
The Abandoned Wife's Glamorous Return As A Global Star
For five years, Elyse loved Trevor with everything she had, yet it meant nothing when his former lover returned-pregnant.
Reduced to the city's joke, Elyse chose dignity and handed him divorce papers, walking away with nothing.
But when both women fell into the water, he didn't hesitate-he saved the other.
"I'm sorry... she's pregnant," he said, shattering what remained of her love.
She disappeared without a trace. Three years later, she returned as a world-renowned actress, radiant and untouchable.
When Trevor knelt before her, begging, "Don't leave me..." She only watched, her heart long turned cold.
He pleaded, "Please give me another chance, okay?"
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Chapter 1
Trevor Blake's heated lips trailed relentlessly over Elyse Lambert's skin, grazing from her neck to her shoulders, then lower, inch by inch, until he reached the base of her spine.
The sensation blurred the line between pain and pleasure, a prickling numbness that gradually spread through her entire body. A soft sound escaped her before she could stop it. "Trevor..."
Trevor was as unrestrained as ever, panting heavily, his hot breath fanning against the side of her neck like a predator closing in.
Then, the sudden sharp noise shattered everything. Elyse jolted awake, her mind foggy as reality rushed back in—she was still in the bar.
A voice rang out, firm and authoritative. "Everyone stay where you are! Routine inspection!"
The remnants of her vivid, intimate dream dissolved instantly, leaving behind a trace of irritation in her eyes as Elyse blinked awake.
But in the next moment, her gaze locked onto a figure entering from the doorway, backlit by the harsh light outside.
Trevor stood there. His features were rigid, his expression unreadable beneath the authority of his uniform. There was a coldness about him, something distant and unapproachable that seemed to fill the entire room.
"Captain Blake, your wife is here," someone beside him murmured carefully.
Trevor's eyes narrowed slightly. After a brief pause, his lips parted. "Go ahead and inspect everyone," he ordered, his voice devoid of warmth.
After a few seconds of shock, Elyse pushed herself upright from the sofa. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, revealing her figure beneath.
She was wearing a long, delicate dress with thin straps and a plunging neckline—elegant and eye-catching—but the curve of her lips held nothing but a faint, mocking smile.
A month of silence between her and Trevor, and this was how they met again—during a crackdown on illegal activities, with her sitting right in the middle of it.
Trevor's subordinates were careful, keeping their eyes averted from Elyse as they moved around the room, questioning the drunken men and women scattered across the space.
Elyse hadn't had much to drink; she was clear-headed now. It had only been the emptiness of the hotel room that drove her out, the quiet pressing in too heavily for sleep. Therefore, she'd called a few friends out for a drink.
Now, with half-lidded eyes, Elyse watched Trevor, her gaze steady, her smile unreadable. "Captain Blake," she said lightly, "since when do homicide captains handle vice raids?"
Trevor closed the distance between them, each step deliberate, tension sharpening his expression. Stopping in front of her, his voice came out low, edged with displeasure. "Why did you drink so much?"
The question ignited something in Elyse instantly. A whole month of indifference and now this? Her lips curved, but there was no warmth in it. "That's none of your concern."
What she didn't say lingered beneath the surface—his worries should be directed at his mistress.
Elyse and Trevor had been together for a year before marriage and married for three. Their life hadn't been filled with tenderness or sweet words. Trevor had never been that kind of man. He was distant, composed, and rarely expressive. Except in intimate moments. Only then, when control slipped from his grasp, did she feel the intensity of his feelings—mirroring her own.
There had been a time Elyse was content with such a pattern of life. She had even planned it all—another couple of years in the entertainment world, then she would step away, have his child, and settle into a quieter life centered around their family.
Fate, however, had no intention of letting things remain as they were, and Trevor shattered her hope mercilessly. He had already crossed the line and betrayed her.
A month ago, Elyse had stumbled upon a receipt tucked into Trevor's pocket, one that listed baby products.
She had long been aware of Trevor's fondness for children, yet he had never once suggested they start a family. She assumed he was willing to wait for the day when she was ready. However, when she looked into his expenses, she uncovered far more than expected—he had been purchasing items from various maternity shops and had even bought a bag meant for a pregnant woman's labor moments.
Consumed by fury, she confronted him right away, demanding to know who the woman was. Yet, his response was nothing more than a careless excuse, claiming he was "just picking something up for a friend."
Elyse couldn't make sense of it. What kind of "friend" would need him to prepare a maternity bag? And what sort of relationship required him to register at baby stores using his own contact details?
Elyse's anger only intensified, leading to repeated arguments, but Trevor evaded the matter by citing work as a pretext and retreated to the police station. Unable to bear it, she walked out that very night, checked into a hotel, and remained there for an entire month.
As those memories resurfaced, Elyse felt a sting in her chest, her eyes beginning to glisten.
"Captain Blake, everything's wrapped up here. Maybe you should take your wife home first," one of the officers approached Trevor and suggested.
Elyse was jolted out of her thoughts and brought back to the moment. With so many people watching, she refused to create a spectacle. Leaving their arguments unsaid, she replied casually, "There's no need. Anthony will be here shortly to pick me up."
It might have passed without issue if she hadn't mentioned Anthony Tucker, but the moment his name came up, Trevor's expression hardened once more. He lifted his hands, slowly undoing the buttons of his coat before removing it and throwing it over Elyse's head.
Startled, Elyse tried to pull it off, but before she could react, she was swept off her feet, surrounded by a scent she recognized all too well.
"If you don't want your photos circulating everywhere, then stay still," Trevor's cold voice murmured near her ear.
Elyse immediately went still. Even as a mid-tier celebrity, she had a significant online following. Her career depended heavily on her image, and being caught in such a situation would damage her reputation.
As they stepped outside the bar, they ran into Anthony, who had just arrived.
The instant Anthony saw Trevor, he knew the woman he was carrying had to be Elyse.
As Elyse's manager, Anthony was with her almost constantly, only separating at night. Because of this, no one understood the relationship between her and Trevor better than he did.
Just as Anthony stepped forward to stop them, Trevor shot him an icy glare. "Leave, if you know what's good for you."
Intimidated, Anthony froze, not daring to speak as he watched Elyse being placed into the police car by Trevor.
The car drove off quickly, mirroring the storm of anger brewing within its driver.
Elyse removed the coat from her head, and with it, the last trace of Trevor's scent began to fade. She inhaled deeply, trying to hold onto what remained of his presence. Still, she understood that no matter how deeply she loved him, if it went unanswered, it would eventually wither into nothing.
In a quiet voice, she finally said, "Trevor, let's end this marriage."
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8.6
"What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."

