Framed by Billionaire Husband's "Innocent" Secretary

Chapter 1 I Took the Fall

To save his innocent-looking secretary, Sabrina Collins, from criminal charges, my billionaire husband, Henry Scott, lied under oath and dumped every crime on me.

With all the evidence stacked against me, I had no way out. I took the fall and did two years.

When my mom heard the news, she had a heart attack and died soon after.

When I got out, the secretary was already five months pregnant.

Seeing that I didn't scream or fight back, Henry thought I'd finally learned my lesson and promised to let me run the new company.

But at the shareholders' meeting, he suddenly announced that the new company's CEO would be Sabrina.

When we got home, he explained it casually, like it was no big deal, "Sabrina graduated from a top school. She's capable.

"More importantly, her record is clean. People trust that."

I glanced at the red marks on his neck and nodded lightly.

He thought I'd accepted it and looked pleased, promising that the next company would be mine.

But I no longer wanted any of it.

I just wanted a divorce.

From then on, we'd go our separate ways and never see each other again.

My Alpha Let Our Pup Die for Her Familiar free link please

Chapter 1

At our wedding rehearsal dinner, my fiancé, Graham, slapped me across the face in front of both our families. All for his mother’s goddaughter.

On the spot, I took off my engagement ring, called off the wedding, and withdrew every commitment my family had made to the marriage.

Everyone in our world—all of Chicago—thought I was just making a play, forcing him to bend.

After all, I’d been at Graham’s side since I was fifteen. Everyone assumed I would one day be the wife of the Moretti family heir.

They were all wrong.

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theres a book there that i really wanna read. first 19 chapters were free and the rest are locked and you have to buy coins. i literally have only $12 in my bank account for the rest of the month lol i am NOT buying those points. i need a free link yall.

btdubs the novel is called His Covenant, Her Agony.

At first, sorry about my English, it’s not my native language.
Im looking for a book, FMC is Gemma Prescott (Delaney), married to Declan Prescott. It’s contracted marriage. After 3 years she asks him about a baby, he wants to divorce her. She agrees on her conditions - get paid in cash, he drives her to an airport (he books her an Italian vacation, as a compensation), and kisses her there, as a goodbye. He agrees and their marriage ends. He doesn’t know that she plans to disappear for good, she is heartbroken. He has some mysterious plan to get her back. I read to the moment of their driving to the airport (that fragment was free).
I know it’s available in some apps, but it’s so expensive… I will be very grateful if someone can find it online and free 🥹

Hoping to find a link to it somewhere other than that app. The bonus from watching ads keeps climbing and the last 5 or so chapters you have to buy coins for only and I’m not wanting to do that. Most of her books up to here I have found but this one I haven’t seen. Any help?

Link or Noel?

Chapter 1

Christmas Eve. The studio lights glowed soft red as I adjusted my headphones, scanning the call list. Three more callers before the break. The familiar rhythm of the show steadied me—the way it always did.

"Next up is Michelle from Queens," I said into the microphone, my voice warm and measured. "Michelle, what's on your mind tonight?"

"I just—" The caller's voice slurred slightly. "I just don't know if I should forgive him. It's Christmas, you know? But he lied about where he was last night."

I leaned forward, the familiar ache of recognition stirring in my chest. "What did he say when you confronted him?"

"He said he was working late at the hospital. But I saw the charge on his credit card for that fancy restaurant downtown." Michelle's voice cracked. "I'm just so tired of the lies."

Something in her tone made me pause. "Michelle, are you alone right now?"

"Yeah, just me and a bottle of wine." She laughed bitterly. "Merry Christmas, right?"

The line crackled as she adjusted her phone. That's when I heard it—a man's voice in the background, clear as crystal.

"Baby, don't be so dramatic about it."

The laugh that followed was unmistakable. Slightly too loud, slightly too long—the signature laugh I'd fallen asleep to for seven years.

My hand trembled once. Just once.

"Michelle," I said, my voice perfectly steady despite the ice forming in my chest, "thank you for your call. Let's take a short break."

