His Ex, My Bed: The Ultimate Betrayal
I'm a neurosurgeon who makes seven figures. I support my husband, Jackson, and his entire family. For months, I planned the perfect St. Barts vacation for all of us, paying for every last detail.
Two days before departure, Jackson dropped a bombshell. He gave my first-class ticket to his ex-girlfriend, Amber.
My new itinerary? A series of budget flights, ending with a plane known for crashing into a cliffside.
His family, living off my money, agreed. "You're resilient," he said. "Amber's more delicate."
My own mother-in-law, whose safety concerns got her a first-class upgrade I paid for, told me Amber "needs this more than you do."
I wasn't family. I was just their ATM, and my life was a small price to pay for their comfort.
That night, I found Amber sleeping in my bed. The rage was cold and clear. I canceled the trip. I froze their accounts. And I called my lawyer.
"File for divorce. And prepare to collect on the multi-million dollar loan they owe me."
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Chapter 4
The minute I heard the front door click and the cars pull out of the driveway, I sprang into action. It was 4:55 AM, exactly five minutes before they expected me to be at the curb, ready to haul their mountain of luggage. I wasn't going to be there. Not with them, and not with their bags.
I pulled out my phone. First call: "Hi, Mark. It's Dr. Hogan. I need a bulk waste disposal service, immediately. My entire household luggage collection needs to be picked up and disposed of. No, don't worry about sifting through it. It's all… without value."
Mark, my long-time estate manager, sounded confused. "Dr. Hogan? Are you sure? That's rather, uh, unconventional."
"Positive, Mark. Consider it a purge. I'll transfer the funds for expedited service in five minutes. And make sure it's all gone before sunrise."
"Understood, Dr. Hogan. Right away."
A quick tap on my banking app, and a significant sum vanished from my primary account. A small price to pay for the satisfaction blooming in my chest. I watched from my bedroom window as a large truck rumbled up the drive, its mechanical arm scooping up the meticulously packed designer luggage – every single suitcase, carry-on, and garment bag – that Jackson had so carelessly thrown onto the curb. It was all gone. Every single material possession they valued, reduced to disposable refuse. A symbolic farewell.
Second call: "Jessica, it's Hailey. I need you to finalize the divorce papers. Immediately. And cancel all their travel arrangements. Every single flight, hotel, and charter. The St. Barts trip is off. Freeze all associated credit cards and allowances. Effective now."
Jessica, my chief legal counsel, was unflappable. "Understood, Dr. Hogan. Consider it done."
Third call: "Pierre, my private jet. Ready in two hours. St. Barts. Solo trip. The usual villa, but I want it fully stocked with my favorite champagne and that obscure truffle cheese. And no interruptions. Absolute discretion."
"Oui, Dr. Hogan. As you wish."
Two hours later, I was nestled in the plush leather seat of my private jet, a chilled glass of Dom Pérignon in hand. The rising sun painted the clouds in hues of orange and pink, a breathtaking canvas outside my window. The silence was golden, broken only by the soft hum of the engines. No bickering, no passive aggression, no entitlement. Just peace.
My phone buzzed. Jackson. 'What the hell, Hailey?! Where are you? Why aren't you here? Our flight is in an hour! The hotel isn't showing a reservation! What did you do?!'
I took a slow sip of champagne. 'Oh, that. I canceled it.'
'Canceled what?! Our entire trip?! Our flights?! Hailey, what are you talking about?!' His words were jagged, filled with rising panic.
'All of it, Jackson. Every single reservation. Every single flight. Your luxury villa? Gone. Your first-class seats? Reverted to the airline. You're on your own now.'
'On our own?! What do you mean?! Where are we going to stay?! My parents are here! Amber is here! This is unacceptable! You're doing this to embarrass me!'
'That sounds like your problem, Jackson. Not mine. Perhaps you can ask Amber where you're going to stay. She's so much more 'family' than I am, after all.'
My private jet soared higher, leaving the petty dramas of the world far below. The Caribbean glinted like a sapphire necklace. 'Hailey! Are you insane?! Do you know how much a last-minute flight to St. Barts costs?! A private villa?! We can't afford that! We don't have access to your bank account! Give me the code! Now!'
