Too Late For Regret: The Ruthless Wife
My sister stripped me of my entire life in a single night. She bought out my company, froze my bank accounts, and left me with absolutely nothing.
As a final twisted psychological test, she forced me into a hyper-realistic VR simulation. When I opened my eyes, I was trapped in the body of "Heloise Vance"—a miserable, bullied wife in the elite Mercer family.
My new reality was an absolute nightmare. My alcoholic husband lunged at me with his fists.
"You think you run this house? You're my wife. You do what I say."
My tyrannical mother-in-law raised her hand to slap me, treating me worse than a stray dog while demanding I serve them.
Even my parasitic biological parents showed up at the estate, demanding a million dollars to cover up my brother's crimes, threatening to ruin me if I didn't pay.
They all looked at me with pure contempt, expecting me to cower, cry, and beg for mercy just like the real Heloise always did.
They thought I was just a weak, helpless punching bag they could abuse without consequence.
But they didn't know the soul inside this body had changed.
I wasn't the pathetic Heloise; I was Cora Sawyer, the ruthless heir to a corporate empire.
If my sister wanted me to play this sick survival game to escape, I would gladly burn the entire Mercer family to the ground first.
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Chapter 4
The interior of the Maybach smelled like expensive leather and stale cologne.
Cora sat stiffly in the back seat. Leland had forced her into a heavy, violet gown. The fabric was thick and conservative. The neckline choked her collarbone, and the tight sleeves restricted her arms. It was designed to make her look invisible.
Leland sat next to her. He adjusted his silk tie and glared at her.
"You keep your mouth shut today," Leland warned, his voice a low growl. "You stand next to me, you smile, and you don't speak unless spoken to."
Cora closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. She ignored him completely. The dress was annoying, but she could work with it.
The Maybach slowed down as it approached a massive wrought-iron gate. They were in the Hamptons. The sprawling estate was packed with luxury cars. Outside the velvet ropes, a swarm of paparazzi flashed their cameras, desperate for a shot of the famed but brittle Vance family.
The car stopped. The driver opened the door.
Leland plastered a fake, loving smile on his face. He stepped out and turned around, holding his hand out to help Cora.
Cora stepped out of the car. She completely ignored his outstretched hand and walked right past him.
Leland's hand hung in the empty air. His smile twitched. He cursed under his breath, quickly dropping his arm and rushing to catch up with her. He grabbed her elbow, his fingers digging painfully into her skin, and marched her toward the grand ballroom.
The ballroom was suffocatingly crowded. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elite guests.
Cora stood near a pillar, her eyes scanning the room. She memorized faces, watching who talked to whom, mapping out the family hierarchy. Her gaze flicked briefly to Marge, who was working the room with her usual venom, her injured wrist now wrapped in a discreet, flesh-colored compression brace that she tried to hide with a heavy gold bracelet. The injury was clearly still a problem, but Marge was masking it for the public.
A young man with bleached blonde hair and a flushed face stumbled toward her. He was holding a glass of champagne. His eyes were glassy and predatory.
This was Jagger. Leland's nephew.
Jagger stopped right in front of her. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her chest. He didn't bother hiding his disgust.
"Well, if it isn't the family charity case," Jagger slurred, leaning in close. His breath smelled like expensive vodka and vomit.
Cora's eyes darkened. She tightened her jaw but didn't move.
Jagger leaned in closer. "You know, Heloise, you're looking a little tense. Maybe you need a real man to loosen you up."
Cora felt a surge of pure disgust. She took a half-step back.
Jagger laughed, a nasty, wet sound. He stepped forward, closing the distance. He reached his hand out and grabbed her thigh, his fingers squeezing the thick fabric of her dress.
Cora's reflexes flared. She slapped his hand away instantly. Her eyes burned with lethal intent.
Jagger looked shocked for a second, then his face twisted into an ugly sneer. He thought she was just the weak aunt he could bully.
Cora's eyes darted to the side. Through the large glass doors, she saw a group of paparazzi pressing their lenses against the glass, trying to get shots of the interior.
A plan formed in her mind instantly.
She didn't punch him. Instead, she reached out and grabbed a full glass of red wine from a passing waiter's tray.
