Ex-Husband's Denial: Wife Reclaims Her Shattered Life
Fiona prepared a candlelit anniversary dinner, scallops glistening on porcelain, champagne chilling beside a "Three Years" card—her secret pregnancy swelling beneath her silk dress.
The doorbell rang, but it was just a delivery. Then Emmanuel called: his ex, Carley Marshall, crashed her car. He blew off their night.
Cramps hit like a vise. She collapsed, blood soaking her gown, screaming into the phone: "I'm losing the baby!" Emmanuel scoffed, "Fake ploy for attention," and hung up—Carley's voice cooed in the background.
Paramedics rushed her to ER for emergency D&C. The baby was gone. Audrey saved her life. Emmanuel sent lilies with a card: "Stop dramatizing."
She signed divorce papers. He laughed it off, contested everything, froze her out of hotels and clubs. Dragged her from the St. Regis by force, dumped her sobbing on a rainy sidewalk with her suitcase in puddles—Gus drove off without looking back.
He thought she was manipulating him, playing jealous games for attention. But she'd truly carried his child, bled out alone while he comforted Carley. How could he not believe her, even after the hospital proof? Why twist her agony into lies?
Now blacklisted and broke, Fiona clutched her grandfather's antique restoration tools. No more begging—she'd expose his cruelty, rebuild from the ashes, and make him regret ever underestimating her.
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Chapter 2
Cold.
That was the first thing Fiona felt. A deep, bone-chilling cold that seeped up from the floor and into her very marrow.
She forced her eyes open. The ceiling above her was a blur of white and gray. The smell hit her next-copper and antiseptic, a sickening combination that made her stomach heave.
She was still on the floor.
The pain in her abdomen had dulled to a throbbing ache, but the wetness between her legs was still there, still warm, still sticky.
Fiona groaned, her throat feeling like sandpaper. She moved her hand, searching blindly. Her fingers brushed against the cold glass of the phone screen.
She pulled it toward her face. The screen was locked, covered in dried, flaking blood. Her thumb pressed against the sensor. Nothing.
She wiped the screen frantically on the clean part of her dress, smearing the blood around. She tried again.
The home screen appeared.
She had to call someone. Emmanuel was dead to her. There was only one other person.
Her fingers shook so badly she nearly tapped the wrong contact. Audrey.
She pressed the phone to her ear, the ringing sounding miles away.
"Fiona?" Audrey's voice was groggy with sleep. "Why are you calling so la-"
"Help." Fiona's voice was a broken whisper. "Audrey, help me."
"Fiona? What's wrong? Where are you?"
"The apartment." Fiona gasped as another cramp seized her. "Blood. So much blood."
"Oh my God." The grogginess vanished from Audrey's voice, replaced by sheer panic. "I'm coming. Don't move. I'm calling 911. Stay with me, Fiona!"
Fiona couldn't respond. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.
The darkness pulled her under again.
The next time she woke, the world was a cacophony of noise. Sirens wailing. Voices shouting.
"BP is dropping! We need to get her on the table now!"
"Type and cross, stat!"
She was moving, the lights on the ceiling streaking past her like shooting stars. Faces hovered over her, masked and gowned.
Then she saw Audrey. Her best friend was running alongside the gurney, tears streaming down her face, her hand reaching for Fiona's but missing.
"Fiona! Stay awake!"
Fiona wanted to say something, to tell Audrey about the baby, but a mask was pressed over her face. The air tasted like plastic and chemicals.
"Ma'am, you need to step back!" a paramedic yelled.
"I'm her sister!" Audrey screamed back.
The doors to the trauma bay swung open, and Fiona was wheeled inside. The doors swung shut, cutting Audrey off.
A doctor loomed over her, his face serious. "Mrs. Meyers, you're hemorrhaging. We need to perform an emergency D&C. You've lost the pregnancy."
Lost the pregnancy.
The words echoed in her head, bouncing around the hollow space where the baby used to be.
"I'm sorry," Fiona mouthed, though no sound came out.
A needle pierced her arm. A warm flush spread through her veins.
The last thing she saw before the darkness took her again was the bright, blinding light of the surgical lamp.
Hours later, or maybe minutes, Fiona woke up.
The room was quiet. The harsh lights of the ER were gone, replaced by the soft, ambient lighting of a VIP suite. The beeping of the heart monitor was a steady, rhythmic pulse.
She blinked, trying to clear the fog from her brain. She felt empty.
Her hand drifted down to her stomach. It was flat. Too flat. The slight swell that had been there just hours ago was gone. The tightness, the warmth, the secret life she had been carrying-it was all gone.
There was just nothing.
"Fiona?" Audrey's voice came from the chair beside the bed.
