My Love Was Gone
My husband, Rodger Hayes, was a renowned chief negotiator, famous for his integrity and firmness within the circle.
When my son and I were kidnapped, with three hostages at the scene, the kidnappers agreed to release only one.
Among the women and the boy, Rodger should have chosen to save the boy first.
Yet, I heard him saying in Spanish fluently, "Release the woman in white."
His first love, Jolene Chapman, was freed, while my son, Jacob Hayes, died from a gunfire.
Later, Rodger explained the situation flatly. "The kidnappers chose to release Jolene."
I cradled Jacob's ashes and smiled sadly.
Rodger didn't know that I was fluent in Spanish, as I had been a special forces member.
His lies crumbled before me.
My phone vibrated, and I confirmed the encrypted message.
"Falcon returns to base."
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Chapter 5
Rodger received a first-class merit award for his "outstanding performance" in the terrorist hostage crisis.
The government held a grand "Anti-Terrorism Commendation Ceremony" in his honor.
Jolene and I were asked to attend it because she was involved in it, and I was the "family of the victim."
At the banquet, Rodger and Jolene were surrounded by reporters and officials.
He wore a crisp uniform, and his epaulettes gleamed.
Jolene clung to his arm, dressed in a designer gown, with a triumphant smile.
The media's flashbulbs constantly flickered, lauding them as "partners who stood together in the face of fire and death."
I was seated in the most inconspicuous corner, unnoticed.
Rodger took the stage to deliver his speech.
Basked in the limelight, he framed the ruthless negotiation, the choice to sacrifice his wife and his son, as a "difficult game played for more people."
He said, "As a negotiation expert, I must insist that reason must always triumph over emotion. Every life is precious. The decision was painful, but I have no regrets."
The room erupted in applause.
Sitting in the corner, I watched the radiant man on stage and suddenly recalled when Jacob first learned to walk.
He was also surrounded by many people.
Rodger tried to make him laugh and lie on the floor, pretending to be a horse, regardless of his image.
He let Jacob ride on his back and grinned from ear to ear.
He lifted Jacob high and said, "Jacob, move forward boldly. I am always behind you and support you."
Now, he stood on his son's grave and won his own fame and accolades.
During the media interview, the microphone was handed to Jolene.
"Ms. Chapman, you have experienced this event. Do you have anything to say?"
Facing the camera, Jolene shed tears at the perfect time. She looked tragically beautiful. "First, I want to thank Rodger for giving me a second chance at life. I also feel sorry for Nicole for losing Jacob. She must be heartbroken. It's a pity... She might have been too scared at the time and didn't protect Jacob immediately, leading to the tragedy."
Her words distorted truths and made my stomach churn.
Overwhelmed by nausea, I rushed to the restroom.
Bent over the sink, I dryly heaved but couldn't bring anything up.
Jolene followed me in.
She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. She looked at my disheveled state with a sardonic smile.
She approached and whispered in a voice only she and I could hear, "You know what? Jacob died for me. It's probably the greatest value of his life. That was his honor."
As her words landed, I spun around and slapped her with all my might.
The sharp sound echoed.
Jolene didn't dodge. Instead, she threw herself back the force, landing with a theatrical flourish as the back of her head thudded against the wall.
She slid down and let out a cry of pain.
Rodger happened to walk in and witnessed the scene.
Jolene clutched her head and fell into his arms with tears welling up in her eyes. "Rodger... I just wanted to comfort Nicole, but she... she hit me..."
Rodger looked at me, and his eyes were filled with disappointment and anger.
He said coldly, "Nicole, where are your good manners? Why are you so rude? Jolene is also a victim. Jacob is gone, and she's sadder than you."
I was stunned and looked up at him. "You believe her words?"
"I only believe what I see." He interrupted me coldly. "Apologize to Jolene."
I looked at him and the woman in his arms, putting on a show. I bit my lip stubbornly.
I didn't apologize.
"Apologize to Jolene now!" Rodger's patience ran out, and his tone became stern. "Immediately. Right now!"
