped from the ceiling.
In a split second of pure instinct, Vaughn shoved his mistress to safety and threw himself to the ground, completely abandoning Carli to be crushed.
Staring up at the plummeting glass, Carli felt the crushing reality that her entire life had been surrounded by monsters.
But the fatal impact never came.
A massive force yanked her into a hard chest, shielding her body entirely from the explosive shrapnel.
Carli opened her eyes to find Fletcher Gutierrez—the ruthless billionaire king of Wall Street and the masked stranger from her reckless one-night stand—bleeding heavily over her.
Feeling his warm blood on her hands, Carli knew the game had just changed.
9.3
My husband of three years dragged me into the freezing autumn ocean because my stepsister claimed I bullied her.
When she faked a sprained ankle in the shallow water, he immediately abandoned me in the roaring waves to save her, not knowing I was eight weeks pregnant.
The icy undertow swept me away, causing a brutal miscarriage. Later in the hospital, my traumatized body started hemorrhaging, and I desperately needed a rare blood transfusion.
My stepsister, who shared my blood type, held my life hostage. She forced my husband to sign our divorce papers before she would donate a single drop.
By the time the blood reached me, my uterus was irreparably damaged. I permanently lost the right to ever be a mother.
"The Anderson family can't have an infertile matriarch."
My own parents said this as they falsified my medical records to protect her. And my husband, blinded by his misplaced loyalty, simply walked away, leaving me with a meager settlement.
I lost my baby, my fertility, and my marriage all in one week. How could the people I trusted most be so completely heartless?
But looking at the divorce papers, I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly signed my name and unsealed my Yale architecture degree.
"I'm in. Send me the files for the Manhattan project."
The weak, pathetic Mrs. Anderson died on that operating table. Crista Cherry is back, and it's time for them to pay.
9.0
Ellen had spent ten years cleaning her husband's home, a quiet devotion to the man who demanded her constant labor. But while vacuuming under their bed, her world shattered with a single, horrifying discovery. Hidden away was a secret phone, revealing a life her husband had built with another woman and child for the past eight years.
A decade of devoted homemaking for Adrian in their Los Angeles home was Ellen’s life. While cleaning, she found a hidden compartment and a new iPhone, which she shockingly unlocked. The wallpaper revealed Adrian with a secret family in Austin—a double life since her own pregnancy. Texts detailed a $1.2 million house and lavish expenses for “Angel.” Adrian stirred, forcing Ellen to hide the device. Her son was denied a $200 class, while her $50,000 inheritance funded Adrian’s secret family. Rage replaced her tears. Ellen photographed all incriminating details, hid the phone, and forced a submissive smile. Her quiet devotion was over; her war had just begun.