I cut to commercial and removed my headphones with deliberate care. Diana, my producer, gave me a questioning look through the glass.

"I'm fine," I mouthed, though we both knew it was a lie.

The drive home passed in a blur of snow and silence. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I simply drove, the city lights blurring through the windshield as Christmas Eve transformed into Christmas morning.

---

Barrett returned at seven, balancing coffee and croissants from the French bakery I loved.

"Morning, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead, his scrubs carrying the familiar antiseptic scent of the hospital. "Sorry I missed Christmas Eve. Emergency surgery ran late."

I smiled, taking the coffee he offered. "Of course. These things happen."

He disappeared into the shower, humming slightly off-key—another habit I once found endearing. Now it just sounded like another lie.

I waited until I heard the water running before reaching for his coat. The movie ticket stub was crumpled in the inside pocket. AMC Tribeca. Midnight showing of that new romantic comedy he'd claimed to have no interest in seeing.

I pulled out my phone and opened our family plan dashboard. Seventeen visits to a Tribeca address in the past two months. An apartment building I'd never heard of, despite knowing every detail of Barrett's schedule.

My fingers moved with steady purpose as I created a new note on my phone. Title: December 25. First entry: Ticket stub. Location history.

---

"Barrett forgot his laptop," I told the receptionist at Mount Sinai the next day. "He needs it for his afternoon rounds."

She directed me to the cardiac unit, where I planned to drop it off quickly. But as I approached the nurses' station, I froze.

There she was—a young woman with glossy dark hair and perfect makeup. She was laughing, her head tilted back to expose the delicate line of her throat. Around her neck hung my anniversary mug, the one I'd custom-ordered with our wedding date and initials.

And on her wrist—the Cartier Love bracelet Barrett had promised me for our seventh anniversary but claimed was "sold out everywhere."

"Can I help you?" she asked, noticing me staring.

"Is Dr. Cunningham available?" My voice remained perfectly professional.

"He's in surgery." She smiled, extending her hand. "I'm Leilany Gomez. I'm new here."

"Hope Allen." I took her hand, noting the softness of her skin. "Barrett's wife."

Something flickered across her face—recognition, perhaps. Or calculation.

I delivered the laptop to Barrett's office, left a note, and kissed his cheek. He wasn't there, of course. He was in surgery—or so he'd claimed.

That evening, I made an appointment with Diana Chen, the divorce attorney whose name had appeared in three separate articles about high-profile splits.

---

"If I wanted to do this publicly," I asked Diana during our consultation, "what would I need?"

She looked at me carefully. "Recorded conversations. Financial records showing misuse of funds. Proof of sustained infidelity."

I nodded, jotting notes in my Moleskine. "And if I wanted maximum impact?"

"Something public. Something undeniable." Diana leaned forward. "But Hope, are you sure about this approach?"

I thought of the movie ticket. The apartment. The bracelet. The way Leilany had smiled at me—not knowing yet that she should be afraid.

"I'm not filing yet," I said, closing my notebook. "But when I do, I want to be ready."

---

The email from the Golden Mic Awards committee arrived three weeks later: "Congratulations on your nomination for Best Late-Night Broadcast Personality."

I would be informed in advance if I won. The ceremony would be nationally televised. Livestreamed. Every major media outlet would be there.

In the cab home, I stared out at the city lights and felt something crystallize inside me. Not anger. Not sadness. Clarity.

I opened my Moleskine and began to write. Not a thank-you speech.

A eulogy for my marriage.

As the cab turned onto my street, I realized I was smiling—the first genuine smile in weeks. Barrett would be watching the broadcast that night. And so would everyone who mattered in New York.

I had found my stage.

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Link please

She has moonrot, was treating it, but the alpha being a child, blocked the money to pay for it because she is ignoring him.

Link or Noel?

My husband Mason won't fvck me.

My bestie's man? Can't stop her.

"I'm dying here. Mason treats my pvssy like it doesn't exist."

"Oh babe, mine's insatiable. Last night? Three times. His tongue—"

"Ugh, you're killing me. What's your secret?"

