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 6
The feeling of hovering at death's edge was more terrifying than death itself.
The first thing Blaire did after regaining consciousness was call the police.
But before she could finish stating her case, Evan stormed into the room and snatched the phone from her hand.
He ended the call, irritation clear on his face. "Have you lost your mind?"
Her throat was raw from dehydration and days without food, her voice hoarse but steady. "I'm calling the cops, Evan."
She looked at him without flinching. "That was attempted murder."
Blaire's face was so ashen it looked translucent.
For a split second, Evan felt that same unsettling fear that he might lose her entirely. He frowned, suppressing the strange unease, and his tone softened almost involuntarily.
"Honey, we're still married. This is just a domestic dispute."
"Then I'll wait until we're divorced." She spoke each word clearly. "Time doesn't erase wrongdoing."
His heartbeat stuttered. Something in her voice suggested more than she was saying.
But what mistake had he made?
Everything a patient with dissociative identity disorder did could be excused as illness.
He didn't make mistakes. He got sick.
And Blaire would never know the difference.
He steadied himself. "Stop making this worse. If you hadn't hurt Cora first, none of this would've happened. If you actually call the police, you'll be the one who suffers. No one's going to risk crossing me over something this trivial."
Blaire let out a hollow laugh. "I almost died, and you think that's trivial?"
"I was watching. You weren't going to die." He added casually, "If you're still mad, next time we remarry, I'll let you give me a shot too. Fair enough? This was your fault. Maybe now you've felt some pain, you'll learn not to play with someone's life. And she's my lifesaver. Without her, I wouldn't even be here talking to you."
Lifesaver. And lover.
Evan cheated and still expected Blaire to clean up the narrative for him.
Love divided into two identical portions was nothing but repulsive.
Blaire closed her eyes. She no longer had the energy to argue.
Evan assumed she was simply angry and chose to wait for her to cool down.
Whether for convenience or sheer indifference, he arranged her hospital room next to Cora's.
Sometimes, when Blaire drifted in and out of thought, she heard laughter from the neighboring room.
Endless luxury goods passed her doorway on their way to Cora's room, all for the sake of a smile.
Even the nurses knew Evan was keeping two women at his side.
Blaire reacted to none of it. She ate when it was time to eat, slept when it was time to sleep—until one night she was jolted awake by a hand clamped over her mouth and nose.
Her eyes snapped open to see Cora, hair loose and wild.
"Ms. Bennett," Cora murmured, "does it take someone as shameless as you to keep crawling back after every stunt and still stay by Evan's side?"
The suffocation triggered Blaire's reflex. She shoved Cora away and clutched her chest, gasping for air.
Cora looked half-crazed, worn thin by gossip and by Blaire's indifference. "What's wrong with you? Do you really think he's staying at the hospital for you? No. I told him I wanted to have sex with him next to you. He refused to take me home, so this was as close as I could get. Do you even realize he doesn't love you anymore? He only loves me!"
"Love you?" Blaire's lips curved coldly. "You don't even qualify as the other woman. What makes you think he loves you?"
"Shut up!" Cora glared at her. "He listens to me now. I'll prove it."
Blaire gave a nonchalant nod. After Cora stormed out, Evan's call came through.
He didn't even wait for her to speak. "What did you do to Cora this time?"
"Anything else? If not, I'm hanging up."
"Wait." He sighed, exhaustion heavy in his voice. "She's crying hysterically. She wants you to personally organize our wedding. You know she's not stable. She can't keep crying like this. Don't worry. It's just a ceremony. You're the only one I consider my wife."
"Fine. But I have a condition." Her voice was calm. "Our divorce decree first. Then you can start planning your wedding."
"You really want to divorce me that badly?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Blaire said, "No. The choice is yours."
She did not go back to sleep. As expected, at dawn, Evan's secretary delivered the finalized divorce decree.
"Mr. Everett said you upset Ms. Hayes, so he has to make it up to her. That's why he didn't come in person today," the secretary explained. "He also said he doesn't want the divorce either, but this is the only way to keep everyone satisfied. He hopes you understand."
Blaire said nothing. As she ran her fingers over the familiar document, she felt lighter than she had in years.
Without notifying anyone, she completed her discharge paperwork and took a cab to the airport.
Evan called again and again.
She never answered. When she stepped out of the cab, she threw the phone into a trash bin.
She turned once more to look at the city that had held all her love and hatred. A small, relieved smile touched her lips.
Blaire thought to herself that whatever had existed between them ended here, and from now on she would never look back.
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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.