Revenge Of The Forsaken Pregnant Wife
My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child.
Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby.
To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner.
They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his.
The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused.
But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.
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Chapter 6
Charlotte Dean POV:
For the first time in my life, I didn't look away from Eleanor Sullivan’s icy stare. I met her gaze, and though my heart was a frantic bird against my ribs, my voice came out quiet and steady. "I’m not going anywhere."
Eleanor’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. Then she laughed, a short, sharp sound devoid of any real humor. "Oh, darling," she said, her tone dripping with condescending amusement. "You think you have a choice?"
She gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod to the two hulking men in dark suits standing behind her. They moved immediately, their size filling the doorway, their faces blank and hard. One took my left arm, the other my right. Their grips were like iron.
I struggled, but it was useless. My body was weak from weeks of stress and poor nutrition. "Gabe knows what you’re doing!" I cried out, the words tasting like a desperate lie even as I said them. "He won’t let you!"
As if on cue, Eleanor’s phone began to ring. The screen lit up with a single name: Gabe.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across her face. She held up a hand, and the bodyguards paused their efforts to drag me from the bed. She answered the call on speaker, her voice instantly shifting, becoming warm and motherly. "Gabe, sweetheart. Is everything alright?"
Gabe’s voice, tinny and anxious through the speaker, filled the room. "Mom, is Charlotte with you? Is she okay? I just… I have a bad feeling."
Eleanor’s eyes, cold and cruel, were locked on mine as she delivered the killing blow. "She’s fine. We had a little chat, and she agreed to cooperate. She understands it’s for the best."
I stared at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. I shook my head wildly, trying to scream, to tell him the truth, but one of the guards clamped a heavy hand over my mouth. The rough leather of his glove scraped against my lips.
There was a pause on Gabe’s end. A long, telling silence where his conscience warred with his cowardice. Cowardice won. "Okay… good," he finally said, the relief in his voice a physical blow. "Just make sure she’s comfortable."
"Of course, dear," Eleanor cooed, not giving him a chance to have second thoughts. "I have to go, we’re on our way now." She ended the call.
The hand was removed from my mouth. The air I sucked in felt like ice in my lungs. Gabe’s call hadn’t been a lifeline. It had been a weapon, and his mother had just used it to gut me.
Eleanor slipped the phone back into her purse, her smile gone. "See?" she said, her voice flat. "No one is coming for you." She waved a dismissive hand. "Take her."
The guards hauled me out of the bed and dragged me from the room. They didn't take me through the main lobby. Instead, they steered me down a sterile service corridor, the kind meant for staff and laundry carts, and into a private elevator that descended into the belly of the building.
The doors opened onto a dim, cavernous underground parking garage. A black Lincoln Navigator, sleek and menacing with no license plates, was waiting with its engine humming softly.
This wasn't a transfer to another hospital. This was a kidnapping. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my throat again.
As they forced me toward the open rear door of the SUV, I twisted, planting my feet. "You’re kidnapping me," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "This is a crime."
Eleanor leaned down, her face close to mine as she pushed me the rest of the way onto the cold leather seat. She shut the door, then tapped on the tinted window. "For people like us, darling, it’s called ‘problem-solving’," she said, her voice muffled by the glass. "You should feel honored to be a part of it."
The vehicle pulled away smoothly, merging into the anonymous flow of New York City traffic. I pressed my face against the window, watching the city lights blur past. The hope that had burned so brightly just minutes ago felt a million miles away, sealed out by the silent, air-conditioned interior of this car.
We drove for what felt like an eternity, maybe thirty minutes, in suffocating silence. The SUV finally slowed, turning into a private drive and stopping before an elegant, classical brownstone on the Upper East Side. A discreet brass plaque by the door read: "The Hawthorne Wellness Clinic."
My blood turned to ice. I knew this place by reputation. It was a private, obscenely expensive clinic whispered about in the circles Gabe and his mother moved in. It was a place where the wealthy went to make their "problems" disappear, no questions asked.
My last shred of hope died. Here, behind these soundproofed walls, no one would ever hear me scream.