Without a second of hesitation, she threw the dark red liquid directly into Jagger's face.
The wine splashed across his eyes and soaked into his pristine white tuxedo shirt.
Jagger gasped in shock. He wiped the wine from his eyes, his face turning purple with rage. "You stupid bitch!" he roared.
He raised his hand, balling it into a fist, ready to strike her.
Several guests nearby gasped and turned to look.
Cora didn't flinch. Instead, she grabbed the thick fabric of her violet dress right at the thigh.
As Jagger's fist started to come down, Cora's fingers accurately found the top of the stitching on the dress's high side slit. She yanked upward with all her strength. Riiiiiip. The already fragile seam snapped under the sudden tension, and the tear split violently all the way up to her upper thigh, exposing her bare leg.
The moment the fabric tore, Cora threw her head back and let out a piercing, terrified scream.
The sound cut through the ballroom music like a siren.
Every single head in the room snapped toward them. The paparazzi outside went crazy, their camera flashes strobing like lightning through the glass doors.
Cora dropped to her knees. She clutched the torn fabric of her dress against her chest. She pointed a trembling finger at Jagger, who was still standing there with his fist raised and wine dripping from his face.
She looked at the crowd with wide, tear-filled eyes, playing the perfect victim of a violent sexual assault.
The ballroom erupted into chaos.
"Oh my god, he attacked her!" a woman screamed.
Leland shoved his way through the crowd. His face was pale with horror. He saw the cameras flashing and realized the magnitude of the disaster.
He ripped off his suit jacket and lunged forward to cover Cora.
Cora scrambled backward, dodging his jacket, making sure the cameras got a clear shot of her torn dress and Jagger's aggressive stance.
Clarence, the elderly patriarch of the family, slammed his cane against the floor. "Get the press out of here! Now!" he bellowed, his face red with fury.
Security guards rushed in. Two of them grabbed Jagger, wrestling him to the ground as he screamed that he didn't do it.
Amidst the screaming and the flashing lights, Cora kept her head down. She pressed her face into her hands, pretending to sob.
Behind her hands, a cold, satisfied smile spread across her lips. The Vance family's public image was bleeding out on the floor.
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7.7
Not only was I drugged, blinded and assaulted. I was deceived into carrying a baby by a stranger I never knew. Then he appeared and took my child away.
I was sent to a militia by the father of my child. I thought I was rescued but I was recruited to be a weapon for killing. Who was manipulating me, I didn't know. The answers were far from what I knew.
Forced to blend into the world that I could never believe I would be to, a place where brutality reigned, kill or be killed was the only language. I have survived but he has to pay for everything he did to me, because I believed every phase of my life was set by him and him alone. Have I really survived?
Who would have thought, he existed twice in the same world? Do I really know who I should take revenge on? Him or the person I would sacrifice everything for?
Was my mother the one who orchestrated everything? What kind of pawn am I?
8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
9.6
Areli was the hardest-working medic in the Blackridge Clan, but her efforts only earned her the title of a useless burden.
Her supposed lover, Eugene, and her senior mentor, Gloria, lured her to the edge of the deadly Blackwind Cliff and shoved her straight into the abyss.
She miraculously survived the freefall, only to return and find Gloria standing before the entire clan, wearing a mask of fake sorrow.
"Look! The traitor is back! She eloped with wild males!" Gloria shrieked.
Eugene stepped up, looking heartbroken, and publicly accused her of betraying his love.
The crowd erupted, raining hisses and boos upon her, completely ignoring the horrific, life-threatening bruises that covered her battered body.
They blindly believed the lies, treating her like garbage while Gloria secretly plotted to poison her water and destroy her completely.
Areli felt a chilling sense of betrayal. How could the man who claimed to love her watch her fall with such cold eyes?
To make matters worse, her modern biochemist instincts revealed a terrifying truth: she was unexpectedly pregnant with the child of a savage Warlord she had encountered in the wild.
In this brutal, primitive world, showing any weakness was an absolute death sentence.
But she wasn't going to cower or run away.
Refusing the Warlord's offer to simply rescue her, Areli calmly placed a highly toxic herb on her drying rack and left her tent flap open.
The bait was set. Now, she just had to wait for the screams.
