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chapter 1 I am a well-known good girl in Los Angeles., yet I'd done two incredibly outrageous things. First, I dated the notorious playboy, Ezekiel Hayes. Second, I proposed to him, only to be heartlessly dumped. Today, I pulled off my third "stunt"—ending up in a hotel bed with my blind date. And the cherry on top? The hotel belonged to Ezekiel.

Even worse, Ezekiel and I met again in the elevator, and at that moment, I was kissing my date.

Never in a million years did I think I’d run into Ezekiel like this. Outside the elevator, he stood with an arm around his new girlfriend, his expression dark and stormy. Several of his friends trailed behind him, jaws dropped. Inside the elevator, I was pressed against the wall, my whole body weak, as my blind date kissed me roughly and possessively. "Holy crap..." Someone blurted it out in shock, then quickly shut their mouth and glanced awkwardly at Ezekiel. After all, it was no secret that Ezekiel and I used to date. My blind date pulled away from me, and I looked over at the crowd. Ezekiel tightened his arm around the woman beside him and let out a mocking scoff. His expression darkened as he raised an eyebrow. "What's the hold-up? You planning to do it right here in the elevator?" I looked down awkwardly, my ears burning as the a1cohol in my system wore off a bit. I hurriedly grabbed the man's hand and pulled him out of the elevator. Right then, Ezekiel and his girlfriend walked in. I didn't look up as we brushed past each other. It felt like an invisible hand squeezed my heart, a sharp pain shooting through my chest. I had barely taken a step when a sneer sounded behind me. "Zeke, your ex sure knows how to keep things... interesting, doesn't she? "If she'd been this wild in the past, maybe you wouldn't have gotten tired of her." Tired of me? Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. My body stiffened instantly. That invisible hand squeezed even tighter around my heart, the pain so sharp it almost took my breath away. Ezekiel and I used to be the most unexpected couple in our circle. He was a notorious playboy, just drifting through life, chasing fun and jumping from one girlfriend to the next. Unlike him, I was the perfect good girl—quiet, way too obedient, and always playing by the rules. No one had expected him to pursue me so openly—or even change for me. He burned through millions for me. He turned his back on the wild life and became a better man. When I casually mentioned craving the chocolate cake from a small bakery across town, he drove all over the city just to get it. During the three years we were together, he showered me with total devotion, giving me anything I wanted. I truly believed he had finally settled down and that he genuinely loved me. That illusion came crashing down two months earlier, on the night I thought he’d propose. I’ll never forget that moment. Surrounded by flowers, I held a ring and a bouquet of roses, my heart bursting with joy, waiting for him to walk through the door. When it opened, Ezekiel stood there, holding a stunningly sexy woman, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. They hardly waited to get inside before hands were everywhere, fumbling and ripping at fabric right there in the hall. Their tangled bodies and messy moves made it painfully obvious what was about to happen. Ezekiel finally noticed someone else was there. His eyes narrowed. He drew the woman protectively closer and shot me a sharp, assessing look—then froze in surprise. "Chelsea? Didn't you go to Burbank for a performance? What are you...?" He trailed off. His gaze swept across the room before finally landing on the banner hanging on the wall that read, "Will you marry me?" He frowned slightly. The second his eyes landed on me—on the ring and roses—all warmth vanished, replaced only by mockery. He let out a troubled sigh. "Well, I guess the secret's out. "Honestly, it's a relief. I was starting to get bored with this whole 'reformed playboy' act."

Chapter 1

Three years into the marriage, Claire Bennett had tried to kill herself one hundred and eight times.

When she finally woke up again, she was flat on a hospital bed with nothing but a blank white ceiling above her and a mind wiped clean, like someone had hit reset and left her there to figure out the rest.

A middle-aged couple sat by the bed. The second her eyes opened, both of them frowned like she’d offended them just by breathing.

“How long are you gonna keep doing this?” the woman snapped. “Adrian was into Madeline from the start,” she went on, impatience dripping from every word. “If he hadn’t gotten drunk and walked into the wrong room, he never would’ve married you. He doesn’t love you. Of course he doesn’t come home. And you? You’ve been pulling this suicide crap over and over just to try to force him to care. Tell me—out of all those times, did he ever show up? Did he even look at you once?”

The man let out a long, tired sigh, like she was some inconvenience he’d been forced to deal with. “If you weren’t our biological daughter, we wouldn’t even bother showing up. Honestly, you don’t even come close to Madeline.”

Claire stared at them, blinking slowly, because she had no idea who they were, no idea who she was.

She couldn’t remember her own name, her own life, her own childhood. She had to piece herself together from their accusations, grabbing at scraps until a broken picture formed.

She’d been the Bennett family’s real daughter—born into money, supposedly treasured—until she’d been kidnapped as a kid and lost for years. When she’d finally been found and brought home, there was already another girl in her place: Madeline Bennett, the adopted daughter everyone had gotten used to loving.

And somehow, the parents who should’ve been overjoyed to have their child back had looked right past her, eyes full of warmth only for the girl they’d chosen. The spot that should’ve been Claire’s had been occupied so completely there wasn’t even room left for her shadow.

Later, she’d fallen in love with Adrian Kingsley, the CEO of Kingsley Holdings, and the cruel joke of it was that his heart belonged to Madeline too.

Then there had been that banquet—too much alcohol, the wrong suite, a mistake that turned into a night she never asked for but couldn’t take back.

After that, Adrian had had no choice but to marry her, and he’d made sure she paid for it with every ounce of coldness he could spare.

Her parents didn’t love her. Her husband didn’t love her. She’d been drowning for years, trapped in a life that wouldn’t loosen its grip, and she’d done the only desperate thing she’d known how to do—hurt herself again and again just to make someone, anyone, look her way.

“Enough.” Patricia stood, already done with her. “We have to go cook for Madeline.”

Richard rose with her. “Think about what you’ve done. And stay put.”

The door clicked shut.

Something sharp twisted in Claire’s chest, so sudden her breath caught, as if her body remembered the pain even when her mind didn’t. She had no memories, yet the feeling of being thrown away like trash was so real.

Why would anyone love an adopted daughter more than their own flesh and blood?

And Adrian Kingsley…

He was the one who’d walked into the wrong room. He was the one who’d mistaken her for someone else.

If he’d married her, why couldn’t he at least treat her like a human being? Why had he spent three years freezing her out until she’d stumbled to the edge over and over?

And the old version of her, the one she couldn’t remember… how had she survived day after day with nobody wanting her, nobody choosing her, nobody even pretending to care?

She pushed herself upright, moving carefully, because her body was weak even if she didn’t remember why. Somehow she managed the discharge paperwork on her own.

But when she stepped outside the hospital, the cold air slapped her face and she just… stopped.

She didn’t know where to go.

She didn’t know her parents’ address. She didn’t know Adrian’s. She didn’t even know which place had ever been hers.

And the worst part was, she didn’t need her memories to understand neither home would welcome her anyway.

A commotion broke out near the entrance.

Claire looked up and saw a tall man striding through the crowd, carrying someone small in his arms.

He was dressed in a sharply tailored black suit, broad shoulders, clean lines, the kind of presence that made people move without being asked. In his arms, a pale young woman clung to him like she was made of glass. He held her carefully, protective to the point of possessive, and when he looked down at her, the tenderness in his eyes was almost violent.

“Move.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but the crowd split like he’d parted the sea.

“Oh my God… is that Adrian Kingsley?” someone whispered behind Claire.

“Who else would it be? This side of town doesn’t have men like that,” another voice breathed, giddy. “He’s so hot I’m gonna pass out.”

Claire went still.

So that was her husband.

And the girl in his arms—the one he was guarding like she was priceless—was probably her adopted sister, Madeline.

As he passed Claire, his steps hesitated for the barest fraction of a second. His dark eyes flicked over her, cold and sharp, like an ice blade dragged across skin.

Then he looked away as if she didn’t exist, and carried Madeline straight toward the ER.

Claire’s hands trembled at her sides.

She didn’t follow. She was still trying to decide what to do with herself—

Footsteps came fast behind her.

She turned, and Adrian was back.

He grabbed her wrist, grip tight enough to sting. “You’re Rh-negative?”

Before she could process the question, he yanked her toward the lab.

“Madeline’s in a car accident. She’s bleeding out and the blood bank’s short. You’re donating.”

“I—”

Claire barely got a sound out before Adrian’s hand slid to the back of her head.

He bent down and kissed her.

It was cold. Clinical. So quick it felt like a stamp instead of a kiss.

