Eleven Miscarriages, One Final Cut
After her eleventh miscarriage, Clara Fulton became pregnant again. To protect the pregnancy, she lay in a hospital bed day after day, enduring injection after injection, waiting for the special drug meant to save her child.
Then she discovered the truth. Her husband of eight years, Ethan Grayson, had already given that one dose of the special drug to his newly pregnant mistress.
Clara wiped the tears from her face and made a ruthless decision, ending the pregnancy she had fought so desperately to keep.
She no longer wanted a man who wavered between women. But anyone who betrayed sincerity would have to pay a price.
She took out a phone she had never once used and dialed the only number saved on it.
"You wanted me to acknowledge you as my father, didn't you? Come pick me up in a week. I'll take your seat."
She had no idea that after she left, Ethan would kneel before every god he could think of, praying for nothing but her return.
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Chapter 6
Clara forced herself to calm down. Ivy wanted her to lose control, to bleed out in anger and end up dead along with the baby.
She would never let Ivy have what she wanted.
"You don't actually think he still cares about you, do you? Believe it or not, all it takes is one word from me, and he'll drop you without hesitation and come running to me."
The moment the message was sent, a call came through on Ethan's end.
"There's a fight in the west side? Useless idiots. You can't handle anything without me. I'm on my way."
He rushed over right after that, panic written all over his face.
"Honey, something serious is going down on the west side again. That place is always a mess. If I don't step in, it'll turn ugly fast. I'll go handle it and come back. Wait for me."
Without waiting for Clara's response, he hurried off.
A message from Ivy arrived almost immediately.
"Clara, it's time you faced reality. Between you and me, he'll always choose me. He's the underworld king now. Who in the whole city would dare cause trouble under his watch? He's just using it as an excuse to see me. I sent him one half-naked photo, and he couldn't wait."
Clara wiped away her tears, leaving nothing but coldness in her eyes.
Hours passed, and Ethan still hadn't returned.
Her phone kept vibrating as Ivy sent her photo after photo of the two of them in bed.
Clara let out a series of cold laughs. Ivy really didn't need to go this far.
A ruined man like that was no longer worth keeping.
"Clara, take a good look. See what you've driven him to. He really has it hard just trying to get some satisfaction."
Clara packed her things and burned everything she couldn't take with her, leaving nothing behind.
Standing at the door with her suitcase, she dialed one of her father's men.
"Send Ethan a very special gift for me."
This time, she would make Ethan understand what real pain meant.
After fooling around with Ivy all night, Ethan finally fell asleep.
Near dawn, he jolted awake, checked the time, and widened his eyes.
It was already six in the morning.
Throughout their years of marriage, he had always been by Clara's side by ten every night without fail.
If he was even a minute late, Clara would call.
But tonight, Clara hadn't called even once.
That was how it ended with him spending the entire night fooling around with Ivy, and even staying over at her place.
Unease surged through Ethan as he sat up in a panic, reaching for his phone to call Clara.
At that moment, a pair of arms wrapped around his neck, hot breath brushing against his ear.
"Stay with me a little longer. You wore me out last night. You have to spend more time with me today."
She teasingly extended her index finger and traced slow circles across Ethan's chest.
"Not today. It's my wedding anniversary with Clara. I need to be with her."
Ivy curled her lips in faint displeasure, said nothing, let out a soft laugh, and slipped under the covers.
Ethan's breathing grew heavier, his eyes reddened and filled with raw desire.
He seized Ivy by the hair with one hand and bit down hard on his lower lip.
After a long while, he finally released, gasping for breath.
Ivy licked the corner of her lips, slipped a finger into her mouth, her eyes brimming with provocation.
"Are you sure you want to push me away?"
The smile at the corner of Ethan's mouth deepened as he picked up his phone and sent Clara a perfunctory message.
"I'm preparing a wedding anniversary surprise for you. I'll come see you later."
With a sharp, impatient movement, he caged her beneath his body and drove into her.
On the cabinet by the bed sat the anniversary gift he had prepared for Clara, knocked into the trash by his rough movements.
He frowned briefly, casting a fleeting glance at the gift box before sinking back into the stimulation Ivy gave him, pushing everything else from his mind.
Clara was always so understanding. She wouldn't mind him arriving late.
What he hadn't expected was how violently his desire surged this time, stripping him of reason, making him want to lose himself completely in Ivy.