7.8
My abusive ex was threatening a lawsuit that would destroy my father's career and wipe out my PhD. I was completely out of options.
That night, Graham, the boy from next door I hadn't seen in a decade, showed up at my apartment in the middle of a hurricane. Now a wealthy orthopedic surgeon, he offered a transactional marriage: he needed a local wife to keep his family away while he cared for his sick mother, and in return, he would make my ex disappear.
I thought it was a simple deal. But the morning after we signed the marriage license, Graham didn't just scare my ex off—he ruthlessly dismantled him. Then, Graham turned to me. His eyes were dead as he pulled out his phone, showing me a high-resolution photo of the night I illegally sold lab samples to pay off my ex's initial blackmail. He had hired a private investigator to stalk me. If that photo leaked to the FDA, I wouldn't just lose my degree; I'd go to prison.
"I needed a guarantee," he said flatly.
I was shaking with rage and terror. This wasn't a rescue. It was a hostage situation. Why did he hunt me down? Why use my darkest secret to trap me in this twisted marriage?
I couldn't live like this. I demanded an immediate divorce. But at the courthouse, the clerk dropped a bomb on us: state law required a mandatory thirty-day waiting period. Thirty days trapped with a ruthless, manipulative stranger. I had to find a way to break his leverage before the month was up.
9.7
Eighteen months ago, the man I loved shattered my heart, claiming everything between us was a mistake. Now, he's back, a ghost of his former self, a rookie tryout in my pro esports team. And I will make him regret crawling back.
Clifton, captain of a legendary esports team, was secretly battling a severe wrist injury that threatened his career, every match a fight against his own body. He pushed through the pain, ignoring doctors' warnings, desperate to maintain his god-like status.
His world was already on the edge, but nothing prepared him for seeing Justice Terry again in the team basement. Justice, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with naked terror, was now a rookie tryout.
Clifton had spent a year and a half trying to forget that rainy Chicago alley, the raw revulsion in Justice's eyes, the whispered "it wasn't real" that had left him heartbroken. Justice had vanished, and Clifton had erased every trace. Now, the boy who once looked at him like he was the sun was back, flinching at his touch, displaying a deep, primal fear. Amidst sponsor pressure and whispers of being "washed," Clifton saw Justice's return as a chance for vengeance. He publicly humiliated Justice on a live stream, forcing him into a suicide mission, then coldly benched him.
Yet, the satisfaction never came. Instead, a hollow emptiness and a torrent of questions: What had truly happened in the past? Why was Justice here, and what trauma had carved such fear into his bones?
Clifton, unwilling to be fooled again, swore to uncover every secret and every lie. He would force Justice to explain why he had returned, even if it meant tearing down everything they both had left.
7.6
Top DEA agent Kaitlynn Bruce woke up to a heavy, chemical lethargy, only to realize she was trapped in the body of a weak, abused war widow.
Before she could even process her new reality, she heard her sister-in-law counting cash, selling her unconscious body to a local thug for a measly two hundred dollars.
The thug dragged her new seven-year-old son, Cason, into the bedroom.
"Mommy!"
When the boy reached out, the man brutally kicked his small body into a wooden doorframe, leaving him gasping and bleeding on the floor.
Memories flooded Kaitlynn's mind. Her predecessor was a pathetic doormat whose husband's military pension had been bled dry by these greedy in-laws, leaving her children to starve and suffer endless abuse.
But as Kaitlynn looked at the bleeding boy's dark, unnervingly alert eyes, a chilling piece of DEA intelligence clicked in her mind.
Cason Richmond.
The name, the town, the abusive aunt—it all matched the classified files of the "Director of the Hive," the most ruthless and feared cartel puppet master in the criminal underworld.
How could this battered, starving child be destined to become the ultimate monster she used to hunt?
The original widow's tragic death was supposed to be the catalyst that pushed this boy into total darkness.
But Kaitlynn Bruce was not a victim.
Adrenaline burning through the drugs, she cracked the thug's neck with a brass lamp and choked the sister-in-law against the wall.
Looking down at the boy who was supposed to become a global nightmare, she made a vow. She was going to rewrite his script, even if she had to burn the whole world down to do it.