
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 6
Roxanne's POV
The street is empty when I step out, wrapping my arms around myself.
Lennox and Isaiah are nowhere in sight, and I don't blame them. I asked ten to leave, after all. Now,I fe stupid for not listening to Lennox, for thinking I could talk sense into Reese with Camilla there, poisoning every word before it leaves my mouth.
I stand on the sidewalk, the night air chilly against my skin, all thanks to the thin fabric of my clothes. I have to return to Lennox's place. There is no way I am going to sleep in that house, or I'll lose what little sanity I have left.
It is 11 at night, but I don't mind. Luckily, a cab turns the corner, and I flag it down, getting in and rattling off Lennox's address to the driver. He nods, and I sink into the backseat, watching the house disappear behind us.
The tears return then, silent and hot, trickling down my cheeks. I press my palm against my stomach, feeling nothing but the flatness there. But I know. The Doctor said so. There is a baby growing there. I and Reese's child, only that he doesn't believe me.
Lennox's penthouse lobby is bright when I arrive, and I let myself in with the code. I take the elevator up, each floor adding weight to my chest until I am struggling to breathe by the time the doors slide open.
Lennox answers on the second knock, his eyes widening when he sees me standing there.
"Roxanne." His voice is soft and careful.
He doesn't say "I told you so," even though it's there in his eyes. He just steps aside, letting me in. "Come in."
I move past him like a ghost, floating forward even though I don't know where I am going. Lennox's hand touches my elbow gently, bringing me back to reality.
"Guest room is this way," he murmurs. "Everything you need is already in there. Fresh towels, and toiletries. I'll get you some clothes."
I nod because words feel impossible at this point. He opens the door to a room bathed in grays and whites, the bed already made with crisp sheets. It looks like a safe space, and I almost break right there.
"Take your time," Lennox says. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. "
I step into the bathroom, and the shower runs hot. I stand under the spray, letting it hit against my shoulders and back, washing away the remnants of tonight. Of the blood that flowed out of me, the accusations and the way Reese looked at me like a liar.
When I finally step out, there is a neatly folded set of clothes on the bed-one of Lennox's old cotton shirts and sweatpants. I slip them on, the fabrics hanging loose on my frame. They smell like laundry detergent and Lennox. A reminder that I was safe, seen and appreciated here.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red, and my face puffy. I look like someone I don't recognize.
A knock sounds at the door.
"Roxanne," Lennox calls. "I made tea. Can I come in?'
"Yes."
He enters carrying a steaming mug, setting it down on the nightstand. He doesn't ask if I want to talk. He doesn't push. He just sits on the edge of the bed, giving me space but staying close enough that I know he is here.
I pick up the mug, feeling the warmth from it, but it does nothing to the coldness and ache in my chest.
"He didn't believe me," I whisper, my voice breaking. "About the baby."
Lennox's jaw tightens, but he still doesn't say a word. Just listen.
"I thought..." I stop, swallowing hard. This was hard, oh goodness. "I thought he would be happy. We've been trying for so long, and finally, I'm pregnant, and he thinks I'm lying because that witch says so."
The mug trembles in my hands, and Lennox reaches over, steadying it.
"He chose her," I continue, the words forcing themselves out. "He chose Camilla over his wife of three whole years. Over our baby."
"He chose her," I continue, the words tumbling out now. "He chose Camilla over me. Over our baby."
And just like that, memories of our wedding day come rushing back like a flood. Reese is standing at the altar in his suit, his eyes fixed on me as I walk down the aisle. The way he looks at me then, like I am the only person in the world, like he cannot believe his luck.
His smile is broad and genuine, reaching all the way to his eyes.
"You're beautiful," he whispers when I reach him, taking my hands in his. They are firm and reassuring.
"I can't wait to spend eternity with you," he says during his vows. "You're my everything, Roxanne."
I believe him. Every word.
The memory disappeared as it came, and I am back in Lennox's guest room, the tea totally forgotten. A sob escapes my throat, loud and ugly. I press my hand to my mouth, trying to hold it down, but it is too late.
Everything comes tumbling out. Three years of being the perfect wife, just for a strange woman to infiltrate and make me invisible in my own home.
Lennox moves without hesitation, pulling me into his arms. I collapse against him, my hands grabbing his shirt as I ugly cry. He doesn't tell me to stop. He just holds me.
"You can stay as long as you want," he only murmurs into my hair. "As long as you need. You're safe here, Roxanne."
I don't know how long I cried, but I find myself being tucked in. Lennox drags the blanket over me, and I pull it up my chin. My hand finds my stomach again, resting there protectively.
My eyes are heavy with exhaustion and I let them close.
My phone buzzes close to me, the sound muffled. I should check it. It could be Reese. It could be...
But sleep is already dragging me under with it, and I am too tired to fight it.
The phone just keeps buzzing, and then stops.
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9.2
In LA's Business world, Zane Calloway, thirty, turns cartel king after his father's gruesome murder, ruling The Atlas Group with a bloody fist. He learned how betrayal could ruin even the biggest empire and was hell bent on keeping Atlas Group. However when Sienna Carter, his new assistant got in the picture, he threw caution to the wind. To become the only one controlling the cartel, he would use Sienna who was a supposedly ghost from a dead cartel as bait for his enemies. Sienna Carter made his mission become even more complicated as she ignites a dangerous sparks in him. Twenty-five year old Sienna Carter just wanted to stay alive, running away from danger had been the only thing she was capable of since her family were murdered. All she had as a semblance of her old life was the locket her dying father had given her and when a new job pops up in Los Angeles, she gambled for it, hoping for her sake that it wouldn't lead her straight to the same hell she was running from.
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.