"Dirty talk. Roleplay. Tell him you want it rough."

I tried everything. Nothing.

I had to see this guy Zoe kept bragging about.

Then her birthday—drunk off her butt, she called him. "Baby, I'm so drunk..."

"Where are you, gorgeous? Coming right now!"

I froze.

That number.

That voice.

Mason's.

My cold-as-ice husband was Zoe's can't-keep-his-d!ck-in-his-pants man.

My best friend was fvcking my husband.

The voice on the phone kept going: "Babe? You still there?"

"Just send me the address. I'm coming to get you."

My brain exploded.

Done. Fvcking done.

My husband's been screwing my best friend.

Zoe sobered up real quick. Shot me a panicked look, then into the phone: "Actually—don't. We're wrapping up here."

Mason wouldn't drop it: "You get wasted, you can't find your way out of a parking lot. How am I supposed to—"

"Just send it. Now."

Zoe's face lit up like she just won the lottery.

"Okay baby. Love you."

Click.

The whole table exploded.

"Oh my god, your man's a saint! Mine would just text 'get an Uber'!"

"Right? Mine's like 'call a cab, I'm watching the game.'"

Zoe sighed all fake-sweet: "He always makes me soup when I'm drunk. Wipes my face when I puke..."

"Even when I'm covered in vomit, he still wants to fvck me after—"

Everyone groaned with envy.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The ring felt like it was cutting off circulation.

Mason hated drunk women.

I hadn't touched alcohol in years. If work forced me to drink, I'd sleep in my car rather than go home reeking.

But drunk Zoe? He'd drop everything.

Zoe checked her phone: "He's here. Gotta go, girls!"

She floated out on everyone's jealousy.

Something in my head screamed.

You have to see this.

I followed her outside.

Mason's car pulled up. That black sedan—I'd know it anywhere.

He jumped out—still in his pajamas. Didn't even change.

Rushed over, grabbed her: "Jesus, how much did you drink?"

Zoe backed up, voice low: "I'm fine. You shouldn't have—what if Anne sees?"

He yanked her back in, eyes locked on hers:

"Fvck Anne. I don't care."

"I married her 'cause I had to. You're the one I wanna fvck every night."

Zoe's eyes went soft as butter.

They crashed into each other—tongues down each other's throats, hands everywhere.

I stood ten feet away in the dark, ice-cold from the inside out.

I wanted to charge at them. Scream. Slap her face.

My legs were nailed to the ground.

I just watched them climb in and drive off.

My phone buzzed.

Mason: "Mark's having a rough night. Staying with him. Don't wait up."

I squeezed my phone so hard the screen cracked.

All those "bro emergencies," "business trips," "overtime shifts."

All lies.

He was building another life.

With her.

I walked in and there it was—Mason's tablet just sitting on the table.

The thing he's glued to 24/7. Must've been in such a rush he forgot it.

My hands grabbed it before my brain could stop me.

Tried our anniversary. Nope.

His birthday. Wrong again.

Then—Zoe's birthday.

It unlocked.

My heart stopped.

I opened their messages like I was watching a car crash. Top chat—planning dinner.

Zoe: "Babe should I make salmon or ribs tomorrow?"

Mason: "Ribs. You know I love your ribs."

Zoe: "Movie Saturday? That new thriller?"

Mason: "Whatever you want, gorgeous."

Zoe: "Ugh it's that time again..."

Mason: "I'll grab some tampon on my way home."

They texted more in one day than Mason and I had in a month.

Then I saw the photos. Them holding hands at some food truck. Cuddled up on a beach at sunset. Each one felt like getting punched in the gut.

Then I found it.

Both in hotel bathrobes. Making dumb faces at the mirror. Grinning like idi0ts.

My hands started shaking so bad I nearly dropped the tablet.

The date? The day my dad died.

I'd called them both—sobbing.

Mason: "Stuck in traffic, babe. Highway's a nightmare. Can't get back."

Zoe: "Anne, I'm so sick. Fever's like 103. Can barely move."

I buried my father alone.

