My Escape From Two Tyrants
On our seventh wedding anniversary, Emerson's friend introduced a college student to the club for him. Emerson, usually so detached, actually smiled as he pulled the young woman close, murmuring in her ear, "Just like her, even the scent."
This student bore a striking resemblance to his elusive first love. Watching him lose himself in an ardent kiss with her, my heart turned to ice. This marriage is over. I can't keep on like this. "I knew you were still fixated on Saoirse, so I found you a lookalike," laughed Emerson's friend loudly. Emerson had Isabelle comfortably on his lap, whispering by her ear. Rooted to the spot, a deep chill seeped through my body. Ever since Isabelle arrived, not a single person, especially Emerson, seemed to care about my feelings. He chuckled, "It's true, I can't forget her, but aren't you worried about how my wife might react, bringing someone like this right in front of her?"
His friend laughed as if it was the best joke he'd heard.
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Chapter 2
"I don't even remember what promise that was," Emerson said casually while playing with Isabelle's hair, his other hand giving her waist a playful pinch, causing her to yelp in surprise. His demeanor was so nonchalant, his actions so frivolous.
Once, he was the guiding light in my life, the one who rescued me from my dysfunctional family, supported my education, and married me. I thought we were destined for happiness together. But seven years later, our journey has reached its end.
Tears streamed down my face like scattered pearls from a broken necklace. I turned and walked away.
As I left, someone asked Emerson, "Aren't you going after her, Emerson?"
He sneered, "She's just throwing a fit. She'll come around."
Over the years, we’d had minor disagreements, and every time, I would inevitably go back. But this time, it wasn't just a fit. Deep down, I knew there was no point in continuing with this marriage.
As I walked through the streets of London, the winter air bit into my skin, cold and unrelenting. Emerson’s driver followed closely in the car behind me.
"Ma'am, please don't be upset. Get in the car; it's freezing," he urged.
"And do you think this is just a fit?" I asked, my voice catching with emotion.
"I’ve always believed that if I haven't done anything wrong, it's not just a fit. Today, I did nothing wrong. Emerson did. This isn't a fit!"
The driver grew impatient. "Ma'am, if I were you, I'd stick with Mr. Gordon. Living in luxury should be enough."
I no longer wanted to engage with him. People in their world all think the same. To them, women are just toys.
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8.5
On the day Saul claimed he was busy and canceled our date yet again, I returned home only to discover his marriage certificate with his assistant, Jane Bradley. The registration date was today. I chuckled, placed the certificate on the desk, and broke up with him without hesitation. Moments later, he called, sounding irritated, “Maddie, what’s with the theatrics? Can you grow up?”
I was about to respond when I heard Jane's tearful voice in the background, "Saul, did Maddie misunderstand us? You should come home. I can handle this myself."
“Just ignore her,” Saul reassured Jane. “She’s always been like this—such a pain. Right now, you're what's important.”
With those words echoing in my mind, I hung up, my heart finally settling on a quiet determination. ---
As I was packing to leave, Saul arrived with Jane, fussing over her.
8.5
The heavy mahogany door of the Plaza Hotel’s bridal suite clicked shut behind me. The sound was too loud, too final. I reached for the brass handle, my fingers slipping against the polished metal. Locked. From the outside. "Ridge?" I called out, my voice trembling against the suffocating silence of the room. The cloying scent of white lilies and expensive champagne suddenly turned my stomach. A shadow shifted in the corner. My breath hitched, the boning of my custom Vera Wang gown digging mercilessly into my ribs. Sitting in a velvet armchair, clutching a crystal tumbler with both hands, was Damian.
8.1
On her wedding day, bride Elara is ambushed by maid-of-honor Chloe, who barges in with masked men, drugs her, steals her gown and has her dumped in a river to drown so Chloe can marry Elara’s fiancé Julian. Elara survives and is rescued by billionaire Isabella Thorne, who gives her a new identity, trains her in psychological warfare and installs spy-cams in the newlyweds’ home. Elara teams up with Julian’s boss Damien to dismantle his career while anonymously haunting the couple with roses and photos, turning their “perfect” life into a nightmare of paranoia.
9.8
I married an S-class Alpha to save my family's bankrupt company.
But my husband, Braydon, treated me worse than a stray dog.
When my heat cycle triggered early, the fever was agonizing. I crawled to our master bedroom, crying and begging him for just one temporary bite to save my life.
Instead, he locked the door from the inside.
"Go back to your room. I told you I didn't want to deal with you this weekend."
Through the crack under the door, I smelled the cheap perfume of his mistress. While I was dying in the hallway, forced to inject a toxic black-market suppressant that made me vomit blood, he was sleeping with her in our bed.
Days later, a drunk Braydon pinned me to the floor, trying to violently force a permanent mark on my neck just to assert his dominance.
When I fought him off, he blamed me for provoking him and casually tossed a credit card at me to buy my silence.
"Go buy whatever you want. Just tell the clinic you slipped in the shower."
Staring at the man who was supposed to protect me, my heart went completely cold. Why did I ever think this monster would change? This wasn't a marriage anymore; it was a cage, and the animal inside it was trying to kill me.
I quietly pressed the record button on my phone, capturing every single word of his twisted bribe.
Then, I pulled out a matte black business card and called the terrifying Enigma CEO who had been waiting for me in the shadows.
9.7
The sound of my front door crashing open echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot. I didn't flinch as I continued arranging the delicate white orchids in the crystal vase, their fragility a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my living room. "Well, well... look who's still playing house."
Mercy Ray's voice dripped with venom as she strode into my Manhattan penthouse uninvited, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor with deliberate force. Three years. Three years I'd endured being treated as a placeholder, a substitute for this woman who'd finally returned from Paris. I carefully positioned another stem before turning to face her. "Mercy. What an unexpected surprise."
She looked exactly as I remembered—perhaps even more beautiful after her time abroad. Her honey-blonde hair fell in perfect waves past her shoulders, and her emerald dress hugged every curve with expensive precision.
7.2
Two years ago, Amaya Bennett witnessed a murder.
A powerful man was killed in cold blood, right in front of her. She should have died that night too.
Instead, she woke up in a hospital with no memory of what happened. No faces, no names and no clues. Just fragments, blurred images that slip through her fingers every time she tries to hold on.
Now, Amaya lives a quiet life, piecing herself back together. She works part-time, avoids trouble, and stays invisible. Until she lands a job at Twilight Global.
A company owned by Jake Anderson, the cold and untouchable CEO whose father was murdered the same night Aria lost her memory. Jake spent years searching for the only witness. But she vanished without any trace. Or so he thought.
But somehow, they cross path again, working under his roof, completely unaware of the truth she carries.
The killer is still out there.
And when Amaya starts getting flashes of blood, a voice, a ring glinting under the dim light, the hunt begins again.
But this time, she's not alone. Because even before he realizes who she is... Jake has already started protecting her. In the most relentless and dangerous way.