Wife Escapes Bad Marriage

Arjun's ex-girlfriend wanted to meet me. She was dressed impeccably, her delicate features accentuated by her sophisticated outfit. Meanwhile, I was in casual clothes, without a hint of makeup, feeling every bit the dowdy housewife. I assumed she wanted this meeting to ask me to step aside, to show off how madly in love Arjun was with her. To my surprise, she slid a contract across the table. “Ms. Carlson, I’d like you to be my personal assistant. I want to buy your soups, your comforting meals, your perfectly put-together outfits, and your genuine care.” When Arjun discovered that I was delivering soups to someone else every day, disbelief filled his eyes as he demanded, “Who is it? Who’s the person?” --- I couldn’t help it—I agreed to the offer. The proposal was too enticing to resist.

Chapters

Chapter 2

"I must say, the stew you made was something I could never forget, even though I only tried it once," Jessica Dunn commented, licking her lips.

During that time, I had completely stopped cooking, including making the wholesome stews for Arjun Carlson. I used to prepare various hearty stews to help boost his health. Each one required careful simmering, but since he thought I was useless, I didn't see any reason to continue.

However, one day Arjun tricked me into believing he had a stomachache. Feeling sorry for him, I gave in and made the stew once again. He eagerly took it to Jessica, claiming she was overworked. When the container came back, I noticed lipstick marks on it. My heart clenched with pain, and in a moment of anger, I smashed the container. While cleaning up the pieces, one shard cut deep into my hand, stinging sharply, and I couldn't help but burst into tears. How had my life turned into such a mess?

Little did I know, that single taste of stew gave Jessica the idea to hire me.

"Jessica, you're a savvy businesswoman with a great reputation. You could hire anyone you want, and I'm really quite ordinary…" I protested.

"You're anything but ordinary. Your cooking and stew-making skills not only taste wonderful but also revitalize the body. It's nothing like the restaurant chefs' techniques. If I may ask, is it a family secret?" she inquired.

I couldn't help but admire Jessica; she had such a keen sense of taste.

"Jessica, you have an astute palate. My grandmother, Caroline Franklin, came from a line of royal chefs, quite famous in their day. She inherited some of their skills and eventually opened a small eatery. My grandfather was a herbalist, so he added some health-focused recipes to the menu. After my grandmother passed away, my uncle, Quentin Reyes, took over the eatery, which is now a prestigious private dining establishment, though mostly known to true food enthusiasts."

Jessica's eyes sparkled with excitement at the story.

"I knew it! This cooking technique has a legacy to it. Arjun, that fool, has no idea what he had. He's like a bull in a china shop, completely oblivious to the treasures around him."

Jessica shook her head in disbelief, adding, "That idiot's been enjoying your food all these years without appreciating it—it's like casting pearls before swine!"

For some reason, hearing Jessica criticize Arjun filled me with immense satisfaction. It was incredibly gratifying.

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Willow Ashford was the perfect Luna — poised, powerful, adored by millions. Her Alpha husband Ryker was her partner in everything. Or so she believed. On the biggest night of her career, a mysterious woman goes live on Instagram from Willow's own penthouse, showing off a baby bump and the Alpha who put it there. Four million viewers watch the betrayal unfold in real time. But Willow doesn't break. She walks back on stage, strips away her Luna title in front of the world, and goes straight for the one thing Ryker never expected her to find — a flash drive containing every dirty secret his empire was built on. What Willow doesn't know is that the woman in her home isn't just a mistress. She's a pawn. And the real enemy has been hiding behind a much more familiar face. In a world of shifting alliances, secret bloodlines, and billion-dollar betrayals, Willow must decide how far she's willing to go — not just for revenge, but to uncover a conspiracy that threatens every pack in the Northeast. She lost her marriage on camera. What she gains in the shadows will change everything.

