Maiga Ardeni's Books and Stories
From ATM To Tech Queen's Empire
For thirteen years, I worked myself to the bone for my boyfriend, Angel. We were just $500 shy of our $100,000 goal for a house and a wedding. Then came the frantic late-night call. His aunt needed $50,000 for life-saving surgery. I sent our entire life savings without a second thought. But when I fell and injured myself rushing to the hospital, he told me he was busy and hung up. I found him there, not in an ER, but in a private wing, coddling his influencer mistress over her sprained ankle. My money was for her. He wasn't a struggling artist; he was a secret millionaire who'd used me as his personal ATM for over a decade. When I confronted him, he leaked my private photos to the world, painting me as an unstable ex to protect his new life. He left me broke, humiliated, and physically injured on the street. He thought he had won. But he forgot who I was. I picked up the phone and called my mother, the CEO of Mayli Tech. "Mom," I said, my voice steady. "I'm ready to take you up on that offer."
Finding Freedom In A Small Town
I was a billionaire's trophy wife, but when I fell ill, I had to beg my husband, Adam, for fifty dollars just to buy tampons. He refused, humiliating me for mismanaging my meager allowance. Minutes later, my phone lit up with photos of him on a yacht, gifting his ex-girlfriend a five-million-dollar necklace. The messages from other wives were brutal: "Poor Aubrey. Always second best." He had forbidden me from working, from having any independence, calling me an "ornament." I was a possession he'd bought, worth less than the jewelry he gave another woman. The humiliation burned hotter than any fever. He controlled my life, but he wouldn't control my escape. Standing drenched in the rain, I made a decision. If money was freedom, I would earn it myself. I pushed open the heavy door to The Velvet Lounge, a high-end club where secrets were sold and fortunes were made. My new life was about to begin.
He Drowned Me, I Burned His World.
My fiancé, Anthony, built an entire virtual world for me after a climbing accident left me in a wheelchair. He called it Aethelgard, my sanctuary. In his game, I wasn't broken; I was Valkyrie, the unrivaled champion. He was my savior, the man who patiently nursed me back from the brink. Then, I saw a live stream of him on stage at a tech conference. With his arm wrapped around my physical therapist, Dahlia, he announced to the world that she was the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with. The truth was a waking nightmare. He wasn't just cheating; he was secretly switching my pain medication for a weaker dose with sedatives, intentionally slowing my recovery to keep me weak and dependent. He gave Dahlia my one-of-a-kind bracelet, my virtual title, and even the wedding plans I had made for us. He leaked a humiliating photo of me at my lowest point, turning the entire gaming community against me and branding me a stalker. The final blow came when I tried to confront him at his victory party. His security guards beat me, and on his casual command, they threw my unconscious body into a filthy fountain to "sober me up." The man who swore to build a world where I would never struggle had tried to drown me in it. But I survived. I left him and that city behind, and as my legs grew strong again, so did my resolve. He stole my name, my legacy, and my world. Now, I'm logging back in, not as Valkyrie, but as myself. And I'm going to burn his empire to the ground.
His Obsession, Her Second Life
My fiancé, Declan, was my childhood sweetheart. But a traumatic brain injury from a car wreck turned him into a violent monster. I stayed, determined to wait for the man I loved to come back. Then his new therapist, Dr. Christie Howard, arrived. She was supposed to help him heal, but instead, she began to manipulate him, turning him against me. At a charity auction, a man lunged at them with a knife. I screamed a warning. But Declan didn't protect me. He pulled me in front of himself and Christie, using my body as a human shield. The blade sank into my side. In my previous life, that was just the beginning. For Christie, he let his men throw me down a flight of stairs. For Christie, he stood by as she desecrated my mother’s ashes. And in the end, the two of them murdered me in a staged car crash, leaving me to die in a heap of twisted metal. But I woke up, not dead, but in my bed. A full year before they killed me. This time, things would be different. I had a plan.
Building a Second Life
The cold seeped into my bones, each beat of the heart monitor a countdown to my end. My name is Ethan Miller, and I was dying, wasted by an illness the doctors couldn't explain. The System, an emotionless voice in my head, confirmed my mission failure: I had refused to play the villain, refused to hurt my adoptive aunt, Eleanor Vance, the woman I loved with everything I had. My reward for being the "good guy" was this hospital bed, my body shutting down because I wouldn't sabotage Eleanor' s perfect romance with the sculptor Liam Stone. The door opened, and Eleanor entered, radiant in a tailored dress, her arm linked with Liam' s. Her voice, smooth and practiced, feigned concern, but her eyes held impatience and distaste. She played the grieving aunt, while Liam, naive and kind, looked at me with pity. I rasped out that I was fine, but Eleanor, with a cruel smile, claimed the doctor said it wasn't looking good. She then held up a wooden bird, a phoenix I had carved for her years ago, a symbol of hope. On a live news broadcast, she declared it a symbol of "misguided love," then nonchalantly tossed it into a staged fireplace, burning my creation, my heart, to ashes. As the monitor flatlined and the System bond terminated, her triumphant smile was the last thing I saw. The rage was a physical thing, burning hotter than any fever. But then, a new, ancient voice offered me a second chance, a Rebirth Protocol. This time, I would embrace my designated role as the villain, and survive.