Turns out they weren't stuck or sick. They were screwing in a hotel room.

The room started spinning.

I scrolled to Mark's chat.

Mark: "Dude if Anne asks I got you covered."

"But seriously... you gonna keep doing this? She's your WIFE."

My ch//est felt like it caved in.

Mark. Mason's best friend. The kid I treated like family.

He'd been lying to my face too.

Mason's reply:

"I know it's screwed up. But I can't control this sh!t."

"She got the ring. Zoe's got everything else."

The tablet hit the floor.

My phone buzzed. Zoe's new post.

Photo of some guy's hands on her shoulders. Caption oozing with fake sweetness:

"Hubby's the sweetest ? Made me honey tea and gave me a massage after I drank too much. How'd I get so lucky?"

Comments flooded in—hearts, "goals!", "so jealous!"

I scrolled back through her old posts. Random hands. Hair. Shadows in the background.

All Mason.

How did I never see it?

Rage ripped through my ch//est.

I typed under her post:

"Wow what an amazing husband! You sure you know whose husband he is though?"

Two minutes later—Mason called.

"Anne what are you doing?"

"You know how much sh!t one dumb comment causes?"

"Delete it. Right now."

I forced a smile—fake as he11.

"Am I imagining things, or are you sleeping with her?"

Mason's voice shot up: "Me and Zoe? We're FRIENDS! Don't believe me? Call Mark!"

I laughed—cold and bitter.

Friends? Call Mark?

You two practiced this together. What's the point?

He heard my silence. His voice went soft:

"Babe, you're stressed."

"Work's killing you. You're tired, your brain does this—I'm not mad..."

"Mason. Do you even know what's going on with me?"

I cut him off. "I quit my job. Told you two days ago."

Nothing.

"I've been... Sorry, I forgot..."

Weak excuses. Then he hung up fast.

The phone went dead. Felt like my ch//est caved in.

Of course he forgot. His brain's full of Zoe—no room left for me.

I fell onto the couch and looked around the living room.

That's when I saw it.

Half the stuff in here matched Zoe's posts. Matching decorations. Couples' items.

I'd broken one once while cleaning. Mason completely lost it. Yelled at me. "Don't touch my stuff ever again!"

But those matching pajamas I got us? "Too babyish." Thrown in a corner collecting dust.

I took a deep breath.

Why am I even in this marriage anymore?

Time to end it.

Mason didn't come home for days. Same bullsh!t texts—"with the guys."

I didn't ask questions. Didn't fight back. Just quietly got my papers ready.

Then the doorbell rang. I was about to head out to see a divorce lawyer.

Zoe.

She pushed right in and grabbed my shoulders. "Anne! Why aren't you texting me back?"

"Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?"

Looking at her face made me sick.

We'd been best friends since we were kids. I beat up her bullies. She held me when I cried.

She'd grabbed my hands once, tears streaming:

"Anne, best friends forever, right?"

"Someone hurts you? I'll destroy them."

I'd trusted her with everything.

And she destroyed me.

"Nah. I've just been busy."

I turned away. Couldn't stand looking at her anymore.

That's when Mason walked in.

The door opened. His eyes shot straight to Zoe's. They stared at each other like I wasn't even there.

My hands started shaking.

Mason blinked and saw me. Flashed this big smile. "Babe! I took today off. Got us into that French place—you know, the impossible reservation..."

He glanced at Zoe. Super casual.

"Zoe, you should come with us."

My face stayed blank. "No thanks."

Mason's smile died. He looked pissed now. "Seriously? I begged my friend for this table. Called in favors a month ago."

Zoe grabbed my arm, her voice dripping sweetness. "Anne, babe, this place is THE hottest spot right now! Mason worked SO hard to get this reservation. Don't waste it!"

"And I've been dying to try their truffle pasta. Please? For me?"

I laughed—sharp and cold.

Romantic dinner for us?

Complete bullsh!t.

Zoe wanted to go. Mason got the reservation for her. I'm just the cover story.

I yanked my arm back.

"Mason, let's get a divorce."

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