Remarried Three Times, I'm Done With My Trashy Husband
When they remarried for the fourth time, Blaire Bennett told Evan Everett it was their last chance. If he betrayed her again, she would leave him for good.
Evan had sworn absolute loyalty, hand over heart-then turned around and wrapped another woman in his arms.
Caught red-handed, he delivered his excuse with practiced ease. "I can't control the split personality. You can't punish me for something the other me did."
It was a pathetic lie, and Blaire had believed it three times.
Only moments ago, she had heard him admit with her own ears that the so-called split personality was nothing but an act-a convenient cover for cheating. That was when the truth finally tore through her.
The pain had carved into Blaire like a blade. She filed for divorce without hesitation.
This time, she would not look back.
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Chapter 3
Evan did not come home that night.
A heavy storm had swept in after dark, and the death track still claimed its victim.
Evan's car had flipped over the guardrail. Beyond it lay the raging coastline. One more roll and he would have been swallowed by the sea.
Cora had dragged him out of the water herself, nearly risking her own life to do it.
That same night, Blaire finalized the divorce agreement with her lawyer. The moment she unlocked her phone, headlines flooded the screen.
"Evan Everett dances with death for a beauty."
"The beauty who saved him—will he choose new passion or old desire?"
......
After clearing the sensational nonsense, Blaire noticed that Evan had called her over a dozen times an hour earlier. Judging by the timing, he must have just been declared out of danger.
She had intended to ignore it. But for the sake of the divorce papers, she went to the hospital anyway.
Evan's room was empty. After asking around, she found Cora's hospital room instead.
From the doorway, she saw Evan wrapped in bandages, sitting vigil beside Cora's bed. He held her hand tightly, as though afraid she might vanish if he loosened his grip.
As if sensing her presence, Evan turned. His eyes were bloodshot. "Honey," he rasped.
Blaire walked in and handed him the document. "Sign it."
"What is this?"
He did not need her answer. The words Divorce Agreement were printed clearly across the cover.
His face drained of color as he stared at her. "I almost died in that crash. You're not even going to ask if I'm hurt? You're asking for a divorce?"
Blaire was silent for a moment before she spoke. "If my husband died for another woman, would that be something I should feel proud of? Evan, my reputation matters too. If you'd actually died, you would have dragged my name through the mud with you. So while you're still breathing, sign."
His jaw tightened, a vein pulsing at his temple.
"Everyone knows my primary and secondary personalities are different. Who, besides you, would blame a patient with dissociative identity disorder for being emotionally inconsistent? As for reputation, do you even have one left? Why are you so obsessed with meaningless pride that you keep giving up on me—on my feelings—over and over again?"
Blaire's fists clenched so hard her nails dug into her palms. Her voice trembled despite her restraint. "Evan, I'm the one giving up? I heard you. You're not sick at all…"
A strained groan slipped from Cora's lips. Evan immediately stood and leaned over her, checking on her condition with anxious care. Every gentle movement, every worried glance, cut so sharply that Blaire could barely stand there another second.
She repeated, more firmly, "Sign it."
"Blaire, do you have to be this aggressive? My secondary personality is a complete individual with his own thoughts. I gave him up once for you, but he came back. I can't strip him of his rights again."
Evan lowered his head, dragging a hand through his hair in exhaustion. Anger and agitation were tightly restrained in his voice.
"Blaire, you can't be this heartless and this greedy. We were happy—but what about them? They would die for each other. Their love isn't any less than ours."
Blaire had no interest in hearing another lie.
"Evan, either you sign, or I file through the court. Your choice."
He looked at her steadily, certainty soft in his tone. "You can't leave me. I know you love me. Just like I love you. We can't be apart. Honey, we've already divorced three times over this. Can you stop being difficult? Try to be understanding. Don't make this a scene."
Blaire let out a quiet laugh. "You think I'm making a scene?"
Evan said nothing. His flat, untroubled gaze answered for him.
She nodded once, unwilling to waste another word. "Then let's find out."
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7.0
On her wedding night, Liora Vale expected passion from her wealthy husband. Instead, she got rejection and humiliation.
When his dangerously seductive best friend, Kael Draven, corners her on the balcony and claims her virgin body with raw, unprotected fury, Liora discovers a pleasure she never knew existed.
Now addicted to Kael's brutal touch and filthy promises, the once-innocent bride becomes his secret slut, sneaking creampies in limos, riding him at galas, and begging to be bred while her husband sleeps nearby.
Kael won't stop until he destroys Silas and fills Liora's womb with his child.
She was supposed to be the perfect wife... now she's the shameless breeding whore who belongs only to him.
7.1
*
**One night of betrayal. One night of passion. A lifetime of consequences.**
Celine was always the shadow-the reliable twin who worked while her sister, Celeste, basked in the spotlight. But when she finds her boyfriend of five months in her sister's bed, the shadow finally snaps. A reckless night at a dive bar with a hazel-eyed stranger was supposed to be her escape, a way to forget the people who saw her as a spare part.
But the stranger wasn't just a face in the crowd. He was **Idris Al-Miraj**, the billionaire Sheikh and the owner of the very hotel where Celine works.
When her parents attempt to sell her into a sacrificial marriage to save the family's reputation, Celine finds herself hunted by her past and trapped by her future. Idris doesn't just want her back in his bed; he wants to own every brick of the wall she's built around her heart.
Jobless, homeless, and backed into a corner by a family that only needs her when they can use her, Celine prepares to run again. But Idris has other plans. He doesn't want her to run. He doesn't even want her to surrender.
He wants her to fight back.
**"Use me,"** he says.
In a world where power is the only currency, Celine must decide if the man who dismantled her life is her greatest enemy-or the only weapon she has left.
7.3
For three years, I was the perfect, invisible wife. My husband, Jaden, called the songs I poured my soul into "trash," then secretly fed them to his pop-star mistress to make her famous.
Then one night, after being drugged at a gala, I woke up in a stranger's bed. It wasn't just the betrayal that shattered me; it was the soul-deep certainty that this powerful, dangerous man was my true fated mate.
I fled home in a panic, only to find a message on Jaden's phone confirming my worst fears. His mistress, the woman singing my songs on the radio, was pregnant with the baby he'd always told me I was too weak to carry.
The nightmare deepened when I learned the identity of the man from the hotel. He was Carter Mcclain, the ruthless Alpha King-and my husband's older brother.
He looked at me with eyes that knew my secret, his cruel smirk promising that my life was now a game for his amusement.
Jaden had stolen my music, my dream of a family, and my future, leaving me trapped between his betrayal and his terrifying brother.
He thought he had broken me, leaving me with nothing. He forgot he left me with the rage that wrote the songs. And I was about to write their final, brutal verse.
8.2
He's her boss: distant, controlled, and used to being alone at the top.
She's the cleaner: unnoticed, soft-spoken, and invisible to everyone but the empty halls she tends each night.
Their conversations are brief. Their glances linger. And in the silence between them, something fragile and unexpected begins to grow.
But love was never part of the job description... and some lines aren't meant to be crossed.
8.6
The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay.
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.