Stack Overflow Manhwa

Caught off guard by the sight of her fiancé and step-sister in bed together, Haley swiftly dumped the scumbag and hastily tied the knot with her fiancé’s uncle. Initially viewing the marriage as a matter of convenience, she soon found herself showered with affection and assistance from her unexpected husband. Yet, as time passed, his behavior took a peculiar turn... With her back almost giving out from exhaustion, Haley exploded with frustration, "We need to divorce. This marriage is intolerable!" To her astonishment, a shameless proposition followed, "Let's divorce then. Everything will be yours, including me!" Shane Ford, rumored to be worth billions, was renowned for his aloof demeanor and disinterest in romance. However, after marriage, he transformed into a devoted partner, showering Haley with overflowing affection and occasionally displaying irresistibly adorable episodes of jealousy.

Hong Hanseok and Lee Seungmin are immersed in the sweetness of love, like enjoying a unique glass of Moscow Mule. But forgetting love is an elusive thing, enjoying it in the wrong way is like innocent rabbits being coaxed to the foot of a volcano. It is simmering underground, waiting to overflow and burn everything it passes through. And then, they were all ashes of burned memories.

After being dumped by her boyfriend of two years for the second time, Susan decided that she needed a rebound after three months. She meets a possessive hot guy in the club who calls himself Andrew Brown and refuses to leave her house after a one night stand. What happens if Susan finds out his real identity after falling for him as a homeless guy? His fake name didn’t even ring a bell, but was he for real or was he going to dump her just like her previous exes? Dig in to read the fascinating story of Susan Stack and Andrew Crown, the disguised CEO of Crown Investors, a Trillion Dollar multinational company in New York.

As I was cleaning up the house, I noticed something had fallen out of the cabinet my wife always kept locked tight. I remembered Megan's constant warnings. "That cabinet holds all our family's important records. If anything gets lost, there's no getting it back. Just leave it alone and don't touch it." Worried something valuable might have fallen out, I rushed to pick it up. But what I found was a thick stack of remittance slips. From forty years ago to now, every month, my wife had been sending money to the same account. And that's when it hit me. My wife had been lying to me. The money I'd been pouring into this family had been flowing right out, into the hands of someone else.

Blurb She loved him fiercely, masking her wealth to prove her devotion, willing to sacrifice anything to make him happy. But her loyalty was met with coldness and a stack of divorce papers tossed her way. Heartbroken and betrayed, she walked away, vowing to let him believe she was defeated. Yet, when he comes crawling back, realizing he’d thrown away his chance, she’s ready. This time, he’ll learn just how cruelly her heart can play, how sharp her silence can sting, and how merciless love can be when betrayed. She’ll make him pay—for every moment she wasted loving him.

Every year, my wife, Jessica Lowe, prepares a huge surprise for me on our wedding anniversary. On the night of our tenth anniversary, she enters the banquet hall with a scantily-dressed male model. She demands that I take off my suit and put it on him instead. I refuse and take out a divorce agreement. In retaliation, Jessica slaps a thick stack of photos onto the table. The photos show me at my most humiliated, shameful, and pathetic moments. She sneers, "Michael Jefferson, you talk about divorce all the time. But each time, you always end up crawling back to me with your tail between your legs, begging me to take you back. "Tell me, what will your comatose mother think if these pictures of you get out? Will she finally wake up in the hospital from shame and embarrassment?" However, Jessica doesn't know that my mother, Eleanor Brown, passed away months ago.

I was in the office bathroom stall when I heard them trash-talking me. The intern I'd trained for three months whined, "She's a heartless witch—like a robot with zero brain cells." I was about to swing the door open when another voice jumped in, laughing. "Documents incomplete." "Receipts don't match." "No signature? Denied." "Seriously, we've all memorized the freaking rulebot's script!" Once they were gone, I headed back to my desk. The intern stormed in and slammed a fat stack of reimbursement forms in front of me. "Don't go on another power trip and block everyone's claims." I skimmed the obviously fake receipts. Normally, I'd tear into her. But this time, I just smiled. "My head's killing me. Can't read the fine print."

I've been married to Elliot Graves, the mafia drug lord in NYC, for the past eight years. But today—on our wedding anniversary—I received a photo of him with my best friend, Lila, celebrating as if they were the ones married. And in her arms was my son, Owen. I stared at the image, then typed out two words in reply. “How perfect.” Half a hour later, Elliot stormed through the front door. His voice thundered through the hallway. “Why do you always have to be so bitchy to Lila?” Owen, my own little boy, shoved at my leg and glared. “Bad Momma,” he said. “I wish Miss Lila was my real mommy.” I didn’t flinch. I simply walked over to the drawer, pulled out the crisp stack of papers I’d long prepared, and dropped them on the table with a quiet finality. “Alright,” I said, my voice calm. “It’s all my fault. Now, can I go?”

From a stall in the office restroom, I overhear someone badmouthing me. Henry Fielder, the intern I've been mentoring for three months, grumbles, "The guy's got zero people skills. He's a total fossil, like a robot stuck in one mode." I'm about to push the door open and jump in when someone laughs and piles on. "The paperwork is incomplete. The receipts aren't compliant. I can't reimburse it without a manager's signature. We could recite his canned empathy lines in our sleep!" Once they're gone, I quietly head back to my office. Later, Henry drops a thick stack of expense reports onto my desk. "Quit waving the rulebook and rejecting everyone's reimbursements." I skim the fake receipts, and for once, I don't call him out. Instead, I give a thin smile and say, "I have a headache. I can't make out the words."

Every anniversary, Mark had some twisted surprise for me. Our tenth? He strutted into the ballroom holding hands with an escort wearing straight up lingerie. "Jenna, she's cold. Hand over your dress." Then, like that wasn't sick enough: "And the lingerie. She likes your vibe." I clutched my collar, trying to keep it together. He didn't care—just yanked it open. "Cut the act. Your dad sold you to me, remember? That slutty look you used to give me—I still see it." Everyone stared, waiting for me to break. So I did the one thing I could. "I want a divorce." Again. Mark just laughed and chucked a stack of photos on the table—me, covered in marks, curled in bed, a total mess. "You say that every year. And every year, you're back in my bed. Think your mom keeps that hospital spot if these get out?"