My Husband Faked Illness to Keep Me Prisoner

The champagne in my glass was vintage Dom Pérignon, crisp and biting against my tongue, but the air in the ballroom tasted stale. It was the specific staleness of old money and desperate ambition mixing under the heat of a thousand crystal chandeliers. The Starlight Charity Gala was in full swing, a sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns swirling through the cavernous hall of the Pierre Hotel. I stood near the periphery, away from the frenetic energy of the dance floor. My fingers idly traced the rim of the flute. I wasn't hiding, exactly. I was observing. Three years ago, crowds like this would have made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird. Now, I just felt a quiet, observant calm. I adjusted the silk of my gown—a deep midnight blue that Adrian had selected because he said it matched the quiet storm in my eyes.

Ivy Hart didn't just lose love, she was destroyed by it. Publicly betrayed by the man she thought she'd marry, her heartbreak becomes a spectacle she can't escape. Humiliated, angry, and done believing in forever, Ivy swears she'll never be that vulnerable again. Then Damian Blackwood steps in. Ruthless. Possessive. A man who doesn't ask, he takes. His offer is simple, his tone is not: Marry me. A contract. Strict rules. No love. No questions. But Ivy quickly learns one thing. Damian doesn't share. Not his power. Not his control. And definitely not what he considers his. What was supposed to be a cold, calculated arrangement turns suffocatingly intense. The way he watches her. The way he touches her. The way his voice drops when he says, "You're mine, Ivy." It's not part of the contract. And neither is the jealousy that burns in his eyes when her past comes crawling back, begging for a second chance. Because Damian doesn't believe in love... But he believes in possession. And once he's claimed something, he never lets it go. As secrets unravel and the truth behind their marriage begins to surface, Ivy realizes she didn't just sign a contract. She signed herself over to a man who would destroy anyone who tries to take her away... even if that means destroying her too. When the contract ends, one question remains: Will Ivy walk away with her heart intact... or will Damian make sure she never leaves at all?

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

Katelyn Miller's romantic getaway turns into a nightmare when she catches her boyfriend, Mark, in the arms of another woman aboard the Love Boat cruise. Heartbroken and humiliated, she drowns her sorrows in alcohol—only to wake up in a stranger's bed after a passionate, mistaken encounter in cabin 1412. Two weeks later, Katelyn discovers she's pregnant. With Mark coldly cutting ties and her life in shambles, she tracks down the father: Alexander Sterling III, a wealthy, enigmatic lawyer who views their unexpected connection as a problem to be managed. But when he offers her a shocking proposal—a temporary marriage to secure his family's legacy—Katelyn must decide whether to accept his calculated arrangement or face single motherhood alone. As they navigate their forced proximity, secrets emerge: Alexander's lingering ties to another woman, Katelyn's growing doubts about his motives, and the undeniable chemistry that blurs the lines of their contract. But when betrayal strikes again, Katelyn must confront the painful truth—some mistakes can't be undone, and not all fairy tales have happy endings.

Five years. That was one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-five days of waking up cold. Today was our anniversary. Not that anyone in the Blood Moon Pack would be celebrating. To them, this wasn't the day their Alpha and Luna were united; it was the day the "real" Luna ran away, and the spare was shoved into a white dress to stop a war. I sat at my vanity, the enchanted glass reflecting a face that looked too pale, too tired for twenty-one. My hand drifted up to my neck, hovering over the smooth, unmarked skin there. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed beneath my fingertips—mate sickness. It was a low-level hum of pain that never went away, the physical consequence of a bond that had been legally recognized but never sealed with a bite. "Happy anniversary, Leona," I whispered to the empty room.

It had been nine years of being tangled up with Max. On my birthday, his girlfriend crashed the party, declaring they were meant to be together and that I should consent to a divorce for their happiness. Max watched indifferently, expecting me to handle the situation as I always had with his difficult partners. But that day, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. I stood up, gave him a smile, and said, "I'm going to get some fresh air in the garden." Max barely noticed, likely thinking I was off to cry in solitude. But an hour passed, then two, then three, and I didn’t return. He came looking for me. All he found was a burnt cigarette and a ring in the garden. That's when he knew. I wasn't coming back.