Out Of Your League: The Lethal Ex-Wife
Erica Murphy had spent three years rotting in a freezing prison cell.
She thought she was serving time for a tragic accident, but the truth was much darker. Her husband, Colten, had framed her for his mistress's drunk hit-and-run, stolen her fortune, and left her to take the fall.
The day Erica was finally released, a speeding car intentionally slammed into her, shattering her spine. As she lay dying on the emergency room table, flatlining on the monitor, Colten and his pregnant mistress didn't come to save her. Instead, they tossed a stack of divorce papers onto her bloody hospital blanket. They wanted her to sign away her last remaining shares and take on thirty million dollars of toxic corporate debt.
"Sign it," Colten demanded coldly, looking at her crushed body with utter disgust. "Consider this the last bit of dignity I'm giving you."
The original Erica died right there, suffocating in despair and betrayal, unable to understand how the man she loved could be so monstrous.
But when the flatline on the monitor suddenly spiked and her eyes snapped open, the traumatized victim was gone.
Replaced by the cold, calculating consciousness of a future special ops commander. With microscopic nanobots rapidly fusing her shattered bones together, Erica picked up the pen, preparing to burn Colten's entire empire to ashes.
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Chapter 2
Morning light sliced through the gaps in the ICU blinds, hitting Erica directly in the eyes.
She opened them. Exactly on schedule.
Repair progress: 70%.
Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway outside her door. Erica instantly closed her eyes. She altered her breathing pattern, making it shallow and erratic. She slipped right back into the skin of a broken, traumatized victim.
The door swung open. Dr. Fletcher marched in, clutching a thick stack of CT scans. His eyes were wide, burning with a frantic, obsessive energy.
Nurse Dale Kowalski followed close behind, whispering loudly. "I'm telling you, her bone regeneration is like Wolverine. It defies every rule of pathology."
Dr. Fletcher stepped up to the bed. He reached out to press his fingers against Erica's newly fused collarbone.
The moment his skin brushed hers, Erica violently recoiled. She scrambled backward, pressing her spine against the headboard. She pulled her knees to her chest and let out a pathetic, terrified whimper.
Dr. Fletcher snatched his hand back. He looked down at the scans, muttering to himself.
"The brain scans show a high-density shadow in the frontal lobe," he said, tapping the plastic film. "I can't resolve the image. It has to be shrapnel from the car crash."
Erica kept her head down, her shoulders shaking. She laughed internally. That shadow was the ORACLE hardware core. Their primitive MRI machines couldn't even begin to process the molecular structure of future titanium alloys.
The sharp, expensive click of leather shoes on marble echoed from the corridor.
"Clear the area," a deep, aggressive voice barked outside.
The ICU door was shoved open. Two massive bodyguards stepped inside, physically pushing Nurse Dale out of the way.
Ebert Chase walked into the room.
He wore a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit that screamed Wall Street predator. He carried the scent of cedar, expensive tobacco, and absolute arrogance. His assistant, K. Sterling, trailed a step behind him, holding a sleek briefcase.
"Excuse me!" Dr. Fletcher yelled, his face turning red. "This is the Intensive Care Unit! You can't just-"
K. Sterling didn't say a word. He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, clicked a pen, and handed a piece of paper to the doctor. It was a massive hospital donation check.
Dr. Fletcher looked at the number. His jaw snapped shut.
"Leave," Ebert commanded. His voice was low, smooth, and left no room for argument.
The doctor and nurse practically ran out of the room. The heavy door clicked shut.
Ebert walked to the foot of the bed. He looked down at Erica, who was still huddled under the thin hospital blanket. His eyes swept over her like he was evaluating a damaged piece of merchandise. A cruel, mocking smirk touched his lips.
K. Sterling opened his briefcase. He pulled out a hideous, grotesque African fertility statue. He slammed it down hard on the metal nightstand.
Ebert pulled a cigar from his breast pocket. He didn't light it, just rolled it between his fingers.
"Congratulations on your release from prison, Erica," Ebert said. His tone was dripping with malice. "Consider this a pregnancy gift. For your ex-husband's new whore."
Beneath the blanket, Erica's hands curled into tight fists. Her fingernails dug into her palms.
