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  • Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride by Alibi

    Chosen as the Cursed Alpha's Seventh Bride by Alibi
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    Emilia Taylor was the most unwanted daughter of the Frostridge Pack.
    She had no wolf, no status, and no one who truly loved her. After failing to awaken at the age of twenty-two, she was betrayed by her lover, abandoned by her family, and finally sent by her father to the Silver Moon Pack-to become Sebastian Simons’ seventh bride.
    Sebastian was the Alpha everyone feared.
    Rumor had it that none of his first six wives had met a good end, and every woman who married him eventually became another name on the list of the dead.
    Everyone was waiting for Emilia to die.
    But they did not know that her failed awakening had not left her with nothing. Instead, she had gained the ability to read minds. She could hear the malice and lies hidden behind every smile.
    Everyone’s thoughts were open to her.
    Except Sebastian’s.
    She could not hear his mind, nor could she see through his secrets.
    When a wolfless girl abandoned by everyone meets a cold-blooded Alpha haunted by the mystery of six dead wives, will she become his next victim-or the only one who can break the curse?

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    Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride Chapter 1

    Wolfless But Mind Reader
    Emilia’s POV
    For a very long time, I had believed that pain was something a person could grow used to, the same way one grew used to winter wind slipping through cracked windows or old scars aching before rain.
    In the Frostridge pack, I was not simply disliked. I was considered an error that had somehow survived birth.
    My father was Alpha Henry, but being his daughter had never protected me, because my mother had been a witch, and in a pack that worshiped pure wolf blood above almost everything else, my mixed blood became a crime no one needed to prove before punishing me for it.
    When I was younger, I used to wonder if they would have treated me differently if my wolf had awakened early, if I had shifted beneath the moon like every other Alpha-blooded child was expected to do, if my claws had been sharp enough and my howl loud enough to make them forget the witch half of me.
    But year after year, nothing came.
    Hybrid.
    Bastard.
    Curse.
    The words followed me through the halls of the pack house, across the training field. My stepsister Linda was even better at it; she never needed to raise her hand when she could turn an entire room against me with one sweet, pitying glance.
    By the time I turned twenty-two, I had already learned how to lower my eyes when elders looked at me with disgust, how to ignore the servants who whispered that I was cursed, and how to pretend my stepmother Dorothy’s gentle smile did not hurt more than open cruelty because it always came before she reminded me, in the softest possible voice, that I should be grateful the pack still allowed me to stay.
    The only reason I had not completely collapsed under all of it was Brandon Cole.
    He had been my hope for so long that I no longer knew how to separate him from the idea of survival itself.
    Brandon was the strongest young warrior in our pack, handsome, admired, and respected in a way I had never been.
    “When she comes, Emmy,” he used to whisper, brushing his lips over my scars as if they were something precious instead of proof of every punishment I had endured, “everyone who looked down on you will regret it.”
    So I waited.
    I waited through my eighteenth birthday, when most wolves shifted for the first time and I felt nothing but silence beneath my skin. I waited through nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one, while the pack’s disappointment hardened into mockery and my father’s eyes grew colder each time he looked at me. I waited until my twenty-second birthday, the final night a werewolf could still awaken before being declared permanently defective.
    Tonight was my last chance.
    Under the full moon, surrounded by wolves who had gathered less to witness my awakening than to enjoy my final failure, I stood barefoot in the ritual circle and forced myself not to tremble. The silver bowl before me reflected the moonlight, the elder’s chant rose and fell like distant thunder, and somewhere beyond the crowd, Brandon watched me with an expression I wanted desperately to believe was love.
    Then the ritual ended.
    Nothing happened.
    A few wolves laughed.
    My stepmother sighed as if my failure had personally inconvenienced her, Linda lowered her eyes to hide the smile pulling at her lips, and my father turned away before the elder even announced what everyone already knew.
    That would be the worst pain of the night.
    But I was wrong.
    As I stepped out of the ritual circle, something sharp split through my skull, and a flood of voices crashed into me all at once.
    [What a waste of moonlight.]
    [I knew she wouldn’t shift.]
    [Brandon must be tired of pretending by now.]
    I froze.
    No one’s mouth had moved.
    The wolves around me were still laughing, whispering, staring, but beneath their spoken words came another layer of sound-clearer, uglier, impossible to ignore.
    Their thoughts.
    Panic tightened around my throat as I stumbled back, pressing a hand against my temple while the pack’s hidden cruelty poured into me without mercy. Every smile had a second voice. Every pitying glance carried a knife. They had hated me more deeply than I had ever allowed myself to imagine.
    I needed Brandon.
    I needed the one person who had always made the noise of the pack feel far away.
    But as I pushed through the crowd, desperate to find him, a maid passed close enough for her thoughts to slice through the chaos.
    [Brandon followed Linda into her room again. Goddess, I swear, if I have to wait for them to finish and then scrub another set of destroyed sheets, I’m going to lose it.]
    My body stopped moving.
    For one heartbeat, the entire world went silent.
    Then my blood turned cold.
    I grabbed the maid’s wrist so hard she cried out.
    “What did you say?”
    Her eyes widened in terror. “Miss Emilia, I didn’t say anything.”
    She was telling the truth.
    Her lips had not moved.
    But I had heard her.
    A terrible numbness spread through me as I released the maid and turned toward the pack house. I did not remember crossing the courtyard, climbing the stairs, or passing the servants who stepped out of my way with startled faces and guilty minds. I only remembered the pounding of my heart and the foolish, desperate prayer repeating inside me.
    Please be wrong.
    Please let this be the one thought I misunderstood.
    Please let him still be mine.
    When I reached Linda’s door, I already knew.
    I pushed the door open.
    The scene before me was worse than any nightmare.
    The bed creaked rhythmically, obscene sounds spilling.
    Brandon-my Brandon-was naked, his body moving over someone sprawled beneath him on the bed. Linda’s long legs wrapped around his waist, her nails raking down his back as she moaned his name.
    My sister. My boyfriend.
    In that moment, I didn’t feel pain. I felt nothing. Just a hollow, echoing void where my heart should have been.
    Then their thoughts crashed into my mind like broken glass.
    [God, she’s so much better than Emilia. Tighter. More responsive. How did I waste many years on that frigid wolfless bitch?] Brandon’s voice, clear in my head even as his mouth was occupied elsewhere.
    [Look at her standing there like a pathetic little ghost. Does she really think Brandon ever loved her? Please. He’s been mine since the day I decided I wanted him.] Linda’s thoughts dripped with venom and smug satisfaction.
    The numbness shattered.
    Rage-pure, incandescent fury-flooded through me.
    I grabbed the vase from the dresser near the door and hurled it at the wall beside the bed. It exploded with a satisfying crash.
    They jerked apart, Linda screaming, Brandon scrambling to cover himself.
    “Emilia!” Brandon’s face went white. “This isn’t-I can explain-“
    “Explain?” My voice came out low and deadly calm. “Explain how you’ve been fucking my sister for three months while telling me you loved me?”
    His jaw dropped. “How did you-“
    “Does it matter?” I stepped into the room, my hands clenched into fists.
    Linda sat up, not bothering to cover herself, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “Oh, please. Don’t act so surprised, Emilia. Did you really think someone like Brandon would settle for a wolfless freak like you?”
    [She’s even more pathetic than I thought. Look at her, about to cry. This is delicious.]
    I moved before I could think. My hand connected with Brandon’s cheek with a crack that echoed through the room.

    Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride Chapter 2

    Sent to the Demon
    Emilia’s POV
    Brandon staggered back, hand flying to his reddening face. “What the fuck-“
    The second slap hit even harder.
    “That’s for lying to me for a year,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “For making me believe you cared about me. For being a fucking coward who couldn’t even break up with me before shoving your dick into my sister.”
    “You crazy bitch!” Brandon lunged toward me, but I was already moving.
    I grabbed Linda’s designer purse from the nightstand and flung it at his head. It connected with a satisfying thud.
    “We’re done,” I said coldly. “Don’t ever speak to me again. Don’t look at me. Don’t even breathe in my direction. You disgust me.”
    I turned to Linda, whose smirk had finally faltered.
    “And you. Congratulations. You’ve won the grand prize-a cheating coward with a small dick and no future. I hope you’re very happy together.”
    I didn’t wait for a response. I spun on my heel and walked out, slamming the door behind me hard enough to rattle the frame.
    My father’s office was on the first floor. I stormed through the hallways, ignoring the curious stares of lingering guests, my heart hammering against my ribs.
    I didn’t bother knocking. I shoved the door open.
    Alpha Henry sat behind his desk, Dorothy perched on the edge beside him. They both looked up, startled.
    “Emilia,” my father began. “What are you-“
    “Did you know?” I demanded, my voice raw from everything I had just swallowed and everything I could no longer pretend not to understand. “Did you know Brandon was cheating on me with Linda?”
    Alpha Henry only leaned back in his chair and looked at me with the tired impatience.
    “Sit down, Emilia.”
    “No.”
    My answer was sharper than I expected, and the silence that followed made Dorothy lift her brows.
    “Did you know?” I asked again.
    This time, my father did not bother to lie.
    “Yes.”
    The word hit harder than finding Brandon in Linda’s bed.
    “You knew,” I whispered.
    “Brandon is a talented warrior,” my father said coldly, as if that explained everything. “He is one of the most promising wolves in this generation, and the pack has invested too much in him to waste his future on sentiment.”
    For a moment, I could only stare at him, because I had come into this room expecting anger, perhaps even disappointment, but not this calm, practical cruelty that treated my heartbreak as nothing more than poor strategy.
    Then he said the thing he had clearly been waiting to say.
    “You failed your Awakening.”
    The room went still.
    “You were given twenty-two years, Emilia,” he continued, his voice hardening with each word. “and yet after all that time, you are still standing here exactly as you began.”
    [Wolfless.]
    [Useless.]
    [Unwanted.]
    He did not need to say the words aloud.
    I heard them anyway.
    “So that’s it?” I asked, my throat tightening around the question. “Because I didn’t shift, Brandon gets to betray me, Linda gets to humiliate me, and you get to pretend none of it matters?”
    “Linda has a wolf,” Henry snapped. “Linda has value. Brandon needs a mate who can stand beside him, bear strong heirs, and strengthen this pack. Not you.”
    “If I was such a disappointment,” I said slowly, “then why did you have me at all?”
    His expression changed. “Watch your tone.”
    “No,” I said, and once the word left me, everything I had buried for years began to rise with it. “If you hated my mother so much, why chose her? If you hated what I was, why let me live here for twenty-two years begging for scraps of approval you never planned to give me?”
    Dorothy’s face cooled. “That is enough.”
    Henry slammed his hand against the desk. The sound cracked through the office.
    “I chose this pack.”
    That was when I saw the black envelope.
    Dorothy picked it up from the desk with graceful fingers and placed it where I could see the silver wax seal pressed into the paper.
    The Simons crest.
    My blood turned cold before she even spoke.
    “Linda received an invitation from the Simons family,” Dorothy said gently, and the sweetness in her voice made my stomach twist. “But after discussing it carefully, your father and I have decided that you will attend in her place.”
    For a few seconds, I could not make sense of the words, because the Simons family was not merely powerful or wealthy; they were feared, whispered about, avoided by every family with daughters old enough to marry.
    And Alpha Sebastian Simons was the worst of them.
    Six brides.
    Six funerals.
    “You want me to replace Linda,” I said, each word colder than the last, “because you’re afraid he will kill her.”
    “No one said that,” Dorothy replied.
    But my father’s thoughts moved through my mind with brutal clarity.
    [Linda is too valuable to risk.]
    “It is a duty,” my father corrected. “The Simons alliance can save Frostridge pack.”
    “And if I die?”
    Neither of them answered.
    They did not need to.
    My father’s thoughts answered for them.
    [If she dies, we lose nothing.]
    For a moment, the office seemed to disappear around me, and all I could feel was the horrible clarity of finally knowing my place in this family, not as a daughter, not even as a shame they wished to hide, but as a body they could send into danger because no one would mourn the loss.
    I stepped back.
    “No.”
    Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Emilia.”
    “No,” I repeated, louder this time. “I won’t go.”
    His Alpha aura filled the room, heavy enough to press against my bones. “You have spent your entire life receiving this pack’s mercy. Now you will repay it.”
    “Mercy?” I laughed, though my chest felt like it was breaking open. “You call this mercy?”
    “I call it obedience.”
    Then he looked past me.
    “Guards.”
    The door opened before I could reach it, and two warriors seized my arms from behind with enough force to make pain shoot through my shoulders.
    I kicked, twisted, screamed, and when one of them dragged me backward, I sank my teeth into his wrist with every bit of rage I had left.
    He cursed, his grip loosened.
    For one wild second, I was free.
    Then something slammed into the back of my head.
    Pain burst white behind my eyes, the floor tilted beneath me, and as darkness began to drag me under, I heard my father’s thoughts one last time, calm and relieved in a way his voice had never been.
    [Finally.]
    [That problem is taken care of.]
    The dark closed in.
    And in the last fading corner of my mind, I understood.
    No one in Frostridge pack expected me to survive.
    They had already abandoned me to death.

    Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride Chapter 3

    Bride Selection
    Emilia’s POV
    The scent of roses and expensive perfume hit me first.
    My eyes fluttered open to find myself staring at an ornate ceiling with intricate moldings. The bed beneath me was obscenely soft.
    Where the hell was I?
    I sat up too quickly. My head spun, the sedative still clinging to my system. The room around me was massive-easily twice the size of my bedroom back at the Frostridge pack house. Everything screamed wealth: silk curtains, marble floors, a chandelier that looked like it belonged in a palace.
    Then I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror across the room.
    They’d dressed me up like a doll.
    My hair cascaded down my back in soft waves, and my makeup highlighted my best features. My eyes looked deeper, my lips fuller, and my reflection almost felt unfamiliar.
    The navy silk dress fit me perfectly, elegant and flattering, making it impossible to look away.
    I looked gorgeous.
    I looked like a bride being prepared for slaughter.
    Of course they made me pretty. Can’t send damaged goods to the devil himself.
    My father had held that elaborate birthday ceremony not out of love, but as a public display-proof that he’d treated both daughters equally. Then he could ship me off to Sebastian Simons with a clear conscience, his reputation intact.
    Linda got Brandon. I got a death sentence.
    He’d probably started planning this the moment my wolf failed to emerge.
    A sharp knock at the door.
    “Miss Taylor?” A woman’s voice. “Alpha Sebastian’s selection will begin shortly. Please follow me.”
    My stomach dropped. This was really happening.
    I opened the door to find a middle-aged woman in a black uniform. She looked me up and down with cold assessment.
    The Frostridge pack must really be desperate, her thoughts hit me. Sending a wolfless embarrassment to Alpha Sebastian. Do they think we’re idiots?
    The malice in her thoughts made my jaw clench. But I kept my expression calm, following her down a hallway that seemed to stretch forever.
    The mansion was even more impressive than my room suggested-a sprawling estate that mixed modern luxury with old-world elegance. We passed floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens, walls lined with what I suspected were original Renaissance paintings.
    As we walked through the double doors, the noise hit me.
    Not sound-thoughts.
    Dozens of them, all at once, crashing into my mind like a tidal wave.
    I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Marrying a notorious demon. My life is over.
    He might be violent, but his marriages never last long. Two months tops, then divorce. But that severance package… eighteen million dollars and the status of being a Simons? Worth the risk.
    Oh God, she’s gorgeous. If that wolfless bitch gets chosen instead of me, I swear I’ll-
    My father’s going to kill me if I don’t get selected. The pack needs this alliance. I have to make him notice me.
    The thoughts overlapped, tangled, multiplied. It felt like a thousand bees had nested inside my skull, their buzzing growing louder and louder until I couldn’t tell where one thought ended and another began.
    My vision blurred. The hallway tilted.
    I pressed a hand against the wall, trying to steady myself, but the thoughts kept coming, relentless and overwhelming.
    Why is she touching the wall? Is she going to faint? Pathetic.
    The guide’s thoughts cut through the chaos, sharp with disdain.
    “Miss Taylor?” Her voice sounded distant, underwater. “Are you quite alright?”
    I couldn’t answer. My throat had closed. My lungs refused to expand. The edges of my vision darkened as panic clawed up my chest.
    *Breathe, *I commanded myself desperately. Just breathe.
    But the voices in my head wouldn’t stop. They grew louder, angrier, more frantic.
    A waiting area, with at least thirty women, all dressed to perfection, all wearing varying expressions of fear and determination.
    The receiving room doors burst open.
    A woman stumbled out, makeup streaked down her face, shoulders shaking with sobs. As she rushed past me, her thoughts slammed into mine with devastating clarity.
    I’ve never met such a cruel, heartless Alpha in my life. The way he looked at me-like I was dirt. Like I was nothing. God, I just want to go home. I want to disappear. I want-
    She was gone before I could process it, but two more women followed in quick succession, each one crying, each one broadcasting their terror and humiliation directly into my brain.
    Monster. He’s a monster.
    Those eyes. Those cold, empty eyes. Like a predator deciding whether to kill you now or later.
    I’m not pretty enough. I’m not smart enough. I’ll never be enough for someone like him.
    I doubled over, pressing my palms against my temples, trying desperately to shut them out. But I couldn’t. The ability was too new, too raw. I had no control.
    “Miss Taylor!” The guide’s hand gripped my elbow, steadying me. “You’re next. Pull yourself together.”
    I forced my head up, blinking away the spots dancing across my vision.
    Two guards flanked the entrance, massive wolves who watched me with undisguised contempt.
    *Run, *every instinct screamed. Run now while you still can.
    But I’d seen the guards. I’d seen how the estate was locked down tighter than a prison. Even if I made it past them, where would I go? Back to a father who’d drugged and sold me? Back to a sister who’d stolen my boyfriend and laughed about it?
    I had nowhere to run. No one to save me.
    So I did the only thing I could.
    I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and walked through those doors like I had a choice in any of this.
    The receiving room was enormous. But despite its size, the air felt suffocating, pressing down on me from all sides.
    And then I saw him.
    Sebastian Simons sat in the center of the room on a leather sofa that looked more like a throne. Even seated, his presence dominated the space. Tall. Powerfully built. He radiated the kind of authority that made people instinctively want to kneel.
    Dark hair. High cheekbones. A straight nose. Every feature sharp and defined.
    His eyes… Green. Piercing. Intense and unforgiving.
    Those eyes locked onto mine.
    And suddenly, the world went silent.
    All the voices-the screaming, buzzing chaos that had been tearing my mind apart-vanished in an instant.
    I couldn’t hear his thoughts. Couldn’t sense anything from him except… presence. Weight. Power.
    It was the most peaceful silence I’d experienced since this cursed ability had awakened.
    And this peace, ironically, came from the very man most likely to kill me.

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  • Untouchable: The Alpha’s Miracle Doctor by Yue Rujing

    Untouchable: The Alpha's Miracle Doctor by Yue Rujing
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    I was the wolfless disgrace of the pack, traded like cattle to a dying monster.

    When a royal decree stripped away my engagement, my own father gave my fiancé to my cruel sister, Charly. My punishment for being born without a wolf? A forced marriage to Demetri Contreras—the crippled, disgraced Alpha left to rot from silver poison.

    They threw me into a frozen, forgotten estate, waiting for my new husband to die so I could be buried as a silent widow.

    Charly laughed as she stole my life, my mate, and my future. My family discarded me, just like they murdered my mother years ago.

    They thought this exile would break me. They thought I was a helpless pawn.

    They didn’t know that inside this fragile body lived the soul of the top interstellar miracle surgeon.

    Looking at the ruined, festering Alpha bleeding on my wedding bed, I didn’t see a corpse. I saw the deadliest weapon in the realm.

    The fallen Alpha needs a miracle to survive. Lucky for him, I am the miracle.

    I will drag this monster back from the gates of hell—and together, we will burn my enemies to ash.

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    Untouchable: The Alpha’s Miracle Doctor Chapter 1

    Haven Kramer POV：
    The silence in the living room was thick, but it didn’t weigh on me. I sat comfortably on the edge of the silk armchair, my hands resting loosely in my lap, calmly observing the theater playing out around me.
    My father, Alpha Gordon Kramer, stood by the mantelpiece with his back to me, staring into the unlit fireplace. His rigid posture was a performance of grim authority, but to my trained eyes, the overextension of his shoulder muscles betrayed pure, anxious tension. He was nervous. I found that amusing.
    A heavy tread on the marble floor signaled the arrival of the King’s envoy.
    A severe-looking wolf with graying temples stepped into the room, clad in the King’s formal uniform. His face was a mask of absolute neutrality. The air in the room crackled with tension, but my heart rate remained a steady, resting sixty beats per minute.
    My father finally turned, his expression a carefully constructed mask of solemn welcome. “Emissary,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He pointedly did not look at me. It was a classic evasion tactic. He thought he was breaking my heart; in reality, he was just confirming his own cowardice.
    The envoy gave a curt nod, wasting no time on pleasantries. He drew a parchment scroll tied with a royal blue ribbon from his inner pocket and unrolled it with a soft crackle.
    “By decree of the Alpha King,” the envoy began, his monotone voice echoing in the vast room. “Regarding the union between the houses of Contreras and Kramer.”
    I leaned back slightly.
    “It is noted that Alpha Darren Contreras is an exemplary heir, beloved and strong. And it is noted that his brother, Alpha Demetri Contreras, was grievously wounded by silver in the Western War, his connection to his wolf severed, leaving him a broken shell.”
    The formal descriptions of the two brothers hung in the air. One a golden boy, the other a crippled outcast.
    “It has been confirmed by the council that Haven Kramer is wolfless,” the envoy continued, casting a brief, pitying glance my way. “A wolfless mate is an unacceptable match for a future leader. Therefore, the betrothal between Alpha Darren Contreras and Haven Kramer is hereby declared null and void.”
    Beside the mantelpiece, my father’s expression remained placid, his eyes distant. He looked exactly like a merchant watching a trade deal close. To him, I was just damaged goods being offloaded at a steep discount to preserve an alliance.
    “In her stead,” the envoy read, “her sister, Charly Kramer, a true wolf of good standing, shall be joined with Alpha Darren Contreras. And to honor the original alliance, Haven Kramer shall be given to the crippled Alpha, Demetri Contreras.”
    “The weddings will be held simultaneously in three days’ time,” the envoy concluded, neatly rolling the scroll and handing it to my father. With a curt bow, he turned and walked out.
    The silence returned. My father finally looked at me, likely bracing himself for the hysterics, tears, or begging that the “old” Haven would have provided.
    Instead, I stood up smoothly, smoothing down the skirts of my dress.
    “Three days,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet room, entirely devoid of tremor. “I will be ready.”
    Before my father could recover from his visible shock, I turned on my heel and walked up to my lavish bedroom.
    I was sitting at my vanity, listening to the quiet night outside, when my door opened without a knock. The cloying scent of sweet pea perfume, heavily laced with unearned triumph, announced her arrival.
    My sister, Charly.
    “Oh, my poor sister,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy as she glided into the room, wearing an expensive white lace dress. She came to stand behind me, her fingers reaching out to stroke my hair as if comforting a pet. “I was so heartbroken to hear the news.”
    I remained perfectly still, watching her reflection in the dark glass of the window.
    When I gave her no reaction, her facade quickly cracked. The corner of her mouth twitched into a smug smirk. “But you know, being wolfless, you were never worthy of Darren anyway. This is for the good of the family.”
    She leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear, dropping her voice to a venomous whisper. “Besides, Darren was always mine. You were just keeping his spot warm.”
    I slowly lifted my head, meeting her gaze in the mirror. My eyes were completely flat, cold as chips of ice.
    Charly flinched, the triumphant smile freezing on her face. She took an involuntary step back, unnerved by the lack of tears.
    Slowly, deliberately, I rose from the chair. I picked up a heavy, silver-backed comb from the vanity and began to rhythmically, elegantly pull it through my hair.
    “Marrying a broken man is better than marrying a piece of trash,” I said softly, my voice even and calm.
    The color instantly drained from Charly’s face. “You—”
    “Our wedding is in three days, isn’t it?” I turned to face her directly, letting the full weight of my detached, icy gaze fall upon her. “Go plan your ceremony, Charly. I accept the arrangement completely.”
    Charly stood there, utterly baffled. I thought she had come prepared for tears, hysterics, and a desperate sister she could kick while she was down. My utter lack of distress disarmed her entirely.

