Five Years, A Forgotten Name

He remembered my childhood pet' s name, our first meeting, and my obscure tea brand, but for five years, Braylon couldn't remember I was allergic to shrimp. It glistened in my pasta, a cruel reminder of how little of me registered in his mind, especially as he laughed with a familiar blonde across the room. My stomach churned, not from the allergy, but from a deeper sickness. That night, at a sprawling rooftop party, Braylon handed Dallas Huff, a young blonde, a delicate bracelet-a replica of her grandmother's, a story he'd told me a hundred times. "Dallas, this reminded me of you," he said, his voice soft, intimate. She beamed, leaning into him, her eyes sparkling, then flickered to me with a triumphant, venomous gleam. When Dallas purred about a gallery opening, Braylon chuckled, "Eliza will be coming with us. Our anniversary dinner is that night." He turned to me, a forced smile pleading for me to play along. But I was done. "It's over, Braylon," I whispered, "And my name is Eliza." He looked genuinely lost, unable to recall my actual name, while Dallas and his friends mocked his forgetfulness. His eyes, wide and confused, searched my face. "Eliza? What are you talking about? Your name is... it's always been..." He trailed off, genuinely lost. A bitter taste filled my mouth. He remembered every trivial detail of Dallas' s life, but my actual name? It was a blank. Later, he left me stranded on a dark, winding road after I refused to apologize to Dallas. My phone was dead, and I stumbled, breaking my ankle. As I lay there, alone and injured, I sobbed, "Why did I stay? Why did I waste five years on him?" Braylon, meanwhile, drove away, a gnawing unease simmering beneath his anger, only to return to a horrifying scene.

Chapters

Chapter 5

"Please, tell me," Braylon stammered, his voice raw, barely a whisper. "The body... where did you find it? What did she look like?"

The officer behind the counter, a gruff man with kind eyes, took in Braylon's disheveled state and trembling hands. "Sir, you need to calm down. Are you reporting a missing person?"

Braylon just nodded, tears welling in his eyes. He tried to speak again, but only choked sounds came out. "My girlfriend... Eliza... I left her... on the old winding road..."

The officer's demeanor softened. He called for backup, then led Braylon to a police car. "Let's go, son. We'll check it out."

The drive was a blur of terror and sickening anticipation. When they arrived, the scene was cordoned off. Forensics were already present. Braylon's heart hammered against his ribs as he was led to a covered figure. A piece of clothing, familiar in its style but not in its pattern, lay nearby.

"This isn't her," he whispered, a wave of dizzying relief washing over him. It wasn't Eliza's dress. It wasn't her. But the horrifying image of her, alone and vulnerable, still haunted him.

"Thank God," he muttered, collapsing against the police car, his legs weak. But the relief was fleeting. Where was she?

He pleaded with the officers, his voice hoarse, "Please, you have to find her! She's out there somewhere! She's hurt, I know it!"

They scoured the area, calling her name. After what felt like an eternity, a shout from one of the officers. "Over here! I found her!"

Braylon scrambled towards the voice, his heart leaping into his throat. She was lying at the bottom of a shallow embankment, curled into a fetal position, her clothes torn, her face pale and streaked with dirt. She looked small, broken.

"Eliza!" he screamed, her name a guttural cry of agony and regret. He didn't hesitate. He launched himself down the slope, tumbling ungracefully, scraping his hands and knees on the rocky ground. The pain was irrelevant.

He crawled towards her, his hands trembling as he reached out. He checked her pulse, her breath. It was faint, so faint.

"Eliza, my love, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, pulling off his jacket and gently wrapping it around her shivering form. "Please, just hold on."

Paramedics soon arrived, carefully lifting her onto a stretcher. Braylon clung to her hand, his tears falling onto her cold skin, his apologies a broken litany.

The ER was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Doctors, nurses, the frantic beeps of machines. Braylon watched as they worked on her, his mind a maelstrom of guilt and fear.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise. "Braylon! Oh my God, what happened to you?" It was Dallas, followed by his shallow friends. She rushed towards him, feigning concern. Her eyes then flicked to Eliza, being wheeled past, her face bruised and still.

Dallas recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Ugh, look at her. What a mess. Did she do this to herself for attention? She's always so dramatic, isn't she?"

Braylon snapped. A roar tore from his throat, silencing the entire ER. "Shut your mouth, Dallas! Not one more word! If you ever, ever speak like that about her again, I swear to God, I will make you regret it!"

Dallas froze, her eyes wide with shock. His friends, too, stared, stunned by his raw fury. Braylon' s face was a mask of pure rage, his eyes bloodshot, veins throbbing in his neck. He looked like a wild animal.

"Get out!" he snarled, pointing a shaking finger at Dallas. "All of you, just get out. Now!"

