Rejected Wife's New Start

When Elyse Montgomery, the rising starlet, was suddenly exposed for having a history of bullying in school, my husband, Raymond Reed, grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the wall. "Elyse is still young. We can't let something like this ruin her future. But you're already an established actress; taking the blame for Elyse won't hurt you much." Ninety-eight times—my life was hanging by a thread, and eventually, I forgot everything about my past and was led to believe I was the notorious bully everyone despised. I took the blame for Elyse, transforming from a once-celebrated actress to the town's outcast. The moment I was shoved into traffic by a mob of angry fans, I heard my six-year-old son cheer with delight, "Yay! That meddling witch is finally gone. I want the pretty lady to be my new mommy!" Miraculously surviving against all odds and beginning anew with a clean slate, the husband and son who had once loathed me now knelt at my door, eyes full of unspoken questions. "How could you just forget us?" --- After finishing the discharge paperwork, I returned to my hospital room to find two almost identical men, one grown and one small, standing by my bed. Noticing me, the smaller one darted over like a firecracker, throwing a fit right in front of me.

Chapters

Chapter 2

The young boy, who had been quietly sobbing without shedding tears, was now genuinely crying because of my insistence. He was hiccuping with sorrow, looking truly pitiable. As I gazed at his face, which bore a slight resemblance to mine, an inexplicable wave of compassion surged within me. However, recalling the terrible things he had said earlier, any tenderness I felt quickly faded. I didn't linger on the source of this fleeting sympathy; with a composed expression, I prepared to see them off.

I barely started speaking when the man interrupted me with a sharp slap. He shouted, "Celine, he's your son! How can you treat him like this?" Yet he remained silent about their own actions. His relentless questioning finally exhausted my last shred of patience. I took out my phone and said, "I don't recall having a husband or son. All I know is that your behavior is stressing me out. If you continue to harass me, I won't hesitate to call the police."

"Don't think these tricks—" he began, but stopped abruptly as soon as I dialed the police. Grabbing my phone, he hung up and looked at me with a complicated expression. I responded with a calm face, "You're trespassing on someone else's property, which is an additional offense." Raymond, the man, pinched the bridge of his nose and skillfully navigated to my phone's photo gallery. He unlocked a private album and handed it to me along with his ID.

"We're legally married; we have the documents to prove it," he said. When I browsed the single photo in the album, I furrowed my brows. I had discovered this album shortly after regaining consciousness, but without my memories, the password was beyond me. To my surprise, the solitary photo in the album was our marriage certificate.

With this piece of evidence, I reluctantly accepted the reality that I was married and had a child. Apparently, this man in front of me was my husband, Raymond Reed, and the little one was my son, Isaac Reed. Raymond looked at me with a furrowed brow and asked, "Can we go home now?" I nodded.

During the drive back, as Raymond and Isaac acted as if I were invisible, I felt increasingly uncomfortable. This didn’t seem like a normal marriage at all. While waiting at a traffic light, I seized the moment to delete the wedding photo from my phone. To my surprise, Raymond leaned over, half-curious, peering at me with astonishment.

"You..." he started.

I glanced at him and said, "I didn't see any reason to keep it. Is that a problem?" The atmosphere between us grew tense, but he simply gave me a look that said, "You've got nerve," and fell silent.

We made the rest of the journey home in silence. Upon entering what was supposed to be my home for six years, I immediately noticed it didn’t feel like mine at all. There were hardly any signs of my presence. Instead, the place was filled with items of a distinctly different, yet feminine style, scattered throughout the house.

I shook my head, clearing away the random thoughts. Without my memories, I wasn’t burdened by feelings of unfairness. Raymond retreated to his study as soon as we got home. Isaac was reluctantly pushed forward to show me around and help me reacquaint myself with the house. Displeased with the medicine I had given him earlier, he filled the tour with complaints about my strictness and longed for Elyse Montgomery’s gentle affection.

As I was busy observing my surroundings, I didn’t even look up. "If you like her so much, let her be your mom. Let’s see if she can," I said casually. "As long as I don't divorce your dad, your so-called good mommy will always just be 'the other woman.'" Isaac froze, mouth agape. Perhaps he’d never been spoken to so bluntly before. His eyes reddened, and he seemed momentarily at a loss for a response. I seized the opportunity to stop his complaints.

