Spoiled By My Nine Beast Husbands Novels & Stories

“Last time I had tequila was right after my husbands died. After their funerals, mom let me have tequila. I hurt two Renegades. I shot one and pushed the other one off a balcony.” “We’ll come back to you being a bad ass bitch in a tiny package,” Becks said in awe. “Husbands? As in you’ve been involved with more than one man before?” “Daniel and Cade.” Evie nodded. “Like you can say much.” Taz pointed out. “I only have one husband.” Becks grinned. “He has five wives.” Mel gaped at both women in shock before muttering something in Spanish. Evie laughed and responded in Spanish causing her to blush and her girlfriend, Angel, to laugh.

Chapter 89: Taking after their mother ** Amber’s POV “My love, you are already the best husband and father ever,” I tell my husband, “You don’t need to buy out the entire toy store to prove it!” We both regard the pile of toys my mate has brought home today. Stuffed wolves of every size and color, some of them far too big for our newborns. Which my husband knows. Mobiles, teddy bears, so many other puffy creatures that I can’t even readily identify. I think some are from television shows, but I’m really not sure. There’s just so many of them.

He leaned closer, "Your husband and son don't value you anymore. Spinning the wheel means making them taste their medicine." "How do you know anything about my husband and son?" I glanced around to be sure no one was listening to our conversation. Lorion tapped his suit buttons casually. All of a sudden, like a remote control, I had a flashback. "I have become a stranger in my own home. My husband doesn't value me anymore. He spends his time with a woman outside. My son hates me, he sees the other woman as his mommy." That was my first explanation. I remembered how I sobbed. "I – I didn't do anything wrong, I swear it. I have done everything for that household. I abandoned everything else fo

I forced myself to be calm. My eyes drifted to the wedding photo on the nightstand, and a thought suddenly crossed my mind. "I just think the photo looks a little washed out. We should get it restored. Do you remember where we took it?" "Honey, how could you forget where we took our wedding photos? You know what? I'll take it in for restoration." My supposed husband, Brandon Moore, got up and took the framed wedding photo off the wall, turning it around to show me the watermark on the back—Genuinely Yours Studio.

Roland looked dazed, as if he were seeing me for the first time. That expression was truly laughable. He said, "Mirella, we've been married for years. Must we really reach the point of mutual destruction?" I sighed, mimicking how Roland acted in my previous life. "It's precisely because we're husband and wife that I can't show favoritism. I know you're not someone who's obsessed with wealth and glory. Only this method can convince the King that you're truly a man of noble character. After all, how could such a man possibly have endangered the King just to chase after a concubine in a temper?"

It had become her armor. Her husband, Victor Hale, strode across the marble stage like he owned not just the building, but the entire city. He was tall, immaculately dressed, with the kind of smile that charmed investors and shattered hearts. For three years, she had called him her husband. For three years, she had convinced herself that enduring coldness and neglect was still better than returning to the empty loneliness she had known before him. Tonight would destroy that illusion once and for all.

My proposal was an insult, as if flaunting my wealth and reducing him—from a prideful, exceptional man from a humble background—to a kept husband. He claimed that my family had treated him like a trained dog. The searing pain in my body surged like waves, and the torture in my heart, torn apart piece by piece, suffocated me. I wanted to question him, scream at him, plead for help, cry out. But everything came out as muffled whimpers. My throat was ruined, burnt beyond use. Giselle's face softened with tender sympathy as she heard Harrison's bitter words. She reached out to soothe his clenched fists, veins bulging with rage.

I tilted my head and flashed the camera an innocent, saccharine smile. "Honey, you're back! I helped you hit your goals tonight. Bruce just gave another ten gifts!" Bruce smacked a kiss on my shoulder, then glanced over at Jake. "Hey Jake, your wife is seriously slutty. Just think of tonight's donations as my tip to you for your trouble." Jake's fists clenched tight. His teeth ground together audibly, the muscles in his cheek twitching. The chat feed was full of mockery. [The cuckold's back!] [This guy can really take it.]

“But, how is it that you were married to her all these years and didn’t even know what she liked to eat? That’s pretty pathetic for a husband…” “Ex-husband,” Adam corrected with a smirk. “What about you?” I snapped, glaring at Arlington. “Your pathetic pining for my wife from a distance, for years, has clearly gotten you nowhere. Talk about pathetic…” Arlington froze for a moment before smiling politely. “Not so distant, I admit.” “You are not the father of my child,” I replied, stepping aside for a nurse who had come down the corridor. “And neither are you, Adam.” “You’re sure of that?” Adam asked, crossing his arms. “How many times have you slept with Alice over the years? A dozen? Less?”

On the night of our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband—Damian Grant, the man who ruled the mafia by day and once ruled my heart by night—did not bring me roses. He gave the bouquet that should have been mine to Serena Lane, his personal assistant. Beneath the chandelier where we once danced on our wedding night, he turned to me with that same cold charm he once used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. “She's pregnant.” Finally, everything fell into place. “She's a picky eater. From today onward, you’ll cook three meals a day for her. And no repeats.