LOGINFive years into my marriage to Ethan Morgan, the famous business tycoon in the whole continent. The entire business world knew he loved me more than anything. He’d even registered a private Island in my name, a gesture of love and affection no one could ever think of. However, a text from his secretary ruined everything. She sent me a picture of her lying almost naked in his arms, her neck full of hickeys while he rested his hand leisurely on her chest. They were making out on the very Island he had dedicated to me. [He says his wife doesn't satisfy his real needs. Only with me can he really turn on] [Only if he doesn't need an heir from her, she would be out of the picture already.] At that moment I knew what I needed to do. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a divorce agreement for my husband.”
View MoreEthan didn’t bother with a legal summons or a polite invitation. He sent three men in a black SUV to drag Maya from her penthouse in her silk robe, bringing her to the one place she always dreamt of ruling– Morgan's Villa.As soon as she entered,she threw herself on Ethan who sat on the couch. Seductively fingering his arms, she poured, "I knew you would call me back. The night we spent together, the promises you made can't be forgotten.""After all inside my womb is your blood, your heir, Ethan. It's something your wife could never give you.""But, honey? Your men... they were so rough. What is happening?""Please fire all of them. I'll assign all the new workers that are more cultured. Alright?"Ethan didn’t just respond. He ruthlessly pushed her off the couch, making her fall on her belly. He didn't even care about the baby in the womb who she claimed was his.Maya could only hiss in pain, dared not say anything. The shock was written all over her face. She clearly had not seen it c
The Morgan empire continued to churn out billions, but its king was rotting from the inside out.For six months, the grand Westchester estate had transformed from a symbol of status into a tomb. Ethan Morgan no longer wore the bespoke Italian suits that once defined his silhouette. Now, he paced the dark corridors in a disheveled shirt, his eyes bloodshot and sunken, fueled by nothing but black coffee and a manic, agonizing regret.Every surface of his study was covered in grainy surveillance stills, private investigator reports, and maps of the tri-state area."Another dead end?" Ethan’s voice was a jagged rasp as he glared at Marcus."Sir, the car that picked her up from the hotel was a rental paid for with a burner card. We tracked it to a scrapyard in New Jersey. It was crushed three days ago. There’s... there’s no trail left."Ethan swept a stack of papers off his desk in a fit of silence rage. "She’s six months pregnant, Marcus! She has anemia! She can't just vanish into thin air
Ethan sat motionless, the doctor’s words—twelve weeks, little miracle—echoing in the hollow chambers of his chest. Desperate for some tether to her, Ethan began to tear through the room. He bypassed the empty closets and the sterile vanity until his eyes fell on the metal trash can.Among all the garbage remained a half-burnt journal and a completely destroyed wedding picture. His fingers shook as he took the journal out and opened it.The early pages were filled with a light that made Ethan’s eyes burn. Elena’s handwriting was loopy, almost breathless.May 14th: I met him today. Ethan Morgan. He’s like a storm—terrifying and brilliant. When he looked at me, I felt like the only person in the room. He said he wanted to build a world with me. I think I’d follow him into any darkness just to see him smile.He turned the pages, the entries growing shorter, the handwriting more controlled. The "we" began to shift into "him."November 2nd: Another dinner alone. Ethan is working late again
The flight back to New York was the longest ten hours of Ethan Morgan’s life. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Maya’s triumphant, malicious grin and then the sterile, empty penthouse in Paris. The silence of that suite had been a physical blow, but he clung to a single, desperate thread of logic. Elena was a creature of habit. She was soft, she was loyal, and she loved the home they had built together.She would be there. She had to be.Ethan didn't wait for his driver to open the door. He lunged out of the car before it had fully stopped in the driveway of their Westchester estate. He didn't use the key; he pounded on the door until the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, opened it with a startled gasp."Where is she?" Ethan demanded, pushing past her into the grand foyer."Mr. Morgan? You weren't expected until—""Elena! Is she upstairs?" He didn't wait for an answer, his boots thundering against the marble as he took the stairs two at a time. He burst into the master suite, his heart ham






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