Warmth Beckons, Spring Unfolds

Today is my ninth wedding anniversary with Joe. At the dining table, my two stepsons are lost in a video call with their birth mother, Pamela. The younger one, Frank, pouts as he tattles. "Mommy, when are you coming home? The food this old witch makes is disgusting." Jonathan, the elder, merely shoots me a cold glance, his disgust laid bare. Joe sits at the head of the table, polishing his cutlery as if none of this concerns him. Setting down my fork and knife, I speak calmly. "Joe, let's get a divorce." He looks up. "What game are you trying to play now, Allison?" I simply shake my head, feeling neither sorrow nor anger. "The nine-year agreement is up. It's time we divorced." … Silence falls over the large dining room, so profound you could hear a pin drop. Jonathan and Frank pause their call with Pamela, staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind. The mockery on Joe’s face freezes, then twists into irritation. "Had your fill of this drama?" "This isn't drama." I stand, my gaze sweeping calmly over the three of them—father and sons. "Nine years ago, I promised your mother I would marry you and look after Jonathan and Frank. Today is the last day. My duty is done." Brenda—Joe’s mother. Nine years ago, my only sister, Catherine, was suddenly diagnosed with acute leukemia. She needed a bone marrow transplant and a staggering amount of money for treatment, just as I had reached a dead end. That was when Brenda found me. A powerful society matriarch from old money, she approached a young actress whose career had just been destroyed overnight by a rival’s malicious, fabricated scandal. She offered me a check—enough to save my sister’s life. Her condition? Marry her son, Joe. Become a stepmother to his two children. For nine years. Joe, the infamous playboy heir of the Capital City. His one true love, Pamela, was a race car driver chasing her dreams. After giving birth to their second child, she flew abroad to compete and then vanished without a trace. Heartbroken, Joe got into a car accident and nearly lost a leg. Brenda needed someone to care for her injured son and two young grandsons, to uphold the family’s dignity. I needed money to save my sister. It was a perfect match. I signed the nine-year marriage contract. I signed away nine years of my youth. "Old witch, don’t think I don’t know you’re just using this trick to get Dad’s attention!" Jonathan scoffs, pushing his steak plate away. "Stop acting. It’s disgusting." For nine years, I’ve cleaned up his messes after fights, stayed up through his fevers, and—still bearing the faded title of ‘Beauty of the Century’—attended parent-teacher meetings when classmates mocked him for having no mother. All of it earned him plenty of face. Yet none of it compares to a single video call from Pamela. Ignoring him, I look only at Joe. "I’ll have my lawyer prepare the divorce papers. In nine years, I haven’t touched a single card you gave me. I want nothing from the family. Just sign quickly." With that, I turn to go upstairs. "Stop right there!" Joe’s voice is ice. "Allison, you think you can just waltz in and out of this family as you please?" I pause but don’t look back. "It was a contract, Joe. Nine years are up. I’m free." Behind me comes his low, anger-choked growl. "Over my dead body." I offer no reply. Back in my room, I lock the door and dial Brenda. Her voice is as gentle as ever. "Allison, have you thought it through?" "Yes. The nine years are up. Thank you for your help back then. It’s time for me to leave." "Good." That single word brings instant tears to my eyes. "Get some rest. I’ll handle the rest." Hanging up, I lean against the door. Nine years of grievances finally find an outlet, and tears slide silently down my cheeks. My conscience is clear. To Joe, I fulfilled my duties as a wife. To Jonathan and Frank, my obligations as a mother. Yet in the end, I am nothing. *** The next day, Joe doesn’t come home—his way of pressuring me to back down. I pay it no mind. At six, as usual, I get up to make breakfast. Frank glances at the sandwiches and frowns. "I’m not eating this. I want the egg custard Mommy makes." Calmly, I reply, "I don’t know how to make that. Besides, she’s not your mother." "You’re lying! She is my mother! You’re the bad woman who stole Daddy!" he shrieks, sweeping his milk glass onto the floor. The shattering sound pierces my heart. I look at his flushed little face, so like Pamela’s. For nine years, she has been a ghost haunting every corner of this villa, sending toys from abroad or calling for a video chat. A few casual words from her completely captivate the boys. While my day-in, day-out care, in their eyes, was just a nanny doing her job. Kneeling, I silently clean up the mess. A shard of glass slices my finger, and blood wells up. Jonathan stands to the side, watching coldly. "Playing the victim to get sympathy?" I say nothing. After tossing the shards into the trash and bandaging the cut,

Chapters

Chapter 4

The basement was cold, damp, and utterly lightless.

