Too Late For My Ex-Husband's Regret

My NHL All-Star husband brought his pregnant mistress home in the middle of a blizzard.

He threw a divorce and fake PR remarriage contract at my feet, demanding I take the blame for our split so he wouldn't breach his franchise morality clause.

He claimed he owed the mistress a proper title because she donated her kidney to save him after a fatal crash three years ago.

But he was too blind to know the kidney inside his body was actually mine.

When I refused to play along with his PR stunt, his mistress maliciously had my pet rabbit cooked and tricked me into eating it.

I slapped them both in absolute grief, but my husband snapped.

He forced my bloody thumbprint onto the contract, then brought ten thugs into the house to drug me and film a fake cheating scandal to ruin me forever.

As hallucinogenic gas filled the locked attic, I clawed at the door and screamed for my life.

But my husband just told his mistress to ignore my "pathetic act" and walked out the front door with her.

I had endured his coldness and the fans' vicious hate for three years, secretly giving him my own organ to repay a life debt to his family.

Why was my silent devotion repaid with him leaving me to be destroyed by a gang of thugs?

Just as the men closed in, a mysterious man in the back row suddenly stepped forward and brutally crushed the entire gang in seconds.

He wrapped his jacket around my shaking shoulders, his ice-blue eyes flashing with lethal rage.

"It's okay now. You're safe."

Surviving this hell, I knew my debt to the Hurley family was paid in full—now, it was their turn to bleed.