The Hidden Camera Captured Everything

For seven years, I was the secret wife of Chandler Roberson, a rising political star. I sacrificed my own journalism career to be his "rock," the ghost in the background of his perfect life, always believing his promise that it was all for us. That promise shattered the night he brought his mistress, Britni, to our home. She took one look at me, then threw herself down the stairs, letting out a theatrical scream. "She pushed me!" she cried. Chandler didn't hesitate. He slapped me across the face, his eyes blazing with a rage I'd never seen. "You bitch! What did you do?!" he snarled, rushing to her side. He cradled her in his arms, his face a mask of concern for her and pure hatred for me. He believed her instantly, ready to paint me as a violent, jealous monster to protect his affair and his career. In that moment, watching him choose her, watching my life crumble under his cold, indifferent gaze, the woman who had loved him for twenty years died. But then I was back. Reborn in that same moment, with the memory of his betrayal burning in my soul. And I remembered the one thing he'd forgotten: the hidden camera in the entryway, recording his perfect crime.

Chapters

Chapter 3

Aurelia POV:

"Aurelia! Have you seen Twitter?" My boss, Sarah, didn't even bother with a greeting. Her voice was tight with controlled fury, a tone I knew meant trouble. "Check it. Now."

My fingers fumbled with the screen, the blue bird icon glaring back at me. I tapped it open, and there it was, splashed across my feed like a bucket of ice water. A headline, screaming in bold, unforgiving letters.

"ROBERSON CONFIRMS ROMANCE WITH AIDE BLACKBURN: A CANDID LOVE STORY!"

My breath hitched. I scrolled down, my eyes burning. A photo. Chandler, his arm wrapped possessively around Britni, beaming that politician's smile directly at the camera. Britni was gazing up at him, wide-eyed and adoring, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. They looked like the perfect couple.

Underneath it, Chandler' s tweet. Simple. Cruel.

"Excited to finally share my happiness with the world. @BritniBlackburn, you bring so much joy into my life. #OfficiallyYours #MyFuture"

Britni' s reply was instant, saccharine.

"My heart is yours, always, @ChandlerRoberson. So blessed to share this journey with you. "

A sharp, searing pain shot through my chest. Not the familiar ache of betrayal, but something new. A phantom limb pain for a future I' d once desperately wanted. He' d given her the public affirmation I' d craved for seven years. The open declaration. The casual use of "my future."

"Aurelia? Are you seeing this?" Sarah's voice cut through the haze.

"I see it," I whispered, my voice rough.

"That slimy, manipulative bastard!" Sarah exploded. "He uses your so-called 'imaginary boyfriend' as an excuse! He tweets about 'saving Britni's reputation' from rumors caused by your supposed fake relationship! Can you believe the audacity?"

I could. I knew Chandler. This was his move. Control the narrative. Paint me as the erratic, jealous ex.

"He's trying to make you look like a deranged stalker, a liar, after everything you've done for him," Sarah continued, her voice rising in pitch. "The legitimate wife, watching her career drown because her husband couldn't be bothered to acknowledge her! It's an outrage!"

"Sarah." I cut her off, my voice calm, almost emotionless. The pain was there, a dull throb, but it was overshadowed by a fierce, cold resolve. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, kiddo. Just tell me who you want me to publicly eviscerate first."

"I want to transfer to the international desk. The one in Geneva. The one I almost took ten years ago."

A stunned silence. "Geneva? Aurelia, why? Your career here is skyrocketing. You're one of our top political journalists."

"Because I need a change of scenery," I said, the words carefully chosen. "I need to get out of this… war zone. And I need to do the kind of journalism I always wanted to do."

"But… this is a lateral move at best right now, honey. After all this… scandal, it might even look like you're running away."

"Let them think what they want," I stated, my voice firm. "I'm not running. I'm choosing a different battlefield."

"Are you sure about this?" Sarah asked, a hint of unease in her tone.

"I've never been more sure."

I closed my eyes, a wave of memories washing over me. Geneva. Ten years ago. An offer to join a prestigious international investigative team. It was my dream. But then Chandler, with his earnest eyes and gentle touch, had begged me to stay.

"Aurelia, please. Don' t go. I need you here. My career is just taking off. You' re my biggest supporter. My rock. We' ll build something amazing, together. Can' t you do this for us? For me?"

He' d made it sound like a sacrifice for our shared future. And I, ever the dutiful partner, had said yes. I gave up Geneva, the chance to chase stories across continents, the thrill of uncovering global truths. Instead, I' d stayed in Washington, D.C., becoming a political journalist, always careful not to overshadow him, always ready to defend him, to spin the narrative when his youthful ambition veered too close to scandal.

When his parents died, and mine soon after, we were just kids, really. We had each other. He was my shelter, I was his anchor. I remembered when he first joined the military academy, a raw recruit. I' d watched him train, his body growing lean and hard. Once, during a particularly grueling exercise, he' d taken a fall, twisting his ankle. I was there, rushing to his side, ignoring the medics.

"Idiot," I'd mumbled, tears blurring my vision as I gently cradled his foot. "Why do you push yourself so hard?"

He'd just grinned, a boyish, charming grin that still melted my heart. "For you, Aurelia. Always for you."