Turning around, I saw Raymond approaching us with a frown. I handed Isaac over to him. Watching the father and son, who shared such similar expressions, suddenly seemed boring to me. I looked up at Raymond and spoke earnestly:

"Since neither of you seems to like me, why don't we just get a divorce? It would solve all our problems. I get my freedom, you can marry the person you love, and he can have the mom he wants. What do you think?"

Raymond’s face instantly turned cold. He quieted the cheering Isaac beside him before turning to face me. "Celine, do you think marriage is a game you can just end like that? Even if you're not considering us, you should at least think about the child."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "He doesn't seem to want me as his mom, so why should I consider him?" I replied.

Raymond laughed bitterly in frustration. "Forget it. You can stop dreaming about divorce. I won't agree to it."

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Naomi Ray would do anything to prevent her mother from dying in the hospital even though it involves stealing A fifty million dollars worth cufflinks from her best friend boss. What happens when this man turn out to be someone more dangerous than she thought. Enzo Vitale is a ruthless billionaire boss, who doesn't show mercy and he is the talk of the town. Everyone says he is dangerous, and had never seen him up close before. Until Naomi Ray made the most terrible mistake stealing from him.

Action Billionaire Modern

9.7

Gradually drifting further and further away, books disappearing.

9.7

In five years of marriage, Christian had asked Samantha for a divorce three times. The first request came after a car accident left his leg injured. He told her he didn’t want to be a burden. She refused to give up on him. Miles she walked to a temple, praying for his safety, and returned with a red protection cord—only to find that same cord already wrapped around the wrist of his childhood sweetheart, Abigail. The second time, photos of him and Abigail having sex in a car splashed across the front page of the entertainment section. He wanted Samantha to publicly announce they were already divorced, to salvage Abigail’s reputation. Samantha still wouldn’t agree to the divorce. But facing the cameras, she graciously declared her belief in her husband’s character and called Abigail a mutual friend. From then on, the label stuck: the desperate, pathetic doormat. It spread through their entire social circle. The third time was last night. A call from one of Christian’s buddies—he’d killed a man. It was the dead of winter, a blizzard raging outside. Samantha didn’t even change. She ran out into the swirling snow and reached the clubhouse still in her pajamas and slippers. The private room was ringed with people. In the center, a man lay on the floor, his face a mottled mess of bruises. “What happened? Why did you fight?” “Christian’s fault—he’s so impulsive. The guy just called Abigail a homewrecker, and Christian went for the kill. Can’t stand anyone saying a word against her…” “What’s done is done. A life for a life. Samantha, you love Christian so much—why don’t you turn yourself in for him?” Samantha froze. Slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze sweeping the room. “Where is Christian?” “He took Abigail to another room. Said a dead body was bad luck—would sully her eyes.” Silence. “Samantha, Christian has such a bright future. If you don’t help him, who will?” “Exactly! You’re always going on about how much you love him. Can you bear to watch his life get ruined?” Samantha’s hands, hanging at her sides, slowly clenched into fists. “Fine. I’ll go to prison for him.” Dead silence held the room for a few seconds. Then, thunderous laughter erupted. “Holy shit! You really are the legendary doormat! Willing to do anything for Christian…” “Christian called it! He didn’t get you wrong at all!” Under Samantha’s stunned gaze, a hidden door in the private room swung slowly open. There sat Christian in the small room behind it, Abigail nestled in his arms. He was feeding her grapes. Beside them, the “dead man” on the floor nimbly got up and retreated to the wall. Finally, Samantha understood. She’d been played. Christian snapped his fingers. One of his lackeys tossed a document onto the floor in front of her. “Samantha, if you’re willing to take a murder charge for him, signing a divorce agreement shouldn’t be a big deal, right?” She looked down at the papers, then raised her eyes to Christian. “Christian, do you really want a divorce this badly?” “Can’t the doormat see? Christian’s just sick of you clinging—” “I want to hear him say it!” Samantha cut the lackey off. Christian shrugged, his expression one of weary resignation. *See? I told you this woman is a pain.* “Samantha, if you’re going to force me to spell it out, don’t blame me for being blunt.” “Go on. Say it.” “I’ve asked for a divorce more than once over the years, and you always find a way to dodge it. Honestly, it’s gotten tiresome. I’m worn out.” “You know perfectly well I only married you because of my grandfather’s will. Now that I’ve secured the inheritance, this marriage has lost its purpose. Besides, I can’t stand women who cling and won’t let go.” “Abigail and I grew up together. Childhood sweethearts. But my grandfather misunderstood her, never liked her. All these years she’s stayed by my side with no real status… suffered in silence. She’s gentle. Pure-hearted. I can’t just stand by and watch her get hurt. I need to give her the name she deserves.” As he spoke, he kissed Abigail’s cheek. Samantha nodded slowly. “I understand, Christian. You really do want a divorce.” “Alright then. I’ll give you what you want.”

