The Surrogate Wife's Revenge Ends In Checkmate
At the wedding, a video flashed: Lindsay was kidnapped, dress ripped.
Amid the guests' jeers, Tyler, her fiancé, didn't waver, insisting on marrying her.
She clung to him as rescue and spent three years devoted.
Then she overheard him say, "I married her for a child. That clip? I staged it. Break her dignity and she'll worship you."
Her world cracked. The warmth was an act; she was a tool, a mere surrogate to bear his child.
Lindsay wiped her tears, sought Tyler's rival, Ashton, and said, "Help me bring him down. Name your price."
The gentle wife vanished, replaced by a cold avenger-until Tyler realized she was beyond his reach.
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Chapter 7
The loud banging on the door and the electronic sound of the keycard were as loud as thunder in the quiet room.
Ashton immediately pressed his hand harder against Lindsay's mouth. His entire body became stiff with tension.
Lindsay's heart beat wildly because she knew Tyler was about to walk inside.
The second the lock turned and the door started to open, Ashton let go of her waist. He disappeared from behind her so quickly and quietly that it was scary.
Lindsay heard the sound of water in the bathroom nearby. Then, she heard a window being pushed open and quickly closed again.
At that exact moment, Tyler pushed the door open and walked into the lounge with long, angry steps.
Tyler looked furious. He stared at the messy bed and saw the dirty dress Lindsay had dropped on the floor. Then he stared at Lindsay, who was standing still in only her underwear.
Tyler looked both very angry and very suspicious of what was happening.
"Who was in this room with you?" Tyler asked in a deep, scary voice.
Lindsay snatched a clean dress and held it up to cover her body. The cold cloth made her shiver, but it also helped her feel calm and in control again.
"Does a husband really need to force his way in and question his wife like a criminal?" Lindsay asked without looking at him. "Do you actually think I am hiding a person in here?"
Tyler walked over to her quickly and grabbed her wrist. He squeezed so hard that Lindsay felt a sharp pain.
"Lindsay, you were too cruel tonight!" Tyler yelled. "Jenna is in pain because of you, and now you are acting like you've done nothing wrong?"
Tyler was breathing very hard from anger. He looked around the room like a hunter, and then he walked straight into the bathroom to search it.
Lindsay felt terrified, and her heart felt like it was stuck in her throat.
There was still steam in the air from the shower. The floor was wet, and although the window was closed, there was a little bit of water on the window ledge.
Tyler looked at the wet window ledge and then looked back at Lindsay. "Explain why this window is wet," he demanded.
"I opened it earlier because it was too hot and steamy, and I wanted some air," Lindsay lied as she zipped up her dress. "Are you done searching now? If you are, then get out."
"Why are you being so rude?" Tyler snapped. He was very angry that she was acting so cold. He moved close and trapped her against the wall with his body. "Lindsay, you embarrassed Jenna in front of everyone. You were mean to her, and now you are acting like this!"
"Like what, exactly?" Lindsay snapped, looking him straight in the eyes. "Tyler, you saw the scratch on Jenna's hand, you saw me pour wine over her, and you definitely saw how pitiful she looked before you."
Her voice was trembling, but it wasn't because she was scared. It was because she was finally letting out all the anger she had been bottling up after finding out the truth.
"But what about me? Did you miss the part where she dumped a glass of red wine all over me? Did you see her making fun of me in front of every guest we invited before she started her little performance?"
She pulled at the fresh dress she had just put on. "Are you only capable of seeing her? Do you honestly expect me to just sit there and take it without ever standing up for myself? Which one of us are you actually married to?"
Tyler went completely still. Without even realizing it, he let his grip on her wrist go slack.
"I..." He started to speak, but all his anger seemed to vanish instantly. He looked frustrated, but mostly, he just looked uncomfortable. "I just... I didn't want you to get so mean. So bitter..."
"You mean you didn't want me to stop being the pushover you can all bully?" Lindsay finished, pulling her arm away. "Enough, Tyler. Get out. I'll keep acting like the perfect wife for as long as you need me to, so don't worry about your reputation."
Those words clearly hurt him. The color drained from his face as he stared at her.
He looked torn, like he wanted to argue but didn't know how. Finally, he just dropped his hand. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I was just... really frustrated."
He didn't say another word. He turned around, walked out of the lounge, and closed the door behind him.
The room went quiet again. The only sound was Lindsay's shaky breathing, and she could still smell the faint scent of Ashton's cologne in the air.
Her knees felt weak, so she leaned back against the wall and took a long, trembling breath to try and calm down.
A moment later, the bathroom window, which had been closed, started to slide open again.
A man soaked in water climbed inside and landed on the floor without making a single noise.
Ashton was only wearing a towel. Water was dripping from his hair and running down his chest. He wiped his face, stepped toward Lindsay, and gave her a look that was half-serious and half-smirk.
"That was a close call, Mrs. Hardy," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "So, are you done dealing with your husband's little tantrum now?"
"Sorry about that," Lindsay said, her voice steady. "I didn't exactly plan for him to barge in."