    Untouchable: The Alpha’s Miracle Doctor Chapter 2

    Haven Kramer POV:
    Charly’s shock quickly curdled back into anger. My composure was a greater insult than any screaming match could ever be. Her face flushed a blotchy red.
    “Accept? What choice do you have?” she spat, her voice sharp and brittle. “A filthy wolfless. Marrying into the Contreras family at all is a gift from the Moon Goddess you don’t deserve!”
    I ignored her, turning my back to walk to my wardrobe. I began to sift through the dresses, my movements unhurried. As if I were merely choosing an outfit for a mundane dinner party.
    This utter dismissal was more than she could stand.
    She lunged, grabbing my arm. Her nails dug into my skin. “I’m talking to you! Are you deaf?”
    Her face was inches from mine, her expression twisted with vicious glee. “Do you know why Father agreed so easily? The Contreras family paid a fortune! Your ‘funeral trousseau’ has secured our family’s prosperity for the next decade!”
    The words were meant to crush me, to remind me of my worthlessness. She leaned closer still, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. “And Father already knows Demetri is dying. The silver poison is in his bones. The healers say he won’t last the month. You’re marrying him to be his widow. To spend your life guarding a corpse and an empty title.”
    I still didn’t give her the satisfaction of a breakdown.
    Frustrated by my absolute silence, Charly’s face distorted with pure malice. She shoved me roughly, shouting in my face, “Why aren’t you crying? You think you’re still the precious eldest daughter? Your mother was nothing but a low-born old bitch, and you’re just a little bitch!”
    That was the line.
    My movements ceased.
    Slowly, inch by inch, I turned my head. The ice in my eyes was gone. In its place, a fire blazed, so hot and furious it felt like it could melt steel.
    Charly saw the sudden murder in my gaze and her hand flew from my arm as if she’d been burned.
    Before she could process what was happening, I moved.
    My speed was a blur. My hand shot out and clamped like an iron vice around her throat. With a surge of overwhelming strength, I slammed her backward against the solid oak of the wardrobe.
    Thump.
    The impact rattled the heavy wood. Charly’s head cracked against the surface, and a strangled gasp escaped her lips as the air was forced from her lungs.
    Her eyes, wide with terror, stared at me. The face she had known for twenty years was now a stranger’s mask, a harbinger from hell. This was not the weak, yielding sister she loved to bully.
    My fingers were bone-white from the force of my grip, but my expression was eerily calm. The contrast was monstrous.
    “Apologize,” I said. My voice was a raw, cold rasp, like a blade scraped over stone. “Apologize to my mother.”
    Charly’s face was turning a horrifying shade of purple. She clawed frantically at my wrist, her throat making wet, gagging sounds. She couldn’t form a single word.
    “Say it again,” I whispered, tightening my grip just enough to cut off her pathetic whimpers. “Say another word about her.”
    Her struggles weakened. Tears of pure terror streamed down her face. She began to beat a weak tattoo against the wardrobe with her free hand, a desperate, silent plea for help.
    Seeing her pathetic, sniveling state cooled the inferno in my chest. Killing her here would be too quick. Too merciful.
    I released her.
    Charly slid down the wardrobe like a discarded doll, landing in a heap on the floor. She clutched her throat, coughing and retching, desperately sucking in air. Snot and tears smeared her perfect makeup. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a new kind of fear. A primal fear.
    I stood over her, my own expression one of utter disgust.
    “Get out,” I said. One word.
    She scrambled to her feet, a clumsy, pathetic mess of limbs. She didn’t dare look at me again. She stumbled to the door, fumbling with the handle. Just before she pulled it open, she risked a final, hateful glare over her shoulder.
    “You’ll regret this!” she choked out, the threat utterly hollow.
    A cold smile touched my lips. It sent a visible shiver down her spine.
    She yanked the door open and fled, her footsteps pounding down the hall.
    The door slammed shut, leaving me in silence once more. I leaned against the wall, my body trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline. I lifted my hand, staring at my fingers. They were steady now.
    Tonight, they had tasted violence for the first time.
    And it was only the beginning.