Dallas, terrified, stumbled back, dragging his friends with her. They scurried away, leaving Braylon alone in his despair. He slumped against the cold wall, burying his face in his hands, his body wracked with tremors. He felt a sudden, intense dizziness. The room spun. His vision blurred, then went black. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

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On my birthday, my husband's secretary brought me a bouquet of flowers. Unfortunately, I was allergic to the pollen, which led to the loss of the baby I was carrying. A colleague called my husband, but he was indifferent. "What's with all the drama? I already sent her a gift. Now what is this fuss about?" he grumbled. When the doctor required a family member's signature, he was equally dismissive. "It's just an allergy, isn't it? Do I really need to show up for this?" he scoffed. I vaguely overheard him comforting his tearful secretary.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.8

Flash Marriage To The Ruthless Surgeon

7.8

My abusive ex was threatening a lawsuit that would destroy my father's career and wipe out my PhD. I was completely out of options. That night, Graham, the boy from next door I hadn't seen in a decade, showed up at my apartment in the middle of a hurricane. Now a wealthy orthopedic surgeon, he offered a transactional marriage: he needed a local wife to keep his family away while he cared for his sick mother, and in return, he would make my ex disappear. I thought it was a simple deal. But the morning after we signed the marriage license, Graham didn't just scare my ex off—he ruthlessly dismantled him. Then, Graham turned to me. His eyes were dead as he pulled out his phone, showing me a high-resolution photo of the night I illegally sold lab samples to pay off my ex's initial blackmail. He had hired a private investigator to stalk me. If that photo leaked to the FDA, I wouldn't just lose my degree; I'd go to prison. "I needed a guarantee," he said flatly. I was shaking with rage and terror. This wasn't a rescue. It was a hostage situation. Why did he hunt me down? Why use my darkest secret to trap me in this twisted marriage? I couldn't live like this. I demanded an immediate divorce. But at the courthouse, the clerk dropped a bomb on us: state law required a mandatory thirty-day waiting period. Thirty days trapped with a ruthless, manipulative stranger. I had to find a way to break his leverage before the month was up.

Action Modern Romance

9.5

He Left Me for the Woman Who Ruined Me

9.5

The hum of the soldering iron was the only music I needed. Under the magnifying lamp, the motherboard of the 1970s PDP-11 mainframe looked like a city map, a sprawling metropolis of copper and silicon that I knew better than the streets of Seattle. To the outside world, this was just obsolete junk sitting in a warehouse. To me, it was history waiting to be rebooted. This was the kind of work that earned 'Ember' her reputation in the dark corners of the dark web, even if right now, I was just Celine Crawford, the lady who owned the recycling yard. The brass bell above the shop door chimed, cutting through my concentration. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The scent of roasted hazelnut and fresh rain on cedar wood drifted in, instantly soothing the tension in my shoulders. "Late night again, Celine?" Joshua Ford, the owner of 'The Daily Grind' cafe next door, leaned against my counter. He held a steaming paper cup in his large, scarred hands.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.5

His Regret, My Unbought Freedom

7.5

My husband left me to die in a fire, choosing to save his mistress while I lost our baby in the flames. But my suffering had only just begun. He and his lover then tried to poison me, swapping my life-saving medication for tranquilizers. When that didn't work, he orchestrated a car crash that shattered my legs, leaving me crippled and helpless. His final act of cruelty was on his yacht. He watched as his mistress framed me, then locked me in a room with a group of thugs who left me for dead. I threw myself into the ocean that night, choosing the cold, dark water over the monsters on that boat. I survived. I rebuilt my life, found a man who cherished my broken pieces, and was about to get married. Then, August crashed my engagement party. He told me he'd destroyed his mistress and was giving me his entire fortune. He thought he could buy his way back into my life. He was about to learn that some things can't be fixed with money.

Action Modern Romance

8.5

Husband's Mistress Kills Mom

8.5

The shrill ring of my phone pierced through the quiet Tuesday evening like a blade. I was folding laundry in our bedroom, Alexander's shirts crisp and white in my hands, when the sound made my heart skip. "Mrs. George?" The voice was urgent, professional. "This is St. Mary's Hospital. Your mother has been brought in by ambulance. She collapsed at home with severe breathing difficulties." The shirt slipped from my fingers, floating to the floor like a surrendering flag. "What? Is she—" "She's alive, but her condition is critical.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.4

Jilted Heiress: Rising From The Ashes

9.4

I stood in the center of my Manhattan penthouse, staring at the empty satin hanger where my custom Vera Wang gown should have been. It was a masterpiece of silk and pearls that had taken six months to perfect for my wedding to the billionaire heir, Boston Travis. Then my phone buzzed. Boston’s voice was a flat line, devoid of the love he’d promised me for four years. "The wedding is off, Florrie. I’m marrying your sister, Asia." He told me Asia was dying of Stage 4 cancer and her "final wish" was to be a bride—wearing my dress. He had sent his security team to my home with a spare key to steal the gown, claiming it was Travis property since his family accounts paid the bill. My stepmother texted me minutes later, demanding I vacate my own beach house so the "dying" girl could have a honeymoon. When I tried to protest, Boston snapped at me. "How could you be so heartless? She’s your sister. Have some compassion." They expected me to play the part of the discarded woman while they paraded my life around as a PR stunt. I realized then that Asia hadn't just taken my dress; she had spent her entire life stealing my father's love and my peace, always playing the fragile angel while I was cast as the villain. I didn't cry. I sat at my desk, opened my contacts, and relabeled Boston Travis as "TARGET." If they wanted a tragic story, I would give them a massacre. I reclaimed my mother’s multi-million dollar trust, seized the deed to the beach house, and walked into Asia’s hospital room with a lit sparkler to expose the truth behind her "terminal" illness. As I slapped Boston in the hospital lobby in front of a dozen recording iPhones, I realized I didn't need a husband. I needed a clean slate—and I was going to burn their empire to get it.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Five Years, A Forgotten Name

Chapter 5

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