Not This Time, Scammer
My engagement party was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. My fiancé, Ethan, announced he had a $100,000 down payment for our dream house, all real cash. Then, his mother dramatically collapsed, feigning a heart attack, and Ethan immediately demanded my $50,000 paramedic bonus for her emergency surgery. But I knew this wasn't real. I'd lived this day before. Last time, I believed him, handed over my money, and watched as his elaborate scam unfolded. They framed my father with fake texts demanding more money, stressing him into a fatal heart attack. I lost everything-my father, my reputation, battled crushing debt, and in my despair, ended my own life. But by some miracle, I woke up, back in my bed, just before the party. I had a second chance. This time, I wouldn' t be the naive victim. As Ethan pleaded, a perfect picture of terror for the crowd, I just looked him dead in the eye and said, "No." Forget the money. I had a camera phone, a past life's bitter knowledge, and a plan to expose every single one of their lies, save my dad, and utterly destroy them.
The Contracted Marriage Five-Years Lie
My marriage to Isabella Vance was a carefully constructed lie, a five-year contract to secure my family's legacy. It looked perfect on the outside, a power couple united, but inside, it was a cold charade, a grim reminder of the love I'd lost. The terms were clear: at the contract's end, freedom. But Julian, Isabella' s obsessive adopted brother, saw my impending divorce as a threat to his stranglehold on her, escalating his petty torments into terrifying attempts on my life. He ambushed me, kidnapped me, then doused me in gasoline within a desolate desert shack, ready to watch me burn. Isabella, my wife, then walked in, and Julian forced her to publicly humiliate me and declare her sole devotion to him, all to prove how little I truly meant. As the flames ignited, a chilling realization hit me: was this my penance for a contract unfulfilled, or for daring to seek solace with a woman who resembled my beloved Clara? Every blow, every humiliation, felt like a perverse tribute to a past I thought I'd finally escaped. Just as despair threatened to consume me, a surprising act of selfless defiance, born from unexpected courage, shattered the nightmare. This desperate sacrifice changed everything, setting me on an unforeseen path toward profound healing and a true love I never dared dream of again.
The Billion-Dollar Dirt Farm
The air in the Oakhaven County Courthouse records office was thick with the smell of old paper. My pen hovered over the sales agreement for the little house on Elm Street, my entire inheritance from Grandma about to be invested, mostly in my boyfriend Mark' s name. I envisioned our future, eager to make his big dreams a reality. Then, a cold dread washed over me – a memory both utterly foreign and terrifyingly real. I had signed these papers before. In that forgotten life, Mark, emboldened by newly discovered fracking rights on the land, took my money, left me for Brenda, and abandoned me. I was left with nothing, ultimately dying alone from pneumonia in a brutal winter. My eyes snapped up. Across the room, Mark leaned against the wall, whispering to Brenda. She giggled, glancing at me with a sly, triumphant smirk. "We'll paint the kitchen yellow," Brenda declared, her voice carrying, "That awful blue Sarah likes has to go." Mark chuckled, "Anything you want, Bren. It's gonna be our place, after all." My place. My inheritance. A sickening punch to the gut. This was it – the exact, soul-crushing moment of betrayal, relived. How could this be happening? Was I insane? But then, a fierce realization ignited within me. I wasn't dead. I was here. My heart hammered, "A second chance!" The naive Sarah was gone, frozen to death in another timeline. This Sarah remembered everything. My hand, trembling no longer, closed into a fist. And with a defiant roar of paper, I ripped the sales agreement in half.
Three Times I Died, His Calls Unanswered
I returned to Arizona after four years, happily engaged and hoping to invite my guardian, Marcus, to my wedding. But I found a nightmare: Marcus was engaged to Chloe Davenport, my high school bully. He instantly dismissed my wedding news as a “lie,” blindly favoring Chloe as she systematically tormented me. He allowed her to frame me, forced apologies, and let her steal my cherished artwork. When I reported it, he quashed the police investigation, accusing me of “causing trouble” and confining me. His cruel disregard and blind favoritism was a profound betrayal. Overwhelmed by injustice, I resolved to cut all ties. I repaid every cent he'd spent, leaving a note: “The debt is repaid. I'm gone.” As I flew to Florence, Marcus’s delusion crumbled. He raced across continents, frantic to stop my Tuscan wedding. He burst in, desperate and tearful, only to find me radiant. Calmly, I revealed the three times I nearly died, alone and abandoned, after he sent me away – each time, my calls unanswered. My unwavering happiness with David, and the cold truth of his neglect, utterly shattered him.
My Husband's Mistress Invited Me to Coffee After Getting Pregnant
Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, the tenth anniversary of Ellie's Sweet Sensations, my beloved bakery. But amidst the flash of cameras and Dan's charming politician's smile, a cold knot tightened in my stomach. Late-night texts, a mysterious credit card charge from a boutique I'd never heard of, "Jolie's"... then I heard it, Dan cooing "Love you too, Maddie" into the phone. The perfect facade cracked; my husband was having an affair. The betrayal was bad enough, but then she popped up – Maddie Bell, young, blonde, influencer – flaunting my husband online. Vacation photos, the same necklace from Jolie's, and always always right next to my husband. Then I caught wind of THEIR baby. My carefully constructed world started crumbling as I came to terms with the stark reality: He wasn't just cheating; he was building a whole new life with her. I baked him that cake for our anniversary, knowing I'd soon be but a memory. Then, the ultimate slap – he was going to take Maddie home to meet his parents. The next day, she was at my doorstep feigning sympathy while my world burned. I couldn't stay with all of this on my plate. Not even for Liam. So I plotted my escape, a theatrical end: a staged car accident with me declared the victim. What kind? The one he causes. Was this revenge or survival? I thought it was both. But what would my story have in store? I started by documenting the full account of his disgusting deed in a diary I knew he would stumble on post-"mortem."