7.1
I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.

7.5
On the morning of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I found a cream-colored document tucked inside my husband's suit pocket.
It was a twenty-million-dollar asset transfer for his former receptionist, Carmen. But what made my blood run cold was the contingent beneficiary: Leo, my newborn son who the hospital claimed was kidnapped twenty-three years ago.
When I confronted Devonte, he didn't even try to explain. He handed me a fake Cartier watch, canceled all my credit cards, and publicly called me delusional.
The next day, he moved Carmen into our mansion and emptied all our joint accounts into offshore trusts.
"If you don't sign these papers and walk away, I will have you committed," he threatened, his mother nodding in agreement.
They had orchestrated the kidnapping of my baby, hiding him with the mistress while I spent half my life sedated and screaming in grief. Now, to keep his secret, Devonte was going to lock me in a psychiatric ward and bury me in debt.
I didn't understand how the man I loved could be such a monster. Why did he steal my child? What else was hidden in that confidential adoption file?
Pushed to the absolute brink, I refused to be his victim.
When his goons came to my temporary apartment to drag me away, I turned to the rugged union electrician who had just fixed my lights.
"If you need a husband to keep you out of a psych ward, I'll marry you," he said, offering himself as my legal shield.
I took his hand. It was time to tear my husband's perfect life apart.

8.8
I am the best esports jungler in the league, but I've been hiding a severe wrist injury just to keep my team alive in the semifinals.
Right in the middle of the crucial tie-breaker game, our mid-laner deliberately walked into the enemy team and died without casting a single defensive spell.
He was match-fixing for offshore betting sites, throwing away our entire season for a massive payout.
Because of his betrayal, we had to sub in two terrified rookies, and we were absolutely slaughtered. The stadium crowd booed us out of the arena. The internet exploded with pure vitriol, trending hashtags calling me a washed-up fraud who hid on the bench to save my own stats. The media demanded I retire immediately. My physical therapist gave me a grim ultimatum: my shredded nerves only allow me four hours of playtime a day before my right hand completely locks up.
I destroyed my own body for this team, only to be sold out by a coward and crucified by the very fans I bled for. Why should my legacy end in total disgrace because of someone else's greed?
I refuse to step down. I forced the traitor out, ignored management's safe roster choices, and locked my eyes on the most toxic, universally hated streamer on the platform.
"He's a walking PR nightmare," my coach warned.
I don't care. He is an arrogant, unhinged killer in the game, and I am going to make him mine.

8.1
One wardrobe malfunction.
Two people who don't belong together.
Three awful "Be my wife."
Everyone else is at this party to marry the host.
I'm only here until I can get a ride home.
When my dress rips in the world's worst-timed wardrobe malfunction,
I go find somewhere quiet to fix it.
So I'm standing there in nothing but my heels when,
As my luck would have it, the door opens...
And the man of the hour walks in.
I wish I could say I played it cool.
But it's been a looong time since anyone has seen me in my birthday suit...
Much less the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on.
All I want to do is fix my dress, click my heels three times, and be back on my couch in fuzzy slippers.
But Ivan has other ideas.
He's decided who he's taking to the altar...
And I don't have a choice but to say "I do."

8.0
After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field.
But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me.
Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number.
"Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk."
It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family.
The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him-all dismissed as "just business."
Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer.
"Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him."