Never Loved You, Just A Placeholder
For five years, I paid for his art, his life, and his striking resemblance to a ghost. Karson Willis was my carefully curated substitute, a warm body to fill the space left by the man I' d lost.
Then, my world shattered. My adoptive family found their biological daughter, and my inheritance vanished overnight. I was cut off, exiled.
That' s when I overheard him laughing. "She's broke," he scoffed. "What's the point? She was useful, but that's over now."
He called our five years a "convenience" and mocked the wedding board I' d secretly made. At a company dinner, he kissed another woman in front of everyone, then left me stranded when I fell ill, accusing me of being cruel.
He even brought her into my home, letting her wear my clothes.
I endured it all, a cold clarity settling over me.
So when he finally got down on one knee, ring in hand, begging for a second chance, I didn't even hesitate.
"I never loved you," I said, pulling my hand away. "You were just a placeholder."
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Chapter 4
The bed dipped beside me in the dead of night, pulling me from the murky depths of sleep. A warm weight settled against my back, an arm wrapping possessively around my waist.
"You're a handful, you know that?" Karson mumbled against my hair, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. "Always jealous. Always making a scene."
He shifted, pulling me closer. "But you're so peaceful when you're asleep. Like an angel. You just wanted attention, didn't you? You didn't want Fannie to stay."
He sighed, a long-suffering sound. "And that mug... it was ugly anyway. What was the big deal? It' s not like it was a priceless antique. Just some handmade junk."
A sickening jolt went through me. He was right. It wasn' t a priceless antique. It was something infinitely more valuable. It was the last tangible link to Aidan, a small, painted piece of pottery that held a lifetime of unspoken love.
I flinched, my stomach churning. I remembered painting it, painstakingly adding every detail, thinking of Aidan's easy smile, the warmth in his eyes. Karson's face, his smile, had been such a cruel, beautiful imitation. A constant reminder, a constant wound.
I instinctively recoiled. My brow furrowed, a silent protest.
Without a word, I reached down, unwrapped his arm from my waist, and pushed it away. It fell to the mattress with a soft thud.
My voice, when it came, was flat, devoid of any warmth. "My bank accounts are frozen, Karson."
The air in the room thickened, became heavy and still.
"I can't pay for your studio anymore," I continued, my voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a knife. "I can't pay for your loft, or your exhibitions, or your lavish dinners. I can't pay for anything."
A rustling sound filled the room as he sat up abruptly.
"What are you talking about?" His voice was sharp, a sudden shift from his sleepy murmur.
"The London transfer," I explained, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "It comes with a complete severance from the family trust. Effective immediately."
Silence again, more deafening than before. Then, the distinct sounds of him scrambling out of bed, pulling on his clothes in the darkness. Each rustle of fabric was a testament to his rising panic, his barely concealed fury.
The bedroom door slammed shut, rattling the frame. The sound echoed through the apartment, a final, definitive period at the end of a very long, very painful sentence.
I lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling. In the past, I would have gotten up, chased after him, pleaded with him. I would have found a way to apologize, to make him smile again. Because his smile, his fleeting resemblance to Aidan, was all I had left.
People used to call me desperate, pathetic. They said I was a fool for letting him treat me the way he did. They were right. I was.
But I loved to see him happy. I told myself it was because I loved him. The truth was, his happiness was a broken mirror reflecting a past joy. A pale imitation of the man I truly loved, the man who was gone forever.
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7.9
I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash.
But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love.
When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages.
"Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting."
Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance.
"The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!"
My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost.
And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead.
The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt.
When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.
9.2
In the ancient kingdom of Eryndor, beauty is power - and love is the deadliest weapon of all.
Selene Valaris, the crowned queen, rules with grace and cunning, hiding the forbidden affair that could destroy her reign. Her sister, Lyra, born in her shadow, hungers for both the throne and the man who has captured Selene's heart.
When the enigmatic Lord Kael Draven arrives at court, his silver tongue and dark allure twist their fates together. Secrets unravel, loyalties break, and the line between love and betrayal blurs until blood and desire become one.
As passion ignites and kingdoms tremble, the sisters must decide: will they destroy each other for love, or rise together to burn the world that seeks to control them?
7.4
My husband, a powerful tech mogul, stole my sister' s posthumous research award. He gave it to his young protégé. The same woman who killed my sister.
He didn't just steal her legacy. He threatened to destroy my lab and my life's work-the cure for the very cancer that took our family-if I didn't publicly endorse his mistress.
When I confronted him, he let her destroy my irreplaceable samples. Then, he had my hands, the hands of a neuroscientist, systematically broken to ensure I could never work again.
He imprisoned me, forcing me to sign away my entire career and publicly apologize for crimes I didn't commit.
He called it "discipline," a lesson I needed to learn. How could the man who swore to protect me become my personal tormentor?
But as I lay in a hospital bed, broken and alone, a text message lit up my screen: "Need help? I owe your family a debt." He thought he had erased me. He had only forged me into a weapon.
7.7
In the world of wealth and luxury, Henry Royals stands as a young billionaire who earns his fortune through hard work and determination, refusing to rely on his family's wealth.
At just 25 years old, he is hailed as the richest billionaire in Georgia. However, his single lifestyle becomes a constant source of annoyance for his mother, who is determined to see him settle down.
In an attempt to appease his mother and escape her nagging, Henry finds himself crossing paths with Dera Harold, a waitress at a popular bar he always visited of which he wants to clear his mind.
Faced with mounting pressure from his mother, Henry proposes a contracted marriage to Dera offering her a substantial sum of money in return.
Initially hesitant, Dera eventually agrees to the arrangement when she finds herself in desperate need of funds to pay for her mother's surgery. While her parents reside in Italy, Dera has come to Georgia to make a living for herself.
As the two embark on their contracted marriage, they find themselves bound by numerous rules and expectations.
The journey is not without its challenges, but over time, Dera begins to adapt and adjust to her new life.
The question remains: will Henry and Dera be able to adhere to the rules of their marriage for six months?
8.4
Kathern was forced out of her sister's home by her abusive brother-in-law, who violently demanded she pay half the rent or get out.
To protect her sister from his rage, Kathern agreed to a six-month paper marriage with a stranger—an old woman's grandson, Bronson—in exchange for a simple apartment.
But her new husband treated her like a scheming gold digger from the very first second.
He showed up to City Hall in a cheap suit, shoved a brutal prenup in her face, and dumped her in a completely empty, dust-filled apartment.
"Just don't cause any trouble," he warned coldly, before leaving her alone.
When Kathern politely texted him to ask if he was coming home for dinner, he immediately blocked her number.
Kathern was furious and baffled. She didn't want a dime of his money, nor did she care about his boring middle-management job.
She had only agreed to this marriage for a place to sleep, yet this arrogant man treated her like absolute garbage.
Refusing to swallow the insult, Kathern immediately dialed his grandmother to expose his behavior.
She was going to build her own independent life, completely unaware that her "cheap corporate loser" of a husband was actually the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Vaughan empire.
7.3
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."