I'd spent weeks nursing him back to health, feeding him, reading to him. I believed him. I believed in us.

The international desk offer was just a dream then. He' d never wanted to be a politician. He'd wanted to be a research scientist, buried in labs, discovering new things. But after his parents, the family legacy, the pressure… he' d switched paths, found a new ambition. He' d claimed it was for me, so he could provide a stable life. I' d believed that too.

I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs of the past. No more.

My phone rang again, startling me. Chandler. The caller ID flashed his name, a stark reminder of the man I was leaving behind. I hesitated, then answered.

Continue to next part

I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage. But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death. As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket. Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her. Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved. I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies. They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die. I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred. Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me? Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm. I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12. It was exactly three days before the world ended. When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly. "Just tell me where to send the money, Mom." This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.

Fantasy Horror Sci-Fi

9.0

Buried Alive With My Fake Husband

9.0

I woke up in total darkness, the air smelling of stale chemicals and dying flowers. When I tried to sit up, my forehead slammed into solid wood just three inches from my face. I was trapped in a coffin, buried alive next to the cold, stiff body of my fake husband, Cedric. My stepmother, Hermina, had poisoned our champagne at the gala to seize my trust fund, and now she was hosting a lavish memorial service for us right outside the lid. I found a faint, erratic pulse in Cedric's neck, but I couldn't just scream for help. If Hermina realized the dose wasn't lethal, she'd finish the job with a lethal injection under the guise of medical assistance. To survive, I bit my tongue until I tasted blood and tore my hair into a tangled mess. When I finally kicked the lid open and spilled onto the marble floor, I didn't act like a rescued heiress; I crawled like a broken doll, shrieking about poisoned bubbles and "the bad man" while Manhattan's elite watched in absolute horror. The betrayal was suffocating. My own family watched as Hermina tried to sedate me back into silence, playing the role of a grieving saint while her eyes remained cold as ice. Even more shocking was Cedric, who rose from the casket like a predator, commanding the room with a terrifying authority that proved our entire marriage had been a lie. I couldn't understand how many secrets were buried in that house, or why my "boring" husband was suddenly acting like a man who owned the city. After kneeing Cedric in the stomach to break his iron grip, I bolted out into the torrential rain. I didn't care that I was barefoot or that the world thought I was insane. I had the key to my father's secret safe in my hand, and I was going to make sure Hermina paid for every second of darkness she forced me to endure.

Horror Modern Romance

7.6

He Broke My Spirit, I Soared

7.6

I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history. But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me. He swam past me. He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water. When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl. "You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home." Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her. I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife." He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps. He was wrong. While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room. I was packing his ring into a cardboard box. I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead. By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.

Horror Modern Romance

7.0

Marked By The Monster: The Lycan King's Bride

7.0

I stood at the altar, ready to bind my soul to Holden, the man I had loved since we were pups. But the moment his stepsister, Jaidyn, let out a shrill scream, he ripped his hand away from mine. He abandoned me in front of the entire pack, cradling her in his arms and claiming his wolf had chosen her over me. The humiliation didn't end there. When I tried to leave, Holden kidnapped me. He locked a silver collar around my neck, searing my skin and cutting off my connection to the world. He dragged me to a filthy dungeon, ignoring my screams, and began draining my blood to "save" Jaidyn. As my life force faded into the IV bag, I watched Jaidyn smirk behind his back, her "wounds" healing instantly. Holden called me a monster for hurting her, blind to the truth. To him, I was just a weak, latent wolf—a spare blood bag for his mistress. But they made a fatal mistake. They didn't know that the "weakness" inside me was actually a dormant power waiting to explode. And they certainly didn't know that my rejection of Holden had already summoned a new mate. The terrifying Lycan King, Alphons, was coming. And when he arrives, he will burn their world to the ground.

Horror Romance Werewolf

8.1

Project Chimera

8.1

The monsters they created have come home. George Alvarez, a Miami police officer, thought it would be just another patrol. Instead, he's forced into chaos, fighting to protect civilians in a mall overrun by predators not born of nature, while struggling to keep his life long secret. Survival is the only priority. Former Dr. Bridget Carter never intended to unleash hell. Once a rising star in genetic science, she walked away from the illegal experiments that twisted DNA into something unnatural, something alive. Now a quiet mother trying to forget, she finds herself trapped in Miami's crowded Bayside Mall... just as the creatures she once helped design break loose. As bodies fall and exits vanish, Bridget, George, and a small group of strangers, including a fading boxer, a disciplined fighter, and a scientist with dangerous knowledge, must navigate a maze of terror, uncover what went wrong, and stop the creatures before they reach the city beyond. But these aren't mindless beasts. They evolve. They hunt with intent. And they remember the people who made them. "The past never dies, it mutates."

Action Horror Modern Mystery Sci-Fi

8.4

She Carved Into My Face On Anniversary Day

8.4

Melina Valentine's seventh anniversary shatters when her husband forgot the important day. But the nightmare worsens when masked intruders—led by a woman with a distinctive wrist mole—invade her home, carving "BITCH" into her face in a brutal attack.

Horror Modern Mystery

The Hidden Camera Captured Everything

Chapter 3

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