A guard opened my door and pulled me out. As my feet hit the pavement, I looked up at the clinic’s imposing marble steps. And I saw him.
A figure stood there, speaking in low tones to a man in a white doctor’s coat. A figure so familiar it made my mind go blank with shock.
My adoptive father, Robert Jennings.
He saw me. There was no surprise in his eyes. Just a placid, reassuring smile that didn’t reach them. He nodded to Eleanor, a silent acknowledgment between conspirators, and then he walked down the steps toward me.
The world tilted on its axis. Eleanor’s cruelty was expected. This… this was a betrayal so profound it stole the air from my lungs.
Robert Jennings stopped in front of me. His voice was the same mild, gentle tone he’d used my entire life, the one that always came before a quiet disappointment or a soft-spoken lecture.
"Lottie, don't be scared. We’re all here to help you make the right decision for the family."
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7.9
June was an ordinary architect struggling to pay rent, completely estranged from her high-society mother.
But one night, she was kidnapped and beaten in an abandoned warehouse by Gage Becker, the city's most ruthless billionaire, who demanded payback for her mother's sins.
Gage pointed a high-definition camera at June's battered face and video-called her mother, threatening to release the footage and ruin her upcoming billion-dollar wedding.
"I will never throw away a billion-dollar marriage for a useless daughter."
Her mother's cold voice echoed through the warehouse before the line went dead.
From that moment, Gage systematically destroyed June's life. She was publicly humiliated and forced to hack off her own hair with a cigar cutter. She was blacklisted from every firm in the city, evicted by her landlord, and violently mugged in a freezing New York blizzard.
Curled up in an icy tunnel waiting to die, June felt a suffocating despair. She hadn't spoken to her mother in months. Why did she have to endure this hell for a woman who didn't even care if she lived or died? Why was a monster like Gage so obsessed with driving her to the grave?
When Gage's armored Maybach pulled up, he stepped into the snow to mock her, waiting for her to finally surrender and beg for his mercy.
But the absolute humiliation snapped the last thread of June's sanity.
Instead of crying, she lunged forward with feral energy and sank her teeth directly into the devil's flesh.
9.5
Alina was the eldest daughter of the prestigious Padilla family, but everyone mocked her as a defective dud who couldn't cast a single spell.
The moment she woke up, her father and younger sister Karina barged into her room, demanding she sign a transfer agreement to the Aethelgard Order-the most brutal faction on the continent.
It wasn't just a transfer; it was a legal disownment. In her past life, Alina didn't realize Karina was also reborn. She had dropped to her knees and begged to stay. Her reward? Her magic was violently drained from her veins by her own family. Her fiancé drove a blade through her chest, and her sister stood over her bleeding body, smiling. She had ruined her hands making potions for them, only to be discarded like trash.
The phantom pain of her chest being ripped open still burned behind her ribs. Looking at the hypocritical family waiting for her tears, she felt nothing but exhausting disgust. Why should she ever be their stepping stone again?
"For the honor of the family, you leave today."
Her father sneered as she calmly bit her thumb and pressed her bloody fingerprint onto the contract. This time, Alina didn't cry. She packed a single bag and walked out the door, heading straight for the deadly Aethelgard Order to show them what a true monster looked like.
8.4
Arlene was the illegitimate daughter of the wealthy Boone family, treated worse than a stray dog. To keep her meager scholarship, she had to swallow her pride and apologize to the frat boy who tormented her.
But he didn't just want an apology. He forced her to drink twenty shots of liquor laced with pure capsaicin extract.
"Drink us under the table, or take off your clothes and crawl out."
Arlene drank until her stomach tore, vomiting blood and collapsing on the filthy club floor.
When she dragged her half-dead body back to the Boone estate, her biological father and half-sister didn't care. Instead, her sister ground Arlene's SAT admission ticket into the dirt with her stiletto.
"Throw her out. Dad doesn't want to look at her before Hardie's engagement."
The guards threw her onto the gravel, leaving her bleeding and barefoot in the freezing night.