Fiona turned her head. Audrey looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair a mess. She was gripping Fiona's hand so hard it hurt.
"Hey," Fiona croaked. Her throat felt like it had been scrubbed with steel wool.
Audrey let out a choked sob. "You scared me to death. I thought... I thought you were going to die."
Fiona looked at the ceiling. "I didn't."
"The baby..." Audrey started, her voice trembling.
"It's gone." Fiona's voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. It was as if someone had reached inside her and scooped out all the feelings, leaving only a shell.
"I'm so sorry, Fi."
Fiona turned her head back to Audrey. She tried to smile, but her face felt stiff, the muscles refusing to cooperate. "It's okay."
"It's not okay!" Audrey's face twisted with anger. "Emmanuel is a monster. He left you there to die. I swear to God, I will kill him."
Fiona didn't say anything. She just stared at the wall.
"Give me a mirror," she said suddenly.
Audrey blinked. "What?"
"A mirror. I need to see."
Audrey hesitated, then pulled a compact from her purse and handed it over.
Fiona opened it and looked at her reflection. The woman staring back at her was pale, her lips bloodless, her eyes sunken with dark circles. She looked like a ghost.
She reached up and wiped at a tear track on her cheek. Her fingers came away dry.
She snapped the compact shut.
The door to the room opened. A nurse walked in, carrying the largest bouquet of white lilies Fiona had ever seen. The sweet, heavy scent of the flowers filled the room instantly.
"Good, you're awake!" the nurse chirped. "These just arrived for you. From your husband."
She set the vase on the bedside table. Tucked among the blooms was a small, cream-colored envelope.
Fiona stared at it. She reached out and pulled the card free.
The handwriting was sharp and familiar. Emmanuel's.
Two words.
"Stop dramatizing."
Fiona stared at the card. The black ink seemed to pulse on the white paper.
Stop dramatizing.
She had nearly bled to death on their living room floor. She had lost their child. And he thought she was putting on a show.
A sound escaped Fiona's throat. It started as a low rumble, a vibration in her chest that grew louder and higher. It was a laugh, but it was wrong. It was cold and sharp and brittle, like glass shattering.
"Fiona?" Audrey asked, her eyes wide. "Are you okay?"
Fiona didn't answer. She kept laughing, the sound echoing off the walls of the sterile room.
She grabbed the vase of lilies. The water was heavy, the glass slippery.
"Fiona, no!" Audrey shouted.
Fiona hurled the vase at the trash can in the corner. It hit the wall with a deafening crash. Water, glass, and white petals exploded everywhere, showering the floor like snow.
The laughter died instantly.
Fiona sat back against the pillows, her chest heaving. The silence in the room was absolute, save for the steady beep of the monitor.
"Get me a pen," she said. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
Audrey stood frozen, staring at the mess on the floor.
"Now, Audrey."
Audrey scrambled, pulling a pen from her bag and handing it over with trembling hands.
Fiona snatched the pen. She looked around for paper. There was none. She looked at the discharge papers on the clipboard at the foot of the bed. She pulled them toward her.
She turned them over, finding a blank space on the back.
She wrote down a single sentence.
Then she looked up at Audrey, her eyes hard and cold as ice.
"Call the lawyer. I want divorce papers drawn up by morning."
"Fiona, you just had surgery-"
"I'm not waiting another second." Fiona handed the pen back. "Do it."
Audrey stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. She pulled out her phone and stepped out into the hallway.
Fiona turned her head toward the window. The sun was rising over Manhattan, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The light hit her face, but she didn't feel its warmth.
She felt nothing at all.
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9.8
Four years ago, I was drugged on a luxury yacht and ended up pregnant with twins.
I raised them in secret, enduring my stepfamily's daily abuse, until the billionaire West family patriarch cornered us at the airport.
He instantly recognized my son's face—an exact replica of his ruthless grandson, Bernardo West.
My malicious stepmother and stepsister immediately leaked to the press that I was a delusional gold-digger using fake kids to trap a billionaire.
They wanted the West family to destroy me to save their own social standing.
Bernardo himself looked at me with pure disgust, demanding a DNA test.
"If you ever lie to me, I will take the children, and I will make you wish you were never born."
I didn't want his money. I was a victim of that night too, left with a crescent-shaped bite mark on my collarbone and zero memory of who set us up.
Why did someone drug us? And how could I protect my babies from a corporate predator who could crush me with a snap of his fingers?
But when the DNA test came back 99.9999% positive, I didn't cower.
I showed him the scar he left on me, looked the most dangerous man in the country right in the eye, and made my demand.
"If you want to claim your heirs, you have to marry me."
7.2
Blaire woke up in a Manhattan penthouse, her body covered in bruises and her innocence stolen.
