Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: The Doctor's Verdict

The kitchen was filled with the scent of garlic and basil, a testament to the perfect life Ethan Thorne was building with his fiancée, Olivia. They were soulmates, partners in love and in their shared dream: a restaurant of their own, with a wedding just two weeks away. Then, a whispered phone conversation shattered his world. Olivia, the woman he adored, speaking with venom about his deceased sister, Isabella, and laughing about him as "that fool chef" and "just a toy." He was a pawn in a chilling revenge plot, destined for public humiliation at their wedding. His heart, so full moments before, became a hollow, aching void. Every shared laugh, every tender kiss, twisted into a grotesque lie. His fiancée wasn't his partner; she was his executioner, meticulously planning his destruction for a perceived wrong from five years ago. How could the woman he poured his entire being into be so cruel? How could she look him in the eye, whisper "I love you," and plot his utter breaking? The depth of her betrayal was an open wound, an injustice that screamed silently within him. But Ethan Thorne wouldn't be a victim. He would play her game, right up to the very end. He wiped the tears from his eyes, picked up his phone, and called Professor Davies. "Tell me more about Paris."

My flight home felt endless, a week away from my pregnant wife, Emily, feeling like a year. I pictured her glowing, her smile lighting up the house, ready to welcome me back. But the moment I walked through the door, my world began to fracture. The house was eerily silent, a strange smell in the air, and an overflowing trash can spoke of neglect. Then, Emily' s weak voice called from upstairs, her face pale and clammy, clutching her stomach in pain. At the hospital, a doctor' s cryptic words about "strenuous activity" and needing to be "gentle" left me bewildered, a knot of unease tightening in my chest. I brushed it off, attributing it to stress, clinging to the flimsy explanation when I found a strange bruise on her collarbone-one she vaguely claimed was from clumsiness. But the flimsy facade shattered when I found cigarette ash in our master bathroom sink. I don't smoke, and Emily despises it, making her flimsy explanation about her stepfather stopping by ring hollow. My mother-in-law later confirmed my stepfather-in-law quit smoking years ago, sealing the growing dread in my stomach. Then, my own mother mentioned a new white sedan Emily was seen getting out of, driven by a man-a car I certainly hadn't bought. The pieces clicked into a terrifying mosaic: the doctor' s warning, the bruise, the ash, the unknown man, the mysterious car. But nothing prepared me for the final blow at the doctor' s follow-up: "The fetus is measuring closer to twelve weeks, Mr. Davis." Twelve weeks. A full month older than it should be, a month when I was working fourteen-hour days, thousands of miles away. My world imploded. The doctor wasn't accusing me; he was warning me about her affair. The baby wasn't mine. My wife had cheated, and the life I thought we had built was a cruel, elaborate lie. The man who was supposed to be a father was now the biggest fool. I was a cuckold. And I was going to find out everything.

The blinding pain of childbirth ripped through Sarah, but it was the empty chair beside her hospital bed that truly shattered her. Mark should have been there, holding her hand, but his phone was off, just as it had been for hours. Another contraction hit, and alone, sweat-soaked, Sarah delivered her first twin, then geared up to do it all again, frantically trying to reach a husband who had vanished. As she cradled her newborn, a news report flashed on the TV: a sun-drenched beach, turquoise water, and there, laughing, hand-in-hand, were Mark and her best friend Emily, on a "romantic getaway" in Bali. Just then, a cheerful caller informed her the postpartum nanny package she'd paid for had been canceled by her husband. Her blood ran cold. He hadn't just abandoned her; he'd taken everything. A quick check of her banking app confirmed the horror: over eighty thousand dollars, her life savings for the twins, gone. He'd drained it all to fund his sordid escape. The line went dead after her mother-in-law, dismissive and callous, blamed Sarah for not "giving Mark a boy" and for being "careless with her money." The betrayal was absolute, a crushing blow from everyone she thought she could trust. How could she be so blind? How could they betray her so completely, so cruelly? The isolation crashed down, leaving her utterly alone, reeling from a decade-long lie that had just imploded. Just when she thought she might drown in her grief, a cold, sharp voice cut through the haze, forcing her to confront an unexpected intervention and perhaps, a chance to reclaim more than just her babies.

For five years, I, Ethan, dedicated everything to Olivia, my wife. I sacrificed my promising physics career to build her art gallery into a success, endured her family's disdain, and cherished her every whim. I truly believed my unwavering love would one day win her heart. Then came our fifth wedding anniversary-also my birthday. I sat alone in our villa' s vast dining room, special dishes growing cold, waiting for a wife who never came home on time. My phone buzzed with an explosive headline: "Renowned Artist Olivia Hayes Appears at Charity Gala with New Flame, Confesses He is Her True Soulmate." The accompanying video showed Olivia, radiant, holding hands with Liam-a man strikingly similar to her deceased childhood sweetheart. She glowed as she declared him "the one I have been waiting for my entire life." The article added insult to injury: she'd bought him a forty-million-dollar sports car for his birthday, today, my birthday. My carefully built world shattered. How could the woman I' d devoted my life to publicly betray me so utterly, so callously? The contrast, her forty-million-dollar gift to her "soulmate" versus not even a text for her husband, crushed me. Was I just a convenient shield, a placeholder? The hope I' d clung to, a threadbare illusion, finally snapped. With a deep breath, I lit the single candle on my pathetic birthday cake, a ghost of a celebration. "Happy birthday, Ethan," I whispered to myself, then blew it out. And in that wisp of smoke, my love for her vanished too. It was over.