Arlene sat shivering at a dark bus stop, her dignity completely stripped away. She never wanted a dime from the Boones, so why did they insist on crushing her only way out? And why did Dr. Hardie Boone, the untouchable head of the family, look at her with such a twisted, terrifying obsession?
When Hardie's black Aston Martin pulled out of the shadows, he scooped her up, took her away, and locked her inside his penthouse.
"You carry the Boone name. Whether you live or die is my decision."
Trapped by the dangerous man who demanded total control over her life, Arlene finally realized that simply running away was no longer an option.
9.0
For years, I exhausted myself trying to be the perfect, obedient heiress of the ultra-wealthy Carlisle family.
But my reward wasn't their love. Instead, I was abruptly branded a fake, thrown out of the estate, and sent to a brutal black-site prison to take the fall for someone else's crimes.
My cold CEO brother, Julian, didn't lift a finger to save me. My carefully selected boyfriend, Connor, sold me out without a second thought.
In that maximum-security cell, I was stripped of my dignity. I ate moldy, insect-infested bread, and my soft hands were covered in thick, ugly scars from fighting off murderers.
I watched inmates get beaten half to death over a single cracker, while my so-called family continued their pristine, luxurious lives on the outside.
"She's just a parasite, let her rot."
I died in that dark cell, completely abandoned. The sheer exhaustion of trying to please them, of trying to be flawless, washed over my final moments like a physical sickness.
I didn't understand why my absolute loyalty was repaid with such ruthless cruelty.
Then, water rushed out of my lungs in a violent, burning surge.
I opened my eyes to the pristine blue pool of the Carlisle estate, my body completely unscarred. I had reverted to being fifteen again.
This time, I was done playing the perfect daughter. If my fate was a prison cell, I was going to spend my remaining freedom tearing their perfect world apart.
9.6
was a witness to a murder I wasn't supposed to see. I expected a bullet; I got a golden cage."
Ivy Thorne is a nobody-a struggling cellist with a mountain of medical bills and a past she can't remember. Her life changes in a heartbeat when she witnesses Kaelen Volkov, the Mafia's most lethal enforcer, executing a traitor in a dark alley.
She should be dead. But Kaelen doesn't pull the trigger. Instead, he sees the star-shaped birthmark on her neck and makes a choice that will ignite a war. To save her from his father's wrath, he claims her as his own.
Now, Ivy is trapped in a world of blood and silk, forced to play the role of Kaelen's devoted fiancée. He's cold, scarred, and dangerous, yet he treats her like a priceless treasure he's been waiting years to reclaim. As the lines between her fear and her desire begin to blur, Ivy realizes that Kaelen isn't just protecting her from the Mafia-he's hiding a secret about her past that could shatter her world.
In the Volkov empire, loyalty is everything and debt is paid in blood. But for Ivy, the highest price might be her heart.
9.4
I was the daughter of a defeated Alpha, kneeling as a broken war spoil before the ruthless Lycan King, Kaelen Varg.
Through a twisted misunderstanding with a spiked drink, the tyrant lost control. But when he attacked me, an impossible spark ignited between us. His inner wolf roared in triumph, recognizing me as his fated Mate, and he claimed me in the heat of the night.
But the next morning, he woke up with another woman's name on his lips. Realizing he had surrendered to a lowly tribute, his eyes filled with absolute, violent loathing. To erase the humiliation of our bond, he shoved me to the floor like garbage.
"Take her to the Barrens. Leave her there. Make sure she never comes back."
His Beta dragged me to a sealed, sun-baked wasteland crawling with mutated beasts. They clamped silver cuffs onto my wrists, searing my flesh and suppressing my wolf, leaving me to die a slow, agonizing death.
I lay in the scorching dirt, the silver burning into my bones. I couldn't understand how a fated Mate could be so merciless. Why was my life worth less than his twisted pride? Why did I have to be fed to monsters just so he could keep his throne spotless?
The cold rage in my core solidified into a diamond-hard resolve. I forced my bleeding body to stand in the desolate wasteland. I will not die here. I will survive, and I will live to see his kingdom burn.