The Secret Diary Of My Ruthless Ex-Husband
Haven was escorted out of her office by security like a common criminal. Her corrupt boss had just fired her without cause, denying her severance and threatening to permanently blacklist her.
Desperate, she turned to her ex-husband Clayton, a ruthless top-tier corporate lawyer, begging him to represent her.
But instead of helping, he stared at her with absolute ice.
"You thought you could pay for my billable hours by opening your legs? Find a public defender."
Left destitute and facing eviction, her life spiraled further into hell. A prestigious newspaper offered her a dream job, only to instantly rescind it. Her vicious stepsister, Bettye, had maliciously tipped them off about a ten-year-old grand larceny conviction—a crime Bettye had actually committed but framed Haven for. To make matters worse, Haven discovered Clayton's law firm was actively defending the very boss who had just ruined her life.
The injustice and betrayal suffocated her. She couldn't understand how the boy she once loved had become such a soulless monster, perfectly willing to protect her abusers while watching her drown.
While packing her meager belongings in despair, she stumbled upon Clayton's old high school diary from exactly ten years ago. Out of petty rage, she grabbed a pen and scribbled an insult on the yellowed paper.
To her horror, the ink vanished. Seconds later, sharp, aggressive handwriting bled through the blank page.
"Who are you? How are you writing in my book?"
Staring at the impossible text from a 17-year-old Clayton, a manic spark of hope ignited in her eyes. She was going to rewrite her destiny.
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Chapter 1
The heavy pounding on the wooden door vibrated through the floorboards of the cramped Maplewood apartment.
Haven flinched. Her stomach twisted into a tight, violent knot. She looked through the peephole. The dim hallway light cast harsh shadows over Clayton's broad shoulders.
He was leaning against the doorframe, his head bowed.
Haven unlocked the deadbolt. Before she could even pull the door open, Clayton's large palm slammed against the wood. He forced his way into the entryway. A blast of freezing early-winter air rushed in with him.
Haven tried to push him back out. Her hands pressed flat against the hard, solid muscle of his chest. It was useless. He didn't even budge. Instead, his forward momentum forced her to stumble backward.
Clayton reached behind him and slammed the apartment door shut. The loud crack echoed off the narrow walls. The exit was gone.
He dropped his head. His chin rested heavily in the crook of her neck. The overwhelming stench of expensive whiskey and stale cold air hit her face. His hot breath ghosted over her bare collarbone.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, the words slurred and broken. It sounded like a desperate confession, but the meaning was lost in his thick tongue.
A violent shiver ripped down Haven's spine. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She grabbed handfuls of her own oversized t-shirt, trying to ground herself.
His massive arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his body in a crushing embrace that stole the air from her lungs.
But he didn't kiss her. He just held her, swaying slightly, his face buried in her shoulder.
The sheer exhaustion of the day collided with the pathetic, lingering love she still harbored for him.
Then, Clayton pushed back. He looked down at her, his bloodshot eyes clearing slightly.
Haven swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper. "Clayton," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I need your help. I need a lawyer. Warren Adler fired me today without cause. I need you to represent me."
The heavy, suffocating tension in the room shifted.
The warmth in Clayton's eyes died. It was replaced by a chilling, absolute ice.
He pushed himself away from her body. He stood up slowly, his movements stiff and mechanical. He reached down and snatched his tailored suit jacket off the armrest.
Haven sat up, her clothes rumpled. She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve.
Clayton jerked his arm away. He stepped back, putting physical distance between them.
He looked down at her. The corner of his mouth curled into a cruel, mocking sneer. "You think I'd risk my reputation for a lost-cause labor dispute? Find a public defender."
Tears of pure, burning humiliation pricked Haven's eyes. Her chest tightened so hard she couldn't breathe. She grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it at his face with all her strength.
Clayton dodged it effortlessly. He gave her one last, dead-eyed look. He turned his back on her and walked toward the entryway with steady, purposeful strides.
The front door slammed shut again. The silence in the apartment was deafening. The faint scent of his cedarwood cologne lingered in the air, mocking her.
Haven leaped off the sofa. Her bare feet slapped against the cold hardwood floor. She ran to the window and ripped the blinds open. She stared down at the dark Maplewood street.
She watched Clayton walk toward his black Range Rover. His steps were slightly uneven. He pulled the door open and climbed into the driver's seat.
The engine roared to life, cutting through the quiet night.
The tears in Haven's eyes dried up, burned away by a sudden, blinding rage.
She turned around and snatched her phone off the coffee table. Her fingers punched in 9-1-1.
"Yes," Haven said, her voice terrifyingly calm and steady. "I need to report a drunk driver. A black Range Rover. License plate C-S-8-8-2. He just pulled out onto Maplewood Avenue. He is highly intoxicated."
