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 5
Blaire frowned. "I don't know what you're—"
"I'm the one who wronged you. So why are you hurting Cora?" Evan moved like a lion whose territory had been violated. He seized Blaire's wrist and demanded, "Honey, aren't you supposed to be reasonable? Is this because I signed the divorce papers first? I told you, I'm not actually divorcing you. We've divorced three times already. What difference does one more make? In the end, you're always the one by my side. Why would you hurt Cora out of jealousy? Do you even know she just made it out of danger?"
Blaire yanked her hand free. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"
"Do you really not know, or are you just that confident?"
Evan's face darkened. He hurled his phone against her chest. A video began to play automatically.
On-screen, a man in a white lab coat knelt on the floor, bowing repeatedly toward the camera.
A cold voice off-screen said, "Repeat what you just said."
The man trembled violently. "I'll talk, I'll tell you everything. Just let me go. Ms. Bennett put me up to this. She said Cora was a manipulative seductress, that she was clever enough to tie Mr. Everett down by risking her own life. If she could gamble with death to win, she could just as easily be made into a real corpse."
"What proof do you have?"
"There's thirty thousand dollars in my pocket. Ms. Bennett gave it to me. It was payment to inject Cora with a cyanide compound."
The video cut off abruptly.
The absurdity of it crashed over Blaire. "That wasn't me. I've never paid anyone to hurt her. Evan, check it. Please—"
"You think I didn't?" He cut her off with a low snarl, disappointment burning in his eyes. "Three hours ago, thirty thousand dollars left your account. Did you really think I'd believe you unconditionally? That you could pull something this cheap and stupid right in front of me?"
Blaire's heart pounded. How could coincidence be this cruel?
"That was the lawyer's fee. I was preparing to file for divorce—"
"Enough!" Evan shook his head with a cold, humorless laugh. "I spoiled you rotten. You actually thought you could toy with someone's life. Honey, you need to learn boundaries. You need to understand what you can and cannot do."
He lifted a hand. The bodyguards who had been waiting near the entryway stepped forward immediately. With practiced precision, they forced Blaire down onto the sofa. One of them held a sharp syringe.
Her struggling only earned her harsher restraint. As the needle drew closer, she forced herself to stay calm. "Evan, I didn't do this. I've already decided to divorce you. Whoever you love has nothing to do with me anymore. Just calm down."
"I am calm." Evan bent down, looming over her shrinking frame. There was almost tenderness in his smile. "Honey, they'll be gentle. Just think of it as taking a nap. I love you too much to let anything happen to you. This is just a small lesson. You need to understand consequences."
"No—"
Blaire fought, but it was useless. The needle pierced her skin.
Within moments, her airway constricted violently. She gasped for breath, yet suffocation clamped down on her throat. Through the haze, she saw Evan's face and heard his voice soften as he spoke to someone else.
"Stop crying. The person responsible has been punished. I know you're scared. I know you miss me. I'm coming right now."
A bodyguard asked quietly, "Sir, should we intervene now?"
Evan glanced at his watch. "She won't be in real danger for another two or three minutes. I want her to remember this pain. Have the doctor step in before she actually dies."
Then his tone shifted, light but lethal. "Of course, if you miscalculate and my wife is harmed in any way, I promise none of you will walk away from it."
Tears slid down Blaire's temples. Regret—bottomless and suffocating—swallowed her whole.
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7.0
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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.