Before she could process the terror, her adoptive sister Danita burst in, acting heartbroken and accusing Blaire of shamelessly seducing the powerful Kamryn Lane. Kamryn threw a one-million-dollar check at Blaire's bleeding face, calling her a calculating gold digger.
That night, Blaire overheard a conversation in the family study that shattered her entire reality.
"Once she gives birth to the Lane family's seed, we'll stage an accident, drain her blood, and transplant her healthy heart into your chest."
Her adoptive mother and Danita were celebrating the success of their trap. She wasn't an adopted daughter; she was a living organ bank and a disposable surrogate. Even her adoptive brother, Calhoun, knew everything, trapping her in the dark hallways with a sick, possessive obsession to ensure she never escaped.
The horrific truth suffocated her. The family that had taken her in had raised her like livestock for slaughter. How could they smile at her every day while planning to carve out her heart?
Terrified but burning with a desperate will to survive, Blaire swallowed a Plan B pill to ruin their surrogate plot and fled the estate. To get the money and power she needed to crush her adoptive family, she pulled out Kamryn Lane's business card. This time, she would make a deal with the devil.
7.2
Allie Patterson poured fifteen years into her husband Grayson’s tech startup, living in a cramped San Jose apartment. Every penny, every late night coding session, was for their shared future, built on his constant claims the company struggled, always on the verge of its big break.
Then, a grant deed arrived: a stunning $4.2 million Atherton villa, paid in full, listing Grayson and an unknown Kacey Schmidt as joint tenants.
Her coffee mug shattered as Allie’s world imploded. Driving to the mansion, she found Kacey in silk pajamas, flaunting a massive pink diamond and, beneath it, Grayson’s grandmother’s heirloom ring – the one he’d tearfully claimed to have lost years ago.
Kacey purred, "He's in the shower. We were so tired last night."
The words were a serrated knife, twisting, confirming years of lies.
Humiliation and rage burned out, leaving a terrifying, absolute silence. All her sacrifice and trust were a cruel, elaborate joke, orchestrated by the man she loved.
Allie calmly took photos, then gave herself one minute in her beat-up car to mourn. When it passed, her tears stopped, replaced by cold, calculated murder in her eyes. She typed a text to Grayson:
"Come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you."
8.8
Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work.
But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room.
He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar.
When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves.
But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him.
The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune.
Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret.
Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised.
Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows.
At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox.
But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress.
"How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.
9.5
He was born from the void between stars - a being of immense power, forged from cosmic origins.
For thousands of years, he walked among humanity, protecting them and keeping his true strength hidden. After losing the only family he had, grief led him to seek his own end... only to wake up in a world entirely unlike his own.
Here, cultivation is the main path to power. Those who master spirit qi gain superhuman strength, speed, and abilities that place them far above ordinary people. Four great sects rule the land, competing for resources, secrets, and dominance over each other.
Icaros joined the Li Sect, where he found companions he came to trust and care for: the capable and easygoing Li Han, the sharp and composed Su Yan, and the spirited Nelly. For a time, he felt he had found a place to belong, even as he kept his true nature hidden and wondered whether he could ever learn to cultivate like those around him.
Everything changed when their voyage was suddenly attacked. A powerful figure floating in the sky cut their ship apart with sharp, devastating energy strikes, leaving only destruction in his wake. Believing his friends had been lost in the disaster, Icaros chose to stop holding back any longer.
> "I am done hiding!"
He unleashed his full power: golden light blazed from his eyes, he flew at incredible speed, and he broke through every barrier and enemy in his way. On the shores ahead, he tore through hordes of powerful jade monsters, destroying them completely before flying deep into the interior of the island.
Meanwhile, survivors washed up scattered and alone. One young cultivator found himself on the shores of Jade Island - a place most cultivators avoid, as it holds no treasures or useful materials, only danger and endless deposits of ordinary jade. Yet despite the risks, ordinary people have built settlements here, finding safety from the conflicts and power struggles of the outside world.
This island works by different rules. Spirit qi is scarce and unstable, making cultivation far less effective than elsewhere. Instead, the people here rely on advanced technology - weapons and explosives that can injure or even defeat those with great physical strength. Here, skill and preparation can be just as powerful as raw strength, and even the strongest cultivators must move with caution.
Now, Icaros has vanished deep into the island. His companions are lost somewhere across this dangerous land. And the mysterious swordsman who destroyed their ship has already arrived here, searching for an ancient map said to lead to the legacy of a being from another world.
Will they find each other again? And can anyone survive in a place where the usual rules of power no longer hold true?
✅ Chapters 1–19: FREE
🔒 Chapters 20 onwards: PAID
(Continue the journey of power, friendship, and discovery!)
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.