My voice was as smooth and cold as the champagne I was drinking. 'Access denied, Jackson. All accounts that you, your parents, or Jordan had access to have been frozen. Your credit cards? Canceled. Jordan's allowance? Terminated. Her luxury car? Registered in my name, I'm afraid. It's been repossessed.'
There was a stunned silence on the other end, a palpable shockwave.
'And just for clarity, Jackson, I've also filed for divorce. My legal team has all the documentation. Including the charming PDF you sent me detailing my 'budget route' on one of the world's most perilous flights. That'll make for some interesting reading in court.'
His mental voice, usually so loud and self-assured, went quiet. I could feel his shock, his disbelief, like a distant tremor. It was the frantic, desperate scramble of a man whose entire world had just been pulled out from under him. The Golden Goose, the one he had tried to send to her death, had just flown away, taking all her golden eggs with her.
'Hailey, you can't be serious! You wouldn't! This family, we are… we are yours! You love us!' His mental voice was barely a whimper.
'I loved the idea of you, Jackson. The idea of a family. But you all proved, quite spectacularly, that I was nothing more than an ATM with a pulse. And this ATM just closed its doors. Permanently.' I pictured his face, probably pale and sweating. 'Enjoy your 'adventure,' Jackson. Your budget flight to irrelevance just departed.'
I severed the mental link, a decisive snap. I then sent a final, short email to my accountant: "Ensure all previously authorized standing orders for the Dorsey family are irrevocably canceled. Confirm immediate cessation of all financial support."
I leaned back, closing my eyes, feeling the gentle sway of the jet. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery strokes of orange and purple. It was beautiful. Truly beautiful. And for the first time in years, the beauty reached me. I felt light. Free. The burden of their lives, their expectations, their endless demands, had lifted. A solo luxury vacation was exactly what the doctor ordered. And it was going to be glorious.
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9.5
I was a disgraced heiress hiding as a dishwasher in a high-end club, scrubbing lipstick off glasses until my fingers went numb. One night, I was forced to deliver a bottle of vintage whiskey to the penthouse, only to find the tech billionaire Kenan Cervantes collapsing from a lethal neural storm. I used my surgeon’s training to save his life, holding him in the dark until his fever finally broke.
The next morning, the world I knew shattered. My coworker Tiffany, who hadn't even stepped foot in the room, claimed my identity as the savior. She signed a non-disclosure agreement and walked away with a $200,000 check, while I was accused of stealing the whiskey and had my entire month's wages forfeited as punishment.
While Tiffany was flaunting Chanel suits and posting photos from his balcony, I was being shoved into the mud by my abusive foster father in a dark alley. I watched from the shadows as Kenan stepped into his luxury car, looking right through me with nothing but cold distaste. To him, I was just "street trash" cluttering the sidewalk, while the imposter was the "angel" who had stabilized his heart.
The injustice felt like a physical weight. I had quieted the noise in his brain and kept him from the brink of death, yet I was the one facing eviction and hunger. I didn't understand how he could be a genius and still be so blind to the truth, rewarding a thief while I rotted in the basement.
Everything reached a breaking point when Tiffany forced me to sneak into his penthouse to help her maintain the lie. But Kenan returned from Tokyo early, finding me on the terrace with his military-grade protection dog. The beast that had tried to bite Tiffany was now resting its head in my lap, protecting me from its own master.
Kenan dropped his briefcase, his eyes locking onto mine as the fragmented memories of the storm finally clicked into place.
"You," he whispered.
8.1
She thought she was marrying the handsome second young master of New York's most powerful family. Instead, she got his older brother, a cold and wheelchair-bound tycoon who wants nothing to do with her.
One wrong move, and her family loses everything.
Trapped in a gilded cage with a husband who pushes her away at every turn, Giselle has no choice but to stay. She tells herself this is just survival. But the closer she gets to Reid, the more she realizes something about him doesn't add up. Beneath the ice, there are moments of unexpected warmth. Beneath the darkness, there are secrets he will kill to protect.
