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 3
Haven pushed herself off the rug. She carried the diary to the small dining table and laid it flat against the cheap wood. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
She gripped the blue pen. The tip hovered a millimeter above the yellowed paper. Her brain calculated the risks with cold precision.
If she told a seventeen-year-old Clayton that she was his future wife, he would shut down. He was paranoid and arrogant. He would think she was a stalker and burn the book.
Haven narrowed her eyes. Clayton had a massive, ingrained sense of family duty. She pressed the pen down and wrote: Don't be scared. I am your future daughter.
The blue ink vanished. The page remained blank for a full sixty seconds. The silence from the past was heavy with shock.
Then, the black ink slashed across the page, the strokes furious: Bullshit! I don't even have a girlfriend! Who the hell is this?
Haven bit the inside of her cheek to stop a smile. She wrote back calmly: Time travel is hard to explain. But I need your help, Dad.
The black ink paused at the word "Dad." A moment later, two words appeared: Prove it.
Haven opened her laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She searched the archives of the Maplewood High School local news for November 12, 2014.
She skimmed a boring sports recap and found the perfect, unpredictable detail.
Haven wrote in the diary: At the varsity football tryouts today at 3:00 PM, the quarterback will sprain his left ankle in the third minute of the scrimmage.
She added one final line: The final score is 14 to 7. Go to the field and watch.
The black ink replied instantly: If this is a joke, I'm tracking your IP address.
Haven closed the diary. She carefully slid it into her leather tote bag. She glanced at the clock on the microwave.
She had to leave right now. She had a final severance negotiation with her former HR department in the downtown Maplewood business district.
Haven walked out of the subway station. The biting wind whipped her hair across her face. She took a deep breath, pushing through the heavy revolving doors of the corporate glass tower.
The receptionist glared at her. Haven swiped her temporary visitor badge and rode the elevator up to the HR floor.
Inside the sterile, glass-walled conference room, her former boss, Warren Adler, sat next to the HR Director. A thin, insulting severance agreement rested on the table.
Haven pulled out a chair and sat. Warren adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. A fake, sickening smile plastered his face.
"Haven," Warren said smoothly. "Due to your violation of our non-disclosure policies, the company is denying your severance. If you make a fuss, I will personally ensure you never work in media again."
Haven's hands were hidden under the table. Her fingernails dug into her palms, breaking the skin. But her face remained a mask of absolute, stone-cold indifference.
She stared dead into Warren's eyes. "Your illegal retaliation is my leverage, Warren. And I've been recording this entire conversation."
Warren's smile twitched. He quickly recovered, leaning back in his chair. "You have zero proof. You're bluffing."
The HR Director aggressively slid a pen across the table. "Sign the termination papers, Haven. Or we withhold your final paycheck."
Haven didn't look at the pen. She moved slowly. She pulled her phone out of her bag and tapped the screen.
Right in front of them, she ended the active voice recording app. She hit the button to upload the file to her secure cloud drive.
Warren shot up from his chair. His face turned purple. "You bitch! You can't record us!"
Haven let out a dry, humorless laugh. "This state is a one-party consent state, Warren. This is perfectly legal."
She grabbed her bag and stood up. She looked down at Warren's panicked face. "This fight hasn't even started."
Haven turned on her heel and marched out of the conference room. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor of the hallway.
The second she stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, a sudden, intense heat radiated from her tote bag.
Haven stopped walking. The diary was burning. The past had just verified her prediction.
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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.