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7.5
To save my family's dying company, I was forced to marry a billionaire I hadn't seen in fourteen years.
But right outside the City Clerk's office, he tossed our marriage certificate at me like a cheap receipt and shoved a four-year-old boy into my arms.
"Your new life has begun. You're on babysitting duty now."
He sneered and left me stranded on the sidewalk. I realized with absolute horror that my new husband was Ellsworth Marshall, the sickly boy I had relentlessly bullied in middle school.
He didn't spend five billion dollars to save the Bradford family. He bought me to execute a slow, suffocating revenge.
He used his orphaned nephew as a pawn, explicitly threatening my father that if I failed to play the perfect, compliant nanny, he would instantly destroy our family's legacy.
He even had his guards lock me out of his Long Island estate on my first night, forcing me to stand in the cold dark just to prove he owned me.
I was trapped in a gilded cage, suffocated by the guilt of my past and the terror of my present.
Why did he involve an innocent child in his twisted vendetta? How much humiliation was enough to pay for my childhood cruelty?
Looking at the terrified little boy clinging to my skirt, I tightened my grip on my suitcase.
If he wanted to destroy my will piece by piece, I had to find a way to survive the monster I created.
7.8
Elie Joyce’s entire life was controlled by Ebert Ewing, a ruthless billionaire who held her sick grandmother's survival and her family's freedom in his hands.
But on a freezing, stormy night, he forced her into a scandalous scrap of red silk and handed her over to a notorious, disgusting predator.
"You aren't an escort. You're just a free gift."
Ebert mocked her, using her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a corporate funding round.
When the predator humiliated her, forced high-proof vodka down her throat, and violently pinned her to the floor, Ebert simply watched with dead eyes.
And when Ebert finally intervened to brutally beat the man, it wasn't out of mercy.
"She is my property. Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
Afterward, he dragged her battered, barefoot body into his car, only to kick her out into the torrential rain, leaving her on the dark streets to die.
Standing in the storm, shivering and bleeding from broken glass, the last shred of Elie's hope shattered.
She had sacrificed her dignity and soul, enduring his violent bites and cruel control, just to keep her family alive.
Why did she have to suffer this endless, twisted humiliation for a psychopath who only saw her as trash?
But she didn't break.
Tearing a strip of his expensive shirt to bandage her bleeding foot, Elie gripped her broken stiletto like a knife.
With her eyes turning cold and calculating, she limped out of the shadows.
She was going to survive, and Ebert Ewing would soon realize she was no longer his obedient prey.
8.9
I walked in on my fiancé sleeping with my maid of honor...
On the day of our wedding.
I did what anyone would do:
Threw my ring in his face and found somewhere quiet to cry.
But then something else happened.
Something unexpected.
In that quiet place...
Someone found me.
Anton Stepanov is like something out of a dream.
Scratch that: out of a nightmare.
He's rich as sin, arrogant as heck, and way too handsome for his own good.
He's also way too handsome for mine.
So when he offers me his hand and a way out of the worst day of my life, I do the only thing I can do:
I say yes.
That's how I ended up on his yacht.
That's how I ended up in his bed.
That's how I ended up pregnant with his baby.
8.0
Three years of marriage were all Olivia needed to learn that love alone could not hold Theo.
She gave him everything, only to find another woman's photo in his phone after a night of passion.
When she confronted him, he coldly told her Jennifer was disabled and could never compete with her. That answer ended the marriage.
After the divorce, Olivia rose like a storm-becoming a dazzling musician, the world's leading accordionist, and a woman whose talents amazed everyone.
Too late, Theo saw her worth and begged with reddened eyes, "Babe, please come back to me, will you?"
9.6
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?"
9.4
Arlene was bound to a hellish three-year contract marriage to save her family from total ruin.
Just as the contract was about to expire, she received a terminal brain cancer diagnosis and found out she was six weeks pregnant.
To protect the tiny life inside her, she refused all treatment, leaving her with only three months to live. When she tried to escape, her billionaire husband, Harrison, caught her. He dragged her back, brutally assaulted her, and forced her into the freezing cold to kneel at his father's grave. Even when she suffered a threatened miscarriage, bleeding and begging in agony, he showed no mercy. He simply left her alone in the dark and went straight to a hotel with his celebrity mistress.
For three years, she had endured his relentless revenge and his public declaration that he would rather his bloodline die than have a child with her. She was nothing but a prisoner in a gilded cage, waiting for a death sentence he didn't even know about.
But when Harrison shamelessly summoned her to act as the doting wife and clean up his cheating scandal, the old Arlene died. She didn't cry or beg. Instead, she blackmailed him and his mistress for millions in untraceable crypto.
"I'm saving up for my coffin fund."
Looking him dead in the eye, she calmly pocketed the extortion money, ready to play her final, ruthless game before her three-month clock ran out.