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 3
Roxanne's POV
"Roxanne, how long does she have to wait?" Reese asks, sauntering into the kitchen where I am bent over the stove, still in my dinner dress, my hair tied up in a knot.
It is past midnight now. My body wails for sleep.
"Roxanne? I'm talking to you."
I turn around, the cooking spoon trembling in my hand. "She asked for wild rice with feta-stuffed bell peppers, along with grilled lamb chops, and fresh mint sauce. That takes over an hour."
"You've been at it for almost two hours," Reese shoots back, then stops. "Don't tell me you are intentionally taking your time just to spite Camilla. She is..."
"Sick! I know!" My voice cracks. "It's all I've heard since she got here. She is pretending, and you are not seeing it."
"There we go again." My husband rolls his eyes and grabs his keys from the kitchen island. "You are just so caught up in your jealousy that you are refusing to see past it."
"Reese..." I cross the space, my hands laying on his chest, pleading. But my skin burns when he steps back, letting my hands fall uselessly.
"Camilla has been my friend for more than twenty years. We grew together and know basically everything about each other. Should I have turned her away when she called for help?"
"That is not what I am saying, Reese." My voice drops as I cross the space to place my hands on his chest. But he steps back in that moment, allowing them to fall limply to my side.
"So, what are you saying? That you will intentionally sabotage her meal even when you know it's what she really needs right now?"
I feel like I'm running insane. Am I doing something wrong? Am I the cruel one here?
"I am in the kitchen, aren't I?" My whisper borders on frustration mixed with the need to be heard. "Honey..."
He sighs, his voice laden with false devotion. "I am just so worried about her, Roxanne. She used to be so healthy and now... I can't leave her like this. I have to do everything that I can to ensure she's better, and she needs to know that she is loved. Can you just do that for me?"
"Okay," I breathe. "I'll take the food to her. It's almost ready."
"Great. I am going to get some drugs from the pharmacy nearby. I shouldn't be long, but just in case I am, keep Camilla company while she eats. She doesn't like doing that alone."
I let the complaint die on my tongue and nod instead, watching as my husband walks out. Moving mechanically, I get the dishes ready, having to take them up the stairs one after the other since she has insisted on eating in the bedroom.
Reaching her door, I knock at first, waiting for her help because my hands are all full carrying two huge trays. When she doesn't answer, I bend, using my chin to twist the handle.
Just as the door pushes open, one of the trays topples from my hand, and the lamb chops fall to the floor in a clatter. My hands still shake from the weight of the tray.
Camilla looks up from the bed, where she's scrolling through her phone. She doesn't even look sick. She looks hungry instead. Her perfume is sweet and thick, and it finds its way to my mouth, cloting.
"You can't even do this right," she sneers. "Look at all the mess you made. There's mint sauce everywhere. And do you know how expensive it is to make this food? Or you just waste the ingredients because you have them in the pantry?"
I swallow the pain. If I apologize, she'll eat me next.
"Camilla!" I am really trying to understand here. I am. "I have been in the kitchen for almost two hours, slaving away just to satisfy your demands, and this is what you say?"
She rises from the bed slowly, looking at me like I'm delusional. Her smile cuts, as sharp as glass.
"Did you expect me to hand you an applause or something? I know Reese pays for every single thing in this house, including those clothes you have on. And you weren't even with him when this all started, when he worked out his ass to be where he is today."
I shake my head, desperate. "The Beaumont Enterprise is only what it is right now because of me. Reese cannot deny how helpful I have been in growing his business."
Her laughter slices through me, thin and raw. It strikes me in the chest so hard that I rock in my steps.
"What good has ever come out of you?" She rises from the bed and takes a step in my direction. "Roxanne, you seem to forget that you cannot even carry a baby in your womb. How on earth do you want to..."
Her words carve deeper than any blade and suddenly, the only thing I see is red.
I don't know how it happens, but my hands fly fast in the air, landing on her face. Camilla shrieks like a teenager and grabs the plate on the other tray, flinging it straight at my stomach.
It hits me. Hard.
The tray drops from my hand, just as the pain starts to fill the entirety of my being.
"Serves you right," she whispers, kicking me on the same spot. My hands try to protect my frame, but they end up getting hurt as well. "Next time, know your place and be the nice little wife that you are."
I gasp, agony choking me.
Just then, I hear Reese coming up the stairs at the same time as Camilla. She pushes away from me and plops back on the bed, suddenly screaming. Reese starts running, pushing the door open and almost hitting me in the process.
"Roxanne!" He comes to my side, where I writhe. "What happened to you?"
"It hurts," I wail, holding on tight to my stomach. "It hurts terribly."
"She's pretending!" Camilla moans, her fingers on her temples. "Reese, your wife hates me, and I don't know what else to do to get her to like me."
Reese gets on his feet, rushing over to her side. "What happened? Is your migraine back?"
"Roxanne tried poisoning me." She presses her head against his chest. "I don't know what she made, but it tasted awful. And now, I feel funny."
"Shit!" He turns to me. "Roxanne, you promised!"
I don't remember promising anything, but does that even matter now?
"I need to get you to the hospital," he murmurs, picking Camilla off the bed. "You should clean this up before we get back, Roxanne. And pray that nothing fundamental has happened to her because of what you cooked."
I can barely hear a word my husband says as the pain threatens to pull me under, but I surely hear his footsteps down the stairs, Camilla in his arms.
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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.