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 3
Trevor always used condoms. He often insisted on it, claiming the pills would only harm Elyse's body. Last night slipped out of control, though, and he did not bother to use one, so he prepared the pills for her by morning.
Rage burned through Elyse as she hurled the box straight into the trash.
That was the scene that greeted Trevor when he stepped inside. His expression tightened. Without saying anything, he crossed the room, picked the box out of the bin, opened it, then pressed out a pill and extended it toward her. "Take this," he said.
Meeting his eyes with a cold stare, Elyse refused to even glance at the pill. "I'm not taking it," she said. "Trevor, do you really hate the idea of me carrying your child that much?"
Shock flashed across his face, and his fingers curled tighter around the pill. "You actually want a baby?"
Every shift in his reaction did not escape Elyse, and her voice carried a sharp edge. "What's the problem? You've always claimed you like kids, haven't you?"
"You're still too young. If you get pregnant now, you have to pull back from your job. What about all the endorsement deals you've signed? And both of us are tied up with work all the time. Who's going to raise the child?"
"Stop feeding me those hollow reasons," she retorted. "Answer me properly. If I walk away from my career just to have your child, will you accept it?"
For a moment, Trevor simply looked at her, uncertainty and struggle written all over his face. Reaching for her hand, he placed the pill into her palm and softened his tone as he tried to persuade her. "Now isn't the right moment. Just wait a little longer for me."
Something heavy pressed down on Elyse's chest, making each breath feel tight. She pulled her hand back from him. "Forget it," she said, her voice turning cold. "If you don't want a baby, then there won't be one."
Without another word, she shoved the pill into her mouth and forced herself to swallow. The bitterness spread instantly, and tears slipped down her face without a sound.
Seeing that, Trevor's expression eased. He lifted his hand, wanting to wipe her tears away, but she jerked back.
Right then, his phone started ringing. His hand stalled in the air. After a brief hesitation, worry about something urgent from his team pushed him to answer the call.
"Hello, is this Mr. Trevor Blake?" the voice on the other end asked in a rush. "Your wife just collapsed in the obstetrics department. You need to get here immediately."
The words made Trevor pull the phone away as he checked the caller ID, only to realize it was Joanna Kirk's number.
Concern swept across his face in an instant. Turning around, he rushed toward the door while saying through the phone, "I'm heading there now. Please make sure she..."
The door clicked shut, cutting off the rest of his words. Elyse remained rooted in place. His wife? The obstetrics department? Those words should have belonged to her and Trevor, yet now they pointed to another woman. He already had a child with another woman. What place was left for her in all of this?
A sudden wave of nausea twisted Elyse's stomach. She covered her mouth and hurried into the bathroom. With nothing in her stomach, all she could bring up was the bitter taste of the pill she had forced down earlier.
Shock crossed Anthony's face the moment he arrived to pick her up and saw how drained she looked. "What happened to you?" he asked, worry clear in his voice.
Too worn out to go into details, Elyse only shook her head. She pushed her suitcase into his hands. "We're leaving," she said, her voice faint. "Bring a few people later to move the rest of my things."
Stunned by her words, Anthony grabbed the suitcase and followed after her. "You're seriously leaving Captain Blake for good? I thought things would calm down between you two after last night. How did everything fall apart like this?"
Since Elyse had an important ad shoot lined up for the day, she pressed a warm towel against her eyes the moment she settled into the car.
Anxious thoughts ran through Anthony's mind. No one understood better than him how deeply Elyse cared for Trevor. Back when they first got together, the company tried to force Elyse to end things with Trevor. In response, Elyse had slammed a termination contract and a blank check to cover the penalty onto the CEO's desk.
"Anthony, I'm filing for divorce," Elyse said, her tone stripped of emotion. "Don't ask me about it right now. I don't feel like explaining. Just find someone to draft a divorce agreement. I'll walk away with nothing."
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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."