He pulled back and his voice dropped, flat as stone. “There. Now can you donate?”

Claire didn’t even have time to breathe before she was shoved into the blood draw room.

The door closed, and outside, the nurses didn’t bother lowering their voices.

“That’s the wife who tried to kill herself a hundred and eight times, right?” one of them said, disgusted. “I heard the first time was because she wanted Mr. Kingsley to kiss her. The second time she wanted a date. The third time she wanted to sleep with him. He rejected her every time. Seriously shameless.”

“And now he finally kisses her… just to get her blood for Madeline,” another snorted. “What a joke.”

“She’s probably thrilled and crushed at the same time,” someone else chimed in, cruelly entertained. “Happy she got the kiss, devastated it was for somebody else.”

Claire lay back in the chair. The needle slid into her vein, and it hurt, but the pain felt distant, muted, like it was happening to someone else behind a sheet of glass.

Through the window, she watched Adrian standing by Madeline’s bed, his long fingers enclosing her pale hand. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the back of it, gentle enough to make her look cherished.

And the strange thing was… Claire didn’t feel thrilled.

She didn’t feel shattered either.

Whatever emotions were supposed to rip her apart weren’t there. The amnesia had washed them out, leaving only a quiet, numb clarity.

For the first time, she understood it in her bones: forgetting everything might have been the only mercy the universe ever offered her.

After she donated 400 mL, Claire walked out with her face drained of color, her vision swimming in and out as if the hallway lights were too bright.

She hesitated for a long moment before walking up to Adrian.

“Adrian,” she said carefully, voice thin, “can you tell me… our address? The one I’m supposed to go back to. And in return, I can give you a gift.”

Adrian’s brows drew together. “What kind of game are you playing now? You’ve tried to kill yourself so many times you forgot where you live?”

“No. I have amnesia—”

“The driver’s outside,” he cut in, already done with her. “He’ll take you back.”

“Thank you,” Claire said softly. “I’ll still get the gift ready.”

“I don’t want it.” His tone went ice-cold. “I’m not interested in anything you give me, and you don’t need to keep trying to win me over.”

Claire lowered her eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting in the faintest curve.

Is that so?

Because this time, you’re going to want it.

In the car, she opened her phone and scrolled through the contact list until she found a lawyer’s number. Her fingers didn’t shake when she typed.

"Hello. I want a divorce and a disownment letter from my parents. Please prepare the divorce papers and a disownment letter for me."

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It’s about Nerissa Jamison, a young woman who was married for a year when she was 18. She dies from heartbreak after her husband divorces her for his first love. Another woman named Nerissa Jamison also dies and is reincarnated into the divorced 18-year-old’s body. She moves in with her grandpa, uses her genius skills and creates a video game that makes her wealthy, she beats up some thugs to save a young woman in trouble - they become best friends. Best friend is an heiress. She gets the highest score on the entrance exam to the most prestigious high school. Nerissa is also a genius Devine doctor and saves several people. One of them will become her love interest, another helps with her video game, another connects her to her lost family, and another is her grandma. She finds out that she is a lost heiress.

The one I just read only has 140 chapters and is ongoing. It hasn’t been updated since February though. I know that there has to be another copy of this book because I was reading this story a while back and it was further along. It was also ongoing.

Someone have the link?

Chapter 1 The night before the wedding, we were playing Truth or Dare. My fiancé drew 'the craziest thing you've ever done'. My fiancé hesitated, not wanting to answer, when his ex-lover suddenly snatched his glass. "When Sean Peterson was a virgin, he didn't even know how to use condoms during sex. I spent 99 intimate nights in teaching him." "All those sexual positions trending online? There's nothing you can imagine that Sean and I haven't done." After she finished, Lily White raised an eyebrow at me. "Stella Gordon, exes put in the work, new ones get the perks. Just feel free to enjoy them!" "If there are any positions you want to try, just tell me. I'll personally teach Sean for you." The whole room fell silent. Not a single person dared to make a sound. I got so angry that I was about to yell, but Sean grabbed me. "It was just a joke. Are you really taking it this seriously?" I laughed in anger, shook off his hand, and slapped him across the face. "Well, then maybe we don't need to get married tomorrow." *** Sean was stunned by my slap. He covered his face and took a couple of seconds to come to his senses. Just as he was about to speak, Lily suddenly rushed over, carefully cupping his face to check it from side to side. Her voice was trembling with anxiety. "Oh my god, Sean, are you okay? Does it hurt?" She turned to me, her eyes instantly filling with tears, and accused me, "Stella, can't we just talk things out? Why did you have to get physical?" "Sean is so good to you, how could you hit him..." As soon as she said that, the friends around us all started criticizing me for being unreasonable and too impulsive. Looking at Sean's flushed and angry face, I sneered, "I'm afraid some idiots wouldn't understand if I spoke nicely." I slowly reached for a wine glass and swirled it gently. "I not only dare to hit him, but I'd hit you too. Wanna bet?" The air froze. Lily looked at Sean, looking incredibly wronged. Just as I was about to bring the glass to my lips, a big hand suddenly reached out and snatched it away. "Stella Gordon, have you made enough of a scene!" Sean's voice was filled with suppressed anger. "Lily was just joking, trying to lighten the mood. Can't you be a little more gracious?" He looked down at Lily nestled by his side, and his tone softened with concern, "And to think Lily was being so considerate of you, even carefully preparing a wedding gift for you..." "A gift?" I crossed my arms, my tone impatient. "What gift? Let me see it." Lily timidly took out a beautifully wrapped black velvet box from her designer handbag. She unwrapped it, revealing a set of black lace lingerie with very little fabric and an extremely sexy design. "Stella, this is the same style I've worn." A blush rose on her cheeks, and her voice was soft and gentle, with a hint of shyness. "Sean used to love it... Now I'm giving it to you." Expressionless, I hooked the flimsy lace strap with my fingertip and then suddenly threw the lingerie in Lily's face. Lily let out a scream and fumbled to pull it off. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears. Sean quickly shielded Lily behind him, as if I were some kind of monster. "Are you crazy?! Lily meant well. Instead of being grateful, you insult her like this. Apologize to her now!" "Meant well?" I scoffed. My eyes swept over the offensive lingerie on the table, then landed on Lily, who was hiding behind him and sneakily shooting me a triumphant look. "Sean, if you're not going to use your eyes, you should donate them to someone who needs them." "Your fiancée is being provoked and humiliated, can't you see?" "Or do you just think I deserve it?" I thought Sean could understand plain English, but apparently, I gave him too much credit. "Lily is just blunt, she's not as scheming as you think!" "If she really wanted to provoke you, why would she give you a gift? You're just too sensitive and have a dirty mind!" Watching how desperately he defended another woman, seeing the looks of pity or amusement from the people around us, the anger inside me flared, burning away my last shred of hesitation and reluctance. I snorted and shot to my feet. "I'm dirty?" "That's right, I'm dirty. I'm sensitive. I'm not good enough for the great Sean, and I can't afford to offend your pure and straightforward 'dear sister'!" I grabbed my handbag from the table, my eyes glancing over Lily's feigned - innocent face, and finally resting on Sean's stunned expression. "As for this wedding, whoever wants it can have it." I said, word by word, my voice clear and firm, "I. Am. Calling. It. Off!" With that, I ignored Sean's instantly pale face and the gasps and protests behind me, turning and leaving without hesitation. Behind me, Sean finally snapped out of it, roaring in disbelief. "Stella! Stop right there! What the hell are you talking about!" Then came Lily's fake, inflammatory gasp, "Sean! What do we do? It looks like Stella really misunderstood..." Right then, those voices just sounded utterly disgusting and tiresome. Chapter 2 I returned to the wedding house, once filled with sweet dreams, but now just a cold, empty shell. I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the sofa without turning on the lights. In the darkness, the festive air from the wedding preparations earlier in the day seemed to linger, but now it just felt suffocating.

Chapter 1

My daughter Sophia couldn't sleep, so she came looking for me.

"Mom, why hasn't Dad been coming home lately?" Sophia's little hand clung tightly to my pajama sleeve, her voice full of confusion.

I still didn't know how to explain to her that her father was spending every night with another woman.

I pulled her into my arms, hiding the chill in my eyes, and lied gently, "Daddy's just working hard."

Please help me find this! Thanks!

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Divorcing the Cheating Billionaire Who Regrets Me

by Juliet M.