    Untouchable: The Alpha’s Miracle Doctor Chapter 3

    Haven Kramer POV:
    The silence that followed Charly’s flight was absolute. I walked to the window and watched her frantic, scurrying figure disappear across the manicured lawns. My expression was flat, my heart a cold, steady drum.
    I uncurled my hand, palm up. The feeling of her throat under my fingers lingered—a foreign sensation of power that sent a cold thrill through my veins. I knew Charly. She was already running to our father, spinning a tale of victimhood. There would be consequences.
    But I no longer cared. If they wanted to push me into the abyss, I would claw my way back out from hell itself and drag them all down with me.
    My gaze fell upon a small, locked wooden box on my nightstand. It was the only thing I had left of my mother, Elara Beaumont. After I was born, my mother died in a so-called “hunting accident.” A convenient fall from a cliff. I believed it was murder.
    I walked to it, my steps measured. From a chain around my neck, I pulled a small, tarnished key. The lock clicked open with a sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room.
    Inside, there were no jewels, no gold. Just a few faded, leather-bound diaries and a single, thick vellum envelope.
    I lifted the envelope, unfolding the paper soft with age. It was a letter written in my mother’s elegant, flowing script, its words of love underlined with a deep, aching sorrow. She told her story—how she had used her family’s resources and her own strength to help Gordon Kramer challenge and win the title of Alpha. But once he had the power, he grew ashamed of her and began an affair with Concetta, Charly’s mother.
    My dearest Haven, the last lines read, if you are reading this, I am gone. Do not trust Gordon Kramer. Do not trust any of them. Survive. At any cost, you must survive.
    A single, hot tear finally escaped and fell onto the page, smearing the ink. My heart broke for my mother.
    But I would not share her fate.I was not helpless.
    I had knowledge from another world, memories of a life where I held power not in bloodlines, but in skill. That was my weapon.
    Yes. Two lifetimes.
    Seven days ago, I almost lost my life to betrayal. Back then, I was deeply and innocently in love with my betrothed, Alpha Darren Contreras. But Gordon Kramer, swayed by Concetta’s malicious scheming, forced me to hand over my beloved and my entire future to my sister, Charly. To me, Darren was my world. Unable to endure the suffocating grief, the humiliation, and the sight of my sister stealing the man I loved, I chose to end my own life.
    Perhaps the Moon Goddess took pity on me, because I did not die.
    During the seven days I lay in a coma, my soul traveled to a highly advanced interstellar world called Astraea. Although I was born an orphan there, living in a crowded shelter, that technologically superior society allowed me to graduate from the top Imperial Medical Academy through my own relentless efforts and the help of a kind benefactor. After I repaid my debt of gratitude to that benefactor, I threw myself entirely into the work of saving lives, mastering the complex biological structures of various humanoid and beast-kin species. My surgical skills reached a level that commanded absolute reverence. In the final years of my long and fulfilling life there, the patients I had cured bestowed upon me a legendary title—”The Miracle Healer.”
    When I closed my eyes for the last time on Astraea, I thought my journey had ended. Yet, I woke up back in the werewolf realm, returning to this body exactly seven days later.
    My past infatuation with Darren means nothing to me now. But my lingering resentment and my mother’s tragic fate remain. Since fate has granted me a second chance, I will use it to collect every single debt. Everything they owe me, everything they owe my mother, I will take back piece by piece. Those who deceived and humiliated me will face retribution. I am a healer, and I possess a merciful heart. But that mercy will never be granted to my enemies.
    I carefully folded the letter, placed it back with the diaries, and locked the box. This box would go with me. It was my anchor and my mission.
    I wiped my eyes. When I looked up, my reflection in the vanity mirror was a stranger. Pale face, green eyes, a mane of brown hair. But behind the eyes, the soul of a surgeon who had stared down death a thousand times was now fully in control.
    The faces flashed through my mind, a gallery of smiling betrayers. The last face was one I’d never seen, only imagined: the pale, ruined face of Demetri Contreras. The dying Alpha.
    Choosing to marry the crippled Alpha was an act of survival forced upon me by the council. But it was also the first calculated step of my grand design. He was the hell they were sending me to, but his broken body was a patient only a master surgeon could rebuild. A powerful, indebted Alpha, brought back from the brink of death by my hand, would be the sharpest blade I could possibly wield against the Kramer family.
    After he was healed? A cold smile touched my lips. I trusted no one, least of all powerful men. This was a transaction. My skills for his power. A platform for my revenge.
    A soft, respectful knock came at the door. A maid’s voice, timid. “Miss, the Alpha requests your presence in his study.”
    Charly’s tears had worked their magic. Gordon was ready to deliver his judgment.
    Even though I forced myself to remain detached, a tight knot of nerves twisted in my stomach as I stood up.
    But I quickly smoothed my dress, my expression shifting, melting back into the mask of a meek, fragile girl. The avenger vanished, hidden deep inside.
    “Of course,” I called out, my voice soft and pliant. “I’ll be right there.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss by Mo Yufei

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss by Mo Yufei
    👉 READ NOW

    I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family’s social standing.

    During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me.

    I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn’t care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst.

    She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side.

    “Men get angry,” she told me coldly. “It’s your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house.”

    I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip.

    My heart went completely dead.

    So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn’t hesitate.

    I walked back into my parents’ house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table.

    “I won’t be apologizing to Preston. I got married today.”

    👉 READ NOW

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 1

    “If you’re going to order the salmon, make sure they don’t overcook it. The last time I was here, it was practically cat food.”
    Caroline Thompson stared at the man sitting across from her. Preston Finch. Financial analyst. Ivy League graduate. The eighteenth blind date her mother had forced her into in the last two years.
    He wasn’t looking at her. He was using his silver fork to trace the menu like he was grading a flawed exam paper.
    “The wine list here is a joke,” Preston continued, snapping the leather bound menu shut. He finally looked at her, his chin tilted in perpetual judgment. “At my club in New York, we have a sommelier. Here? I wouldn’t trust them to open a beer.”
    Caroline’s fingers dug into the fabric of her dress under the table. This was her life now. Sitting across from arrogant men who thought a fat paycheck bought them the right to treat everyone else like peasants.
    “So, Caroline,” Preston leaned back, offering a smirk that was probably meant to be charming but landed closer to constipated. “My mother mentioned you’re a nurse?”
    “Intern nurse,” Caroline corrected automatically. “At Washington United Medical Center.”
    “Right.” The smirk deepened into outright dismissal. “Must be exhausting. All that cleaning up and taking orders. And the pay? Practically minimum wage, right? Honestly, a pretty girl like you should just find a guy who provides. Someone who makes enough so you don’t have to wipe up vomit for a living.”
    A muscle ticked in Caroline’s temple. She opened her mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his financial advice, but her phone buzzed.
    She never took personal calls on a date. But right now, it was the only thing keeping her from baptizing Preston with her ice water.
    She glanced at the screen. Her breath hitched. It wasn’t just the hospital. It was the direct emergency line from the Chief of Staff.
    She answered it right there. “Thompson.”
    “Caroline.” Dr. Alistair Cromwell never used her first name. His voice, usually dripping with academic condescension, was flat. Breathless. “Get back here. Now.”
    “I’m off the clock, Dr. Cromwell. Is something—”
    “I don’t have time to repeat myself.” The line crackled with background shouting. “This is not a drill. We are at Code Atlas. I say again, Code Atlas. Get here in ten minutes or don’t bother coming back at all.”
    Click.
    Caroline sat frozen, the dial tone buzzing against her ear.
    Code Atlas.
    In all her years of training, she had only heard that term whispered in break rooms like a ghost story. It meant catastrophe. Mass casualties. A high-level terror threat. It meant the world was falling apart.
    “I have to go,” Caroline said, already grabbing her coat.
    Preston scoffed, slamming his water glass down. “You’re joking. What kind of emergency could a nurse possibly have? We haven’t even ordered.”
    “It’s a Code Atlas,” she said, not caring if he understood. She pulled a fifty-dollar bill from her wallet and dropped it on his pristine white tablecloth. “This covers my share of nothing. Goodbye, Preston.”
    She didn’t wait for his face to finish flushing red. She turned on her heel and practically sprinted out of the restaurant.
    The Washington air hit her in a heavy, soaking downpour. Adrenaline washed away the lingering disgust of the date. She flagged down a cab dropping someone off at the corner, sliding into the back seat before the passenger was fully on the curb.
    “Washington United Medical Center,” she gasped. “Step on it.”
    By the time the cab screeched to a halt, the rain had slowed to a mist, but the chill in Caroline’s bones only deepened.
    She stepped out and stopped dead.
    The hospital had been turned into a fortress.
    The main entrance wasn’t blocked by ambulances, but by military police. Two armored Humvees idled across the driveway, their headlights cutting through the fog. Men in full combat gear, rifles strapped to their chests, stood behind concrete barricades.
    This wasn’t a mass casualty event. This was a federal lockdown.
    Heart hammering against her ribs, Caroline approached the nearest checkpoint, holding up her ID badge with a trembling hand. “Caroline Thompson. I was paged by Dr. Cromwell.”
    The guard, a soldier with eyes like flint, scanned her badge, checked a clipboard, and stepped aside. “Go straight to the main desk. Do not deviate from the hallway, ma’am.”
    Caroline slipped under the yellow tape. The lobby was unrecognizable. The usual chaotic symphony of the ER was gone, replaced by a suffocating, terrified silence. Doctors and nurses huddled in clusters. Armed soldiers lined the corridors like statues.
    “Thompson!”
    Dr. Cromwell was striding toward her. He looked like he had aged a decade since morning. His white coat was rumpled, a dark coffee stain splashed across his tie.
    “Listen carefully, I don’t have time for questions,” he snapped, his forehead gleaming with sweat. “You are assigned to ICU Room 3. You will monitor the patient’s vitals. You will not speak to him. You will not touch any personal effects in the room. If his heart rate fluctuates by more than ten percent, you hit this button.” He shoved a black pager into her palm. “Do you understand me?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Go.”
    Caroline walked briskly toward the private elevator bank. The air smelled different here—sharper, metallic, like ozone and gunpowder.
    As she turned the corner, the doors of the VIP elevator slid open. A group of people emerged, moving like a single, lethal organism. Men in dark suits. Military brass with medals gleaming.
    But they were just background noise.
    In the center, walking slightly ahead, was a man who looked like he had been carved from granite and violence.
    He was well over six feet, his shoulders straining the seams of his digital camouflage uniform. The rank on his chest—a silver eagle—demanded absolute submission. His face was a landscape of sharp angles and hard lines, his jaw set like a steel trap.
    As the group passed, the man turned his head.
    His eyes—a cold, piercing, impossible gray—swept the corridor. And for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked onto Caroline’s.
    It was like stepping onto a landmine.
    The air was violently sucked from her lungs. A jolt of pure, electric heat shot down her spine, freezing her blood. Those eyes didn’t just look at her; they stripped her down, assessed her threat level, and branded her in the span of a single heartbeat.
    “Colonel Romero,” an aide murmured, handing the man a classified tablet.
    The spell shattered. The man—Colonel Romero—broke eye contact, taking the tablet without missing a stride. He began firing off orders in a low, gravelly voice that vibrated down the hallway.
    Caroline let out a shaky breath, her knees suddenly weak. She hadn’t realized she was holding onto the wall until a hand grabbed her arm.
    “Are you breathing?” her friend Brenna whispered, pulling Caroline into a supply alcove. Brenna’s face was paper-white. “Oh my god, Caroline. Did you see him?”
    Caroline swallowed hard, her throat like sandpaper. “The Colonel?”
    “Jarrod Romero,” Brenna breathed, the name heavy with awe and terror. “Department of Defense. My cousin at the Pentagon says he’s the guy they call when the world is ending.” She clutched a medical chart to her chest. “He looks like he’d shoot you just for breathing his air.”
    Caroline rubbed the back of her neck, trying to dispel the lingering, phantom heat from that brief eye contact. “Where are you headed?”
    “ICU 3. Cromwell’s special assignment.”
    Brenna’s eyes widened, all gossip vanishing instantly. “Oh, God. Caroline, be careful. That patient… this whole thing is black-ops. The FBI tried to get in twenty minutes ago and Romero’s men turned them away at gunpoint.”
    “I just have to watch the monitors,” Caroline said, though her voice lacked conviction.
    She grabbed a supply cart and pushed through the double doors of the ICU wing. They hissed shut behind her, sealing her in a sterile, fluorescent-lit silence.
    Two MPs stood outside Room 3, their faces blank masks. They checked her badge twice before unlocking the door.
    The room was freezing. The steady beep-beep of the heart monitor was the only sound.
    In the bed lay a young man, motionless. His face was a swollen canvas of bruises, thick bandages wrapping his torso. Caroline moved to the bedside, picking up the chart.
    Alston Petersen. Lieutenant. JAG Corps.
    The list of his injuries read like a torture report.
    She set the chart down, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic spike of the heart monitor. Her pulse thrummed in her ears.
    She had told Brenna she just had to watch the monitors. But standing in the freezing room, looking at the broken soldier, Caroline knew the truth.
    She had just walked into the eye of a very deadly storm. And the man with the ice-gray eyes was the one holding the lightning.