The first thing I felt was pain-a searing acid burning my face-as voices outside my hospital room whispered low and urgent. My eyes were bandaged, but I knew the sterile scent of a private ward. This was Noah' s doing, my brilliant tech mogul fiancé, who' d promised me the world. We were the perfect couple, splashed across magazines, set to marry in a week. Then, a woman, twisted with adoration for Noah, threw acid at me. The police called it a jealous fan. My world dissolved into agony and darkness. I lay in that expensive bed, hopeful when I heard Liam, Noah' s manager, and Noah himself, my Noah, just outside. My heart fluttered. He was here for me. But then, Liam spoke, low and clear: "The wedding is next week, Noah. You can't marry her like this." A cold dread replaced the burning on my face. Noah' s voice, flat and devoid of warmth, sliced through any hope: "I'm not going to marry her." The words blurred until he continued, "More severe than I anticipated." He meant the acid. My breathing stopped. He had anticipated it? Liam' s choked whisper confirmed my terror: "You didn't…" "Of course I did," Noah snapped. "That crazy fan? I've had her on a private payroll for months... I just needed something to take Ava out of the public eye permanently. Something that would make her so broken, so grateful for my care, that she' d agree to anything." The world tilted. He wanted me disfigured, dependent, hidden away, his tragic reclusive artist, so he could be free to marry Chloe and bring their son, Ethan, "into the light." Every loving word, every tender touch, was a lie. He didn' t just leave me; he orchestrated my ruin to build his perfect life. The physical pain was nothing compared to the absolute shatter of my soul. But in that wreckage, a cold, hard rage bloomed. He thought he buried Ava. He just created a monster. And I wouldn't stop until he regretted every single thing he had done.

The world slammed back into me in a dizzying rush. One moment, oblivion. The next, I was back in a familiar bed, the sun warm, the scent of roses faint. My heart seized at the June 12th calendar-the day it all began to unravel in my first life, the day before Richard announced he was funneling our savings into his first love' s art gallery. Then he walked in, handsome and dismissive, still my husband, yet a stranger. The sight of him brought nothing but a hollow echo. I stood by the fireplace, a silent observer as Vivian Hayes, ethereal and artfully fragile, entered the room, captivating Richard with a tenderness he' d never shown me. Later, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place: a beautifully wrapped gift, a silver hairpin "Heart' s Sorrow," a sketch Vivian had made, fumbled into my hands by a clearly distracted Richard. My husband had handed me a gift meant for his artistic mistress, the one he had always loved more. The bitter taste of betrayal choked me. This time, I closed the box and pushed it back across the table. "I think you' ve made a mistake," I said, my voice clear as a bell, shattering the forced cheer of the family dinner. The silence was deafening, Margaret' s smile frozen, Richard' s jaw tight, Vivian' s face a mask of shock. I placed my napkin on the table, the desire for divorce no longer a desperate plea, but a cold, final business decision. "If you'll excuse me," I said, walking away from the stunned table, leaving behind the wreckage of a life I was no longer willing to live. I was alive, I was back, and this time, I was going to rewrite my own story.

My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away. After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future. Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me. I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call. "Total genius move," he boasted to friends. His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding. Heartbroken, I feigned belief. I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies. He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency. After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first. He even tried to cut me off financially. How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster? His betrayal poisoned every memory. I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty. His audacity left me reeling. But I wouldn’t be his victim. Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed. I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter. I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom.

Rejected by her mate, who had been her long-time crush, Jasmine felt utterly humiliated. Seeking solace, she headed to a party to drown her sorrows. But things took a turn for the worse when her friends issued a cruel dare: kiss a stranger or beg her mate for forgiveness. With no other choice, Jasmine approached a stranger and kissed him, thinking that would be the end of it. However, the stranger unexpectedly wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear, "You're mine!" He growled, his words sending shivers down her spine. And then, he offered her a solution that would change everything...

Hazel Queen had loved her husband with all her heart for three years. But the one thing she never saw coming was the cold, shocking truth: he wanted a divorce because his mistress was pregnant. Heartbroken and betrayed, Hazel decides to move on and returns to Queen Corp, where she steps into her true role as the powerful female president, worth hundreds of millions. This revelation shocks her ex-husband, Damon Price, who never knew that the woman he left behind was the mastermind behind the famous Queen Corp-the Heiress of the Queen family, who had supposedly died in a fire three years ago.

Janice, the long-forgotten legitimate heiress, made her way back to her family, pouring her heart into winning their hearts. Yet, she had to relinquish her very identity, her academic credentials, and her creative works to her foster sister. In return for her sacrifices, she found no warmth, only deeper neglect. Resolute, Janice vowed to cut off all emotional bonds. Transformed, she now stood as a master of martial arts, adept in eight languages, an esteemed medical expert, and a celebrated designer. With newfound resolve, she declared, "From this day forward, no one in this family shall cross me."

"Ahh!" She was in a moaning mess. She did not want to feel anything for this man. She hated him. His hands began to move all over her body. She gasped when he pulled down the back chain of her dress. The chain stopped at her lower waist, so when he zipped it off, her upper back and waist were exposed. "D-Don't touch m-ummm!" His fingers rolled around her bare back, and she pressed her head against the pillow. His touches were giving her goosebumps all over her body. With a deep angry voice, he whispered in her ear, "I am going to make you forget his touches, kisses, and everything. Every time you touch another man, you will only think of me." - - - Ava Adler was a nerdy omega. People bullied her because they thought she was ugly and unattractive. But Ava secretly loved the bad boy, Ian Dawson. He was the future Alpha of the Mystic Shadow Pack. However, he doesn't give a damn about rules and laws, as he only likes to play around with girls. Ava was unaware of Ian's arrogance until her fate intertwined with his. He neglected her and hurt her deeply. What would happen when Ava turned out to be a beautiful girl who could win over any boy, and Ian looked back and regretted his decisions? What if she had a secret identity that she had yet to discover? What if the tables turned and Ian begged her not to leave him?

After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."