Sprawled on the icy concrete, I felt the pain in my body and the despair in my heart close over me like a cold, dark wave.

I knew. My child was gone. Again.

This child—whose existence I hadn’t even had time to confirm—had vanished from my life without a sound.

Why?

Why was fate doing this to me?

Curled on the ground, I was torn by waves of cramping pain. My consciousness began to blur.

In the darkness, I seemed to see that night from four years ago once more.

The same cold hospital. The same heart-rending pain.

Joe stood by my hospital bed, his face showing not a trace of grief, only impatience.

"Allison," he’d said, "stop pretending. It was just a miscarriage. Is all this drama really necessary? Jonathan is waiting for me at home."

Then he’d turned and walked away.

From start to finish, he never once asked if I was in pain.

I should have known then. I should have stopped clinging to any illusion about him.

I was too stupid. Too naive.

I thought nine years was enough time to warm even a stone.

But I forgot. Joe’s heart wasn’t stone. It was ice.

Ice that could never be warmed.

"Open the door… let me out…" Using my last shred of strength, I pounded on the cold metal. "Help… save my child…"

My voice was hoarse. The only response was endless darkness and silence.

I don’t know how long it lasted—only that I felt my own life force slowly ebbing away.

Just as I was about to give up, footsteps finally sounded outside.

Was it Joe?

Had he finally come to save me?

A flicker of hope ignited. Struggling up from the floor, I pressed against the door, my voice a weak rasp. "Joe… it’s me… open the door…"

The footsteps stopped outside.

From beyond the door came Pamela’s voice, choked with tears. "Joe, don’t go in… I’m scared… what if she hurts you again?"

Then Joe’s impatient reply. "What can she possibly do to me? Stop making a scene. Wait outside."

He had come.

A ridiculous sliver of expectation still lingered in my heart.

The lock turned. A sliver of light cut in, so bright it stung my eyes.

Joe’s tall frame filled the doorway.

He saw me, covered in blood, and froze. Then his brow furrowed. "What did you do to yourself?"

"I—" I tried to speak, to beg.

But Pamela’s voice rang out again, laced with a desperate finality. "Joe, if you go in there for her today, I’ll die right here in front of you!"

His steps halted.

He glanced back outside, then at me, collapsed in a pool of blood. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face.

That single flicker was all it took to shove me into the abyss.

I looked at him and laughed—a hollow, broken sound.

"Joe," I said, forcing every word out with the last of my strength. "If you dare step out that door today, I, Allison, will act as if I never knew you. There’s no going back from this."

My words seemed to stun him.

He looked at me, his expression unreadable.

In the end, he chose Pamela.

Slowly, he closed the door.

Shutting me, and my unborn child, inside this endless darkness.

With the final, resounding *clang* of the metal door, my world shattered completely.

Joe, you are truly merciless.

With your own hands, you killed your second child.

And with your own hands, you killed the woman who loved you for nine years.

In my last moment of awareness, I thought I heard frantic footsteps and Brenda’s panicked, desperate cry.

"Allison! Allison! Open the door!"

I woke again in a VIP hospital room.

The sharp smell of disinfectant turned my stomach.

Brenda sat by my bed, holding my hand, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Allison, you’re finally awake."

I stared at the ceiling, my gaze empty.

"The baby… is it gone?" My voice was a hoarse stranger’s.

Brenda was silent for a moment, then nodded, tears falling. "I’m sorry, Allison. I was too late."

I closed my eyes. A single tear traced a path from the corner of my eye.

I’d known, hadn’t I?

But hearing it confirmed still felt like having my heart torn in two.

"This is my fault," Brenda choked out. "I never should have dragged you into the mess that is Joe’s Family. I ruined you."

I shook my head, saying nothing.

This was all my own choice. I couldn’t blame anyone else.

The hospital room door opened, and Joe walked in.

Seeing me awake, an unnatural look crossed his face. "You’re awake? How do you feel?"

I didn’t look at him. I just spat out one cold word. "Leave."

His expression hardened, then settled back into its usual arrogant mask. "Allison, I know you’re upset, but don’t forget—you’re the one who caused a scene at Jonathan’s birthday party and stabbed Pamela with a knife. That’s why I—"

*Smack!*

A sharp slap cut him off.

Brenda stood up, trembling, her finger shaking as she pointed at him, eyes full of disappointment and rage. "You monster! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You killed your own child with your own hands!"

