I Thought You Were A Time-limited Husband นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Lily Thornton was the underprivileged student I'd sponsored for a full ten years. From middle school through college, I covered every penny of her tuition and living expenses. I treated her like my own little sister. When she was diagnosed with a rare disease, I even begged my husband, Graham Forsythe -- Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery -- to personally operate on her. But on the day of her college graduation ceremony. I went to her apartment early to surprise her. And found Graham pressing her into the sofa, tenderly kissing her slightly swollen belly. "Graham, if Serena finds out about our baby, do you think she'll cut off my medication?" Graham pulled her into his arms, his voice laced with that condescending patience of his. "Don't worry. Serena is the kind of woman who's so rational she's practically cold-blooded. She'd never understand the soul-deep connection we share -- two people saving each other." "But to protect my reputation as department chief, she'll fall in line." "Once I get that one-of-a-kind clinical trial slot for the new drug, I'll divorce her and give you and the baby a real home." I stood outside the door, staring at the freshly stamped Phase-I clinical trial authorization in my hand. I didn't push the door open. I didn't make a scene. I simply, with perfect calm, tore it to shreds and dropped the pieces into the trash can beside me. Graham Forsythe. You couldn't have imagined this in your wildest dreams. That clinical trial slot your entire hospital had pulled every string to secure. Its lead research scientist was none other than your wife. The one you mocked for being so rational she was cold-blooded.

The tenth time one of my paintings appeared under my sister Rose's name, I handed Adrian the divorce papers. He raised an eyebrow and tossed the agreement aside without a second glance. "Don't be dramatic. Your hand is ruined -- where would you even go without me?" I said nothing. He smiled, his tone dripping with casual indifference. "You should be grateful. Rose was the one I was supposed to marry. A few paintings is a small price to pay. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you." He blew a ring of cigarette smoke directly into my face. I choked, and the sting brought tears to my eyes. Through the blur, I was transported back to the moment my tendons were severed for his sake -- a pain that had drilled straight to the bone. He thought I had no choice but to take it. What he didn't know was that I'd already accepted an offer from the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Soon, I would be free of him for good.

My dad’s crush came back, and my mom decided to fake her death. “Jane, I’m the main character of a tragic story. If I don’t fake my death now, I’ll end up miserable. “Go tell your dad that Quiana killed me.” In my past life, I had done exactly as she said. My dad had flown into a rage and destroyed the Sullivan family. After that, my mom returned to the land of the living. I thought our family would finally be whole again. Instead, she clung to Dad and cried. “I gave Jane my contact information. How could she say I was dead?” To punish me, my dad locked me in a cold storage room. My mom shot me a cold look. “That’s what you get for calling that woman pretty.” In the cold storage room, at −58°F, I froze to death. When I opened my eyes again, my mom had already faked her death and ran off with her devoted admirer. I looked at my dad and asked with an innocent expression, “Dad, what does eloping mean?”

Jericko Santillan a man who has lost his appetite for women because of his big time heartbreaks. He had given up hope that another woman would give his heart new life. Until she finds Maria Isabel del Frado; the woman who is escaping his father’s tradition; arranged marriage. Would Jericko risk his heart once more to save Isabelle? Will Isabelle be successful in winning Jericko's heart and trust so she can reject her father's forced marriage proposal?

Three years of marriage, and I'd become known in our social circle as the ultimate doormat. My husband staying out all night, his silent treatment, bringing his first love home to flaunt in my face—through it all, I'd smile and make him hangover soup, keeping the house spotless. Everyone thought I loved him to the point of madness. Even he believed it. Until the day of the divorce, when he begged me with tears in his eyes not to leave—and then watched "me" collapse rigid to the floor after a power outage, revealing a charging port on the back of my neck. He lost his mind. Meanwhile, the real me was lying on a beach in the Maldives, running my fingers through the hair of a gorgeous twenty-something with a six-pack, cheerfully pressing the "factory reset" button.

I had stopped pretending the night Sebastian sailed past our bedroom door for the third time and didn’t look back. I had married him to keep my father’s company intact. Out of my father's desperation. The vows were for the cameras and the board, everything else was ledger entries and quiet compromises. He chased his affairs in public while I held the facade. He saw my composure and called it martyrdom. He never figured out that my calm was armor, not devotion. Then Samantha came home, twenty-three, luminous, curious, the kind of warmth that made places in me I’d kept cordoned off ache. She drifted into my life with easy laughter and careless questions. A sister-in-law, that became my obsession. We started with late-night talks, her voice soft in an empty house, her hand brushing mine while we pretended we were discussing nothing at all. Those small touches stopped being accidental, but deliberate. While Sebastian was busy elsewhere, I took his sister. Not to win anything on a balance sheet, not to score a victory, but to finally have the means to protect who I am, and who I love. Samantha was bewildered at first, shame and curiosity tangling on her face, but the way she leaned into the moments we stole told me more than words ever could. It was messy and urgent and selfish. She became my refuge and my ruin. The tenderness I had once sold to survive became a liability I was suddenly proud to bear. When the scandal around Sebastian crescendoed, I didn’t hide behind the marriage or the name. I stepped into the light, shoulder to shoulder with her, exposed and fierce. I traded anonymity for that, truth wrapped in possession, and I, Mikayla Stonefield, would have done it again.

My marriage to Bryan wasn’t perfect, but it was never bad enough for me to want him dead. Yet when he was brutally murdered in a hotel room, every finger pointed at me. His family accused me. The world believed them I spent months behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit. My empire crumbled. My only child now sees me as a murderer. I was bullied, broken, and forgotten until Damon stepped back into my life. Damon, my ex-lover, is now fighting to clear my name. He has one goal: to set me free. But he has another theory, one more shocking than the accusation itself, My Husband could be faking his death to make me suffer and start a new life with his mistress . Freedom didn’t make life easier. Outside those prison walls, I’m paying for my husband’s mistakes while battling for custody of my son, his family took everything from me but what if i turned everything around in my favour? And the question haunting me remains: Or how long was my supposed dead husband going to keep hiding?

Nathan Brooks had been tangled up with his secretary for far too long. All I did was ask one simple question. “Has Chloe Bennett resigned yet?” That was enough to make him hurl the glass in his hand at me. “You jealous, bitter woman,” he snapped. “Because of your jealousy, you drove Chloe away. “I told you I’m not divorcing you, Emily. Isn’t that enough for you?” I said nothing. I only looked down at the cut on my arm, where the shattered glass had sliced through my skin, then quietly bent down and picked up the broken pieces. What Nathan didn’t know was that I had already drawn up the divorce papers.

When struggling teacher Sienna Carter takes a last-minute nanny job for Grayson Pierce, a ruthless billionaire and single father, she has no idea what she’s getting into. Grayson is cold, demanding, and emotionally distant, more interested in boardrooms than bedtime stories. His daughter, Lily, is quiet and withdrawn, having lost her mother in a tragic accident. Sienna, with her warm and compassionate nature, clashes with Grayson at every turn. He sees her as an inconvenience, while she finds him insufferable. But as Sienna slowly breaks through Lily’s walls, she unexpectedly starts to unravel Grayson’s, too. Hate turns to fiery tension, tension turns to stolen glances, and before they know it, the icy walls between them start to melt. But just as love begins to bloom, secrets from Grayson’s past resurface, threatening to destroy everything. Will their growing love be enough to survive the storm? Or will Grayson’s fear of vulnerability cost him the one thing he never knew he needed?

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.