He completely forgot about Clara.
Ivy nestled against him, breathing in a deliberately seductive rhythm.
Today, she had to keep Ethan here.
She had got involved with him while still so young, wasting her best years. Why should she only ever be a mistress?
She refused to be just one of the many women around Asterfall's underworld king.
She wanted to be his only one.
She wanted Ethan to openly keep her by his side, respected by everyone under him, just like Clara once was.
She refused to lose to an old woman.
While Ethan was immersed in the stimulation Ivy gave him, the unease in his chest only grew heavier.
After another four or five hours, noon was fast approaching.
He had to go home to see Clara.
He snapped back to his senses and pulled away. "Get some rest. I'm leaving."
Ivy grabbed his hand in dissatisfaction. "I just want you to stay with me today. I'm begging you."
She pouted, her eyes red-rimmed, but received not a shred of sympathy from Ethan.
Ethan shook her off irritably. "You need to know your place. No one is allowed to interfere with my wedding anniversary with Clara today."
He did not spare Ivy a single glance as he walked away.
All that remained was Ivy hurling a cup from the table, smashing it against the hospital room door in fury.
The next second, she couldn't help but laugh.
"Everything is settled now. Clara won't want you anymore. You can only be mine."
She walked over and took out the hidden pinhole camera.
She wanted to see just how much Clara could endure, whether she could still remain Mrs. Grayson after seeing all this.
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8.0
Elena never planned on marrying a stranger, especially not someone engaged to her sister. But when her sister disappears days before the wedding, Elena is forced into an arrangement she never agreed to, with a man she knew nothing about.
Nathaniel Sinclair, billionaire heir with his dreamy looks and charming attitude is just as unenthusiastic about the situation as she is. Their marriage begins with distance, awkward silences and the quiet understanding that neither of them asked for this.
But as days turn into weeks and forced proximity becomes a regular thing, Elena starts to wonder: what happens when two people trapped in an arrangement begin to fall for each other?
It was never meant to be love. But love has a way of rewriting the rules.
7.1
I woke up gasping for air, expecting the cold concrete of a prison cell, but my fingers sank into the plush leather of a luxury Lincoln. I was twenty-four again, wearing the silver silk dress from the night my life was systematically destroyed.
Beside me sat my cousin Catrina, the woman whose carefully crafted lies had orchestrated my ruin and sent me to a penitentiary for five years.
In my first life, this was the night the dominoes fell. Catrina stole my jewelry to paint me as mentally unstable, and by morning, I was stripped of my medical license and labeled a criminal. My mother’s family, the Montgomerys, stood by and watched as my father’s company was devoured by wolves, treating my existence like a "liability" that needed to be managed. I still felt the phantom tremors in my hands from prison fights and the stinging betrayal of being discarded by the people I called family.
I had lived through five years of absolute hell, a former surgeon rotting in a cell while the people who framed me toasted to their success at galas I was no longer invited to.
"Don't be selfish, Dawn," Catrina whispered, reaching for the necklace that would later be used as evidence against me. "Let the jewelry shine on someone who actually matters."
She thought I was still the fragile victim she could manipulate, but she didn't realize I had returned from the grave with the cold, clinical calculation of a fixer.
Instead of walking into her trap at the gala, I forced the car onto a dark service road and dragged a dying billionaire, Jennings Stafford, from the wreckage of a burning SUV.
He was the only man powerful enough to destroy my enemies, and as I stitched his wounds with stolen supplies, I didn't ask for a thank you.
I looked him dead in the eye and proposed a contract that would set the world on fire.
"I want a strategic marriage. You get a harmless wife with a legacy name to calm your board, and I get immunity from everyone who ever touched me."
The bill for my five years in prison had finally come due, and I was here to collect.
7.8
Helen was finally brought back to the luxurious Gallagher estate as their long-lost blood relative.
But her new family didn't welcome her; they looked at her with undisguised disgust.
The matriarch mocked her stench of poverty, while her step-sister Candice treated her like a feral animal. The patriarch, Fredy—who had built his empire by betraying Helen's mother—tried to break her spirit. He blackmailed Helen into attending a high-society gala by threatening to cut off her grandmother's medical funds.
At the gala, Candice squeezed into a diamond-encrusted gown, desperate to seduce the guest of honor, Damian Montgomery. Damian was the most powerful man in New York, and he was currently tearing the city apart looking for a mysterious woman named Jane.
