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 7
Trevor spent the entire night looking for Elyse, dialing her number repeatedly, only to be met with the same result—her phone was switched off. By the time dawn broke, he gave up temporarily, returned home to clean up, and then went straight to the police station.
The moment he stepped into the office, his colleague, Clint Barton, looked at him with disbelief. "Captain Blake, did another department pull you into an operation once more? You look like you didn't sleep at all. Maybe you should head home and get some rest?"
Trevor simply tapped Clint on the shoulder, his voice quiet. "Bring me some coffee."
"Alright. Oh, by the way, a courier dropped something off for you this morning. It's an envelope. I placed it on your desk," Clint replied.
Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose and then gave a quiet nod. As he lowered himself into his chair, the envelope sat waiting at the center of his desk. He picked it up and tore it open.
The words "Divorce Agreement" leapt out at him, jarring enough to make his grip falter. The thin paper suddenly felt impossibly heavy, weighing down his hand.
Clint walked back in with the coffee and immediately noticed Trevor's darkened face. Following Trevor's line of sight, he caught sight of the document, and the bold title on it made him freeze in place. "Is your wife seriously trying to—"
Trevor shot him a chilling look that cut him off mid-sentence. Clint snapped his mouth shut, raising a hand to cover it.
Trevor then slipped the document out of sight.
Regaining some composure, Clint spoke more cautiously. "You wife is upset because of the raid that night? Did you not explain things clearly?"
"It's not like that," Trevor answered flatly.
Clint hesitated. "Then what—"
"Focus on your work. I'll deal with my personal issues myself," Trevor cut in.
Initially, Trevor believed he could resolve everything without much trouble. Elyse had always been easy to soothe. Even though she was asking for a divorce now, he assumed a sincere apology, a few gentle words, and a gift would be enough to win her back. What he hadn't anticipated was that he couldn't reach her at all after the agreement was delivered.
As someone who rarely paid attention to the entertainment industry, he now awkwardly searched online for any updates about Elyse. Throughout their marriage, he had shown little interest in her career. Now, his search turned up quite a few rumors about her supposed relationship with several male celebrities.
Anger surged within him. He couldn't help but suspect that her determination to leave him stemmed from the presence of another man. The instant that thought formed, unease gripped him.
...
A month later, headlines surfaced online reporting that Elyse had collapsed during filming.
As soon as Clint came across the news, he rushed to Trevor's office. Right as he knocked and stepped inside, Trevor's phone began to ring.
"Captain Blake, have you seen the news? Your wife—"
Before Clint could finish speaking, Trevor frowned and answered the call. "Which hospital? I'm coming now."
Clint assumed the call concerned Elyse, so he said nothing further and quietly stepped out.
As the door closed, Trevor's displeased voice echoed inside the office. "Joanna, I promised Shelton Graves I would take care of you until the baby is born. If you don't want to be a bother, then please take care of yourself."
After ending the call, Trevor left his office. Then, recalling Clint's earlier visit, he asked, "You were looking for me?"
Assuming Trevor was out for his wife, Clint shook his head lightly. "Send my regards to your wife."
Trevor paused briefly. It had already been a month since he last saw Elyse, and he wondered how she was doing.
Trevor hurried to the hospital. The moment he stepped out of his car, he spotted Elyse and Anthony in the parking area.
A surge of emotion filled Trevor—an entire month of suppressed longing burst out at once. He quickly walked over and pulled Elyse into his embrace. "Elyse... I've missed you so much!" he said, voice tight with emotions.
Elyse froze for a moment, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. Regaining her senses, she pushed him away firmly. "Trevor, let go! We're in a public place," she warned in a low tone.
Trevor loosened his grip, worry evident on his face. "Why are you here? Are you unwell? Why haven't you picked up my calls?"
The last question carried a subtle trace of complaint.
Elyse let out a bitter laugh at herself. For a brief moment, she actually thought he'd come after seeing the news about her. How naive. "Then what brings you here?" she asked flatly.
Trevor fell silent.
Her expression turned cold. She immediately understood—he was here for Joanna again.
At that moment, Anthony spoke with restraint. "Captain Blake, the news about Elyse collapsing on set is everywhere. It seems you're clueless about her fainting. Are you here for someone else? Do you have any idea that Elyse is already—"
"Anthony!" Elyse interrupted sharply.
Anthony's words struck Trevor hard. He genuinely didn't know about Elyse's collapse, and although he was here for Joanna, there was nothing inappropriate between them.
"Elyse..." Trevor reached for her hand, but she immediately avoided his touch.
"You got the divorce papers, didn't you?" Elyse said coolly. "Just sign them quickly so we can end this."
"I don't want a divorce. I swear there's nothing between Joanna and me. Please... trust me just this once," Trevor pleaded.
Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, Elyse almost wavered. But she couldn't ignore the contradictions. If there was nothing going on between them, why would he be helping Joanna shop for baby essentials and a maternity bag? And why had he looked so unsettled when she mentioned bumping into Joanna at the hospital? How was she supposed to trust him after all of this? His behavior clearly crossed lines, and Joanna's provocations were just as undeniable.
"Trevor, let's end this neatly," Elyse said, her tone flat.
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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."