Hiding His Genius Twins From The Billionaire

"I have two requests." My voice was steadier than I expected, the phone heavy in my hand. Liam' s impatient sigh cut through the line. "Chloe, what the hell is this? We' re not anything anymore." I told him I was dying, a brain tumor. "I' ve chosen to end things on my own terms. Medically assisted." His response chilled me. "You' re lying. You' re doing this to ruin things for me. You always had a flair for the dramatic." The name Liam, once whispered in my sleep, now tasted like ash. My parents were gone, leaving me truly alone. Then, there they were: Liam and Bethany, my ex-fiancé and my former best friend, at our old restaurant. His smile vanished when he saw me, replaced by pure disgust. Bethany clung to him, her diamond sparkling. "We finally set the date!" she gushed. "October twenty-fifth!" My birthday. The day I was scheduled to die. I discovered the bitter truth in a dark cinema: Liam and Bethany' s affair began months before our breakup, a brutal betrayal hidden beneath his carefully crafted lies. He had not just left me; he had cheated, then let me blame myself. I confronted him, wounded by his callous admission: "It was easier that way. Less messy." He saw me as a drama queen, not a dying woman. He brought me to a hospital, still oblivious, convinced my collapse was hysterics. His final humiliation: demanding I pick songs for their wedding, his attempt to buy my silence for a thousand dollars. He hung up before I could refuse. He had left me no choice. I had to witness the depths of their betrayal, the audacity of Bethany' s wedding gift-a game console inspired by my intellectual property, inscribed with their wedding date, October 25th. It was a final, cruel twist of the knife, designed to erase me. But I had one final play. I would ensure Liam, the man who destroyed my life, would be there for its end. And I would deliver my final message, not in words, but in ashes, on his wedding day.

The silence in our house was heavy, broken only by the sound of my husband' s brother being lowered into the ground. A month later, the silence was replaced by something worse. My brother-in-law' s widow, Falon, was pregnant, and my husband, Cyrus, decided she was moving in with us. "It' s for the baby, Kelsey," he said, his voice flat. He didn't look at me. He was looking at Falon, who stood by the door with her single suitcase, looking pale and fragile. "She needs support. It' s my brother' s child." I watched as Falon slowly, subtly, began to take over my life. She' d wait outside the bathroom with a fresh towel for Cyrus, claiming it was habit. She' d knock on our bedroom door late at night, feigning nightmares, pulling Cyrus away for hours of "comfort." The breaking point came when I heard Cyrus massaging her swollen feet, just as her late husband used to. I dropped the knife I was holding. It clattered against the counter. I wanted to hear Cyrus say no. I wanted him to tell her that was inappropriate, that I was his wife. Instead, I heard his low, soothing voice. "Of course, Falon. Just put them up here." I had given up everything for him, becoming a "pick-me" girl, constantly seeking his approval. Now, watching him cater to her every whim, I realized I didn't even recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. That night, I called my father. "Dad," I said, my voice shaking. "I want a divorce."

They call me the "invisible wife," the domestic servant with a title. For eighteen years, I played the role of the weak, submissive Luna to my Alpha husband, Anthony. But the scent of overripe peaches and another wolf's musk on his custom suit shattered my illusion. He wasn't just cheating; he was popping illegal Bond-Blockers to numb our sacred connection, hiding his betrayal while I catered to his every whim. Desperate for the truth, I tracked him to the Moonlight Hotel. I expected to find him in bed with his mistress, Katia. I didn't expect to hear my own teenage son, Jacob, laughing with them. "Mom is just a human in a wolf's skin," he sneered through the door. "I'm ashamed she's my mother. Katia is what a real Luna looks like." His words cut deeper than any blade. They mocked my lack of scent. They called me a defect. They didn't know the jagged scar on my chest exists because I poured my entire essence into Jacob's dying lungs the night he was born. I became "weak" solely to keep him alive. And this is how they repay me? By plotting to replace me with the woman spending my inheritance? They want a powerful Luna? They're about to get one. I wiped my tears and looked in the mirror, my hazel eyes flashing a blinding, predatory silver. The White Wolf has been dormant for sixteen years, but tonight, at the Pack Gala, she wakes up to hunt.

I was sitting in the dark when my phone buzzed with a live broadcast from five years ago. On the screen, my younger self was about to accept a marriage proposal from Dante Russo. Right next to that broadcast, a new message popped up from my husband. It was a video of him sleeping with his latest mistress, and this time, the woman moaning on our bed was my closest confidante. For four years, Dante had systematically stripped my world away. He framed me, destroyed my independent design studio, and used my father's life-saving dialysis medication to chain me to his side as a prisoner. When my father discovered the truth about my suffering, he made an unbearable sacrifice to set me free. Even then, Dante just sneered and rejected my divorce, warning me not to throw a childish tantrum because he was confident I had nowhere else to go. I looked at my radiant past self on the screen, completely ignorant of the nightmare that awaited her. I couldn't understand how the boy who once swore to protect me with his life had become the monster who dragged me to hell. I didn't cry, and I didn't throw my phone. Instead, I accepted the video call from my past self and showed her the horrific future. "Leave him now, while there is still time." This time, I would make sure we severed the chain and never walked into his trap.

I woke up in my husband's office to a chilling discovery. Stamped across my face in bold, red letters was "USDA PRIME"-a cruel joke from his intern, Karma. But my husband, Josiah, the man whose tech empire I helped build, didn't defend me. He called it a harmless prank and shielded his mistress from my rage. The humiliation was broadcast for the world to see. He then gave her my custom anniversary gown and took her to a charity gala. As if that wasn't enough, she announced she was pregnant with his child. He chose her. He chose their new "family" over our seven years of marriage, over the memory of the child we lost together. The look he gave her, full of a tenderness I hadn't seen in years, shattered the last piece of my heart. So as he walked out the door with her, my lawyers walked in. At the next board meeting, I watched the color drain from his face as I froze every asset to his name. "Sign the divorce papers, Josiah," I said, pushing a pen across the table. "My responsibility now is to clean house."

My boyfriend Jax and I were San Francisco's golden couple, our futures perfectly intertwined. Then his long-lost half-sister, Cinda, arrived, and he began choosing her endless, manufactured crises over me. The night my restaurant caught fire, he abandoned me in the smoke to comfort a whimpering Cinda. "Can't you handle your own drama for once?" he sneered, as my life's work burned. He left me to nearly drown, accused me of faking a concussion after Cinda pushed me down the stairs, and called my pain a pathetic game for attention. I couldn't understand how the man I had loved since high school could become so monstrous. I thought I had lost him to her. But then I overheard his confession. Cinda was just a pawn, a tool he was using to "teach me a lesson" and ensure I'd come crawling back. In that moment, my heartbreak turned to ice. He hadn't just betrayed me; he had proven our entire love story was a lie.