My Husband Perfect lies

Alena didn't believe she could marry her teacher in high school. The new teacher whom she idolized so much has now become her legal husband. With the age gap that is far apart, Zeyn tries to understand Alena's young nature and tries to maintain their marriage. Then what will happen next? "You are now my wife, so I am free to touch you." "Uh, you flirtatious teacher!"

A perfect crime should stay hidden. But what if the evidence comes back with a smile brighter than the sun and an eyes colder Frost. He planed her destruction as a bet. She was graped, her nudes posted all around. Her father company went under and her mother committed suicide while laying curses on her. She was dragged down until she jumped and died. But now, the people who ruined her are all very happy, how can she rest in peace? People believe in rebirth or reincarnation but she doesn't. She clawed her way to the top. How will the perpetrator feel when they realise that they fallen too deep into her trap to stand again? She has nothing to lose but they have everything to lose. Money killed her and family, ruined her to the last. Now manipulation,greed and a perfectly measured innocence can ruin her enemies for good. She doesn't care of she has to lose her life for it.

Everyone calls him the perfect husband. Successful. Devoted. The kind of man who remembers anniversaries brings flowers “just because,” and makes the world believe love can still be pure. He smiles the way heroes do. He listens the way good men should. He protects his wife like she’s his entire universe. But perfection is a story he tells so beautifully… No one ever questions who wrote it.When whispers start slipping through the cracks, it becomes harder to ignore the truth lingering beneath his polished surface.What if he’s the most dangerous lie of all? "It's not revenge ,it's the circle of life..." Get ready to dive into a thrilling world of suspense, love, and danger in The Perfect Husband. warning ⚠️ This is not a healthy love story. It deals with manipulation, control, and mind games that blur the line between devotion and danger. If stories about psychological abuse are triggering, this book may not be for you.

I accidentally saw a notification pop up on my husband’s phone saying that an automatic transfer had been completed when I was using it for navigation. Immediately after that, his ex-girlfriend, Wanda Blake, sent him a message on WhatsApp: [I’ve received this month’s 10,000 dollars for child support. Thank you, Koah. I don't know what I would have done without you.] I froze. “Child support? “Koah, you told me that the money you send every month was for medical expenses for your mother’s treatment!” Koah Quinn’s expression stiffened as he explained, “Honey, don’t misunderstand. I just felt that life has become really hard for her because she’s a woman raising a child on her own. Her ex-husband refuses to pay child support, so I wanted to help her out…” I touched the old watch on my wrist. The one I had not replaced in years to save money, and felt extremely disappointed. “Your monthly salary is only 6,000 dollars. Where did you get so much money to send her?” He was silent for some time before finally admitting. “I used the money we had set aside for the new house’s downpayment.” I was stunned. He had taken the money my parents had scrimped and saved for decades for me as downpayment for a home and then transferred it to his ex-girlfriend as child support.

During the Thanksgiving holiday, my mother-in-law Mary came to visit us from Ohio. I took her to my husband Liam's new spa in Manhattan, Apropos. We enjoyed a basic facial treatment together, which I had purchased for $9.90 on an e-commerce platform. Right after the treatment, the beautician slapped a high-priced package down in front of us. She glanced at us contemptuously and said: "Do you really think you can enjoy our premium services with a $9.90 coupon?Stop kidding. You two look like you’re here to freeload. A single facial here costs thousands of dollars. This isn’t some free trial for cheapskates like you." I suppressed my anger and said coldly: “We have already paid for the basic treatment. How can you call this taking advantage for free?. Go get your manager.” A flashy woman walked over. Her arms were crossed. She looked down her nose at us. “I’m the Boss lady of this place.You and this old hag are just trying to get something for free, aren’t you? Let me be clear. You're buying this five-thousand-dollar hydration treatment today. Or you're not walking out that door.” A five-thousand-dollar hydration treatment? So this was it. This was why Liam suddenly got into the beauty industry. He didn't open a spa. He opened a scam shop to bankroll his mistress. I was about to call Liam, but she beat me to it, dialing a number. “Darling, you need to get down to the spa, right now. I've got a couple of hicks from the sticks making a scene, trying to get free services!”

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.