Joe was stunned. He held his cheek, staring at his mother in disbelief. "Mom, what are you talking about?"

"I’m saying," Brenda enunciated each word with perfect clarity, "Allison was pregnant! Over two months along! You locked a pregnant woman in a basement and left her to die! Joe, are you fit to be a father? Are you even fit to be called a human being?"

Joe looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. He stood frozen in place.

He stared at me, his lips trembling, but no words came out.

I watched his shock and felt nothing.

It was too late.

Everything was far too late.

"The divorce papers," I said calmly. "I’ve already had my lawyer draft them. Sign them."

Brenda pulled a document from her bag and flung it at him. "Sign! Sign it right now! Joe’s Family has no place for a cold-blooded, heartless creature like you!"

Joe looked at the divorce agreement, then at me. For the first time, panic and fear flashed in his eyes.

"No… I won’t agree…" he muttered. "Allison, I—"

"Joe," I cut him off, my voice devoid of all warmth. "I don’t want to see you anymore. From now on, there is nothing between us. You go your way, and I’ll go mine."

With that, I pulled the covers over my head.

I didn’t want to see his hypocritical face. I didn’t want to hear his disgusting voice.

I just wanted to be alone—to quietly lick my wounds in peace.

I don’t know how much time passed before I heard the hospital room door close.

Brenda sat back down by my bed, gently patting my back. "Allison, it’s over now. From now on, as long as I’m here, no one will ever hurt you again."

I pushed the covers down and looked at her, forcing a smile uglier than any sob. "Brenda, thank you. And I’m sorry. I couldn’t last until the nine years were up."

"Silly child," she said, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. "You’ve already done more than enough. It’s Joe’s Family that failed you."

She took a card from her bag and pressed it into my hand. "There’s some money in here. Take it. Leave the city. Go somewhere no one knows you. Start over."

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The champagne in my glass was vintage Dom Pérignon, crisp and biting against my tongue, but the air in the ballroom tasted stale. It was the specific staleness of old money and desperate ambition mixing under the heat of a thousand crystal chandeliers. The Starlight Charity Gala was in full swing, a sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns swirling through the cavernous hall of the Pierre Hotel. I stood near the periphery, away from the frenetic energy of the dance floor. My fingers idly traced the rim of the flute. I wasn't hiding, exactly. I was observing. Three years ago, crowds like this would have made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird. Now, I just felt a quiet, observant calm. I adjusted the silk of my gown—a deep midnight blue that Adrian had selected because he said it matched the quiet storm in my eyes.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.6

He Chose His Intern Over Our Four-Year Love

8.6

On the day of the company's annual gala, I spotted a sign posted at the entrance of the banquet hall. “Annalise Stewart and dogs prohibited.” I asked the staff to take down the sign just as Liliana Guzman strolled up, looking smug. “Annalise, it's just a harmless joke, right? You’re cool with it, aren’t you?” she said. I frowned, ready to retort, but before I could speak, Wesley Castro came out from the banquet hall. “What's the commotion here? Liliana’s just having a bit of fun. You shouldn’t take it so seriously.” Liliana threw me a triumphant look. As the awards ceremony was about to start, I decided not to argue with Wesley and made my way inside. To my surprise, the grand prize meant for me was given to Liliana.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.8

Misdiagnosis in andrology, My Billionaire Husband

7.8

I was forty-eight hours into my shift, smelling of stale sweat and clutching a red-stamped bill for my mother's life support. As a scholarship intern, I was a ghost in the hospital, working myself to the bone just to keep her ventilator humming. Then Dr. Thorne shoved a metal clipboard into my chest and ordered me to perform a surgical prep on a VIP patient for a circumcision. But the moment the cold betadine touched the man's skin, he lunged at me like a predator, his hand crushing my wrist until the bone nearly snapped. "I'm here for a kidney stone. What kind of incompetent butcher shop is this?" He wasn't a patient; he was Conrad Marks, a lethal billionaire, and Thorne had intentionally set me up to assault him. Within minutes, a five-million-dollar lawsuit was filed, and the Dean ordered security to shred my license and throw me out of the building. My phone buzzed with a final notice: the facility was stopping my mother's meds at midnight because my payment had failed. I was a doctor who had just been framed and a daughter about to watch her mother die. I didn't understand why Thorne would ruin me so casually, but with my mother's life on the line, I had nothing left to lose. I slipped past the guards and back into the billionaire's suite with a set of silver needles and a desperate bargain. I stopped his agony in seconds, and when he looked at me with those cold, lethal eyes, I offered a trade: I would be the fake girlfriend his family demanded if he would save my mother and bury the lawsuit. "Deal," he said, his grip on my waist tightening with dark possession. I signed the contract, realizing I hadn't just saved my career-I had sold my soul to the most dangerous man in New York.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.6

