Deb@jaya

It all started with a bet, a bet George Stanley made with his ex-girlfriend, a bet that allowed Vivian to marry her secret love.
George thought he could always win yet never expected, that losing Vivian would be his biggest regret.
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George felt furious and frustrated after being dumped. He wanted to show Megan that he was happy without her, so he married the lady his grandma picked, Vivian.
Vivian, who had a crush on George, gladly consented to the contract marriage in the hopes of winning his love within the year. But little did she know that it would be impossible for her to thaw his icy rock heart.
Vivian found out she was pregnant on their first anniversary and couldn't wait to tell her husband. Who would have thought that he would drop a bomb of divorce on that day?
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I am still lying on the bed, naked, with his marks all over my body, when he drops those cold words, “Megan is back. I want a divorce.”
I am shocked at how callus he can be. I haven’t told him about my pregnancy yet.
What should I do now?
Will he forget about Megan and carry on with this marriage if I tell him?
“It is clearly stated in the contract that we can end this marriage if we don’t fall in love with each other in a year. I don’t love you, Vivian. You failed to win my heart.”
He says those words with no emotions, looking into my eyes.
I understand I'll never be able to replace Megan in his heart, so I decide to keep my pregnancy a secret from him.
“Let’s divorce then,” I say
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Vivian thought she would live happily with her baby away from George and his cold, heartless world. But fate had already made a different plan for her.
She ultimately crossed his path.
“You dared to hide my child from me. Now be ready for the consequences.”
When George reappeared in Vivian's life, everything became a tornado of chaos.
How was she going to keep herself and her child away from him? Would she be able to save herself from getting hurt again?

Mr. Billionaire, Leave Me Alone

I take the draft from the reporter's outstretched hand, my fingers trembling as I clutch the paper. My eyes lock onto the design, the intricate details that I poured my heart into, but something catches my attention—a signature, not my own.


My brows furrow in confusion, and my mind races to comprehend the revelation before me.


"Misha," I whisper, tracing the name with my fingertip.


Who is Misha? Why is her signature on my design?


Doubt and disbelief flood my thoughts, intertwining with a deep sense of unease.


I created the design of this wedding gown; every stitch and every embellishment were born from my own imagination. This accusation feels like an assault on my integrity, a betrayal of my artistic vision.


The reporters keep asking me questions, eyes fixed upon me, awaiting my response.


Chapter 39 The plagiarism