The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening
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My husband, Kahlil, despised me, while his "sister" Cassandra lived in our home, playing the role of a fragile, wheelchair-bound victim.
To get rid of me, she orchestrated a trap, taking a misleading photo to frame me for having an affair.
When Kahlil saw the photo, he didn't even give me a chance to explain.
He believed Cassandra's fake tears instantly and violently shoved me away.
I crashed hard into a heavy glass table, the impact sending agonizing spasms through my stomach that dropped me to the floor in a cold sweat.
While I writhed in excruciating pain, he stood there shielding the very woman who was destroying my life.
"Stop playing the victim," he roared, looking at me with pure disgust. "You are my wife in name, and you will not make a fool of me!"
My heart completely shattered as I lay on the cold hardwood floor.
I had never been unfaithful, yet he treated me like property, blindly protecting a snake who wore sheer tops to seduce him at midnight.
Why was I enduring this suffocating farce of a marriage just to be trampled on?
But when Cassandra pushed her luck and hired a sleazy playboy to assault me in the dark garden, her perfect mask finally shattered.
As Kahlil rushed in to save me, a terrified Cassandra forgot her own lie and stood up from her wheelchair on two perfectly healthy legs.
Looking at their shocked faces, I realized it was finally time to crush the snake and walk away for good.
The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening Chapter 1
Cassandra sat on the edge of the mattress. Her fingers twisted the crisp white bedsheet, pulling the fabric so tight her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white. The tears were still wet on her cheeks, but the despair in her chest was already hardening into something cold and sharp. Despair was a useless emotion. It wouldn't win her Kahlil. Only action would. Cold, sharp action.
Mrs. Dawson stood beside the bed. She handed Cassandra a tissue, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Miss Mills, you can't let that woman steal everything from you."
Cassandra snatched the tissue. Her voice shook, but the venom in her throat was undeniable. "She has everything. The face, the name. And now she wants his child? I won't let her."
Mrs. Dawson leaned closer. The older woman's breath smelled of peppermint and malice. "I overheard the staff talking. Mrs. Sinclair is trying to be with the master. To conceive."
Cassandra's head snapped up. Her pupils dilated. A hot, ugly jealousy burned in her stomach, rising to her throat like bile. "Conceive? After he rejected me? It's all her doing! She's bewitched him!"
Mrs. Dawson paused, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "There is one person. A Sinclair. A useless playboy, but he has the name and the appetites."
Cassandra's breathing hitched. A twisted, cold smile stretched across her lips. "Preston Sinclair. The family embarrassment."
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Her thumb tapped the screen rapidly. When the line connected, the coldness vanished from her face. Her voice instantly dropped into a soft, trembling pitch. "Preston? It's Cassandra. I... I need your help. It's about my sister..."
A low, sleazy laugh echoed through the speaker. Cassandra's stomach churned with disgust, but she forced a sweet, helpless tone, spinning a web of lies.
When she finally ended the call, the fragile mask shattered. Her eyes were flat and dead. "If she's ruined, Kahlil will have no choice but to see her for the harlot she is."
Cassandra pushed herself off the bed and settled into her wheelchair. She rolled out of the guest room, the wheels gliding silently over the thick carpet as she headed toward the kitchen.
Inside the kitchen, Bianca stared at the mixing bowl. Her hands were covered in white flour. She gripped a whisk, her chest tight with frustration.
Mrs. Gable hovered nearby, wiping the marble counter with a frantic rhythm. "Madam, perhaps you should let the chef..."
"No." Bianca bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. "I need to do this. It's part of the plan."
The thought of the heir agreement made her stomach drop. She reached for a bottle of dark sauce. Her hand trembled. The bottle slipped. Dark liquid splashed across the pristine white stove, hissing loudly as it hit the hot burner.
Mrs. Gable gasped, rushing forward with a towel. Bianca squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her flour-coated palms against her forehead. Her lungs felt tight.
The soft squeak of wheels broke the tension. Cassandra sat in the doorway, a perfect, concerned smile painted on her face.
"Bianca? What happened? You look overwhelmed." Cassandra's voice dripped with fake sympathy.
Bianca dropped her hands. She glared at the woman in the wheelchair. "Just trying my hand at cooking. What do you want?"
Cassandra rolled forward. Her eyes scanned the messy counter, a flash of mockery hiding behind her long lashes. "Let me help. I'm not good for much, but I can manage this."
Bianca wanted to scream at her to leave. But she looked at the ruined sauce and remembered Kahlil. She needed him to come home. She needed this dinner. Her jaw tightened. "Fine. Don't mess it up."
Bianca turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.
The moment Bianca was gone, Cassandra's smile vanished. She stood up from the wheelchair with ease, grabbed an apron, and tied it around her waist. Her movements were sharp and practiced.
Mrs. Gable watched her, eyes wide. "Miss Mills, you seem quite skilled."
Cassandra let out a short, hollow laugh. She picked up a knife and began dicing vegetables. "I had to learn. My father wasn't always around."
She turned to a young maid standing by the sink. "Could you check if Mr. Montgomery is in his study? I want to make sure the timing is perfect for dinner."
