My Coldhearted Ex-Husband Demands A Remarriage
Erika was a disgraced ex-wife, struggling to survive in a freezing Brooklyn slum to raise her five-year-old son.
But her billionaire ex-husband, Doyle Morgan, wasn't done destroying her. He orchestrated a cruel trap, forcing her to deliver a custom sapphire brooch to his new mistress, just to watch her get humiliated and severely burned by scalding coffee.
When Erika fought back and refused to beg, Doyle's punishment was swift. He demoted her to scrubbing executive toilets with raw, bleeding hands. Starved, exhausted, and pushed to the absolute brink of organ failure, she finally collapsed lifelessly in front of him in Central Park.
For five years, she had endured his relentless torment and the world's mockery just to keep her child safe. Doyle despised her, convinced her son was the filthy proof of her cheating with another man.
He didn't know the boy was actually the child of his deceased older brother, conceived in a dark, drugged hotel room. Why couldn't he just leave them alone to suffer in peace?
But when Erika woke up in the VIP hospital ward, the nightmare took a terrifying turn. Doyle pinned her weak wrists to the mattress, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive obsession. He had figured out the truth about the boy's bloodline.
"He's a Morgan. He has my family's blood in his veins, and I will not allow my nephew to be raised in a slum. If you can't care for him, I will. From this moment on, you and that boy belong to me. And you are never leaving my sight again."
Chapters
Share
Chapter 3
The subway ride back to Brooklyn was a blur of agonizing pain.
Every time the train jolted, the raw skin on Erika's arm screamed. The cold wind outside the station felt like sandpaper against her burns.
She dragged her feet up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. Her hand shook violently as she dug her keys out of her tote bag.
She slid the key into the rusted lock. She noticed faint, fresh scratch marks around the metal cylinder, a sudden cold dread filling her stomach before the door even swung open. It clicked.
Erika pushed the door open, ready to collapse.
But the moment she stepped inside, her lungs froze.
The familiar scent of mold and cheap cleaning supplies was gone. Instead, the heavy, expensive aroma of cedarwood and dark tobacco filled the cramped space.
Erika's eyes darted to the center of the room.
Sitting on her sagging thrift-store sofa was a man in a bespoke charcoal suit. His long legs were stretched out, taking up the entire space.
Doyle Morgan.
Erika's heart stopped beating.
But what made her blood run entirely cold was what he held in his arms.
Connor was fast asleep, his small head resting against Doyle's broad chest.
Panic, raw and blinding, exploded in Erika's brain.
"Put him down!" she screamed, launching herself across the room.
She threw herself at the sofa, her hands clawing at his suit jacket, trying to rip her son away from him.
Doyle didn't flinch. He secured Connor against his chest with his left arm. His right hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping around Erika's wrist like a steel vice.
With a sharp pull, he dragged her down, forcing her to crash onto the sofa cushion right beside him. He carefully angled his body so she wouldn't hit the child.
Connor stirred, letting out a soft whimper.
Doyle's chest stopped moving. He held his breath, his large hand instinctively coming up to cup the back of Connor's head, soothing him back to sleep.
The sight of Doyle-the monster who destroyed her life-comforting her son made Erika feel physically sick. She thrashed against his grip.
"Let me go!" she hissed.
Doyle's dark eyes snapped to hers. "Shut up," he growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. "You're going to wake him."
Erika froze, terrified of scaring Connor. She glared at Doyle, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with pure hatred.
Doyle's gaze slowly dropped from her face.
His eyes landed on her left arm.
The blisters were massive now, the skin peeling away in angry red patches.
Doyle's pupils dilated. The temperature in the room plummeted. The grip on her wrist tightened so hard Erika felt her bones grind together.
"Who did this?" Doyle demanded. His voice was deathly quiet, but the muscle in his jaw ticked furiously.
Erika let out a bitter, breathless laugh. "Why don't you ask your girlfriend? It was a lovely tip for my delivery service."
Doyle's face turned to stone. A flash of violent, unrestrained fury crossed his eyes.
But just as quickly, the mask slammed back into place. He sneered, his lip curling. "Who gave you permission to go to her penthouse? Trying to beg for your old life back?"
Erika's mouth fell open in shock. "HR assigned me the delivery! You think I wanted to see her?"