What if the man who claims he cannot walk is hiding the truth?
7.5
I was the supreme architect of reality. Now I'm trapped in a womb with my twin brother Jaden, and he's already trying to kill me.
Born with a Void Lord core, Jaden is a gluttonous black hole that started draining my life force before I even had eyelids. Unfortunately for him, my ancient soul came with me. I crushed his consciousness, chained his dark power, and established the only rule that matters: Sister is God.
Three years later, he's a whimpering, chocolate-donut-obsessed mess who cries when I threaten to cancel snack time. I've got a demonic shadow bird enforcing my orders and a mother who has no idea her adorable daughter is secretly terrifying.
But when assassins hunting my family corner us in the forest, I have to stop playing cute. They see a toddler in pink overalls. I show them what an architect of reality looks like.
My twin is a Void Lord destined to consume worlds. He still flinches when I raise an eyebrow. Some hierarchies are eternal.
9.8
I stood at the edge of the freezing pond on the Boone estate, my body trembling with a fear that rattled my bones. Across from me, Amanda Olsen looked immaculate in her cashmere coat, a sharp contrast to the jagged reality I was trying to hold together.
"Why?" I whispered. Amanda just smiled, admitting she killed Grandpa Boone because he actually liked me. She pulled out a thick envelope-divorce papers Cordero had signed that morning. She told me he called me a parasite and was celebrating with her the night I suffered a miscarriage.
Before I could even scream, Amanda lunged and shoved me into the icy water. My heavy wool coat acted like a sponge, dragging me into the artificial abyss. I thrashed and gasped for air, but Amanda just stood on the bank, watching me drown with her hands tucked casually in her pockets.
As my lungs burned and the darkness closed in, I realized I had spent my entire marriage taking their abuse. I was the "foster trash" and the "gold digger" who let them win every single time. I was dying alone, hated by the husband I had tried so hard to love, while my murderer stood victorious on the shore.
I never fought back. I just let them destroy me.
Then, a violent spasm tore through my body. I sat up gasping, sucking in dry, air-conditioned oxygen instead of murky pond water. I wasn't dead. I was back in the opulent master suite, surrounded by red rose petals and wedding decorations.
The digital clock glowed: October 14, 2019. I had gone back five years to the very night my nightmare began.
The bathroom door clicked open, and Cordero stepped out, looking at me with the same cold disgust I remembered. But as I gripped the silk sheets, a new resolve hardened in my chest. This time, I wasn't going to be the victim. This time, the Boone family was going to find out exactly what happens when you push someone too far.
7.3
Aliyah Pollard POV:
For six years, my husband, Chase, refused to divorce me, gaslighting me while he built a new family with his mistress, Faye. After 99 failed attempts, I was ready for my 100th try.
But the man I met in the park wasn't my cold, cheating husband. It was Chase from ten years ago-eighteen, idealistic, and still madly in love with me.
He didn't understand why I looked so sad, why I flinched from his touch. He didn't know about the affair, the miscarriage Faye caused, or the child they now had together.
He saw the divorce papers and his world shattered. "I would never hurt you, Aliyah," he cried, his young eyes filled with genuine anguish. "I love you."
His pain was a stark contrast to the cruelty of the man he would become. The older Chase had sneered, "You're mine, Aliyah. Who would want you?"
But this boy, this pure version of my husband, saw my suffering and didn't hesitate.
He took the pen, his hand shaking, and signed the papers his future self had refused for years. "If this is what you need," he whispered, "I'll do it."
7.7
Kiara Watson had lived an unhappy life with her family, always overshadowed by her sister, Cloe, who stole all the attention with her beauty.
However, Kiara's fate took an unexpected turn when, by mistake and out of obligation, she found herself linked to Archie Villarreal, the man who caused a sensation in the most powerful family, the Villarreals.
A dirty trick by Cloe awakened the fury of billionaire Archie. For Kiara, being Cloe's twin became her greatest sin.
She received cruel punishment from Archie, who would do everything in his power to keep her from escaping, creating a stormy and passionate game of love and vehemence.