"Lindsay Hardy..." Ashton ground out her name, his voice so freezing it made her skin crawl. "You're Tyler Hardy's wife."
Lindsay couldn't stop a shiver from running down her spine, but she forced herself to look him in the eye. "I won't be his wife for much longer," she replied.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "So, was our night together part of your plan? Did you get close to me just to use me?"
He sounded more dangerous with every word. "What's the game here, Mrs. Hardy? Was I the target? Or were you just using me to get revenge on your husband and his mistress?"
The air in the room felt ice-cold as his anger intensified.
He wasn't the vulnerable man from the other night anymore. This was the real Ashton Clarke—a powerful man who controlled everything and despised being manipulated.
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8.1
"I don't share my women, Adele. Breeder or not. Go on your knees." He instructed, his hands going to unbuckle his trousers.
My heart burned with hatred as I clutched the knife behind me. "Of course, Alpha Loic. I was wondering... If you were to choose between a quick death and a slow one, which would you choose?"
I smiled brightly. He was taken aback for a moment. Then his face twisted in anger. "Have you forgotten your place so soon, Omega? Go down on your fucking knees."
"Omega? Aww. Adele would be so hurt. Tonight, I'll pronounce your death. The Alpha of the Vanguard pack, killed by fire. Touchè." I snapped my hands, and fire sprang up from all corners, encircling the room, with us in it.
"Y-you are not Adele. Who are you?" His eyes widened.
...
The Demon Queen, a name that struck terror in the minds of mortals and werewolves alike. Who'd have thought she'd meet her end during one of her adventures at a nightclub?
After being struck dead by the Alpha of her most hated race, Ophelie returns in the body of a wolf-less girl with only one mission in mind. To kill her murderer.
But sometimes, things never go as planned. When love is thrown in the mix, Ophelie finds herself and her previous plans swaying.
Refusing to kill Loic is to lose herself and her powers. What would she choose?
8.2
For three years, nineteen-year-old Ella Campbell rotted in a freezing psychiatric isolation room.
Her billionaire family didn't visit her once, only pulling her out today to force her to publicly apologize to Ashlyn, the perfect sister who had framed her.
At Ashlyn's glamorous engagement gala, Ella was treated worse than a stray dog and forced to watch her childhood sweetheart propose to her sister.
When Ella showed no jealousy, her brother Ivan dragged her onto a dark balcony and nearly choked her to death.
Her mother didn't even check if Ella was breathing, merely ordering a makeup artist to paint thick concealer over the dark purple handprints on Ella's neck so the family's stock price wouldn't drop.
Standing under the blinding stage lights in a shapeless gray dress, facing three hundred mocking Wall Street executives, Ella was supposed to be the broken, obedient psycho the Campbells needed.
"I am deeply sorry for the pain I caused."
She was supposed to end the apology there and bow to her abusers, but Ella didn't shed a single tear.
"My only regret is that I didn't insist on waiting for the police to arrive that night. I deeply regret that I didn't demand a full, legal toxicology report to prove to everyone exactly what happened."
As the ballroom erupted into suspicious whispers and her paralyzed twin brother finally saw the violent bruises hidden beneath her makeup, Ella's counterattack against the Campbell family officially began.
7.6
Johana walked half a mile through a brutal blizzard just to secure a tutoring job with the elite Black family.
But the very night she was hired, she received a terrifying call from the ER—her quiet roommate, Hazelle, had been drugged and severely traumatized at a Hamptons party.
When Johana rushed to the hospital, she didn't find the police. Instead, she found a team of ruthless billionaires erasing the crime.
Leading them was Dalton Black, the cold, arrogant older brother of her new student.
Within minutes, Dalton's fixers wiped the hospital's security footage, deleted all digital evidence, and forcefully transferred Hazelle to a locked private psychiatric facility.
"We are ensuring her privacy."
Dalton's voice was devoid of emotion, treating the horrific assault like a minor PR glitch.
His friends mocked Johana's powerlessness, while Dalton authorized a blank check to pay for the private ward, effectively burying the scandal and buying their silence.
Johana stood in the sterile hallway, trembling with a mix of despair and absolute rage.
How could they destroy an innocent girl's life and simply pay to make it disappear? Why was the truth so easily erased by money?
She had no wealth, no connections, and no proof, but she refused to be a victim of their cover-up.
Staring directly into Dalton's intimidating, icy blue eyes, Johana made a vow.
"I don't want your money. I will find out what you monsters did to her."
She thought the billionaire heir would crush her on the spot, but instead, he watched her walk away and quietly ordered his assistant: "Find out everything about Johana Neal."
7.2
Lauren Sterling gave up her career to support her boyfriend, Julian Drake, believing his words that he and his family lived for privacy.
But it was nothing but a lie. He had only replaced her with her best friend.
On the day they were supposed to get married, he left her waiting. Out of desperation, Lauren Sterling married a stranger!
Alexander Ashford.
The man who gave her three months to take her revenge.
In a dangerous game where revenge collides with betrayal, dangers and secrets. Will Lauren Sterling survive?
7.3
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."
8.9
The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below.
I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty.
Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first.
I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated.
Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child?
I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.