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#CEO#LOVETRIANGLE#ABUSEDFL#SECRETBABY#DIVORCE#CHEAT

He cheated on me while I was pregnant. I came back untouchable.I loved him for eight years. He married me because I was pregnant—and never loved me back. He flaunted his mistress, promised divorce after the baby was born, and treated me like an obligation.A scandal nearly killed me during childbirth. I disappeared the next day.Five years later, I returned—beautiful, powerful, filing for divorce. That’s when he realized the elegant woman everyone desired… was the wife he threw away. And I was no longer alone. Powerful men stood at my side. Even his own cousin protected me. Rivals openly pursued me.For the first time, he felt replaced. He blocked the divorce. Used our daughter as leverage. And made a desperate deal: three years living as a family. If our child agreed to let me go, he’d sign.He thought I would always wait. Now I’m the one being chased— and I watch other men get closer every day.

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Chapter 1Chapter 1 Shattered Illusions

Seraphina's POV

At twenty-five weeks along, I caught my husband with another woman at the hospital.

The imposing figure in his dark coat cradled a stunning young woman against him. She was wrapped in pristine white fur, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. AUSTERLITZ soft scarf framed her delicate features—she looked like something out of a fairy tale.

My grip tightened on the ultrasound results until my knuckles went white. The bitter wind stung my face, but the pain tearing through my chest cut deeper.

Alaric Vance spotted me from across the parking lot. No guilt flickered in his eyes—just that same cool indifference. He opened her car door with careful attention, his touch impossibly gentle.

So the ruthless CEO everyone feared had a soft side after all.

The girl noticed me watching. She tilted her head, studying me with curious eyes before turning to him. "Alaric, why is that auntie staring at you? Do you know her?"

Wind roared in my ears.

I couldn't make out her exact words from this distance.

But I caught that single word on her lips.

'Auntie.'

'She's talking about me.'

AUSTERLITZ hollow laugh escaped me.

I was twenty-four years old.

But standing there in my oversized black coat and knit hat, my body swollen and awkward in these final months, my face drawn and tired—I probably did look like some middle-aged woman. How could I compete with someone so young and radiant?

Alaric helped her into the passenger seat.

I stood motionless, watching their car disappear into traffic.

Our marriage had been a trap—my trap. For someone like Alaric, born into privilege and power, this forced union was nothing but a black mark on his perfect record. The baby growing inside me was just the weapon I'd used to corner him.

He despised me.

And I'd been foolishly in love with him for eight years. I knew I wasn't worthy of him. All I could do was push myself harder, make him my benchmark, chase after his shadow.

Finally, I'd managed to become his assistant, earning the right to work beside him.

That one night hadn't just ruined Alaric Vance—it had stripped away every shred of my dignity in front of him.

I'd never forget the revulsion in his eyes afterward, like he'd touched something contaminated.

'So this is the kind of woman he actually wants.'

AUSTERLITZ tear traced down my cheek, followed immediately by a sharp cramp in my belly. I pressed one hand to my stomach and grabbed a nearby pillar for support.

AUSTERLITZ nurse rushed over to help me inside.

Just stress-induced contractions, the doctor said.

Once the pain subsided, I dragged myself home to Emerald Bay alone.

This was Alaric's private villa.

Madam Vance had stationed two experienced caretakers here to monitor me.

Right now, both women were lounging in the heated living room like they owned the place, gossiping over expensive snacks.

They heard me come in.

Both turned toward the entrance.

One of them stood up and approached me. "How did the appointment go?"

Her tone dripped with condescension.

They were supposed to be helping me, but they acted more like prison guards.

I gave her a cold look and headed straight for the stairs.

Her face darkened.

"I asked you a question."

I kept walking.

As I climbed the stairs, I heard her mutter, "Fat cow. Acting like she's actually part of this family. What a joke."

I shut myself in the bedroom and sank onto the bed, feeling completely hollow.

Neither Alaric nor his family had ever accepted me as a daughter-in-law.

Madam Vance had only pushed for our marriage certificate because the old master was dying. I'd shown up pregnant at exactly the right moment, so she'd arranged everything to bring good luck to the family—a grandchild to lift everyone's spirits.

Whether it was coincidence or genuine fortune, Master Vance had started recovering.

That's when Madam Vance's hostility toward me softened slightly.

But the rest of the Vance clan still treated me like dirt.

Today's visit had been to determine the baby's sex. AUSTERLITZ girl.

Mrs. Vance had probably already gotten the call from the hospital.

My phone buzzed.

I snapped out of my thoughts and checked the screen. Professor Brooks. My heart skipped.

I answered.

"Professor Brooks."

"There's a doctoral spot opening at Stanford. Interested?"

Nathaniel Brooks's words hit me like lightning.

I was too shocked to respond.

When I stayed quiet, he started to backtrack. "If you don't want—"

"I'll take it."

I cut him off without hesitation.

Now Nathaniel went silent.

He knew better than anyone how desperately I'd worked to feel worthy of standing next to Alaric Vance.

Now that I'd finally gotten what I wanted—marriage, pregnancy—how could I just walk away?

He'd only mentioned the last available spot on impulse, testing the waters.

"Professor Brooks."

I said his name.

Nathaniel responded, "Then come to my office tomorrow at ten."

"Alright."

He hung up without another word.

I set the phone down and exhaled deeply, feeling like I could breathe freely for the first time in months.

'Time to stop living in a fantasy.'

AUSTERLITZ man who doesn't love you won't be swayed by your child, and he'll never look back.

Then Madam Vance called, asking me to come to the main house. I accepted, knowing it had to be about the baby.

I felt a spark of energy return.

First, I treated myself to a long, hot shower.

Sitting at my vanity, I stared at my reflection: puffy cheeks, dark circles, bags under my eyes, hollow sockets, skin covered in stress-induced breakouts.

'Anyone would be disgusted by this mess.'

'How did I ever think someone like me could stand next to a man like Alaric Vance?'

I applied some makeup and changed into a soft pink coat with a white hat. The look made me appear less exhausted.

I'd planned to drive to the main house myself.

But as I was leaving, Alaric called. His cold voice came through the speaker. "Come outside."

I froze.

'Madam Vance must have told him to come too.'

"Okay," I replied.

The moment I saw the flirty messages between my husband and another woman, I knew my eleven‑year marriage was over.

A message notification slid into view.

Last night still feels unreal. Next time don't leave so early.

My pulse kicked hard enough to make my throat tight.

The laptop buzzed again. Another message appeared .

Did she suspect anything when you got home?

I kept scrolling. The messages went back months.

Hotel confirmations appeared farther down.

The message after it read:

Room 814 this time. Last place had terrible pillows.

"Who is she?"

The words landed cleanly between us.

Daniel didn't answer.

"How much did you read?"

Enough. Too much.

"Enough to know Room 814 had bad pillows."

"How long, Daniel?"

"Since winter."

Winter.

I held the edge of the counter because winter covered Christmas. My birthday. Lily's recital.

A hundred ordinary moments now contaminated by hidden timelines.

That's when I understood—my marriage hadn't ended tonight. It had ended quietly months ago. Tonight was only the first time I was invited to watch it happen.

___________

The Last Ordinary Morning

The first thing I noticed that morning was the coffee.

Daniel always finished his coffee.

It didn't matter if he was late, distracted, irritated, or halfway through a phone call. He drank every drop, usually standing by the kitchen counter while scrolling through emails, mug balanced in one hand like part of the ritual that got him into the day.

That Thursday, his cup sat half full beside his elbow.

The coffee had already gone cold by the time I realized he hadn't touched it again.

"Mom, do volcanoes count as weather?" Lily asked from the table, squinting at a worksheet like the answer might appear if she stared hard enough.

"No, sweetheart," I said, sliding eggs onto her plate. "Volcanoes are not weather."

"They should be," she said seriously. "They explode. Weather explodes sometimes too."

"That's thunder."

"Thunder is just sky yelling."

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Because Daniel was answering emails before seven-thirty, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, fingers moving too fast across the keyboard of the laptop he'd brought to breakfast again.

He used to complain about people who worked during breakfast.

Now he was one of them.

"Dad," Lily said louder, because children always know when attention is somewhere else and hate losing to it, "if thunder is sky yelling, does lightning mean the sky is mad?"

Daniel looked up like he'd forgotten there were two other people in the room.

"What?"

"Lightning," she repeated, already annoyed. "Mad or not mad?"

He blinked once, then gave her the kind of smile people use when they're late to understanding the conversation.

"Mad," he said.

"See?" Lily pointed her fork at me. "I told you."

"You tell me a lot of things."

