Icarus Laughed Novels & Stories

“You threw divorce papers in my face, humiliated me, and now you’re crawling back saying you love me?” Samantha laughed coldly, her voice dripping with venom. “Do I look like a fool to you, Nathan?” “I made a mistake,” he whispered brokenly. “Please, Samantha… don’t leave me. I still love you.” “Love?” she asked with a mocking smile, dragging a finger slowly down his chest. “You didn’t love me when you threw me out for someone richer. You just want me now… because you have nothing left.” ***** Samantha gave up everything for love—her family, her pride, her identity—just to please a man who saw her as nothing more than a disposable wife. After sacrificing everything for Nathan and his controlling family, all she got in return was betrayal, humiliation, and divorce. But Samantha had a secret. She wasn’t just a scorned ex-wife, she’s the hidden heiress of the most powerful conglomerate in America and she’s done playing nice. When she returns to the world she once left behind, she isn’t the meek woman begging for love anymore. She’s fierce, fearless, and filthy rich. And this time, she’s calling the shots.

The Andersons' rule was simple and brutal: the inheritance passed to sons, never daughters. So, I lived as a man for ten years. Even Winston Quinn, the one I had been promised to since childhood, had no idea. To him, I was just his best friend. After taking control of everything, I was finally ready to tell him the truth. Before I could say a word, Winston grabbed my arm, smiling like he couldn't be happier. "Sam, there's something I've been keeping from you. Louise quietly came back last month. We're getting married! She really looks like you." My whole body went rigid. That “sister” I had made up, the one who was supposedly recovering overseas? Before I could react, a woman who looked eerily like me peeked out from behind him. She shoved me aside, her expression sharp and smug. "I'm back, Sam. Stop clinging to Winston just because you're my brother. Have some shame. Otherwise, I'll tell everyone you've got twisted feelings for your future brother-in-law!" I looked at the arrogant impostor in front of me and almost laughed from sheer anger. She was Louise Anderson? Then who the hell was I?

“Even if the world shuns me, laughs at me, gives me strange looks, and labels me as a freak, I will not give up. I will never give up on what I believe in, even if it takes years, I will continue to persevere until I achieve my goal and get what I deserve!” These were the words Juan always told herself deep down in her heart whenever she looked at the mirror. These were the words that made her keep on going whenever they laughed at her, mocked her for being ugly. To her, as long as she has faith even as small as a mustard seed, she believes that one day, her time will come and her life will change for the better. All she needed was a chance, an opportunity and that is all it took for her life to be changed eternally forever. Destiny came knocking at her door and no matter how many times she tried throwing this chance away, it followed her home and from that day going forward, Juan, the ugly and clown everyone was used to became a beauty that many couldn’t touch. Even if the journey wasn’t simple and rocky, she wasn’t willing to give it up and live a life of suffering as she did. Will there be happiness waiting for her at the end of the road? Will she be willing to sacrifice it all to achieve her dreams and goals?

To fulfill the Bet-on Agreement, I pretended to be a nobody and interned at my husband Evan Grant’s company for a week. On my first day at work, I ran into a woman waving a Marriage Certificate around at the front desk like she owned the place. “Do you even know what a marriage certificate means? It means I’m the only one for Mr. Grant! “Why are you standing so lazily? Is your spine weak, or do you just not see me? Lower your head! Keep it down until Mr. Grant arrives! “Is the cafeteria food terrible? I’ll have the Michelin chef spice it up for you!” I was about to step forward when a colleague grabbed my arm. “She’s Mr. Grant’s First Love,” they whispered. “I heard he proposed a hundred times before she finally said yes…” The colleague nodded toward the certificate and warned me kindly: “The worst that happens if you offend Mr. Grant is you might get fired. But offend Mrs. Grant… and you’ll vanish completely.” I nearly laughed out loud. I pulled out my phone and called my brother. “Lucas, get Evan here. Bring the divorce papers too. I want to see him on his knees begging me within five minutes.”