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 2

    The next twelve hours were a blur of checking vitals and adjusting IV drips. Caroline didn’t sit down once. Every time Lieutenant Petersen stirred, she was there, checking his pupils, measuring his output. He woke up briefly around 3 AM, his eyes glassy with pain.
    “Water,” he croaked.
    She held the cup with a straw to his lips, letting him take small sips. “Slowly, Lieutenant. You’ve been out for a while.”
    He looked at her, confused, then his gaze drifted to the guards outside the door. “Where is…” His voice trailed off, too weak to finish.
    “You’re safe,” Caroline said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself. “Just rest.”
    He closed his eyes and drifted off again. Caroline sank back into the chair, rubbing her burning eyes. She hadn’t heard anything from the outside world. No news on what Code Atlas meant, no updates on the lockdown. Just the hum of the machines and the muffled sound of boots in the hallway.
    Around 6 AM, the door swung open without a knock.
    Caroline jumped to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat. Jarrod Romero stood in the doorway. He looked exactly as he had the night before-immaculate, unyielding, and completely exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his posture was rigid.
    He stepped inside, followed by two men in suits who looked like they hadn’t slept in a week. Dr. Cromwell scurried in behind them, looking like a nervous chihuahua next to a pack of wolves.
    “Status report,” Romero barked. He wasn’t looking at Caroline. He was looking at the bed.
    “Vitals are stable, Colonel,” Dr. Cromwell said, stepping forward. “No signs of infection. The surgery was a success, though we won’t know about nerve damage for-“
    “I wasn’t asking you, Doctor.” Romero’s voice cut through the room like a blade. He shifted his gaze to Caroline, his eyes pinning her in place. “The nurse. Report.”
    Cromwell’s mouth snapped shut. He took a step back, his face flushing.
    Romero finally turned his full gaze to Caroline. Up close, his eyes were even more unnerving. They were a pale, stormy gray, fringed with dark lashes. They assessed her with a clinical detachment that made her feel like a specimen under a microscope.
    “Now,” he repeated.
    Caroline swallowed, her palms suddenly slick with sweat. She wiped them on her scrubs and forced her voice to stay level. “Lieutenant Petersen’s heart rate has been consistent, hovering around 72 BPM. Blood pressure 120/80. He woke briefly at 0300 hours, oriented but weak. I administered 2mg of morphine via IV at 0315 for pain management. Urine output is within normal limits.”
    Romero listened without blinking. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes stayed locked on her face. Then, his gaze dropped. It moved down her scrubs, past the name tag pinned to her chest, and landed on the chart in her hands.
    Specifically, on the signature line at the bottom.
    Caroline watched his face. There was a minuscule shift. A slight narrowing of his eyes. His jaw, already tight, seemed to clench even harder. He stared at the name “Caroline Thompson” for a beat too long.
    Then, just as quickly, the moment passed. He looked back up at her face, his expression once again a mask of stone.
    “Acceptable,” he said. He turned to Cromwell. “I want the security detail doubled. No one gets within fifty feet of this room without my explicit authorization. Not the hospital administrator, not the Joint Chiefs, not even God himself. Is that clear?”
    “Y-yes, Colonel,” Cromwell stammered. “But the board is already asking questions about the cost-“
    Romero took a step toward Cromwell. It was a subtle movement, but Cromwell flinched like he’d been struck. “I am not concerned with the board, Doctor. I am concerned with keeping this man alive. If you can’t manage that, I will find someone who can.”
    Cromwell paled. “Understood.”
    Romero turned back to the door. As he passed Caroline, he paused. He didn’t look at her, but his voice washed over her, low and cold.
    “Do your job, Nurse. Nothing else.”
    He walked out, his entourage trailing behind him. The door swung shut, and the oppressive weight in the room lifted.
    Caroline let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against the counter to steady them.
    “What an ass,” she muttered under her breath.
    But even as she said it, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had looked at her name. Like it meant something. Like he recognized it.
    The rest of the shift passed without incident. When Brenna came in to relieve her at 7 AM, Caroline practically ran to the locker room. She stripped off her scrubs, tossing them into the hamper, and stepped into the shower. The hot water sluiced over her, washing away the sweat and the antiseptic smell, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of those gray eyes.
    She dressed in the clothes she had worn to the date-the little black dress and the heels. She looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous.
    The cab ride home was suffocating. The morning traffic was a nightmare, and by the time the taxi pulled into the driveway of her parents’ house, her nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She paid the fare, then opened the front door, bracing herself.
    “Where have you been?”
    The voice came from the living room. Caroline closed her eyes for a second, gathering her patience, before walking in.
    Her mother, Mrs. Thompson, was sitting on the edge of the sofa. She was still in her housecoat, her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was a mask of barely contained fury.
    “I was working,” Caroline said, dropping her bag on the entryway table. “There was an emergency at the hospital.”
    “An emergency?” Her mother stood up, her voice rising. “Preston’s mother Brenda called me at six o’clock this morning. Do you know what she said? She said you walked out on Preston in the middle of dinner. You left him sitting there like a fool!”
    Caroline rubbed the back of her neck. “Mom, I had to go. It was a Code-“
    “I don’t care if the building was on fire!” Mrs. Thompson shrieked. “You do not walk out on a man like Preston! He makes three hundred thousand dollars a year, Caroline! He has a condo in Georgetown! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a man like that?”
    “He’s a snob,” Caroline said, her voice hardening. “He thinks nurses are beneath him. He told me I should just quit and find a man to support me.”
    “That’s called being a provider!” her mother shot back. “That’s what men do! Your father provided for me, and I provided him a home. That’s how the world works!”
    Caroline looked at her father, who was sitting in the armchair in the corner, hiding behind his newspaper. He didn’t look up. He never did.
    “I’m not having this argument,” Caroline said, turning toward the stairs. “I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours. I need sleep.”
    “You’re not going anywhere until we resolve this!” her mother snapped, stepping into her path. “Brenda is humiliated. Preston is humiliated. You have ruined our standing in the community!”
    “Your standing?” Caroline let out a bitter laugh. “Is that all you care about? What the neighbors think?”
    “It’s called respect, Caroline! Something you clearly know nothing about!” Mrs. Thompson’s eyes were blazing. “I have already spoken to Brenda. You are going to call Preston, and you are going to apologize to him. Personally.”
    Caroline stared at her mother in disbelief. “Apologize? For what? For having a job that matters?”
    “For being rude! For being ungrateful!” Her mother jabbed a finger toward the phone on the hall table. “You will call him, and you will make this right, or so help me God, I will call him myself and apologize on your behalf. Do you want that? Do you want your mother begging for your forgiveness?”
    The threat hit Caroline like a physical blow. The image of her mother groveling to a man like Preston Finch made her stomach turn. It was the ultimate manipulation, the one card her mother always played when she knew she was losing the argument.
    Caroline’s shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of her, leaving only exhaustion and a hollow ache in her chest.
    “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll call him.”
    She walked past her mother, not meeting her eyes, and trudged up the stairs to her room. She closed the door, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor.
    She buried her face in her hands. She’d just endured the kind of pressure at the hospital that felt like a gun to her head, and now she came home to face this. She was trapped. Work, family, the expectations of everyone around her—they were all chains binding her.

