When You're Going Through Hell Novels & Stories

The Moretti Family's Thanksgiving party was in full swing downstairs—crystal clinks, fake laughs, classic mafia gloss. Meanwhile, I was curled up in a servant's room on the third floor. Jackson Moretti's wife. Legally, anyway. My hands were ice. I gripped the ultrasound report like it could anchor me. Three heartbeats. Strong, steady. It was supposed to be a surprise—his big Thanksgiving gift. To the outside world, Jackson was a polished Stanford grad, running a top-tier consulting firm in San Francisco. But behind the scenes? He ran the Moretti empire—cold, calculated, pulling strings in the West Coast's darkest corners. Three years of marriage and we barely spoke, but I still clung to the hope that maybe... maybe there was something real left. Then I heard him downstairs. "You really not letting your wife come down?" "Isabella?" He laughed. "She'd kill the vibe." Another voice chimed in. "Lina's back, right? Wild you married her twin. Which one do you actually like?" Jackson didn't miss a beat. "Isabella's just a stand-in. Quiet. Predictable. I could tell her to drop dead and she'd say 'okay.'" "So when are you ditching her?" "Dunno. She thinks she matters. I'm just playing her." I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sob. A minute later, I was heading downstairs, numb. I brushed my fingers over my belly. "Sorry, babies," I whispered. Triplets. His. He thought I was blind. Weak. Stuck. What he didn't know? A quiet woman, once she snaps—she can burn it all down.

After I refused to donate my uterus to my older sister, Madeline Holloway, my childhood sweetheart grew to hate me. He plotted to send me into the bed of the top heir of Highcrest's elite circle. The heir's desires were intense, but he despised women who threw themselves at him. Everyone waited to see my downfall. Instead, he spoiled me beyond measure. Three years into our marriage, he loved getting his hands on me whenever he could—the balcony, the kitchen, the car, even at glamorous banquets. I could barely step into the restroom before he'd follow, pinning me against the sink. We never used contraception. Alas, I never got pregnant. It wasn't until the day I went to the hospital, thinking I might be expecting, that I overheard his conversation with the doctor. "Winston, you had me secretly transplant Madison's uterus into her sister three years ago. Now you want me to lie and tell her she's infertile? How can you be so cruel to a woman who loves you?" "I had no choice. Madeline's marriage will be on the rocks if she can't bear children. Madison's uterus was the only match." The familiar male voice sounded so icy and unrecognizable just then. That was when I realized the love and salvation I trusted without question were nothing but another lie. If that was the case… it was time for me to make my exit.

I was diagnosed with stomach cancer and needed a total gastrectomy. My husband, who was hailed as a rising star in the medical field, personally performed the surgery on me. However, after the operation, my health only worsened. He told me that the cancer had spread too quickly, and there was no hope left. It was not until I accidentally came across a hidden medical report and a massive insurance policy that I learned the truth—I never had stomach cancer. Not only had he removed my stomach, but he had also taken my uterus. Desperate, I confronted him, asking why he did that to me. He held his mistress in his arms, looking at me with disgust as he said, "If your father weren't the director, do you think I would've married you? You're not even worthy of being in the same room as Mabel. After one more surgery to remove your stomach, I'll be promoted to chief physician. "Didn't you claim to love me so much? I'm just using your body to help me and Mabel get ahead... I'm doing you a favor." Then, he and his mistress threw me off the building, making it look like a suicide. When I opened my eyes again, I had gone back to the day of my stomach surgery.

For five years, Talia Stewart has poured everything into her marriage without a single complaint or regret. She raises their child, devotedly serves her in-laws, and gives her husband, Christian Lane, all the personal space he wants. But her selfless dedication is rewarded with betrayal when Christian starts keeping a mistress. He buys Nancy York cars, gives her an apartment, gets her a job, kisses and embraces her, and even carries her on his back. To win back her straying husband's heart, Talia decides to try for a second child—a boy this time. Initially, she thinks that if Christian is willing to have a second child with her, it means that he still recognizes her as his wife. But the truth is, Christian only wants Talia to bear his children because he fears Nancy might face risks from childbirth. Talia thinks that even if she loses Christian, she'll still have her daughter for company. But the daughter she raises with such care becomes someone else's precious little girl instead. Finally, Talia's heart breaks completely. She terminates the pregnancy and resolves to get a divorce. She wants nothing more to do with either her husband or her daughter. But during the mandatory waiting period before their divorce can be finalized, Christian, who refuses to come home, suddenly corners her in the living room. "Didn't we agree to have a second child?"

Broken and shattered, Andre Torello contemplated suicide. Love failed him, it pierced his heart and left him bleeding. There's nothing left to hold on to, nothing is left when love has failed him. His fiancee left him, she kept him waiting while she walked the aisle with a richer man. He thought love was stronger than wealth and riches, he'd always believed that nothing can break love but it's all a fallacy. But what if love is waiting at the door? What if all he needed to do was glance in a different direction, but it was too late, Andre concluded. There's no love anywhere again. He'd been shattered by love; he is not ready to give in to its deception anymore. Love is cruel. But more than a lost love, something else was waiting, a throne and a lover and Andre Torello had only one option, accept it or get ruined forever.

