Better Left Unsaid Naruto Novels & Stories

In the ninth year after I married Charlie Lockwood, he brings his first love, Cecilia Moore, back home. She is gentle, beautiful, and understanding. Everyone treasures her like she is some precious gem. Right under my nose, Charlie begins to develop feelings for her. The household gradually comes under her control. Even my two children, whom I cherish dearly, would rather have Cecilia as their mother. Just when I am completely disheartened, I discover my true identity. With how things are in the Lockwood household now, there is no longer anything here that is worth staying back for. Without hesitation, I file for divorce and return home to take over my family business.

Elena (21) gets pregnant after accidentally entering the private room of the most powerful and cold-hearted man in the city—Alexander Kingston (28). Drunk and blinded by memories of the woman he once loved, Alexander mistakes Elena for his lost love and spends the night with her. Because of the pregnancy, Alexander is forced to marry Elena—even though he does not want her. Convinced that Elena deliberately trapped him by sneaking into his room, Alexander believes she is nothing more than a gold-digger who used a one-night mistake to secure wealth and status. To him, the marriage is temporary. Once she gives birth to his child, she must leave. “I hate you. A woman like you doesn’t deserve to be my wife. Sign the divorce papers. After you give birth to my child, you will leave this house.” — Alexander Kingston (28) Pregnant and humiliated, Elena realizes she was never a wife in his eyes—only a tool chosen to bear an heir. But what happens when the truth comes out—and Elena was never guilty, never scheming, never trying to trap him? In a cold and unwanted marriage, Elena’s quiet strength and beauty slowly make it impossible for Alexander to ignore his growing feelings. Yet by the time he realizes his mistake… Elena has already given up and walked away. Will Alexander Kingston finally learn the true cost of regret?

Over the years, Julia had grown accustomed to being her husband Andrew’s substitute wife. Every time he looked at her face, she knew he was really seeing his late first love. But after so many years, her stepsister Charlotte returned to the country and shamelessly tried to take her place. Charlotte cozied up to her husband and won over her son. When her son said he’d rather live with Auntie Charlotte than with his own mother, Julia felt utterly heartbroken. She resolved to get a divorce and never be a substitute wife.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But for her, it's been simmering for years. He destroyed her self worth, leaving her a shell of her former self. Now, she's back, disguised in a quiet strength he'll never see coming. Prepare for a game of cat and mouse where the prey just might be the predator. The rules have changed, and this time, she's writing them.

Ayanna Laurent thought her wedding was the start of her new life, her forever. But as soon as the church doors opened, everything fell apart. In front of hundreds of rich guests, her fiancé Evan Hartwell picked someone else. Ayanna was left heartbroken and embarrassed right at the altar, where they were supposed to get married. Ayanna turned her back on the betrayal, walked away from her future that was now ruined, and then met Gabriel Vance. Gabriel Vance is a cold, tough, and very powerful billionaire. He really shouldn't have anything to do with a heartbroken woman like Ayanna, but he keeps drawing her into his exclusive world. But the bad part wasn't over yet. Evan felt deep regret and didn't want to let Ayanna go. He kept coming back, torn between his new wife and the woman he really wanted by his side. Now Ayanna is stuck between her ex-fiancé, who shamed and hurt her, and the powerful billionaire who's acting like she belongs to him, even though he never asked. Both powerful men won't back down. Who is she really supposed to be with?

The casino my husband and I ran was about to go through a chaotic police raid. Anyone who got caught would likely end up arrested. We had the time to leave. But we couldn’t all leave. One of us had to stay behind, or the cops would keep chasing us. Elias, my charming husband, didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed Mireille and left me to handle the cops, tossing over his shoulder, “I’ll send a lawyer to you.” Lucky for me, I managed to walk away without any consequences. And then, I saw, Elias, the man who was supposed to have my back, not only did escape without me, he also whisked Mireille away to some fancy resort, like they were on vacation. He looked so carefree, so unbothered. Not a hint of concern for the wife he’d just abandoned. “Think Seraphina’s gonna be mad that we left without her?” Mireille asked, all innocence. Elias laughed, that cold, detached laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. “Please. As if she’d ever get mad at me. She can handle herself.” He didn’t care. But you know what? Neither do I. Not anymore.

My fiancé of eight years moved in with the junior he was mentoring. She was young, pretty, knew how to play helpless, and knew exactly what she was doing. He'd down every toast meant for her—the same nights he let me get talked into drinking until I nearly died. He sat with her through her depression, fetched her water, fed her by hand. And me? I was alone in a hospital bed, burning with a 104-degree fever. He set her up on a pedestal and never noticed I'd been ground into the dirt. The day they discharged me, I didn't scream. I didn't fall apart. I went home, quietly packed a suitcase, and burned every memory that had his name on it. Later I heard the famous CEO of Washington Group showed up at his fiancée's door with millions of dollars in gifts. He found an empty apartment. And he lost his mind.

Everyone in the upper circles knew I was the Xander family’s delicate little porcelain doll, someone who could not tolerate even the slightest grievance. I always had to sit in the seat of honor at gatherings. My drinks had to be served ice-cold. If anything annoyed me even a little, I would have my childhood friends clear the room. That was, until the fallen heiress returned. She did not rely on men. She had built her own business from scratch and was ruthless in the boardroom, radiating a wild, untamed beauty. Slowly, my dear brothers began to find me insufferable and too high-maintenance. When they pulled their investments from my gallery to back her projects instead, only my fiancé stayed by my side, comforting me. “Forget them. They’re all opportunists. I’ll always keep you safe in the palm of my hand!” That was until one day, I saw that same proud fiancé bent low like a servant, humbly wiping wine stains off the heiress's shoes in a corner of a club. His eyes were filled with a devotion I had never seen before. “All I need is one look from you, and I’ll drop the whole wedding.” I took off my engagement ring and tossed it into the drain. Then, I went home and told my grandfather, “Grandpa, I’m going to Africa for that development aid project. “I’ll agree to the arranged marriage. Just don’t make me see them again."

Marcus's sixth patent had just gone through, and he said he was going to give me the grand proposal, the one that would close out four years of dating. The campus quad was covered in candles and roses. Marcus stood in the middle of it holding a bouquet, his eyes shining. He was halfway through his speech when his graduate student Claire threw herself into his arms. The plain silver band on her finger, identical to his, caught the candlelight. The crowd went still, then started murmuring. Every face turned toward them with the kind of look people get when they think they've stumbled onto a secret. And I was standing in the middle of that crowd. His girlfriend of four years, the one he had kept hidden the entire time, watching them hold each other. Watching him swallow the rest of his speech. Watching him hand my flowers to her. My phone buzzed in my hand. A message from S. "Sweetheart. Have you thought about it? We know we were wrong."

I stumbled across an encrypted folder on my husband's phone, filled with photos of a little girl I'd never seen before. From newborn to first steps, sorted by month—two full years' worth. But the child in those photos wasn't our daughter. When I confronted him, he said she was a girl named Rosie from the children's home I sponsored. The director sent growth updates, and he'd been saving them for me. I never imagined that my warm, thoughtful husband would use my charity to spin a lie. Because every single photo was geotagged to the apartment complex next to his office. And the children's home was on the other side of the city. I didn't call him out right then. Because I wanted to know whose child she really was.