My Contract Husband Is A Cursed Billionaire

8.6

As the eldest daughter of the Sharp family, I was treated worse than a stray dog, while my younger sister Seraphina was their precious princess. When the family needed someone to marry a dying billionaire heir, they naturally chose me to take her place. To force my consent, my brothers held a peanut butter sandwich to my face—knowing it was a lethal allergy—while dangling my EpiPen just out of reach. On speakerphone, my own mother sighed in annoyance. "Let her die. It might be for the best." I choked out an agreement just as my throat closed up. But the forced engagement broke my sacred mystical vow, causing me to violently cough up my own lifeblood. Seeing the blood, Seraphina dramatically fainted. My brothers instantly carried her to the hospital, stepping over my dying body and leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor. I had to use a forbidden blood rune, draining my last ounce of strength, just to survive the night. Even the mystical Order I served offered no comfort, calling only to demand I secure ten billion dollars for them or forfeit my soul for eternity. Abandoned by my blood family and my spiritual master, I was completely alone, left with nothing but a broken body and a ticking clock. But they made one fatal mistake: they let me live. I turned to the dying heir they forced me to marry, a man plagued by a dark curse only I could cure. "I will be your wife, and I will save your life," I told him. In exchange, I would use his unimaginable wealth and power to make everyone who threw me away pay the ultimate price.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.4

Reborn Surgeon: The Billionaire’s Secret Obsession

7.4

Standing on the edge of a limestone quarry in the pouring rain, I thought we were just having another family argument. Then my mother, Ardell, screamed that I’d let the life insurance lapse, and my brother, Hakeem, stepped out of the shadows with a cold, calculating look in his eyes. I told them I knew the truth—that Hakeem had cut the brake lines on my father’s car—but they didn't flinch. Instead, Hakeem shoved me hard, sending me tumbling into the abyss. I hit a jagged ledge thirty feet down, the sound of my spine snapping like a dry branch echoing through the rain. As I lay paralyzed and broken, my mother watched from above, asking if I was dead yet, before Hakeem whistled for the starving wild dogs that lived in the quarry floor. "Nature will clean up the mess," Hakeem said, walking away while the first set of teeth sank into my throat. The agony was a tidal wave, but the rage was hotter, a nuclear hatred for the family that stole my future and the daughter I’d never see grow up. I died in that dirt, consumed by fire and teeth, wondering how a mother could choose a car payment over her own child's life. But then, I gasped for air, sitting bolt upright in my old trailer bedroom. I looked at the calendar: May 12, 2014. I was seventeen again, but I wasn't the same girl. Inside this malnourished body was the mind of a world-class trauma surgeon and the elite hacker known as 'Phantom.' This time, I wasn't going to the quarry; I was going for their throats.

Billionaire Fantasy Modern

7.2

Reclaiming Her Crown: The CEO's Sudden Bride

7.2

Stepping out of the women's correctional center, Karli took her first breath of freedom in three years. But the luxury SUV waiting for her didn't bring her home. Instead, her adoptive parents tossed a prenuptial agreement onto her lap. They demanded she marry a violently unhinged, disfigured man so their company could secure a massive commercial deal. When she refused, her adoptive mother slapped her hard across the face. The blow brought back the suffocating nightmare from three years ago—how they had drugged her, framed her for a crime she didn't commit, and sent her to prison just so her stepsister could steal her fiancé. Now, to break her again, her adoptive father ordered his bodyguards to drag her into the estate's freezing, pitch-black basement. "You can rot in the dark without food or water until you sign that paper!" Sitting on the damp cement, bleeding and shivering, a white-hot fury burned away Karli's panic. They had stolen her youth, her reputation, and her grandfather's inheritance. She would rather die than be their sacrificial lamb again. She smashed the basement window with a hammer, dragged her bleeding body through the shattered glass, and sprinted blindly into the stormy night. Under the flickering neon sign of a convenience store, she grabbed the sleeve of a terrifyingly cold stranger. "Are you single? Marry me right now." She just needed a legal marriage to escape her family, entirely unaware she had just proposed to the most ruthless billionaire in Chicago.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Warmth Beckons, Spring Unfolds

Chapter 4

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