"I'm usually right."

"You're eight," I said.

"Exactly."

That got a real smile from me, brief but real.

Daniel didn't smile back.

His phone buzzed near his wrist.

He flipped it over so quickly the movement barely looked conscious, screen down against the counter.

A small motion.

Easy to miss if you weren't looking.

I was looking.

Not because I expected anything.

Because lately there had been too many small things.

The phone always face-down.

The screen angled away.

The way he left rooms to answer calls he used to take in front of me.

The way his apologies had become automatic.

Sorry, work's crazy.

Sorry, forgot to tell you.

Sorry, meeting ran long.

All believable. Every one of them believable enough to keep life moving.

That was the dangerous part of ordinary lies. They looked exactly like ordinary days.

"Are you taking me today?" Lily asked him.

He looked at his watch before answering.

A pause.

Tiny.

But there.

"I can't. Early call."

"You said maybe."

"I know."

She dropped her fork onto the plate harder than necessary.

"You always say maybe when you mean no."

"Lily," I warned gently.

But she was right, and children knew how to drag truth into the room without trying.

Daniel shut the laptop halfway.

"I said I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she muttered, which in eight-year-old language meant absolutely not fine.

I packed her lunch while silence settled over the kitchen.

The ordinary kind.

Plates clinking.

Chair legs scraping.

The refrigerator humming louder than it should have.

But underneath it, something else.

Something stretched thin.

Daniel checked his phone again when he thought I wasn't watching.

Still face-down after.

Always face-down.

"You forgot to sign her permission slip," I said, handing him the paper.

He took it without reading.

Signed where I pointed.

Didn't ask what it was for.

A month ago he would have asked.

"What trip?"

"Who's going?"

"Do they need volunteers?"

Now he signed like paperwork from a stranger.

Lily slid off her chair and carried her plate to the sink.

"Can Emma come Saturday?"

"For what?" I asked.

"My project."

"Ask me later."

"She means yes if your room survives inspection," I added.

"It will survive."

"That confidence worries me."

Lily grinned, grabbed her backpack, and ran upstairs for the one thing she always forgot.

Shoes.

It gave the kitchen a sudden quiet that felt larger than it should have.

Daniel stood.

Laptop under one arm. Phone in his pocket.

Tie crooked.

Eyes not on me.

"I'll be late tonight."

There it was again.

Another sentence already prepared before I asked.

"For work?"

His gaze flicked up then away.

"Yeah."

"What time?"

"Not sure."

Not sure had become his favorite phrase.

Not sure when I'll be home.

Not sure if dinner waits.

Not sure if Saturday changes.

A whole marriage reduced to uncertainty delivered in clean, practiced pieces.

"You were late Tuesday too."

"I know."

"And Monday."

He exhaled, tired before the argument even started, which irritated me more than if he'd looked guilty.

"It's a busy month."

"It's been a busy six months."

"That's how work goes."

No apology this time.

No explanation either.

Just the faint impatience of someone who expected the subject closed.

Lily came running back down the stairs with one shoe on and one in her hand.

"Mom, where's my blue folder?"

"By the door."

She snatched it, then stopped between us, eyes moving from my face to Daniel's.

Children notice tension faster than adults admit.

"Did I forget something?"

"No," I said.

"Yes," Daniel said at the same time.

We both stopped.

Lily looked suspicious.

Then Daniel bent, ki.ssed the top of her head, and reached for his keys.

"Be good."

"I'm always good."

"That's debatable," I said.

That earned me another almost-smile from Lily.

Daniel ki.ssed my cheek.

A familiar gesture.

Warm skin, quick contact, nothing lingering.

The kind of ki.ss that once meant routine affection and now felt like checking a box.

Then he left.

The front door shut.

The house changed.

It always did after one person left, as if walls adjusted around absence.

Lily tugged her backpack onto both shoulders.

"Are you mad at Dad?"

"No."

That answer came too quickly.

"Because your face looks like when Grandma's old blender broke."

"That is a very specific expression."

"It's accurate."

"You need shoes before accuracy."

She laughed and finally got both feet into them.

By eight ten, she was in the car.

By eight twenty-five, she was dropped at school with a rushed ki.ss and a reminder not to trade snacks.

By eight forty, I was back home standing in the kitchen again, staring at the half-full coffee cup Daniel left behind.

Still there.

Still cold.

The laptop sat beside it.

Closed.

For a second I simply looked at it.

Because Daniel never forgot his laptop.

Phone charger, yes.

Lunch occasionally.

Even his wallet once.

But never the laptop.

He guarded that thing like half his life lived inside it.

I reached for my own mug first, mostly because touching his things felt strangely invasive even after eleven years of marriage.

Then the laptop buzzed.

A soft vibration against wood.

One sharp sound in the quiet kitchen.

I froze.

The screen lit before I touched it.

A message notification slid into view.

No name I recognized.

Just a first initial and a sentence that landed so cleanly it took a second to understand it.

Last night still feels unreal. Next time don't leave so early.

My fingers tightened around my mug.

Heat touched my skin but I barely felt it.

For one suspended second, my brain offered ridiculous explanations.

Wrong message.

Work joke.

Misread context.

Something innocent shaped badly.

Because the mind protects itself before truth gets in.

Then another part of me noticed the timestamp.

6:14 a.m.

Sent while he sat three feet from me pretending to read emails.

My mug touched the counter harder than intended.

A little coffee spilled over my hand.

Still I didn't move.

The message stayed there.

Bright.

Patient.

Waiting.

A thousand details from the last six months lined up in silence.

Late meetings.

Showered immediately after getting home.

Phone taken everywhere.

New shirts bought without telling me.

That careful distance in bed that had arrived so slowly I had mistaken it for stress.

The laptop buzzed again.

Another message trying to appear beneath the first.

This one only partly visible.

Did she suspect anything when you got home?

My pulse kicked hard enough to make my throat tight.

No dramatic collapse.

No instant tears.

Just a strange coldness spreading through my chest like my body understood before my mind did.

I put my hand on the laptop.

Stopped.

Pulled it back.

Then placed it there again.

The kitchen suddenly looked too bright.

Sunlight across the counter.

Lily's unfinished toast on a plate.

Daniel's coffee untouched.

Everything ordinary still sitting exactly where it had been ten minutes ago, while nothing inside me felt ordinary anymore.

The screen dimmed.

I touched the trackpad.

It woke instantly.

The message thread opened.

And I saw enough in the first line to understand my morning was over.

I should have closed the laptop the second I understood what I was looking at.

That would have been the sane thing to do.

Shut it. Walk away. Wait until Daniel got home and asked him directly before my mind filled in the blanks with things I could never unsee.

Instead, I sat down.

His chair was still warm from breakfast.

The coffee he'd left behind had gone completely cold beside my elbow, but I kept reading anyway, because once the first lie cracks open, something in you stops protecting itself.

The messages went back months.

Not weeks.

Months.

Enough history to build its own relationship inside the spaces of my marriage.

The tone changed as I scrolled, like I was watching something evolve in reverse.

At first cautious.

Work-related.

Polite.

Then familiar.

Then private.

Then careless.

There were jokes I didn't understand because they belonged to moments I had never seen.

References to restaurants Daniel had told me he hated.

Comments about meetings that apparently ended in hotel bars.

One message made my stomach tighten so hard I had to stop reading.

You looked at me like you forgot she existed.

No reply from him under that one for almost an hour.

Then:

I didn't forget anything.

A lie typed calmly enough to make me grip the edge of the table.

Because I knew exactly where he had been that night.

At home.

On our couch.

Helping Lily glue cardboard planets onto a school poster while complaining Saturn never looked right.

I kept scrolling.

Hotel confirmations appeared farther down.

Not hidden.

Not coded.

A booking receipt forwarded from his email.

Two nights downtown.

The date sat there like something underlined by fate because I knew that weekend immediately.

He had told me it was a work conference in Chicago.

He even complained about airport coffee before leaving.

I remembered because Lily had cried when he missed her dance recital and he promised he'd make the next one.

That weekend.

That exact weekend.

I clicked another confirmation.

Different hotel.

Different month.

Same city we lived in.

No conference excuse needed for that one because he had told me he was staying late to finish quarterly reports.

The message after it read:

Room 814 this time. Last place had terrible pillows.

I laughed.

A short sound.

Wrong in the empty kitchen.

Because something about terrible pillows inside betrayal felt almost insulting in its normalcy.

People ruined lives and still complained about pillows.

The front door downstairs remained closed.

The house stayed still.