Overhearing this, a sick, greedy smile spread across Candice's face. She planned to impersonate Jane to claim Damian's wealth and completely crush Helen under her heel.
"Hide in the corner tonight. Don't you dare try to speak to anyone important!"
They all thought Helen was just a helpless, uncultured country girl they could easily manipulate and step on to secure their stolen legacy.
What they didn't know was that Helen was the real Jane. She was the lethal shadow who had saved Damian in the woods, shattered his grip, and robbed his highly guarded vault just the night before.
Helen calmly adjusted her simple black dress and stepped into the ballroom, ready to tear their stolen world apart.
7.2
Nina had been by Julian's side for ten years, ostensibly as his personal doctor, but in reality, she was his lover.
Whenever he was injured in conflicts, she treated him; during his moments of loneliness, she was there to comfort him.
Nina believed that if she devoted enough, she would eventually win his heart.
That was until his idealized love returned to the country, rendering Nina worthless in his eyes, and he discarded her like yesterday's news.
Even his assistant couldn't bear to see it and advised Julian to appreciate her, but he scoffed at the suggestion. "Nina was never part of my life plan. I kept her around because she bore a slight resemblance to Aria."
In that instant, Nina's infatuation seemed like a joke.
When he wrapped his arm around his idealized love's waist, smiling as he asked her to help plan their wedding, Nina didn't cry or cause a scene; she just smiled through her tears and obediently agreed.
Then she turned around and dialed a number. "There are seven days left in the ten-year commitment. I am applying for termination, and from now on, I will have nothing to do with Julian."
9.8
Adeline's stepmother had secretly drugged her for years, turning a child genius into a drooling, mentally disabled laughingstock just so her stepsister could steal her life.
But when her greedy father sold her off to Griffin Herring—a violent, untouchable billionaire psychopath—to save his company, things took a deadly turn.
Before the wedding, Griffin attacked her in a dark alley, nearly snapping her neck before stealing her grandfather's silver necklace.
That necklace held a micro-drive with her family's deepest secrets, and without it, she had nothing.
Back at the estate, her situation only worsened. Her stepsister Damaris paraded around in the Herring family's diamond engagement gifts, trying to force-feed Adeline wet dog food on an Instagram live stream.
When Adeline's calculated "clumsiness" ruined the video, her furious father locked her in a damp, rusted basement.
"Give her to the psycho," her stepmother hissed through the door. "Let him lock her away forever."
Listening from the shadows, Adeline's fists clenched until her palms bled.
Her supposed mental fog wasn't a tragedy—it was a calculated assassination of her mind. They had destroyed her childhood and were now throwing her to a monster just to keep the billions.
The dull, empty look in Adeline's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a razor-sharp, chilling clarity.
She pulled a thin surgical needle from her messy bun and picked the heavy iron padlock in ten seconds. It was time to break into the billionaire's penthouse, take back her necklace, and tear them all apart.
8.1
Allison was hiding in a dusty small-town garage, working as a mechanic to suppress the lethal, experimental serum freezing her veins.
But a call from her estranged, wealthy father shattered her peace.
He threatened to permanently freeze her dead mother's trust fund if she didn't return to the family estate immediately.
That trust fund held the only key to the truth behind her past and her survival.
When she stepped into the sprawling mansion in her faded hoodie, her family treated her like a stray dog.
Her stepmother mocked her cheap clothes, and her half-brother called her a piece of trash.
Her father tossed a vocational school enrollment form at her, telling her to learn to sew so they could marry her off to anyone desperate enough.
Her perfect, porcelain-doll stepsister Gwyneth even deliberately smashed a glass of boiling milk against her own leg.
"Why did you push me?!" Gwyneth screamed, crying tears of fake terror to frame Allison.
"You vicious bitch! You're just as sick as your mother!" her father roared, raising his hand to strike her.
They looked at her with absolute disgust, thinking she was just a stupid, uncultured hick they could easily manipulate and destroy.
They had no idea that the girl standing before them was a lethal operative who already possessed all their offshore tax ledgers and darkest secrets.
Allison easily caught her father's wrist mid-air, her grip like a steel vice.
"I'm not going to a trade school," she whispered coldly, ripping the form into pieces. "I am going to Crestwood Academy."
It was time to take back everything that belonged to her, with interest.