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 3

    The next morning, the drive to the hospital was a blur. Caroline’s mind was numb, stuck on a loop of Preston’s “good girl” and her mother’s triumphant smile. She felt like a puppet, her strings being pulled by everyone around her.
    When she walked into the hospital, her phone buzzed. A text from Brenna.
    More suits today. ICU is locked down tight. Be careful.
    Caroline sighed and headed for the elevator. The ICU wing was even more tense than the day before. The guards at the end of the hall were different-bigger, meaner, carrying heavier weaponry. They checked her badge three times before letting her through.
    She pushed open the door to Room 3 and stopped.
    Dr. Simon Adler, the attending physician, was standing by the bed, whispering urgently with the Colonel Jarrod Romero.
    Romero was in the same combat uniform, but today he looked even more on edge. His hands were clasped behind his back, the knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle was jumping in his cheek.
    They both looked up as she entered.
    Caroline froze in the doorway. The air in the room felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension. Dr. Adler looked nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Romero just looked dangerous.
    “Nurse Thompson,” Dr. Adler said, clearing his throat. “The Colonel was just reviewing the patient’s progress.”
    Caroline nodded, not trusting her voice. She walked over to the monitors, keeping her eyes on the screens. She could feel Jarrod’s gaze on her, heavy and assessing. It was the same feeling she had gotten in the hallway yesterday-like being caught in a searchlight.
    “The medication schedule needs to be adjusted,” Jarrod said, his voice low. “He’s too sedated. I need him lucid by 1800 hours.”
    “Colonel, if we reduce the sedation, his pain levels will be-” Dr. Adler started.
    “I am aware of the risks, Doctor,” Jarrod cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Adjust the dosage. That is an order.”
    Dr. Adler swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
    Jarrod turned and walked toward the door. As he passed Caroline, he stopped. He was close enough that she could smell him again-cedar, gunpowder, and something distinctly male. Her pulse skipped a beat.
    He looked down at her. His gray eyes were unreadable, but there was an intensity in them that made her breath catch.
    “Watch your back, Nurse,” he said quietly. “The walls have ears.”
    Then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and Caroline let out a shaky breath.
    What did that mean? She looked around the room, suddenly paranoid. The walls have ears? Was he warning her about something? Or someone?
    She turned back to the bed. Lieutenant Petersen was watching her, his eyes clearer than they had been the night before.
    “We all trust the Colonel,” Petersen rasped, his voice weak. “He’s… decisive. You just do your job, and he’ll handle the rest. Please, be careful. This world… it isn’t for civilians.”
    Caroline stared at him, confused, but Petersen had already closed his eyes, his breath evening out as sleep reclaimed him.
    She stood there for a long moment, her mind racing. Standing in this room with a wounded soldier and a cryptic warning from a terrifying colonel, she realized she might be drawing closer to something far more dangerous than her stubborn mother and that ill-mannered Preston.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Married To My Ex-Fiancé’s Silent Uncle by Ming Yue

    Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle by Ming Yue
    👉 READ NOW

    Twenty minutes before the “Wedding of the Century” at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire.

    I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper.

    I didn’t scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he’d dump “that hillbilly trash” on a bus back to the mountains. They weren’t just cheating; they were planning to steal my family’s land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn’t apologize. They called me a “greedy peasant” and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock.

    I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim.

    “If we don’t have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity,” their lawyer warned.

    So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn’t marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months.

    Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I’ve suspended Hugh’s executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I’m just a gold-digger waiting for a “corpse” to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow’s payout.

    But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back.

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    Married To My Ex-Fiancé’s Silent Uncle Chapter 1