~ SORA HELL MORGATHOR ~ Since my appointment to the throne, my cousin on paper has fully embraced the role of archnemesis, dedicating every breath to my downfall. He is a walking tantrum in a tailored suit, still crying about a crown that was never going to fit his head anyway. My life wasn’t perfect, but ever since I was adopted into the Hell Morgathor family, staying alive has become a full-time hobby, mostly because every move I make is now at the mercy of men who treat human lives like disposable currency. It’s nice to know I’ve brought the city together; apparently, having me in charge is the only thing everyone can agree is a terrible idea. My cousin on paper views me as the ultimate gatekeeper, Largely thanks to the fact that I have the audacity to keep breathing while he wants my chair, treating my pulse like a personal insult to his resume. ☠️☠️☠️☠️ ~A-JUN HELL MORGATHOR ~ All I want is my family to stop being a shadow. A woman carries the family name, whereas my father is subjected to being the underboss. As if things aren’t bad enough, an adopted female child is coded to be the next Don, and she had the guts to accept the offer. I was fully prepared to end her life, but I was suddenly struck by lightning, or maybe it was just her impeccable skincare routine, and I decided to let it slide, distracted by her face and forgot why I was even holding a weapon. I'm currently temporarily blinded by her sheer audacity to be that gorgeous while I’m trying to work. But until when will I be distracted?

She was just the receptionist, or so he thought. When ruthless billionaire Damian marries the quiet girl his grandfather picked from obscurity, he never imagines she’s the heiress to one of the wealthiest families in the country. What starts as a business transaction turns into heartbreak, betrayal, and a shocking revelation that changes everything. When Emmah walks back into his life in diamonds and power, Damian realizes he didn’t just lose his wife,l he lost the woman who was always two steps ahead. Now he wants her back. But some scars run too deep… and some secrets are too painful to forgive.

To help cover our household expenses, I often sold second-hand items online. Late one night, a new listing suddenly appeared under my husband's account. [Private trainer for sale. Almost new. Obedient and resilient. No upkeep required. Cash only.] The attached photo showed a woman from behind, caught in the middle of a yoga pose. The red mole at her waist stood out clearly. It was me. The comments section erupted within seconds. Men with usernames like 'LocalHunter' started bidding aggressively. [Five hundred. Thirty minutes. Pickup only. No negotiations.] [Are you kidding? Two thousand. All night. I'll bring my own gear.] My husband immediately replied to the highest bidder: Adrian 'The Butcher' Kane. [Deal. She's in the bedroom. The door isn't locked. Go straight in.] In the next moment, the bedroom doorknob slowly began to turn from the other side.

My fiancé's junior colleague went around the hospital every day calling herself "the best girl". When a patient with acute appendicitis was admitted, she mistakenly prescribed laxatives instead of proper treatment. The patient nearly went into shock and died. After the hospital was reported by the patient's family, she simply smiled and said, "I don't even need a supervising doctor to prescribe medication anymore. I'm such a good girl!" On another occasion, she failed to order routine pre-op blood work for a surgical patient. During the procedure, a visiting senior surgeon was exposed and later contracted HIV. She actually puffed out her chest and said, "Even if everyone had to stay up all night helping me save the doctor, I'm still the best girl!" I protested more than once and urged my fiancé to dismiss her. He refused every time. He brushed it off with a laugh, saying "this good girl" just needed time and experience. Then, a prominent patient was transferred from a military hospital for surgery. She secretly tampered with the medical records, switching the pathology findings from the left lung to the right. She even revised the surgical plan, recommending removal of the patient's completely healthy right lung. Luckily, I caught the mistake in time, restored the correct pathology report, and performed the surgery successfully. After the patient recovered, he asked for our team to be recognized. To my disbelief, Elena Bakers ran to my fiancé in tears. "I wrote the entire report by myself! All by myself! I'm the best little girl! "Why do you always take credit away from me? It took so much courage for this little girl to be brave just once! "You're all horrible!" Elena stormed out of the hospital and was struck and killed by a car on the spot. My fiancé did not say a word. However, on the very day I was appointed hospital director, he produced falsified evidence accusing me of altering records and causing multiple medical accidents to advance my career. I was arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. As the verdict was delivered, he looked at me with unmistakable satisfaction. "You'll never make up for what you owe Elena. Not in this lifetime." When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Elena altered the surgical plan.

I was getting married, but my boyfriend of five years did not know it yet. Lately, he had been driving a female coworker home every night and coming back late. She had a terrible memory and was always leaving things behind in his car. First it was earrings. Then adhesive bra inserts. Then intimate photos. One night, at midnight, she called to say she had left her allergy medication in his car. My boyfriend pulled his pants back on and rushed out the door to deliver it to her. Because of her, our wedding had already been postponed 19 times. After five years together, I decided to give him one last chance. "Either stop driving her home, or the wedding is off." He stayed silent all night. After that, he actually started coming home on time. I thought things were finally getting better. Then, one week before the wedding, I opened the front door and found half the furniture in our living room gone. The woman next door poked her head out and ran a hand over my washing machine with a smile. "Amanda, we're neighbors now. Ignatius loaned me the money to buy a house. He said I could use some of these old appliances until I get settled." My hands trembled as I opened my banking app. The $300,000 wedding fund we had spent five years saving was gone. Every last cent. This time, I did not even have the strength to argue. Then my mother called. "Sweetheart, how would you feel about moving the wedding to Rose Garden? I think your current venue doesn't do you justice." I looked around the half-empty living room and laughed. "Sure. And while we're at it, let's replace the groom too." After all, my mother had remarried into one of the wealthiest families in the country. My five stepbrothers had been waiting years for me to come home. And among the men around them who wanted to marry me? There was no shortage of candidates.