Ariana Grande Cheating

To save Hugh, I took the hit—literally. The kidnappers beat me so bad I ended up with a brain hemorrhage. My mind? Stuck at thirteen. Hugh, all guilt and promises, said, "Wenna, I'll protect you forever." And he did. He watched over me. When the house caught fire, he threw himself over me, took the burns, didn't flinch. Then came his oh-so-perfect foster sister. "Mia's not into... slow people. Maybe you should live next door," he said. And my son? The one I nearly died bringing into the world? "Stupid woman! You embarrass me and Dad. You're nothing like Aunt Mia—she's smart and pretty. If it weren't for you, she could've been my mom. You should just die!" To play hero for Mia, my son shoved me into the street. A truck did the rest. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day Hugh proposed. This time? I wasn't here for his pity. And I sure as hell wasn't marrying him.

It has been fifty-five days since my fiancé cut me off. I called off the wedding I'd waited eight long years for. All while he was caring for his childhood sweetheart, who was battling depression and seeking peace at a remote retreat. He even had the historic chapel—a local landmark called the Aethelred Sanctuary—closed to the public for six months because of her. And me? I was left to face the swarming reporters, hounded from one place to the next until I had nowhere left to hide—all because he disappeared without a word. Out of options, I went to the retreat to find him. But he turned me away, saying I would disturb the quiet and sanctity of the place. In the bitter cold of deep winter, I collapsed outside the gates, barely holding on. When I woke, I saw him—Jonathan—planting an entire garden of roses on the grounds, every bloom a declaration of love. Six months later, he finally left and returned home with his childhood sweetheart. The roses they had planted now filled what was supposed to be our wedding venue, from floor to ceiling. I watched them, cold and unmoved. What he didn't know was this—I was already engaged to someone else.

Princess Vionna of Aurenza was dead. She died in the estate of Theron Thornefell, Warden of the North—buried beneath snow and silence. The blizzard raged for seven days before it eased, uncovering her frostbitten body beneath the drifts. Even in death, she was curled around her swollen belly, one arm reaching toward the nearest gates. No one came. She and the unborn child were frozen to death. Left behind. As the cold took her, regret cut deep. She never should've loved him. Never should've bowed. Because of her, the child never saw the sky. If she had another life, she'd never look his way again.

Ariana Black is rejected by Alpha Lucas Klein, who in turn chooses another woman to be his mate and Luna. Ariana leaves that place for good, vowing to herself, never to come back. But destiny has other plans for her. Four years later, Alpha Lucas is knocking at her door requesting her help. He needs her by his side to fight off a group of vampires who have killed his pack members and caused chaos in the pack. What he doesn’t expect is that she is married to another man and is pregnant now. Will she help him or will she revenge the pain she has faced?

Imagine my shock when I found out that my husband, a professor who had proudly embraced a childless life for half of his years, had an affair with one of his own students. She even had his six-year-old son. The day I planned to report him to the university, Zia Thompson came to my door with the child and knelt in front of me. "Maybe you and Zeke were in love once," she said. "But he's over forty now. Who doesn't want to have a child? A legacy?" "I don't need a title," she went on. "I can give up the child too. I just beg you, don't tear our family apart." I looked at my husband, who stood protectively in front of them. I felt terrifyingly calm. "Cut ties with them," I said, my voice flat, "or prepare to be reported to the university. You choose." Without a moment's hesitation, he tore the report letter into shreds. I thought that was his answer. But on the fifty-second night of a bed grown cold and a home echoing with silence, he still hadn't returned. Instead, I received news that Zia was pregnant again. She had graduated by then. The report I never sent no longer posed any threat to them. Zeke didn't bother to hide his fatigue and irritation anymore. "Treat Zia and the kids well," he said, "or keep living alone in that empty house. It's your choice." My heart was already a wasteland. "I have one more option," I said. "I choose divorce."

My husband, Jacob Morris, wrongly believed that I had pushed the woman he loved down the stairs. So, he locked me in the basement to make me reflect on my actions. He hired people to punish me, trying to break my spirit. I suffered inhumane torture. My tendons were cut, and my face was disfigured. Four years later, he finally remembered me and let me out. But by then, I was too broken to love him anymore.

My husband has stepped out on me countless times, but he refused to divorce me. Meanwhile, his family called me a disgraceful tramp. Five years ago was the first time I asked for a divorce. Terrence Fulton did not say anything. He locked me up in the villa for a whole month instead. After that month, I found out that I was pregnant. Three years after that, I asked for a divorce for a second time. That very night, Terrence returned to his family home at Fulton Manor. After that, I was allowed to see my son only once a week. Today was my third attempt to get a divorce, and I could finally leave. I discovered that my son did not love me and that my marriage to Terrence had been fake all along. I was just like one of the women he messed around with.

The night before our wedding anniversary party, my husband—Harvey Clarke—receives constant calls from his first love, Cassie Moss. He responds by holding me closer, and I ask, "Aren't you going to pick up? What if it's urgent?" He firmly shakes his head and says he has already moved on. But when he receives news of her at the party, he breaks down right there and then, oblivious to the room of staring guests. When he tries to leave, I stop him in a panic, but he turns to me with a pure look of disgust. "Cassie's dead. Happy now?" The words hit me like a lightning bolt.

"I don't want to go with you on this business trip," Lucy Landon said at the dinner table. Her voice was calm, so calm that no one could sense anything unusual. Steven Cooper's trip was set for June 1st. It wasn't their wedding anniversary, nor was it anyone's birthday. Just an ordinary Children's Day. Three days ago, she had stumbled upon a voice message on Steven's phone. A child's soft and childish voice had said, "Daddy, for Children's Day, I want to go to Maldove to see the fishes!"

My boyfriend is a lauded attorney. His true love rams into me with her car; my daughter stands bravely before me as the car explodes. She's blown to smithereens. I'm on the brink of death as I'm carried onto a stretcher, but my boyfriend holds his true love's face tenderly. His gaze is filled with heartache as he tells her that he'll get her off scot-free. He ruins the scene of the accident and buys off the witnesses. He even comes to the hospital to threaten me after I've been disfigured from the explosion. In the end, I die after the treatment doesn't help. It's only when the court announces the sentence that he realizes the deceased's personal details match mine perfectly.