Doyle leaned in, his face inches from hers. His breath ghosted over her lips. "Nothing happens in my company without my approval, Erika. You went because I allowed it."
The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach.
He had orchestrated the entire thing. He wanted her humiliated. He wanted her broken.
A wave of pure, unfiltered rage washed over her.
Erika ripped her free hand back and slapped him across the face with everything she had.
The sharp crack echoed in the small room.
Doyle's head snapped to the side.
Before Erika could pull her hand back, Doyle dropped Connor onto the sofa cushions, grabbed both of Erika's wrists, and twisted them behind her back.
He pressed his hard chest against hers, trapping her completely.
He looked down at Connor, who was still sleeping soundly. A dark, ugly jealousy twisted Doyle's features.
He leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. "Is this what you reduced yourself to? Letting yourself get burned to feed another man's bastard?"
Erika saw red. She opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the thick muscle of his shoulder, biting down until she tasted his blood.
You may also like
8.4
Ayleen Avery was just a struggling hotel worker trying to survive her shift. But during a sudden blackout, she accidentally stumbled into the pitch-black VIP suite of a ruthless billionaire driven mad by chronic insomnia.
Calmed only by her unique natural scent of roses and rain, the terrifying man attacked her from the shadows and forced himself on her. Terrified and broken, Ayleen fled at dawn, unknowingly leaving behind her late mother's antique rose necklace in his bed.
Her greedy coworker found the necklace, claimed to be the woman from that night, and was instantly swept into a life of luxury. Meanwhile, Ayleen was blackmailed into a forced marriage with her attacker—Cassius Doyle—to save her adoptive father from prison. Deceived by the stolen necklace, Cassius believed Ayleen was a manipulative spy. He brought the coworker into their home and paraded her around the master bedroom.
"In this house, you are lower than the dirt on my shoes."
He choked Ayleen, forced her to sleep in a damp storage room, and treated her with violent disgust while pampering the thief.
Ayleen was suffocating in absolute despair. She had lost her innocence, her freedom, and her mother's only relic to a vicious liar. She couldn't understand how this all-powerful man could be so completely blind. Why couldn't he recognize the very scent that had cured his agonizing madness?
Staring at the dark bruises he had just left on her neck, Ayleen wiped the blood from her lip. She would endure this three-month marriage to secure her family's safety, but once the contract ended, she would expose the truth and tear down the fake savior he cherished so much.
7.2
After a one night stand with the woman whose house Jason broke into, his life has never been the same. Like a siren's call, he can't get the nymphomaniac woman off his mind. Weeks later, while getting intel for the crew's next heist, Jason lays eyes upon the woman and follows her into a secret strip club. She appears to lead a double life. One where she's the CEO of a multimillion company and her father's golden child. The other side of her life is that she owns a strip club and is extremely erotic. Can Jason learn to live with her as she is? Will he put his pride aside to be with the woman? ... especially when his crew is hired to kidnap a woman who turns out to be the love of his life.
8.7
Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies.
Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul.
When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway.
"Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?"
But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity.
Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files.
But tonight, he returned.
When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared:
"We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."
Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation.
I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows?
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow.
I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.
8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
9.3
For five years, I was Ashton Miller's invisible partner, his loyal fiancée, pouring my life into building his empire from the shadows. Tonight, the Bronze Deer exhibition, my masterpiece, was finally opening at the Met, a testament to our shared future.
Then, Bianca, a third-tier actress, stepped into the spotlight in *my* custom Vera Wang wedding dress. My blood ran cold as Ashton's arm circled her waist, his whispered words promising to make her the "new queen of the city."
Five years of trust and sacrifice crumbled. I was a blood bag, drained and discarded. When I publicly exposed their lies, Ashton cornered me backstage, his face twisted in fury, threatening to ruin me, to blacklist me forever. I ripped off his engagement ring, tossing it at his chest. "We're done," I said, walking out as his enraged screams echoed.
The man whose empire I secretly built called me a parasite, his mistress feigning tears, painting me as delusional. My guilt vanished, replaced by freezing, absolute hatred for the man who twisted reality to erase my existence.
Standing in the New York rain, I finally pulled out the military-grade encrypted phone hidden for five years. The line clicked open instantly, a low, gravelly voice asking, "Is it you?" Before I could answer, Archer's voice hardened: "Give me the location. I'll be there in ten minutes. Who touched you? I want his life."