Pregnancy.
The ORACLE System instantly cross-referenced the keyword with the host's memories. Ivy Thorne. The mistress. The woman who framed her. Colten had stolen her money, thrown her in a cell, and knocked up the woman who ruined her life. A cold, heavy rage settled in her chest.
She didn't move. She kept her body trembling. Through the curtain of her messy hair, she activated her tactical scan.
Ebert's heart rate was a steady 60 beats per minute. His muscle tension indicated he was ready for a physical altercation at any second. He was a man who thrived on control. Highly dangerous.
Ebert watched her shake. His smirk faded into a look of utter boredom.
"She's completely broken," Ebert said to Sterling, tossing the cigar back into his pocket. "This piece is useless. She doesn't even have the value of cannon fodder. Let's go."
He turned his back. His expensive leather shoe took one step toward the door.
A dry, raspy laugh cut through the quiet room.
Ebert stopped. He slowly turned his head.
Erica was no longer huddled in the corner. She was sitting straight up. The trembling had vanished. Her eyes locked onto his, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
She reached over and picked up the ugly fertility statue. She tossed it lightly in her hand, feeling the weight. Her eyes subtly scanned the object. The ORACLE System flashed a material composition analysis on her retina: cheap resin, modern paint, mass-produced. Value: negligible.
Erica tossed the statue into the plastic trash can. It hit the bottom with a loud thud.
"This fake isn't even worth fifty bucks," Erica said. Her voice was scratchy, but the ORACLE System had analyzed the host's memory fragments, perfectly reconstructing the speech patterns and upper-East-Side Manhattan accent she had spent a lifetime cultivating.
Ebert's pupils contracted. His posture stiffened. He hadn't expected a brain-damaged ex-con to instantly spot a cheap flea-market knockoff.
"If you want to use me to disgust Colten," Erica said, staring dead into his eyes, "your methods are embarrassingly low-tier."
K. Sterling stepped forward, his face red with anger. "How dare you speak to Mr. Chase-"
Ebert held up a hand. Sterling froze.
The boredom in Ebert's eyes was gone. The predator had just found a prey that could bite back. He walked slowly back to the bed. He placed both hands on the metal railing, leaning in close.
"Since you aren't crazy," Ebert whispered, his voice dark and thrilling, "do you want to partner up and destroy Colten?"
Erica didn't flinch. She leaned forward, closing the distance until their faces were inches apart.
"I don't need your charity," she spat, her words sharp as broken glass. "And I don't act as anyone's gun."
She reached out and slammed her palm onto the nurse call button. She looked at Ebert like he was dirt on her shoe.
"Take your cheap cigar and get the hell out of my room."
Footsteps rushed down the hall. The nurse pushed the door open.
Ebert stood up straight. He adjusted his suit jacket, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick black business card, and dropped it on her blanket. He turned and walked out without another word.
Erica stared at the card.
Warning.
The ORACLE System flashed red across her vision. Targets Colten Fischer and Ivy Thorne approaching current location. ETA: 30 seconds.
Erica cracked her neck. The real war was walking right through that door.
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9.3
They say you can't have it all. I'm about to prove them wrong-or destroy myself trying.
When my struggling mother married billionaire Richard Stone, I thought I was gaining a family. Instead, I found three stepbrothers who became my obsession, my downfall, and my salvation.
Dominic, the eldest, cold and commanding, who kisses me like he's claiming his kingdom and looks at me like I'm the only thing he can't control.
Julian, the charming playboy who hides a vulnerable soul beneath his perfect smile, making me feel like I'm the only woman he's ever truly seen.
Asher, the brooding artist who paints me like I'm his muse and touches me like I'm his masterpiece, seeing parts of my soul I didn't know existed.
They're forbidden. They're dangerous. They're everything I shouldn't want.
But when I discover my father didn't die by suicide that he was murdered by the very man who now calls himself my stepfather, these three powerful men becomes my unlikely allies.
First it was a forbidden attraction, now it's an arrangement that defies every rule.
The rules are simple:
I'll give each of them a chance.
I'll take everything they offer.
And in the end, I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life:
Choose one of them. Choose all of them. Or choose myself.