Six months after our divorce, my ex-wife, Shanon Reich went viral with her new influencer boyfriend, Tobias Hunt, gaining over ten million followers. One day, by sheer accident, I scrolled into their livestream and saw my three-year-old daughter, Ginny Herbert, trapped inside a car. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. Her little face was flushed, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. She looked utterly helpless. Shanon didn't smash the window, nor did she call the police. Instead, she laughed brightly at the camera. "Thank you to our top fan for the moneybag gift!" Then she grinned and said, "Send another moneybag! I'll smash the window once I get it, okay?" I lost my mind. I raced over like a madman and wrenched the car keys out of her hand. "Leomund Herbert! Are you insane?" she screamed. "Do you know how much this stream is worth? It's just a little heat! She's not going to die!" I held my daughter in my arms. Her tiny body was limp, and she was barely conscious. With reddened eyes, I pointed at her and shouted, "Shanon Reich! You will pay for this!"

I was always flying for work, so I left the whole renovation thing to my husband, Daxton Pruitt. This time, my flight got scrapped last minute, so I swung by the house to check in. The second I stepped inside, some woman named Mona Scambley, who claimed she was the designer, chucked a stack of invoices at me. Couples' lingerie display case: $15,000. High-end waterbed: $40,000. One glance at that pile of overpriced tacky nonsense made me nauseous. My brows pulled tight. "Ms. Scambley, this is a private house, not some couples' motel. What is all this?" Her face flipped in a heartbeat. She jabbed a finger at me. "The owner gave those orders. You're just the site supervisor. Disobey me again, and I'll have Mr. Pruitt fire you!" Then she spun around and called Daxton right there. I laughed, cold and low, about to ask what kind of clown show designer he'd hired—until I heard his voice. Gentle. Doting. "This is Mona and my love nest. We'll do whatever we want. Don't like it? Get out." I smiled, snatched the list from Mona, and nodded. "Sure." One week later, that overpriced waterbed showed up—Daxton, very much not smiling.

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.

I’d been married to my husband James for three years. On Valentine’s Day, he gave his stepsister, Mia, one hundred and eighty thousand dollars, along with millions in jewelry. I, on the other hand, received a free bouquet of roses. When I didn’t look thrilled, he accused me of being a gold digger. “Mia never had anyone to care for her growing up. Why are you competing with her? Isn’t being Mrs. Smith enough to feed your vanity?” Furious, I stormed out of the house. When a car lost control and came barreling toward me, he instinctively rushed to protect Mia, who was standing a full ten feet from the road. I was the one who ended up in the hospital. Lying in that bed, I finally gave up. I signed the divorce papers without hesitation. “Giving up the title of Mrs. Smith is the dumbest decision you’ll ever make,” he told me, looking down at me from above before walking away. Seven years later, we met again. He took one glance at my simple dress and laughed out loud. I didn’t bother to respond. I just held my daughter close and waited for her father—the richest man in the city—to arrive.

She woke up every morning with a heavy heart, dreading the inevitable encounter with Mr. Montenegro. She couldn't comprehend why he had such intense hatred towards her, always finding ways to belittle and demean her. She attempted to disregard the hurtful comments and taunts, but it cut her deeply. As time passed, her patience began to wear thin. She could no longer tolerate the constant abuse. One day, she confronted him and asked him why he treated her so terribly. He merely laughed and insulted her, calling her weak and pathetic. However, something inside her snapped that day. She refused to allow him to have control over her any longer. Standing tall, she looked at him in the eye and informed him that she would no longer tolerate the abuse. He was taken aback by her sudden display of strength, and for the first time, he saw her as a person rather than just a target. Over time, his attitude towards her changed. He ceased the insults and began to show her a grudging respect for standing up to him. She learned that sometimes, you have to fight back to be treated with dignity and respect. She was determined to never allow anyone to make her feel small again..

I gave birth prematurely, just twenty days before the due date. Two hours after I entered the surgery room, I had a stillborn baby. I did not cry at all. I did not even spare a glance at the dead baby. I endured the pain from childbirth and calmly walked into the hospital nursery. After the door was tightly shut, I turned down the temperature of the air-conditioning. The temperature inside the nursery would be too cold for newborns to bear after an hour. The doctors and parents were begging me on their knees to let their babies live. They screamed and cried. They said I was a mother and hoped that I would understand. Instead, I laughed and said, “Yes, I was a mother. But my baby died!” The gynecologist knelt on the floor and begged, “We may be at fault for not being able to save your baby, but these babies are innocent! “Please don’t be reckless just because you lost your baby! You’re so young. You’ll have more babies in the future.” I gritted my teeth and roared, “But my baby isn’t dead! “She’s still alive. I’ll give you one hour. Bring her back to me!” But I was unsure if she would still be alive after an hour.