NOT YOURS TO LOSE, EX-HUSBAND
My ex-husband, Reese Beaumont, sent me divorce papers on our anniversary, five years after I walked down the aisle to join him. I signed them with a red lipstick and sent them back to him, with a short note which read: "I am not going to give you the liberty of thinking you still own me."
Now, one year later, he is standing in my office, the smug look in his eyes gone, and for some reason, still wearing our wedding ring.
"You're still mine, Roxanne. You didn't sign the divorce papers, and you seem to forget that you're nothing without me."
A soft chuckle escape my lips, right as my fake fiancé walks in, holding our one-year-old son. The son Reese never knew I was pregnant with.
"Funny," I mutter. "Because I don't remember you being in control of the game."
Now, he's everywhere, showing up at my gallery and outbidding my fake fiancé at my auctions. Telling the media we are on the road to reconciliation.
But I am not the same woman who cried for him one year ago.
I am the woman he never expected to walk out the door. And the one he'll always regret letting go.
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Chapter 1
Roxanne's POV
I stare at my reflection for the second time, pressing down the invisible creases on my long black dress. The back has a low plunge, reaching my waist. Reese used to love it in the first year of our marriage. I wonder if he'll notice tonight, or of that part of me is buried with the rest of what he used to love.
When I step out of our room, I hear laughter coming from down the stairs. I stop and frown. My chest pinches, the ache raw and familiar. Rese didn't say anyone was coming with us.
"Do you remember the gold bracelet you got me the last time you were home?" It is a high-pitched tone, honey-sweet. Female. Too comfortable and familiar.
"Yeah," Reese, my husband, responds. "You were all pissed that I left home in the first place, that I knew I had to pacify you when I returned. Now, look who is here."
"Right!"
Their laughter float into the air again, just as I reach the base of the stairs. Her perfectly manicured nails are splayed on his shoulders, and her blonde hair, as always, is styled to perfection.
Camilla St. James.
The ghost in our marriage.
"Oh!" She stops when she sees me, but a part of me knew she must have heard the door close when I got out of the room. "Hi, Roxanne. How are you doing today? Oh my God! You look really exquisite tonight! Love how that dress looks on you."
Compliment dipped in poison.
"Thank..."
"But don't you think the plunge behind is too low?" She slides her nails from Reese's shoulders to his forearm, pinching him slightly. "I don't know. Maybe it is what you like, and if that is the case, then you are free to wear whatever you want. Of course, as long as my best friend is fine with it."
And then, she turns to face him. "Are you fine with it, Reese?"
Reese used to trace that plunge with his mouth. First year love. First year lies.
Camilla's smile is as sharp as claws. "Too low for a married woman, don't you think?"
Heat flares up on my cheeks and suddenly, the plunge feels like a noose, wrapped tightly around my neck. The dress doesn't feel elegant anymore.
Say, nothing, Roxanne. Don't give them a show.
I squeeze my fingers so tight that my wedding band imprints a moon into my skin.
"Actually..." My husband angles his head as he regards me. He leans back a little and then sighs, like he is the victim here. "I think I see what Camilla is saying. Everyone can see the plunge even without you turning around. Doesn't exactly paint the best of reputations for a married woman."
Of course, Reese will take her side. My marriage vows must have come with fine print that states "includes one mistress disguised as a best friend."
"But you used to..." My words die as my husband glares at me.
"I don't love it anymore, Roxanne!" He snaps suddenly, cracking the air. "Can't I change what I like?"
The dress, me, everything...discarded with one sentence. My chest aches. Can love really vanish this fast, or has it been gone all along?
"Don't yell at her, Reese," Camilla croons, patting his back like he is some stray she found on the street. Like I'm the outsider here. "She is your wife and was only trying to make you happy. Excuse her honest mistake."
"This is the person you told me I should stay away from," Reese says to me, disappointment dripping from his tone. "You should be grateful instead that she is my best friend because she is the greatest support you will ever have. Do any of your friends stand up for you this way?"
None of my friends stand up for me, but it is because I have zero friends, except for those who still force their way into my life despite how I don't have the time for them.
And I don't have time because of Reese. All of my life has revolved around him since we got married, and now, I don't even know who I am anymore outside of him. I gave them all up for him. For us.
And now, there is no us.
Camilla pushes her hair behind her ears in coy shyness. "You don't have to tell her that, Reese," she says, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder. "Now, you have gotten me all shy and flustered."
"The color looks good on you, and maybe you need it with how pale you've been getting recently."
The scene plays out in front of me like a record of an old movie I am yet to come to terms with. Reese nudges his head in the direction of the stairs stretched out behind me.
"Change into something more decent," he orders. We will be waiting for you in the car."
"We?" A sharp pain lurches at me.
He has already turned around, with Camilla still clinging to his side. But my question makes him halt.
"What is it again, Roxanne?" He sounds like I am disturbing him, like he would rather be anywhere else but here, with me.
Okay. Maybe not exactly with me because his best friend is in the room. Since the moment Camilla arrived in Los Angeles, she has been spending more time than not with Reese.
They practically go everywhere together, while I am left indoors, cooking a meal that I won't eat because Camilla has a special diet and doesn't eat the meals I eat.
And I have a feeling that the same thing is about to happen.