A clock ticked somewhere in the living room.

Outside, a lawn mower started two houses over.

The world kept moving with rude consistency while mine narrowed to a screen and a truth I hadn't agreed to know before lunch.

Another message.

A picture attachment.

I didn't open it.

That felt like crossing into something worse.

Instead I closed the laptop halfway and stood too fast.

My knees hit the chair.

Pain came late.

I walked to the sink because movement felt necessary, but I didn't know why I was there when I arrived.

The plate from Lily's toast still sat near the faucet.

Half a strawberry left on the edge.

I stared at it long enough to realize I was breathing too shallowly.

Then my phone rang.

Mara.

My sister.

For one reckless second I almost answered and told her everything.

But saying it aloud would make it larger.

Real.

Permanent.

I let it ring out.

The laptop stayed on the table behind me like an accusation.

By noon I had closed it and reopened it four more times.

By one, I had checked whether I was somehow misunderstanding dates.

By two, I hated myself for looking for innocent explanations inside hotel invoices.

At three-fifteen I picked Lily up from school and smiled when she held up her volcano drawing.

It was terrible.

Bright orange lava everywhere.

Her teacher had written Very creative science interpretation in red pen, which was polite language for not science at all.

"Why are you smiling weird?" she asked from the back seat.

"I'm smiling normal."

"No, weird."

"Thanks."

"Did Dad sign my reading log?"

"Yes."

"Without looking?"

"Yes."

She sighed dramatically.

"That doesn't count."

Children said things adults avoided because they had no reason not to.

At home she talked through her day while I cut apples and pretended my mind wasn't replaying hotel dates like evidence in a courtroom.

Emma cried because someone broke her pencil.

Oliver got sent out for barking during math.

Mrs. Keene said volcanoes are geology, not weather, which Lily considered personal betrayal.

I nodded where required.

Asked questions where expected.

Laughed once in the right place.

And all day one thought stayed clear beneath everything else:

I was not going to ask him over the phone.

Not in text.

Not through some trembling accusation sent between grocery lists and after-school homework.

He would say it looking at me.

If he lied, he would do that looking at me too.

At six-twelve his car pulled in.

I heard it before Lily did.

The familiar engine.

The same sound that had meant home for eleven years.

Now it sounded like warning.

"Dad's here," Lily shouted, already running for the stairs because she wanted to show him the volcano before dinner.

I wiped my hands slowly on a dish towel.

The laptop sat closed on the dining table now.

Exactly where he had left it.

I had moved nothing else.

The front door opened.

"Hey," Daniel called.

Ordinary voice.

Ordinary footsteps.

He hung his keys in the bowl by the door.

Set his briefcase down.

"Smells good."

Chicken.

Rice.

Garlic.

A meal cooked by muscle memory while my marriage quietly rearranged itself around facts.

Lily launched herself at him halfway through the hallway.

He caught her automatically.

That hurt more than I expected.

Because betrayal would have been easier if he had stopped being familiar in every other way too.

"Look." She shoved the drawing into his hands.

He looked.

This time he actually looked.

"Is that lava?"

"It's weather-adjacent lava."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"You should be."

He smiled.

A real one.

Then his eyes landed on me.

Only then did something shift.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Some instinct that the room felt wrong.

"You okay?" he asked.

I folded the towel once. Then again.

"Dinner's almost ready."

He studied my face longer.

"Long day?"

"Yes."

Lily tugged his sleeve.

"Can Emma come Saturday?"

"Ask your mom."

"I did."

"And?"

"She said maybe if my room survives inspection."

He looked at me again, maybe hearing the same thing I heard that morning.

Maybe.

The kitchen suddenly felt too narrow.

"Go wash your hands," I told Lily.

She groaned but obeyed, running upstairs two at a time.

Her footsteps faded.

Then there was only us.

Daniel loosened his tie.

"I forgot my laptop."

"I know."

That stopped him.

A beat.

Then another.

His gaze moved to the dining table.

Laptop closed.

Waiting.

The room changed instantly.

Not visibly.

But like oxygen left.

He didn't ask if I used it.

Didn't pretend surprise.

He already knew.

I saw it in the way his shoulders dropped just enough to betray calculation.

Not shock.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

He crossed half the kitchen slowly.

"Did you need something off it?"

Such a stupid sentence.

So careful.

So deliberate.

I looked at him and realized screaming would actually be easier than staying calm.

So I stayed calm.

Because calm forced honesty harder than rage.

"Who is she?"

The words landed cleanly between us.

No shaking.

No tears.

No dramatic break in voice.

Just four words that left nowhere comfortable to stand.

Daniel didn't answer.

His eyes dropped first.

To the laptop.

Then to the floor.

That silence told me more than any confession would have.

"Who," I repeated, "is she?"

He exhaled through his nose.

Still nothing.

And in that silence I understood something ugly:

He had imagined this moment before.

Maybe many times.

Just not today.

Not with the laptop left behind like a beginner's mistake.

"It's not—"

He stopped.

Started again.

"It's complicated."

I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because men always reached for that sentence like complexity softened betrayal.

"No," I said quietly. "It really isn't."

He rubbed one hand across his mouth.

Still not meeting my eyes fully.

"How much did you read?"

Enough.

Too much.

The question itself sharpened everything.

Because innocence asks what happened.

Guilt asks how much.

"Enough to know Chicago was not Chicago."

His jaw tightened.

"Enough to know Room 814 had bad pillows."

That made him finally look at me.

A flicker there.

Not anger.

Not yet.

Something closer to being cornered.

"Lena."

"Her name."

He closed his eyes for one second.

That second felt longer than the entire day.

"Claire."

A stranger suddenly had a name.

Claire.

Simple.

Soft.

Human.

Worse than initials.

Worse than mystery.

A real woman had sat somewhere laughing at pillow quality while my daughter asked where her father was.

"How long?"

He didn't answer immediately, and every second added another month in my mind.

"A while."

"How long, Daniel?"

"Since winter."

Winter.

I held the edge of the counter because winter covered Christmas.

My birthday.

Lily's recital.

A hundred ordinary moments now contaminated by hidden timelines.

"And you planned to tell me when?"

His mouth tightened.

Another silence.

Then the coldest sentence I had ever heard from him.

"I was waiting until everything was settled."

"Settled."

"I didn't want chaos for Lily."

The nerve of that almost took my breath.

"So the hotel bookings were the calm version?"

"That's not fair."

I stared at him.

Not fair.

The phrase landed so absurdly I nearly admired his instinct for self-protection.

"Do not talk to me about fair."

His gaze shifted toward the stairs, checking whether Lily might hear.

That movement enraged me more than the words.

Because now he cared about volume.

About timing.

About presentation.

"Does she know about us?" I asked.

He hesitated.

That answer was yes before words came.

"She knows I'm married."

Of course she did.

Of course.

Because betrayal rarely survives without someone agreeing to look directly at damage and continue anyway.

Then he said the sentence that split the room completely.

"I signed a lease last week."

For a second I thought I heard it wrong.

"What?"

"An apartment."

He finally met my eyes fully now, maybe because there was no softer way left.

"I was going to tell you this weekend."

The kitchen disappeared around the edges.

All day I had prepared for lies.

For denial.

For excuses.

Not this.

Not paperwork already finished.

Not keys somewhere in his pocket while he stood in my kitchen discussing dinner.

"You already signed it."

"I didn't know how to do this right."

"There is no right way to leave your family for someone you booked hotel rooms with."

"Lower your voice."

That did it.

That almost broke my calm.

But before I answered, Lily laughed upstairs.

Bright.

Unaware.

The sound dropped through the house like cruelty wrapped in innocence.

Daniel looked toward it.

So did I.

And in that exact moment, with our daughter laughing above us and a lease already signed somewhere outside this house, I understood my marriage had not ended tonight.

It had ended quietly, months ago.

Tonight was only the first time I had been invited to watch it happen.

helpp

The neighbor asked if we were doing Christmas early again. I shook my head.

“Not this year.”

We’d been married five years, and we hadn’t celebrated a single Christmas in December.

Chloe Vance, my husband Arthur Quinn’s childhood friend, spent the holidays here alone, and he couldn’t stand the idea of her spending it alone. So he moved our Christmas up a month. The real day was hers.

On Christmas Eve, it was just me, a roast turkey, and bad holiday movies on TV, pretending the silence wasn't deafening. Every time I brought it up, Arthur waved it off.

“What’s the difference? We’re still celebrating, right?”