I still kept silent.
His gaze turned fierce. He suddenly leaned close and said in a lower voice, "Nicole, don't push me. Otherwise, you'll never see Jacob again."
The last bit of Jacob's ashes.
He knew that was my Achilles' heel.
Now, it had become his leverage to threaten me for the sake of Jolene.
My heart felt like it was riddled with sharp pangs, leaving it with countless holes.
Looking at Jolene's smug face, hidden in Rodger's embrace, I gritted my teeth and slowly bent down and bowed my head. I said, word by word, "I'm sorry."
On the way home, neither Rodger nor I spoke.
He suddenly slammed on the brakes and parked the car by the roadside.
"You didn't truly realize your mistake," he said coldly.
I remained silent.
"Get out! Reflect on your actions!" he shouted while opening the car door and pushing me out.
The black car sped away without a pause.
Soon, it rained heavily.
I walked alone on the empty road.
The rain was bone-chilling and blurred my vision.
Yet, my mind was clearer than ever.
From then on, there would be nothing left that could threaten me.
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8.1
"I don't share my women, Adele. Breeder or not. Go on your knees." He instructed, his hands going to unbuckle his trousers.
My heart burned with hatred as I clutched the knife behind me. "Of course, Alpha Loic. I was wondering... If you were to choose between a quick death and a slow one, which would you choose?"
I smiled brightly. He was taken aback for a moment. Then his face twisted in anger. "Have you forgotten your place so soon, Omega? Go down on your fucking knees."
"Omega? Aww. Adele would be so hurt. Tonight, I'll pronounce your death. The Alpha of the Vanguard pack, killed by fire. Touchè." I snapped my hands, and fire sprang up from all corners, encircling the room, with us in it.
"Y-you are not Adele. Who are you?" His eyes widened.
...
The Demon Queen, a name that struck terror in the minds of mortals and werewolves alike. Who'd have thought she'd meet her end during one of her adventures at a nightclub?
After being struck dead by the Alpha of her most hated race, Ophelie returns in the body of a wolf-less girl with only one mission in mind. To kill her murderer.
But sometimes, things never go as planned. When love is thrown in the mix, Ophelie finds herself and her previous plans swaying.
Refusing to kill Loic is to lose herself and her powers. What would she choose?
7.6
Jocelyn Yang lived in the grand Turner Mansion, not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Ever since her father's death, the ruthless billionaire Elam Turner forced her to atone for sins her father never committed.
On her nineteenth birthday, a male classmate secretly sent her a diamond necklace. Elam, who had flown back from London overnight, flew into a psychotic, jealous rage at the sight of another man's gift.
He mercilessly crushed the delicate necklace into the marble floor with his custom leather shoe.
"Did you forget what you are?" Elam hissed, dragging her into a pitch-black storage room. "You take gifts from other men behind my back?"
He pinned her to the dusty floorboards and violently assaulted her. The next morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 hit her bank account. He had humiliated her, broken her spirit, and was now casually trying to buy her silence. Later, when a broken bike left her walking miles through a freezing rainstorm, he just shoved scalding tea into her bleeding hands.
"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a stray dog ruining my floors."
Jocelyn curled up in the cold, her lips bleeding and her heart shattered. She couldn't understand his terrifying obsession. If he hated her so much, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he look at her with such manic hunger while systematically destroying her life?
Staring at the massive sum of hush money on her phone, a desperate spark of vengeance flared in her chest. Jocelyn wired every single cent back to Elam's account. She picked up her charcoal pencil, vowing to win the upcoming art competition and buy her escape from this monster forever.
7.3
Clara came home from a fourteen-hour board meeting to the sound of a piercing scream in the playroom.
When she rushed in, she found her husband, Chadwick, kneeling on the floor in a panic.
But he wasn't looking at their five-year-old son, Leo, who had a massive bleeding welt on his forehead.