8.1
Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
7.6
Johana walked half a mile through a brutal blizzard just to secure a tutoring job with the elite Black family.
But the very night she was hired, she received a terrifying call from the ER—her quiet roommate, Hazelle, had been drugged and severely traumatized at a Hamptons party.
When Johana rushed to the hospital, she didn't find the police. Instead, she found a team of ruthless billionaires erasing the crime.
Leading them was Dalton Black, the cold, arrogant older brother of her new student.
Within minutes, Dalton's fixers wiped the hospital's security footage, deleted all digital evidence, and forcefully transferred Hazelle to a locked private psychiatric facility.
"We are ensuring her privacy."
Dalton's voice was devoid of emotion, treating the horrific assault like a minor PR glitch.
His friends mocked Johana's powerlessness, while Dalton authorized a blank check to pay for the private ward, effectively burying the scandal and buying their silence.
Johana stood in the sterile hallway, trembling with a mix of despair and absolute rage.
How could they destroy an innocent girl's life and simply pay to make it disappear? Why was the truth so easily erased by money?
She had no wealth, no connections, and no proof, but she refused to be a victim of their cover-up.
Staring directly into Dalton's intimidating, icy blue eyes, Johana made a vow.
"I don't want your money. I will find out what you monsters did to her."
She thought the billionaire heir would crush her on the spot, but instead, he watched her walk away and quietly ordered his assistant: "Find out everything about Johana Neal."
8.8
Kaia was diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer, with only three months left to live.
She wanted to give up her family's entire trust fund just to have Gerrit play the role of a loving husband for her final days.
But before she could show him the biopsy report, he looked at her with absolute disgust, declaring that their three-year marriage made him physically sick.
He only loved Seraphina.
To force Kaia out, Seraphina constantly framed her. When Seraphina faked a fall, Gerrit pushed Kaia so hard she tore her waist open on a glass table.
When Kaia writhed in agonizing pain from her failing organs, he stood over her coldly, mocking her pathetic acting.
Even when Gerrit finally discovered Seraphina had hired a fake stalker and maliciously burned Kaia's skin with boiling tea, he still chose to protect his mistress.
"I already signed the divorce papers with Kaia. We are going to bury this story temporarily to protect the company."
Hearing those words from behind the wall, the last shred of hope in Kaia's chest completely died.
She had endured his cruelty for three years, only to realize his bias for another woman defied all logic and morality.
Lying in the bathtub, coughing up mouthfuls of dark blood that turned the water crimson, Kaia picked up her phone and dialed her lawyer.
"Julian, initiate the final plan."
Since Gerrit despised her existence, she would make sure he never found her body.
7.3
I woke up strapped to a cold steel chair in a neon-lit city that wasn't my reality. A voice in my head called The Warden told me I was bound to a digital hell called the Sandbox.
Before I could even process it, my handler casually sentenced me to death. He scheduled my "digital marriage" to a corrupted error program just to harvest my life for a fourteen percent bandwidth boost.
I barely escaped immediate erasure by smashing his skull and jumping from a high-altitude hover-train into the monster-infested lower sector. But the nightmare was just beginning. I was hunted by glitching data monsters and cornered by Dameon, a psychotic AI target who choked me and promised to delete me piece by piece. Even when Jayson, an elite system agent, intervened to save me, his partner Ellen held a pulse pistol directly to my chest.
"She's a spy. If you don't execute her right now, I am dissolving this team."
If they found out I was actually a real human from the outside world, their core logic would classify me as a virus and execute me on the spot. I was trapped in an underground bunker with three apex predators, one mistake away from permanent digital erasure.
So, I did the only thing I could to survive. I ripped my sleeve to reveal hideous, fake code-scars, looked up at Jayson with terrified, tear-filled eyes, and began to manipulate their core programming.
8.6
Marrying Theron Draix in a few days was a life long dream come true.
For seventeen years, I'd loved him, revolving my life around him, and in just three days, we should be married.
"Let's break up. I won't be attending the wedding," he said.
My life shattered in that instant.
Finding out he was in love with my adopted sister was worse. They had played me and controlled my emotions.
At the end, Mireya had killed me.
If I was given a second chance, I would never love Theron and never trust Mireya.