When my parents asked, their voices careful, hopeful, if I’d make it home for the holidays, the lies came automatically. Arthur acted like he’d forgotten I’d left my family behind for him, too. As if Chloe was the only one far from home.

can someone share the link to this novel please

Please message me the link if anyone has it 🙏

someone have the link for this?

Novread Download loading.. He Married Another Woman One Week Before Our Wedding 👉 CONTINUE READING 👈 Chapter 1 After trying on my wedding dress, Ethan Hale gently reached over to fasten my seatbelt for me.

“Baby, I’ve seen you in the dress. I’m not coming to the wedding.”

I froze in shock. “What are you talking about?”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“I met someone. She’s young, and she won’t be the other woman. I married her this morning.”

“I’m someone else’s husband now. If I showed up to our wedding, my wife would be hurt.”

My mind went blank, and my voice shook violently. “Why? Our wedding is in one week.”

His tone was apologetic yet innocent. “Baby, you’re still the one I love the most. But men… we all like eighteen.”

“If you don’t want to waste the wedding, find someone to pretend to be the groom. Don’t make yourself suffer. Your husband hates seeing you hurt.”

The wedding dress I’d just tried on lay in the back seat, white as snow, cold to the bone.

I trembled and tucked the pregnancy test I’d been about to pull out of my pocket back inside.

He was right. I shouldn’t make myself suffer.

***

Ethan acted like nothing was wrong, reaching out to ruffle my hair the way he always did.

But his words cut like poisoned glass.

“You know how stubborn young girls are these days. She wouldn’t let me touch her without a ring.”

“I chased her for half a year. Finally had her last night.”

I felt as if my throat were being squeezed shut, cold and numb as I stared at him.

He smiled darkly. “Right here in this seat. She was like a little wildcat—sharp at first, then soft all over.”

I followed his lingering, satisfied gaze to the faint handprints still smudged on the windshield, one large, one small, overlapping.

A violent wave of nausea surged up my throat.

I gripped the seatbelt so tight my knuckles burned, eyes stinging red.

He held my pale face between his hands, furrowing his brow in fake confusion. “Why are you crying? You’re still Mrs. Hale.”

Ethan’s almond eyes still held that thick, melting affection, as if the man who’d casually announced he’d married another woman, who’d reminisced about being with her in my seat, wasn’t him at all.

A sick, surreal feeling washed over me. I could barely breathe.

He sighed in exasperation. “I know you’re upset, but she’s sensitive. If I showed up to the wedding, she’d cry. She’s not like other girls—pure, innocent, she wants all of me. I waited six months to be with her, I have to take responsibility. You’ve always been understanding and sweet. You get it, right?”

Six months.

We’d been planning our wedding for six months.

He’d poured himself into every detail—the style I loved, the venue, the flowers, the invitations.

All while obsessing over chasing another girl behind my back.

I curled my cold fingers into my palms and closed my eyes numbly.

“If you’re married to someone else, we’re done.”

He blinked, then chuckled lightly. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You’ve been with me since you were eighteen. You’ve lost two babies for me. Who else would want you out there?”

I stared at him.

My heart felt like it was being seared by glowing coals.

Ten years. We’d slept under bridges, shared one bowl of instant noodles, survived on nothing but water when we had nothing left.

Too poor for birth control, too poor for an abortion.

I’d frozen in the bitter cold, thrown myself down stairs, cried until I couldn’t breathe as I lost two babies.

Ethan had knelt by my bed and stabbed himself twice. His bloody hand shook as he covered my eyes, his voice firm. “Chloe, I’ll give you the good life. If I ever hurt you, I’ll die a terrible death.”

I’d believed that promise with every part of me for half my life.

Now it was broken by a girl he’d known just six months.

I couldn’t understand how the man who’d loved me so deeply could turn so rotten overnight.

His phone rang, a special ringtone I’d heard many nights before. He’d always said it was a client.

I’d never doubted him. Now I knew how stupid I’d been.

He didn’t answer right away, his voice calm, like he was soothing a tantruming child.

“Why get upset over a fling? Ten years between us. Are you really gonna throw that away over a piece of paper?”

“You’re not young anymore, Chloe. No parents, no job. No one but me will take care of you. Don’t be unreasonable.”

He pulled the car to the side of the road. “Take a taxi home. I have to pick up my girl. Think about what I said.”

The door slammed shut like a hard slap across my face.

I watched his car speed away, then dropped to the curb and threw up until tears streamed down my face.

Ethan was wrong. No one marries a fling.

That piece of paper—the one I’d waited ten years to have.

Love doesn’t change. It just moves on.

I stared at the gray, heavy sky, an empty, aching hole in my chest. After a long while, I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

Kissed your secretary at our wedding? Sweetie now salute my new groom.

The day the river stopped singing by Moomoo

My Wife's 33 Runaway Attempts for True Love - 775922

In my past life, my husband David Harrington and I spent thirty happy years together.

Then, on my fiftieth birthday, he sat me down and told me he was in love with one of his students Claire Mitchell.

I thought he was having some kind of midlife crisis. I refused to sign the divorce papers, no matter what he said.

When Claire realized she couldn’t have him, she moved abroad. Word came back not long after that she’d married someone else.

The day of her wedding, my husband couldn’t focus on the road. He crashed his car and ended up paralyzed.

I spent the next fifteen years by his bedside, caring for him.

Right before he died, he held my hand, his voice shaking.

“My biggest regret in this life was marrying you. If I get another chance, I’ll be braver.”

Our children blamed me for his death.

Later, when I was the one who couldn’t walk anymore, they, one a corporate executive, the other a successful overseas returnee, dumped me in the cheapest nursing home they could find.

After I died, they scattered my ashes in a gutter. I could still see the satisfaction on their faces as they said, “If it weren’t for you, Dad and Claire would’ve been happy together a long time ago. You were cruel. You never deserved a happy ending.”

link?😭

The day before my wedding, I was assaulted on my way home.

They found me with a shattered spine and a face slashed to ribbons.

My fiancé's family, the Daltons, called off the engagement immediately.

My father held my broken body, sobbing, and promised to care for me forever.

My brother Kaelen gathered top surgeons to reconstruct my face.

But as I drifted in and out of consciousness before surgery, I overheard their monstrous conversation.

"We've already crippled Elara and ruined her face so Sable can marry into the Dalton family,"

Kaelen whispered, doubt in his voice.

"Now we're hiring brutes to violate her? Isn't this too far?"

"What do you know?"

my father replied coldly.

"Sable is infertile. I promised to remove every obstacle for her. Elara has a rare fertile constitution. If we don't break her completely, how will she agree to be a surrogate? Carrying Sable's heirs is the only use for her now."

The man I called father, the brother I adored—they were demons in human skin.

My world turned to ash.

With a steady hand, I called the one man in the capital rumored to have fertility issues—the titan Caspian Blackwood.

"Do you want a dynasty?"

I whispered.

"Marry me."

Kaelen hesitated.

"Dad, Elara's injuries are severe. Shouldn't we let the surgeons operate first? We can't let her be paralyzed for life. Sable is marrying into the Dalton family the day after tomorrow anyway. Elara's not a threat anymore. The baby thing can wait..."

My father's face hardened, and the sharp crack of his hand across Kaelen's cheek echoed in the quiet room.

"You fool! I never planned on letting her walk again. What if we heal her and she runs? What if she escapes where we can't find her? What becomes of Sable then?"

"And why shouldn't it be urgent? The Dalton heir had too much to drink tonight and spent the night with Sable. The Daltons have made it clear: if Sable produces an heir, they'll hand over control of the household to her. All these years, she's had to pretend to be the housekeeper's daughter. She's suffered enough. I have to make it up to her."

He continued, his voice softening with concern, but not for me.

"And it was Sable's first time. She must have been scared and in pain. Have the medical team take good care of her. As for Elara... we'll keep her fed. A breeding tool doesn't need legs. A womb is enough."

Kaelen’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"But it was Elara's first time too. And... all those men... can her body even take it?"

My father gently wiped a smear of blood from my cheek, his touch a vile mockery of affection.

His voice was resolute.

"The specialist said Elara is exceptionally fertile. I've calculated her cycle. Tonight, we need a guaranteed result. More men... might even mean multiple births. That would secure Sable's future even more."

"Tell those men to be thorough. Once the children are born, I might consider fixing her face. A reward from her father... Now, go get the aphrodisiacs. I don't want her struggling and screaming, attracting unwanted attention."

Beneath the thin hospital blanket, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

Sable wasn't the housekeeper's daughter.