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.0

He Saved Her, I Burned

9.0

They say you never truly know a man until you face death together. For three years, Aria was the perfect wife to Julian Thorne. She warmed his bed, managed his home, and loved him with a quiet desperation, knowing she was just a placeholder for his missing first love, Chloe. On their third anniversary, a massive fire engulfed the charity gala. Aria was trapped under a falling beam, her leg crushed, smoke filling her lungs. She saw Julian rushing towards them. She reached out her hand, screaming his name. But Julian didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on Chloe, who had merely twisted her ankle. "Julian! Please!" Aria begged, the flames licking her dress. "I'm sorry," he whispered, lifting Chloe into his arms. "She can't survive this. You are strong, Aria. Find a way out." He turned his back. He walked away. Aria didn't find a way out. She burned. Or so he thought. Three years later, a world-renowned scar-removal specialist returns to the city. She walks with a cane, wears a mask, and possesses eyes cold enough to freeze hell. Julian falls to his knees, begging for a second chance, but he forgets one thing: Ash doesn't feel pain. And it certainly doesn't feel love.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.6

Husband's Affair After Divorce

9.6

On the day we were supposed to finalize our divorce, I was hit with sudden, excruciating stomach pain. “What’s the matter? Can’t keep up the act anymore?” “If you don’t actually want a divorce, just admit it. Stop pretending you’re sick.” Miles sneered at me, arrogance radiating from his posture. I gritted my teeth and tried to bear it, but the pain was overwhelming, and I passed out before we could finish the paperwork. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Miles handed me a stack of receipts, his expression dripping with condescension. “Lucky you had the surgery before the divorce, otherwise you’d have had to foot the entire bill yourself. It’s $700; you can transfer me $350.” He tossed the medical bills onto my lap, and the room spun around me. I never thought I’d suffer an acute appendicitis attack on the day of our divorce, let alone that Miles would stoop this low.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.7

My Billionaire Ex Forced Me to Marry Him Again

8.7

The radiator in our cramped Queens apartment hissed like a cornered snake, drowning out the subtle click of the front door latch. I should have noticed the silence. I should have known that a six-year-old boy is never quiet unless he is plotting something entirely reckless. But the morning was its usual chaos. Margaret was barking about the weeping kitchen faucet, her arthritic knuckles white as she wrestled mercilessly with a wrench. "Adalyn, this pipe is crying like a widow! Call the super before we float down the avenue," she snapped, her harsh tone masking the fact that she had been up since dawn trying to fix it herself to save us fifty bucks. Distracted, I was frantically scrubbing a coffee stain from the lapel of my only professional blazer. I thought Sonny was in his bedroom, building a fortress out of pillows. I didn’t know he had already packed his favorite plastic T-Rex, a crumpled subway map, and the worn, folded letter Zain had left for him under his pillow.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.8

My Husband Tricked Me Into Saving His Mistress

9.8

The mahogany walls of Cyrus’s study always felt like they were closing in, but tonight, on the eve of my twenty-fourth birthday, they felt like the interior of a coffin. Cyrus sat behind his massive oak desk, the shadows clinging to his sharp jawline. He looked weary, a calculated exhaustion that pulled at the terrified strings of my heart. "Renal failure," he said, the words falling like stones into the silence. "The doctors say I don't have much time, Novah. Unless there's a match." I didn't hesitate. I couldn't. For eight years, this man had been my god. He had plucked me from the freezing grime of a New York alleyway and placed me in a penthouse that touched the clouds. I owed him my life.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Rejected Wife's New Start

Chapter 2

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