My Vengeful-Ex
- LECTURES 448,493
- Votes 14,361
- Chapitres 99
Contenu pour adultesEn cours d'écriture11h 35m
Dernière publication ven., avr. 3, 2026
I stared at the girl in the mirror. She was only a shadow of the girl I used to be. Blue eyes, void of emotions and glint, glanced back at me. My lipstick and mascara were smudged, and my blonde curls were a complete mess from when he had fisted them while he pounded inside me from behind.
"Whores like you deserved to be fucked bent over the counter of a hotel restroom," Logan's last words before he left the ladies' restroom echoed in my ears.
A tear trickled down my cheek as a scream fought to escape out of my mouth. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from crying out loud.
He had vowed to hate me till eternity and make me pay for every single one of my sins. The thing I was unaware of was that I would start to hate myself during this journey of betrayal and vengeance.
--------------------
Christina struggled to make ends meet with her mom, who was suffering from cancer. An old pervert boss who was hell-bent on making her his wife number four and a whole lot of her colleagues who wished her to be gone guy from the company.
When someone from her past returns to her life, vowing to make her pay for her betrayal, she has nothing left but to see her life falling apart.
Past will be dug, secrets will resurface, and buried passions reignite in this tale of betrayal and hate.
Trigger Warning ⚠️ : The MMC in this book is unlike the ones in my other books. He is vindictive and abusive and does many questionable things. If you don't like such characters, please refrain from reading further.
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A scent. A scar. A slow-burning fucking romance dressed as nostalgia. It started with a fruit. Not love, not sex - a goddamn strawberry. The kind that looks like it's been kissed by every shade of red your childhood never had. He didn't share it. Didn't speak of it. Just tasted it once, and carried the ache ever since. Years later, she walked in - smelling exactly like that forgotten sweetness. Not perfume. Not fantasy. Just... truth. Sharp, quiet, terrifying truth. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers remember me when you least want to. He lied to her face. About himself. About the million ways he'd already started unraveling. But she knew. Women like her always know. She stared at him like sin dressed in judgment - and touched his wrist like she already owned his pulse. And he? He was fucked. Because she wasn't just beautiful. She was red. That memory. That craving. And no matter how much he pretended to be in control - she was already in his bloodstream. This isn't a love story. It's a slow possession. By scent. By memory. By her. And it ends exactly how it starts - with him on his knees, and her smelling like fucking strawberries.
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