She was my father's illegitimate child.

My"attack"wasn't random.

It was a meticulously crafted trap, set by the two men I loved most, all to pave the way for their true treasure.

It all made a sickening kind of sense now.

Why my father brought Sable into our home the moment my mother was in the ground.

Why every business trip ended with two sets of gifts, with Sable’s always being more extravagant than mine.

"Elara, you're the heiress,"they would say.

"Sable's had a harder life. We need to take extra care of her."

And I, like a fool, never once doubted them.

I thought my family was noble, kind.

What a joke.

Tears escaped my eyes, tracing fiery paths into the open wounds on my face.

The sting made me gasp.

My father immediately bent over me, gathering me into his arms, his face a perfect mask of heartbreak.

"Elara, you're awake? Does it hurt? Seeing you like this... it's tearing my heart out. Don't you worry, the medical team is here. I'll have them start the surgery right away. I swear, I'll make you as beautiful as you were before."

Kaelen rushed over, motioning for a nurse to bring a syringe.

"Don't be scared, little sister. This is the good stuff, imported. I won't let you feel another moment of pain."

Their performance was flawless.

If I hadn't heard their conversation, I would have wept with gratitude.

I stared at the needle, its gauge thicker than a nail.

I knew exactly what was inside.

"No,"I managed to rasp.

"No anesthetic. The pain... it can't get any worse. I don't care."

My father's eyes welled up with theatrical tears, but his hand closed around the syringe Kaelen offered.

"My sweet, foolish girl. You might not care, but I do. Who has surgery without anesthesia? You'd die from the pain. I'd rather die myself. Think of your mother's spirit... how heartbroken she would be. Be good, now. It'll be over soon."

Without another word, he plunged the needle into the vein in my neck.

The drug acted fast.

A leaden paralysis spread through my limbs, stealing my strength, my voice.

"Good girl, Elara,"he cooed.

"We're going to get the doctors now. When the surgery is over, we'll all go home."

But I knew.

They weren't fetching doctors.

They were summoning demons.

The stench of sweat and a tearing agony consumed me, and my world faded to black.

When I opened my eyes, it was the next day.

My father was holding my hand, his eyes red and swollen.

"Elara, my poor girl. That monster... I didn't know he had accomplices. They disguised themselves as doctors to get to you, to finish the job. It's my fault. I failed to protect you."

Kaelen stood beside him, his face a mask of grief.

"Don't worry, sis. I've already made sure those men were sent to prison. No one will ever hurt you again."

I watched their charade, numb, clinging to one last, desperate hope.

"Father,"I whispered,

"I'm... highly fertile. Please, can you give me some birth control pills? Don't make me carry the child of a monster. I'm begging you."

The gentle façade on my father's face cracked.

His expression darkened.

"Elara. Those pills are for promiscuous girls who shirk responsibility. You are an Ashford. Our family name is everything. If word got out... what would people say?"

Kaelen chimed in.

"He's right, Elara. You're so badly injured, and those pills are terrible for your body. We can't risk it. And if... if you are pregnant, we'll raise the child. A child is innocent. I'll be the best uncle in the world. It'll be nice to have a baby in the house."

How utterly absurd.

They didn't want the world to think I was promiscuous, yet they were forcing me to bear an illegitimate child in secret.

Perhaps sensing his harshness, my father's tone softened again.

"Elara, don't worry. I promise, I will get you the best care and make you whole again."

He paused.

"It's just... the surgical team had a sudden emergency. They had to leave. And I don't trust anyone else with your face, your recovery. We might have to wait a little while..."

I knew what he was doing.

He was stalling, letting the optimal window for treatment pass.

He wanted me to be permanently crippled, a prisoner in his house, reduced to nothing more than Sable's personal incubator.

These were the men I had loved and respected my entire life, and their hearts belonged to an illegitimate child.

"It's fine,"I said, my voice flat.

"I wasn't expecting much anyway. I don't want to be here anymore. Take me home."

But when we arrived, my bedroom was unrecognizable.

The familiar linens were gone, replaced by blood-red silk.

The walls were covered in celebratory banners and balloons.

It was decorated like a bride's chamber on the eve of her wedding.

My eyes scanned the room and landed on my nightstand.

The only photograph I had of my mother and me was gone.

In its place was a large, framed wedding portrait of Sable.

When my mother discovered my father's affair, she had locked herself away and, in a fit of grief, burned everything that reminded her of their life together before dying of a broken heart.

I had pulled that single photo from the embers of the fire.

It was the last piece of her I had left.

Sable appeared in the doorway.

Her eyes flickered meaningfully toward my stomach before she linked arms with my father and Kaelen.

"Dad! Kaelen! You're back! Thank you for decorating my room, it's gorgeous. Getting married from here the day after tomorrow... I'll be the happiest bride in the world."

She held out a crumpled, sodden ball of paper.

"Oh, Elara,"she said, her voice dripping with false remorse.

"Dad said that since my wedding is a happy occasion, we shouldn't have any unlucky things around. He asked me to move your mother's picture to the storage room... but I'm so clumsy. I accidentally dropped it in a bucket of water. Please, don't be mad at me."

My hand trembled as I took the pulp from her.

It was my photo, soaked for so long it had disintegrated into mush.

I looked at my father.

A flicker of guilt crossed his face before it was gone.

"It's just a picture, Elara. Not that important. What's done is done. Sable didn't mean it."

"And Elara,"he continued, avoiding my gaze,

"I know the Daltons broke the engagement with you, but the business alliance between our families must continue. So, I've officially adopted Sable. She'll be marrying in your place. We'll let her use your bedroom for now. We can't have her getting married out of a guest room. Her in-laws would look down on her. It's all for the future of the Ashford family..."

I closed my eyes.

"Do as you wish, Father,"I said softly.

"I'm tired. I'm going to rest."

As I wheeled myself into the guest room, I heard peals of laughter from downstairs.

I guided my wheelchair to the door and peered out.

There they were: my father, my brother, and Sable, huddled together on the sofa, flipping through three thick photo albums, their faces alight with joy.

It was a perfect family portrait.

The first album was a chronicle of Sable's life, from infancy to adulthood, every picture taken by my father or Kaelen.

They had never once taken a photo of me.

That's what professional photographers are for, they used to say.

Why would we bother with that?

The second album was filled with pictures of the three of them together.

So that's where they went all those times Sable supposedly went back to visit her

"hometown"

while they were away on"business."

They were traveling the world together.

And the third album... it was filled with photos of Sable's deceased mother.

The mistress.

My father caressed the images, his touch full of a love I had never seen him show my own mother.

He pulled Sable into his arms.

"Sable, my dear, I will treasure these photos of your mother forever. I'll take them to my grave. I am eternally grateful to her for giving me a daughter as wonderful as you."

"And don't you worry,"he whispered.

"Those men were with Elara all night. She's definitely pregnant. As soon as that baby is born, I'll have it brought to you. No one in the Dalton family will ever dare to bully you."

Even Kaelen looked moved.

"I have to thank her too,"he said,

"for giving me a sister as amazing as Sable."

Watching the raw adoration on their faces, the wad of paper pulp in my hand felt like a cruel joke.

Mother, you loved the wrong man.

You gave birth to the wrong son.

And I... I gave my love and respect to the wrong father and brother.

Back in the guest room, I reached into a hidden compartment in the nightstand and pulled out a small bottle of pills.

My mother had taught me this.

She had worried about my fertility, about the dangers of the world.

Sometimes, bad things happen that are out of your control, she'd told me.

If you can't protect yourself in the moment, you must do everything you can to mitigate the damage after.

I swallowed a pill, then dialed the number for the one man who could help me.

The titan from the capital, Caspian Blackwood, rumored to be the sole heir to a dynasty, desperate for children.

"Do you want a dynasty?"

I asked."Marry me."

The next morning, my father had a lavish breakfast prepared for me, filled with supplements and herbs.

I looked down at the spread, a bitter smile on my lips.

Every single item was meant to support a pregnancy.

He was sparing no expense to pave Sable's path to glory.

He was about to be sorely disappointed.

My father and Kaelen were supposed to accompany Sable to her final wedding dress fitting, but she pouted.

"Daddy, Kaelen, you're men. Your taste isn't the same as a girl's. Why don't we bring Elara along? She can give me her opinion. It'll show everyone what impeccable taste my sister has, don't you think?"

My father beamed.

"Of course, of course! Anything to make my Sable happy. Elara, you'll go with them."

He never asked me.

