Briffault S Law

"This love is an obsession. An obsession that started the minute you appeared when I was at my darkest, and as such, it isn't healthy." "Healthy or not, you're mine, little songbird, and if you let any man touch you, he will be six feet under come morning." After Brielle O'hara's parents passed away, her world was turned upside, and it all started with a text from a mysterious benefactor who promised to support her until she was able to do so herself. That's why when she turns 22, she is determined to stand on her own two feet so that she is worthy of him. But when she finds out he nothing more than an obsessive, cold-blooded killer, she is determined to escape him and the dark world that he is a part of. However. Her benefactor refuses to let go so . Thus starting a game of cat and mouse full of lies, deceit, stalking, and sweet, sweet torture. Will Brielle be able to resist the temptation of the mysterious and older man, or will she fall into an abyss of darkness and pleasure? Read Claiming Brielle to find out!

In the third year of my marriage, I endure a full day of painful labor to give birth to my first child. However, my husband steals the baby to give to his true love. I try my damnedest to stop him, but all I get is a barrage of insults. "It's just a baby! I'm the one who planted the seed, so I get to decide who gets the fruit!" I'm overwhelmed by grief as I watch my husband leave. However, he shares a happy post on his social media. "Mother and daughter are safe." His true love comments, "Thank you for giving me a child, Jaspie. I'll be the happiest woman in the world with you two by my side." Clueless friends bless them and wish them well. I silently comment, "Give me back my child." All I get is another round of insults. Then, I'm blocked. I don't want to endure this anymore. I hire a lawyer to draft divorce papers before making a police report. "Officer, I want to report my husband for child trafficking."

Ashin Johnstone has never loved someone as much as she loved her husband, Kristoff Washington. She had spent most of her life crushing hard on him and was really elated that she finally married him in a pragmatic marriage. But she knew that he doesn't love her, not the way she wanted him to. She knew that he will never love her like a woman. He will never want her like the way she desires him. As painful as it is, she has learned to understand him and his feelings for her. She was trying to be contented with her life with him. She was trying to be contented with her relationship with him. After all, she is the legal wife. Everyone who would want him would go through her first because she's recognized one. She's the lawful wife.

Valentine's Day. I was stuck on ER duty at Brighton City Hospital. Theodore Madoff, who was supposed to be working late, strolled in carrying his student—Cecilia Kuntzer. She had red marks everywhere and that smug little smirk. "Relax, Mrs. Madoff. Just stomach pain. Lucky me, Prof. Madoff rushed me here." Theo pushed me to treat her. Turns out? She was pregnant. From rough intercourse. And the dad? Theo. My husband. The same guy who'd sworn off kids with me for ten years. Felt like a punch to the gut. But I still saved her baby. Next day, she uploaded a video—ID in hand, cheesy PowerPoint, accusing me of malpractice. Claimed I killed her kid. Then Theo asked for a divorce. Priscilla—his mom—stormed the hospital, shrieking about her dead grandbaby. She brought a mob. All these "righteous" strangers who stabbed me to death. Right there in the ER. I died with my eyes wide open. Then—bam—I woke up. Valentine's Day. Again.

Half a year after our divorce, my ex-husband became a trending topic online. His current wife, who had just given birth, jumped off a building. When she jumped, she was clutching a printed, 98-page copy of the "Cloves Family Code of Conduct." The reason for her suicide? She couldn’t buy discounted groceries online. A reporter came to interview me and asked, "Excuse me, were you also given the same family rules?"

"I didn’t know I was marrying two people. He wore the suit, but she pulled the strings. The day I walked down the aisle, eyes locked with the man I loved, I thought I had found peace. I thought I was finally leaving behind the noise of my childhood, the ache of loneliness, and the years I spent praying for a love that would choose me, only me. But no one told me that some men never truly leave their mothers. They marry, yes,but their hearts remain tangled in an invisible umbilical cord, one that stretches past vows, past bedrooms, past boundaries. I moved into our new home, only to find that the walls had ears, hers. We lived in separate flats, but it never truly felt like my space. My marriage was a room she walked into, uninvited but ever present. Her opinions dripped into our arguments, her eyes followed me from behind lace curtains, and her voice echoed in decisions that should have belonged to me and my husband. At first, I kept quiet. I told myself it was cultural. Respect. Family. Then I told myself it was temporary. Then I stopped telling myself anything at all, because nothing I said made a difference. This is not a story of hate. It’s a story of love, tested by bloodlines, boundaries, and a battle I never asked to fight. This is my truth. The marriage I thought was mine. The home that never really felt like home. And the rules I never agreed to, but had to live by, simply because… I was under her roof".