"Is someone else coming with us?" I ask, keeping my tone low. Reese hates it when I yell. "I thought you said it was going to be just us. I was supposed to be your date to the cocktail dinner."
"Oh! Don't be stingy, Roxanne," he mocks, like I am a child refusing to share candy. "You know Camilla has no friends here in Los Angeles. I am the only one she knows. I can't let her be by herself tonight."
"But you told me..."
"It's fine," Camilla whispers, shaking her head. She looks up at me with a sad smile. "I totally understand you, Roxanne. You and Reese deserve your alone time, and I shouldn't ruin that. I'll just return to the hotel and binge-watch a series."
"No! You're not doing that!" Reese glares at me. "All you had to do was to be understanding just for tonight. You know she's ill, Roxanne. If you can't set aside your selfish desires for one night, how on earth do you plan on doing that for your own child?"
"Reese," Camilla drawls. "I've told you not to use her childlessness against her."
Then, she turns to me.
"Don't worry, Roxanne," she says sweetly. "The fact that you don't have a child yet after three years of marriage..."
She pauses, then her face stretches into a smile. "...doesn't mean you are barren. I'll be in the car then so you guys can talk this out."
When she skips out, I face Reese. "You know what? She might as well live here!" I mutter, meaning every word. For the first time in weeks, since Camilla's arrival, I don't swallow it back.
His eyes light up suddenly. "Now that I think about it, that doesn't sound like a bad idea at all."
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9.2
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However, she would soon realize that the Atlas Groups was going to be more than just a survival decision but the key to everything.
9.6
Ezran Williamson never asked for a new family, especially not one that comes with a stepbrother he can't stand.
At twenty-one, Ezran is sharp-tongued, rebellious, and determined to graduate and build a future in programming on his own terms.
But when his mother remarries a powerful businessman, his carefully controlled life collides with Lucian Banks, his cold, dominant, and dangerously untouchable stepbrother. Successful, older, and infuriatingly composed, Lucian is everything Ezran hates.
Slowly, hatred turns into tension, tension becomes chemistry, and chemistry ignites something neither of them is prepared to face.
What begins as resistance slowly unravels into a forbidden obsession, one that defies family, morality, and control. As secrets surface and pressure mounts, Ezran and Lucian are forced to choose between duty and desire, legacy and love, because some feelings don't fade and some obsessions are worth every consequence.
8.3
I lost my memory. Or rather, I faked it.
Conrad Gallagher, the boyfriend I had been secretly dating for five years, effortlessly erased our entire relationship.
"You're only fit to be a casual hookup."
Then, he announced his engagement to a woman approved by his parents.
To save myself from utter humiliation, I faked amnesia, conveniently forgetting no one but Conrad.
But when it was time for me to get married, Conrad regretted it. He kidnapped me right out of my wedding and spirited me away: "Don't marry him, okay?"
8.2
He wanted freedom after breaking me. So I hired a stranger for one reckless night.
But he's not a call boy. He's a mafia king who owns this city. Now he decided I'm his. No negotiations. No escape.
9.0
Jordan was taken aback, his lips parted as he gasped in surprise.
Chloe sighed, "Is there any other special cleaning you want in the room aside from the regular one?" she asked coolly.
Jordan stared at her in disbelief. Her indifference stung him. Did she just ignore what he was saying? He waited three hours for her the day before. Of course he could never tell her that. He had been mad at himself for having such feelings. Right now, he couldn't be any madder.
But the girl just stood there, looking so nonchalant, carefree, unconcerned. His business card was a treasure to anyone else, but she had trashed it. He clenched his jaw. For once, he was at a loss for words.
Chloe spoke up, "I will get to work then."
She turned to leave.
"Hey!" Jordan bellowed.
She stopped, frowning. Why was he so angry?
"You will get to work, doing what? Telling everyone it wasn't you who made that mess?" he scoffed, "Isn't that what you were about to say to my mother?"
Chloe put on a false perplexed look, "But that's the truth. We both know I am not the one at fault. What exactly are you scared of, Mister Cavanaugh? Why should it be a big deal?"
"So you are going out there to tell on me?" he gave a low laugh.
"No. Not really," Chloe said offhandedly, "I think I have my job back for now, thank you. I will face that and hope you don't play such games with me again."
Jordan came closer to her, frowning, "Are you threatening me?".
Chloe wanted to place her hands on his broad chest and push him away, he smelled so good, "Threatening you? Hell no, that's not a threat. I was just soliciting for peace. I didn't do anything wrong to you or your family. YOU wronged me, you ought to apologize. But I am not even asking you to".
Jordan moved closer, step by step, until her back hit the door. His face hovered inches from hers, his breath warm, his eyes dark and unreadable. Chloe's heart skipped a beat, as she began to panic.
Chloe Carson thought moving to Colorado would bring stability and a chance to rebuild her life. But her new job at the Cavanaugh mansion proves anything but simple, especially with Jordan, the handsome yet infuriating heir whose every word and glance keeps her on edge.
As Chloe tries to find her footing, she also faces Niles, her cousin's crush, whose attraction to her awakens feelings she did not expect. Torn between Niles's gentle affection and Jordan's intoxicating pull, Chloe must navigate jealousy, secrets, and emotional traps she never saw coming.
As unexpected consequences spiral around her, Chloe will have to decide whose heart she can trust... before it is too late.
7.4
I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.