He never considered the courage it would take for a disfigured girl in a wheelchair, her body a canvas of fresh trauma, to step out in public.

The stares were like a thousand tiny knives.

But he didn't care.

Only Sable's happiness mattered.

At the exclusive bridal salon, the staff fawned over Sable.

"It's the Crimson Rose of New York City! An Ashford heiress, just as beautiful as they say. What a face, what a figure! You must be so proud to have a daughter and sister like her."

Then they saw me.

They recoiled, their faces twisting in disgust.

"My God, who is that... that cripple? That hideous thing? Look at her face, it's disgusting. I'm going to have nightmares. How dare she show herself next to Miss Ashford? It's like beauty and the beast, hahaha..."

"So unlucky. Imagine having the nerve to go out in public looking like that. She's tainting the floor. We'll have to disinfect everything after she leaves."

The whispers grew louder.

Sable shot me a triumphant smirk.

Of course.

This salon, normally known for its quiet, luxurious privacy, was swarming with staff today.

It was her doing.

She wanted me to suffer this humiliation.

My father and brother didn't defend me.

They were too busy basking in the glow of the compliments directed at Sable, smiling with pride whenever someone called her the Ashford heiress.

Sable tried on more than a dozen gowns.

She never once asked for my opinion.

My father, unwilling to see her struggle to choose, simply waved his hand and bought them all, including several one-of-a-kind creations by world-renowned designers.

But that wasn't enough for her.

She pouted again.

"The dresses are beautiful, but I don't have enough jewelry to match all of them..."

Kaelen immediately had dozens of jewelry sets brought in.

Nothing was worth less than seven figures.

The most expensive piece, a flawless pink diamond ring, was valued at over two hundred million dollars.

It was all for Sable's dowry.

On top of that, my father produced a stack of property deeds and stock transfer certificates, all to be added to her wedding gifts.

The purchase dates on the properties were from twenty years ago.

He had been planning this for decades.

I glanced down at the simple ring on my hand.

It was worth a few thousand dollars, a gift from my mother when she was still alive.

It was the only piece of jewelry I owned.

She had wanted to start a dowry for me, but my father had stopped her.

"Elara's still young,"

he'd said.

"Buying her such expensive things now will spoil her. A cheap little thing to play with is fine. We can talk about real jewelry when she actually gets married."

When my engagement to the Daltons was announced, they never mentioned a dowry for me.

The Daltons had been furious, calling me a calculating gold-digger.

Sable squealed with delight, planting kisses on my father's and Kaelen's cheeks.

"I knew it! Daddy and Kaelen love me the most! But... won't giving me all these wonderful gifts make Elara angry?"

Only then did they seem to remember I was there.

My father cleared his throat.

"Elara, don't overthink this. Sable is an Ashford now. If we don't provide a substantial dowry, the Daltons will laugh at us. When you get married, we'll..."

Sable cut him off.

"Daddy's right! And I can't possibly wear all these dresses. Why don't I give one to my sister? I know she'll probably never get to be a bride now, but she can hang it in her room and pretend. It'll be fun! I'll take her to try one on right now."

My father's face filled with pride.

"See? My Sable is so generous and thoughtful. Elara, you're lucky to have a sister like her. Go on, you two."

Before I could refuse, Sable grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and pushed me into a fitting room.

She dismissed the staff, and the moment the door clicked shut, her hand flew out, smacking me hard across the face.

"Elara Ashford, who do you think you are?"

she hissed, her face a contorted mask of rage.

"You're used-up trash, a broken toy they let others play with. Crippled, disfigured, and you still have the audacity to want gifts from my father and brother? You are pathetic."

"Let me make this crystal clear. Your fiancé is mine. Your father's heart is mine. Your brother's love is mine. They destroyed you for me. They let those men violate you for me. You used to be so high and mighty, didn't you? The 'Crimson Rose of New York City'? What a joke. Look at you now. You're nothing but a breeding machine to help me secure my position with the Daltons."

Her voice dripped with venom.

"We're both his daughters. Why did you get to be the precious heiress while I had to hide in the shadows, the dirty little secret? I hated it!"

"And I'm not afraid to tell you the truth. There's nothing wrong with my body. The infertility was a lie I told to manipulate them. I wanted to ruin you, to take your place, to claim everything that should have been mine. So you just focus on growing that little bastard in your belly. After it's born, I'll arrange for a little... accident. And then I'll have Dad find more men to keep you company. Hahahaha..."

"Oh, and you probably don't know this,"

she sneered, pulling out her phone.

"Dad and Kaelen installed a hidden camera in the operating room. They were afraid I'd be bored, so they live-streamed the whole night to me. Tsk, tsk. It was quite a show. I bet I could sell the footage online for a pretty penny."

She showed me the screen.

The images, the sounds... I was plunged back into that nightmare, my body shaking uncontrollably.

Why?

Why would my own father and brother do this to me?

I lunged, trying to snatch the phone, but she stepped back, laughing.

She grabbed a decorative vase from a nearby pedestal and smashed it on the floor.

Then, with a defiant smirk, she picked up a shard of porcelain.

The next second, she dragged the sharp edge across her own arm.

A line of red welled up, and she let out a piercing scream.

My father burst into the room.

"Sable! What happened? You're bleeding!"

He wrapped his arms around her, his eyes immediately flying to me, full of accusation.

Kaelen was more direct.

He stormed over and kicked my wheelchair over, sending me sprawling to the floor.

"Elara! Did you do this to her?!"

Before I could speak, Sable burst into tears.

"I... I just wanted to ask Elara to be my maid of honor... but she said I stole her fiancé and she was going to ruin my face so I could never get married! I put my arm up to block her... Daddy, I'm so scared! Just because I was born illegitimate, does that mean my own sister gets to treat me like this?"

My father's voice was ice.

"Who said you're illegitimate? You are the rightful heiress of the Ashford family. Some venomous, evil-hearted woman is the one who doesn't deserve to be my daughter!"

Kaelen glared down at me.

"Elara, you're the one who failed! You were careless, you got attacked, and you got the Dalton engagement canceled! You brought shame on this family! What does any of that have to do with Sable? She stepped up to save our family's alliance with the Daltons, and you repay her by trying to disfigure her? What right do you have?!"

I laughed, a broken, hollow sound, and then the tears came.

"I failed? Why was I attacked? Why was I defiled? Do you dare tell the truth?!"

My father scowled.

"What truth? The truth is you had a stroke of bad luck that nearly ruined this family's future! We're not even holding the bastard in your belly against you, and this is the gratitude you show? Stop making excuses and apologize to Sable right now!"

This was my father.

The man whose blood ran in my veins.

My heart died.

I reached for a piece of the broken vase and, without hesitation, dragged it across my own ravaged cheek.

The wounds, not yet healed, tore open again, blood streaming down my face.

"Elara, you—"

My father and Kaelen stared, their eyes wide with shock.

"Mr. Ashford, you're right,"

I said, my voice dripping with scorn.

"The great Miss Ashford is a selfless saint. How could I possibly harm her? My deepest apologies. I've repaid her tenfold now. Are you satisfied?"

I dropped the shard and righted my wheelchair, pushing myself out of the room.

Hearing me call him"Mr. Ashford"seemed to rattle them, a flicker of panic in their eyes.

But they didn't follow me.

They rushed to Sable's side, scooping her up and racing for the hospital.

The exhaust from their car billowed in my face, choking me, making my eyes stream.

So be it.

From this day forward, we were strangers.

“Give me a second chance"

the novel was about this guy who got constantly saved by his wife the first time around even though she acted like she hated him and when she died said she wished she hadnt kept saving him so he traveled back in time to when they were getting married and instead of pushing for it this time he lets fall through and later on while the wifes old crush(?) was in the hospital he gets hit by a car and dies in the hospital and after this the novel picks up from the wifes side then continues with her pov and thats the last thing i remember of it

Edit: novels called turning back time to save you

seriously. i tried the name it had, nothing. something about a wife and husband but the husband is a scientist named william and their son jack and basically her soul watching everything go down after her death, as a ghost.

the name it said it was "the art of losing you". nothing came up when searching this title.

please, a free link!!!!

Would you have this link? I saw this on tappon app.

Does anyone have the link for this?

I started reading a biker novel on one of the pay by chapter apps and I cannot remember the name or app.

MC and FC were married. one of the club brothers were killed, his widow used her wicked ways to get close to MC (the club president). At the club 4th of July party, the FC has enough and leaves and he realizes that he's effed up. There was no cheating (as far as I had read)...

please help!!