The maid nodded and scurried away. Cassandra kept chopping, her ears straining to catch the whispers of Mrs. Dawson, who had just sidled up beside her under the pretense of checking the pantry.
"Miss Mills," Mrs. Dawson whispered, leaning close so the other staff wouldn't hear. "I checked the pharmacy receipts this morning. Madam is ordering ovulation tests. She is actually trying."
Cassandra's knife slammed into the cutting board, slicing clean through a carrot. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Bianca wanted to get pregnant. She was actually trying.
Cassandra took a deep, uneven breath. She swept the vegetables into a hot pan. The oil sizzled and popped. Preston's plan needed to happen faster. She couldn't wait. The smell of roasting garlic filled the air, but to Cassandra, it smelled like victory.
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The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
9.3
Content: (Warning! + 18 Sexual elements, Alpha Wolf, Witch, Cursed Love, Small Town, Young Wolf, War, Age Gap, Passion, Consensual Fantasy, Psychological Elements, Strong Female Lead, Drama, Romance)
Bound by blood, sealed by magic. You have finally come, Rose's daughter...
Eva Rose is the last and most powerful heir of a sacred witch bloodline.
Kael is a cursed Crimson Alpha King.
Centuries ago, on the night they discovered they were fated mates and were about to be married, their enemies attacked to destroy them both. To save Kael, Eva made a desperate choice , she trapped him in a magical sleep for 200 years. The price was her own life.
But their love was so powerful that Eva did not truly die , she was reborn. Through her own bloodline, she returned to the world as the same woman, with the same soul, the same heart.
Now, who is friend and who is enemy? And why does this man feel so strangely familiar? How can you escape someone who even visits your dreams?. 📌📚🔥
8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.
8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.
9.1
I drowned in freezing pool water, the mocking laughter of the elite Savage family echoing in my ears.
When I opened my eyes, I was an eight-year-old orphan again, right on the day those monsters came to adopt me.
Terrified of repeating my hellish past, I ran down the hallway and desperately grabbed the shirt of a random, dumpy IT guy, begging him to take me instead.
I thought I had chosen a weak, boring suburban dad to hide behind.
But I was completely wrong.
My new mom greeted me with a ceramic tactical knife hidden in her apron.
My clumsy dad sliced dinner ribs with the terrifying precision of a seasoned hitman.
My ten-year-old brother was a dead-eyed sociopath who immediately calculated my bone density.
They were a family of lethal underworld monsters, yet they frantically pretended to be a normal, pathetic household just for me.
8.2
In our beast world, females are treated as nothing more than precious breeding stock to keep the pack strong. As the pack's best Mender, I spent all my time focusing on my healing herbs, completely ignoring my maturity ritual.
But tonight, the blind pack elder grabbed my wrist and delivered a chilling ultimatum.
If I don't choose my mates by the next Full Moon, the Council of Elders will force a match and assign them to me.
The threat is already suffocating. Arrogant, elite warriors like Caleb Quinn are pacing outside my door like starving wolves, stalking my porch and using pack business to corner me. At home, the reality of multiple mates is even worse. My mother has two mates—my father, the strongest Alpha, and my cold, intellectual step-father. Their toxic, murderous jealousy turns our house into a daily war zone. They literally unleash suffocating killing intent on innocent cubs just for hugging my mother.
I am disgusted by this sick, possessive obsession. I refuse to let my life become a battlefield of jealous males fighting over who gets to guard my door, and I absolutely refuse to be forced into a harem by the Elders.
So, I made a declaration that shocked my entire family and broke every pack tradition.
"I will only ever take one mate."
And to make sure none of those predatory warriors can touch me, I set an impossible trap.
"Whoever wants me must defeat my father first."
8.5
Aileen transmigrated into a dark, unfinished novel as the villainous, abusive wife of a powerful billionaire.
The moment she opened her eyes, her husband's calloused hand was crushing her throat, and her six-year-old stepson was pointing a box cutter at her face, screaming for her to die.
A cold system voice suddenly exploded in her brain, forcing a mandatory mission: save the villainous father and son, or face immediate death.
To survive the system's strict Out-Of-Character warnings, Aileen had to keep playing the role of the deranged, hateful wife.
She was despised by everyone. Her husband threatened to drag her to an asylum, and her terrified stepson scrubbed the floor with his own pajamas just to avoid her wrath.
Things escalated when the novel's original female lead publicly framed Aileen in Central Park, throwing herself onto the grass and clutching her pregnant belly.
"She pushed me. She tried to hurt the baby!"
Archer rushed over, shoved Aileen aside with absolute disgust, and looked at her with the eyes of a murderer.
Aileen felt a bitter wave of exhaustion. She had discovered the original owner's hidden antipsychotic pills; the woman wasn't just evil, she was severely mentally ill and completely broken by this loveless marriage.
Yet, no one cared, and her husband would always choose to believe his childhood sweetheart's fake tears.
Since everyone in this world was convinced she was an unpredictable lunatic, she decided to give them exactly what they expected.
Aileen turned her back on the ridiculous scene, a cold smile forming on her lips.
She was going to stage a massive, undeniable psychological breakdown, using her "insanity" as the perfect shield to play the system and rewrite her fate.