Instead, Chadwick was trembling as he held the nanny's daughter, Autumn, who barely had a microscopic scratch.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick snapped, carrying the nanny's daughter away and leaving his bleeding son behind.
From that moment, the nightmare only escalated.
Chadwick ordered Clara to cook a three-hour meal for the nanny's kid, threw away Leo's favorite toys because Autumn sneezed, and even secretly took the nanny and her daughter on Leo's promised Disney trip.
The final humiliation came at the Met Gala.
Right before their sponsor speech, Chadwick received a frantic call from the nanny claiming Autumn was having a panic attack.
He abandoned Clara in front of hundreds of flashing cameras, sprinting out of the ballroom.
Clara stood completely alone, the humiliation eating through her veins like acid.
She couldn't understand how a father could call the nanny's kid his "little princess" while watching his own son cry.
Why was he treating his own flesh and blood like garbage just to play savior to another woman's child?
Suddenly, the blinding camera flashes were blocked by a massive shadow.
Erasmo Chase, the heir to New York's largest financial dynasty, stepped out of the darkness and shielded her.
"A man like that is unworthy of your grief, Ms. Best," he whispered, pressing a silk handkerchief into her trembling hand.
Looking at the sharp profile of the powerful man beside her, Clara's shock hardened into a lethal, cold fury.
She was going to dump her family's shares, crash the board, and make Chadwick lose absolutely everything.
9.0
I had been a wife for exactly six hours when I woke up to the sound of my husband’s heavy breathing. In the dim moonlight of our bridal suite, I watched Hardin, the man I had adored for years, intertwined with my sister Carissa on the chaise lounge.
The betrayal didn't come with an apology. Hardin stood up, unashamed, and sneered at me. "You're awake? Get out, you frumpy mute." Carissa huddled under a throw, her fake tears already welling up as she played the victim. They didn't just want me gone; they wanted me erased to protect their reputations.
When I refused to move, my world collapsed. My father didn't offer a shoulder to cry on; he threatened to have me committed to a mental asylum to save his business merger. "You're a disgrace," he bellowed, while the guards stood ready to drag me away. They had spent my life treating me like a stuttering, submissive pawn, and now they were done with me.
I felt a blinding pain in my skull, a fracture that should have broken me. But instead of tears, something dormant and lethal flickered to life. The terrified girl who walked down the aisle earlier that day simply ceased to exist. In her place, a clinical system—the Valkyrie Protocol—booted up.
My racing heart plummeted to a steady sixty beats per minute. I didn't scream. I stood up, my spine straightening for the first time in twenty years, and looked at Hardin with the detachment of a surgeon looking at a tumor.
"Correction," I said, my voice stripped of its stutter. "You're in my light."
By dawn, I had drained my father's accounts, vanished into a storm, and found a bleeding Crown Prince in a hidden safehouse. They thought they had broken a mute girl. They didn't realize they had just activated their own destruction.
7.0
My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child.
Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby.
To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner.
They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his.
The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused.
But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.
8.7
Isabelle couldn't stop drinking as the music pounded through the club. She was trying to drown out the image of her best friend, Aurora, who was pregnant with her fiancé's child, on what should have been Isabelle's engagement night.
But fate had other plans. When an employee calls in sick, Isabelle volunteers to fill in, unaware she is about to walk straight into the arms of Don Miller-the club's most powerful and dangerous client. He was ruthless, commanding, and known for treating women as playthings. Don doesn't believe in love... until Isabelle.
One glance, one reckless touch, and something shifts. She stirs a hunger in him he thought he'd buried forever. And when he learns what broke her, Don makes Isabelle an indecent offer:
He promises to mend her shattered heart and destroy everyone who betrayed her-if she surrenders to him completely.
Two broken souls. One dark deal.
Isabelle is about to learn that submission might just be the sweetest form of revenge. What begins as a dangerous bargain soon spirals into something deeper, darker, and far more intoxicating than either expected.
Maybe love isn't always gentle. Sometimes it's an obsession. Sometimes it's surrender. And sometimes... it's the most exquisite kind of ruin.