Billionaire Romance Werewolf

9.2

He Chose A Fake Heir Over His True Wife

9.2

My husband studied the fertility report on his desk with the same cold precision he used to order executions. On our fifth anniversary, he didn't give me diamonds. He checked his Rolex and delivered the sentence that ended my life. "Your genetic profile is defective, Catarina." He didn't just ask for a divorce. He pressed a button on his intercom, and a woman walked in. She was loud, chewing gum, and wearing a dress that was too tight. "This is Aria," Alex said, his voice flat. "She is a vessel. She will carry the heir your body cannot produce." He claimed it was just business, that she would be exiled once the child was born. But at my birthday gala, when Aria tripped into a champagne tower, the truth shattered along with the glass. I was the one bleeding, a jagged shard slicing my arm. But Alex didn't look at me. He threw his body over her. He cradled his mistress, screaming for a doctor to check the baby, while I stood there with blood dripping onto the marble floor, completely invisible. I watched him give his own blood to save her in the clinic later that night. I saw the way he looked at her—not like a vessel, but like a prize. He thought I would stay. He thought I was the obedient Mafia wife who would raise his mistress's child to save the family image. So when he handed me a stack of papers to "protect the assets," he was too arrogant to read them. He didn't notice the header read *Decree of Divorce*. While he was busy buying baby clothes for a child that didn't even exist, I wiped my identity from the servers, signed the papers he blindly authorized, and boarded a one-way jet to Paris. By the time he realizes his "heir" is a fraud, I will already be a ghost.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.5

Husband's Choice: Sister Over Wife

9.5

The September sun cast a golden glow across the marble steps of St. Patrick's Cathedral as I stood in my wedding dress, a vision in white lace and pearls. Curtis had insisted on the grandest venue in New York City—nothing but the best for his bride. Photographers circled like elegant vultures, capturing every perfect moment of what the society pages would surely call the wedding of the year. "You look breathtaking," Victoria whispered, adjusting my veil. "Curtis won't be able to take his eyes off you." I smiled, my heart swelling with a happiness I'd fought so hard to claim. Against my mother's wishes. Against the Kennedy name and all it stood for. "He already can't," I replied, catching Curtis's gaze from across the reception hall. Even surrounded by New York's elite, he only had eyes for me.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.3

Love Beyond the Lies

9.3

The leather seat of Rex's luxury car felt cold beneath me despite the warmth of the evening. I smoothed down the front of my emerald gown, the fabric hugging my curves in all the right places. Tonight was supposed to be special. Tonight was supposed to change everything. I reached down, adjusting the lace trim of the midnight blue lingerie set I'd purchased specifically for this occasion. The silk was impossibly soft against my skin, the design intricate and delicate—the twenty-fourth piece Rex had ever complimented. "You look stunning tonight," Rex said, his eyes briefly leaving the road to glance at me. His smile was practiced perfection, the same one that had melted my defenses two years ago. "Thank you," I replied, my fingers still lingering on the lace. "I wanted to look perfect for your company gala." He reached across the console, his hand finding mine.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.5

My Husband Chose His Secretary

8.5

Married to Travis Armstrong for three years. He was 35. I was not yet 21, just starting my senior year in college. I hadn't decided if I wanted to be a full-time housewife when I overheard him casually chatting with his business associates: "Chelsea, apart from being young, doesn’t bring much to the table." "Skyler is so much more sophisticated." "I'm starting to regret marrying. Keeping a younger girlfriend would be cheaper. A divorce now would be a huge loss." Without hesitation, I handed him the divorce papers. When he saw the stark terms indicating I was leaving without any claims, he let out a long sigh of relief. He then feigned generosity, saying, "I'll transfer two million dollars to you as compensation." I refused with a smile, "I'm still young. I can afford to take risks." What Travis didn't know was that my brother, Garrett, had been the one supporting him in the New York City business scene. All these years, his entry into elite circles was solely because of Garrett’s backing.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.8

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

9.8

I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Wife Escapes Bad Marriage

Chapter 2

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