    The corset of the Vera Wang gown was a vice, crushing Darcie Mayo’s ribs until shallow breaths were the only option.
    She stood outside the mahogany double doors of the Presidential Suite at The Plaza, her hand hovering over the gilded handle. Her palms were slick. Not with excitement, but with a cold, greasy sweat that made the metal feel foreign.
    “Give me two minutes,” she told the makeup artist hovering behind her. Her voice sounded thin, like stretched wire. “I need to see him alone before the cameras start.”
    The artist nodded and retreated down the plush hallway.
    Silence settled. Darcie closed her eyes and counted backward from ten. It was a habit from home, from the days when the debt collectors banged on the trailer door. Ten. Nine. Eight.
    The door wasn’t locked.
    It was cracked open just enough to let a slice of golden light spill onto the carpet. And with the light came a sound.
    A low, guttural moan. Followed by a giggle that scraped against Darcie’s eardrums like sandpaper.
    Floy. Her stepsister.
    Darcie’s hand froze. Her brain, usually so good at calculating odds and solving complex equations, stalled. The variable didn’t fit. Her stepsister shouldn’t be in her fiancé Hugh Maxwell’s suite twenty minutes before the ceremony.
    Darcie pushed the door. Just an inch.
    The foyer was lined with mirrors. The reflection hit her with the force of a physical blow.
    Hugh was bent over the edge of the king-sized bed, his back to her. His hands were gripping hips. Floy was underneath him, her head thrown back, the diamond necklace-Darcie’s bridal necklace, the one meant to signify her acceptance into the Maxwell dynasty-glittering obscenely against her neck.
    Darcie didn’t scream.
    She expected to. She expected the hysteria, the tears, the collapse. But instead, a terrifying, arctic calm flooded her veins. It started in her toes and worked its way up, freezing the nausea in her stomach.
    She stepped inside. The thick Persian rug swallowed the sound of her heels.
    “God, Hugh,” Floy gasped. “Faster. Before the hillbilly gets here.”
    “Don’t worry about her,” Hugh grunted. The sound was animalistic. “Once the wedding is over and the trust fund unlocks, I’m dumping that trash on a bus back to West Virginia. Or wherever the hell she came from.”
    “But the land,” Floy teased. “You need the Mayo land deed.”
    “I’ll have it by noon,” Hugh promised.
    Darcie looked to the coffee table.
    There it was. The Prenuptial Agreement. A stack of crisp, white paper that she had signed an hour ago. It was the only thing binding the merger. The only thing that made her valuable to them.
    Beside it lay a silver Zippo lighter.
    She picked it up. The metal was cool against her skin.
    Click.
    The sound of the lid flipping open was as loud as a gunshot in the quiet room.
    On the bed, the motion stopped. Hugh froze. He turned his head slowly, his eyes widening until the whites showed all around.
    “Darcie?” His voice cracked.
    She didn’t look at his face. She looked at him like she looked at a rounding error in a ledger. Something to be corrected.
    “Darcie, wait! Let me explain!”
    He scrambled off the bed, naked and pathetic. He tried to pull the sheet with him, but Floy was clutching it to her chest, screaming.
    Darcie struck the flint.
    The flame was orange and blue, dancing in the draft from the air conditioner. It was beautiful.
    “No!” Hugh shrieked, realizing what Darcie was looking at. “Don’t! That’s a ten-billion-dollar merger!”
    She touched the flame to the corner of the document.
    The paper was high quality. It caught instantly. The fire curled the edges, turning the legal jargon into black ash.
    “Darcie!” Hugh lunged.
    She took a step back, holding the burning pages high. The heat licked at her fingers, stinging, but she didn’t drop it.
    She looked up.
    Directly above her was the smoke detector.
    Darcie stood on her tiptoes, the burning contract acting as a torch. She held it right under the sensor.
    Three. Two. One.
    The alarm didn’t just ring; it screamed. A piercing, electronic wail that vibrated in her teeth. The red strobe lights began to flash, turning the room into a chaotic disco of panic.
    Then came the pop.
    The sprinkler system exploded overhead.
    It wasn’t clean water. It was the stagnant, black sludge that had been sitting in the pipes for years. It erupted in a high-pressure torrent, coating everything in a foul-smelling, oily rain.
    Hugh slipped on the marble floor as he tried to reach her, landing hard on his hip. Floy was shrieking, her hair plastered to her skull with black goo, looking like a drowned rat.
    Darcie dropped the charred remains of the contract into a puddle of sludge.
    The water soaked her veil. It ruined the fifty-thousand-dollar dress. But she didn’t care. She felt clean.
    She turned to the door.
    Outside, the hallway was filling with people. Guests in tuxedos, hotel staff, and-crucially-the paparazzi who had been camping out for the ‘Wedding of the Century.’
    Darcie pulled the door wide open.
    “Help!” she cried out, her voice trembling with a performance worthy of an Oscar. “Please!”
    The cameras flashed. Pop. Pop. Pop.
    They didn’t just see a distressed bride. They saw past her. They saw the naked heir to the Maxwell fortune, covered in black slime, scrambling on the floor with his fiancée’s sister.
    The shutter clicks were a machine gun of humiliation.
    While the mob surged forward, hungry for the scandal, Darcie stepped back.
    She kicked off her satin heels.
    She didn’t run toward the elevators. She turned toward the heavy fire exit door.
    As the chaos consumed the suite behind her, Darcie slipped into the concrete stairwell, the cold air hitting her wet skin. She was shivering, but her heart was beating a steady, rhythmic drum.
    She started to run down the stairs, leaving the ashes of a million dollars behind her.

    Married To My Ex-Fiancé’s Silent Uncle Chapter 2

    The conference room at Maxwell Industries smelled of stale coffee and fear.
    Gwendolyn Maxwell, Hugh’s mother, slammed her iPad onto the mahogany table. The screen cracked, a spiderweb fracture splitting the image of Hugh’s naked, sludge-covered backside.
    “Do you have any idea,” she hissed, her voice trembling with a rage that made the veins in her neck bulge, “what this has done to us?”
    On the wall, the giant monitor displayed the real-time stock ticker. MDI—Maxwell Defense Industries—was in freefall. A red line plunging straight down.
    MaxwellMeltdown was the number one trend on Twitter.
    “It’s a catastrophe,” Preston, Hugh’s father, moaned. He was wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “Just let him marry Floy! She’s a Mayo. The contract says a Mayo.”
    Mr. Sterling, the family’s chief legal counsel, pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked like an undertaker who was tired of the bodies.
    “The contract specifies a legitimate Mayo heir,” Sterling said, his voice dry. “Floy is a product of… an affair. The Trust Committee won’t accept her bloodline. The deed to the Appalachian land is in Darcie’s name.”
    “Then find her!” Gwendolyn shrieked. She turned to the head of security. “Where is that hillbilly bitch?”
    The security chief, a man who looked like he chewed rocks for breakfast, looked down at his boots. “She’s gone, Mrs. Maxwell. She dumped her phone in a trash can on 5th Avenue. No credit card activity. She vanished.”
    Gwendolyn’s phone buzzed. She looked at the caller ID-Senator Valentine-and paled.
    “The Senator,” she whispered. “If we lose his backing because of this scandal…”
    The door burst open.
    Hugh stumbled in. He was wearing a bathrobe, and his skin was scrubbed raw, but he still smelled faintly of stagnant water.
    Gwendolyn didn’t hesitate. She walked over and slapped him.
    The sound echoed like a gunshot.
    “You idiot!”
    “It was Darcie!” Hugh whined, clutching his cheek. “She’s crazy! She burned the prenup! She set me up!”
    “If we don’t have a marriage certificate by midnight,” Sterling interrupted, checking his watch, “the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity. That’s payroll. That’s the defense contracts. That’s everything.”
    “Find her,” Gwendolyn ordered, her eyes cold and reptilian. “Turn New York upside down. Hire every PI in the city. Drag her back here by her hair if you have to.”
    While they were scouring the city, Darcie was less than a mile away.
    She was sitting in the back of a catering truck, wrapped in a stolen oversized gray jumpsuit that smelled of onions.
    She hadn’t run away. Running away requires money, and she had none. Running away meant going back to the trailer park, where her stepmother would sell her to the next highest bidder to cover her gambling debts.
    No. She needed a solution.
    The truck rumbled through the service gates of the Maxwell Estate. The guards waved it through. They were looking for a crying bride in a white dress, not a delivery boy in a cap.
    Darcie slipped out near the kitchens and moved through the shadows of the garden. She knew this house. She had spent the last six months here, being groomed, being measured, being ignored.
    She knew where the blind spots were.
    Darcie shimmied through a loose window into the library. The room was massive, two stories of books that nobody in this family ever read.
    She went straight to the antique desk in the corner.
    Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. “Calm down,” she told herself. “Do the math. What are the variables?”
    She ran her fingers along the underside of the heavy mahogany desktop, searching not for a keyhole, but for a seam. She had seen old Alfred, the butler, access it once, his movements too precise for a simple lock. Her fingertips found it-a nearly invisible biometric panel.
    Her breath hitched. They wouldn’t make it easy. She pressed her thumb to the scanner. Access Denied. Of course. It was keyed to a Maxwell.
    But next to it was a keypad, a failsafe. A twelve-digit code. Her mind raced. Not random numbers. A pattern. It had to be a pattern. She thought of the company’s founding date, the stock ticker symbol converted to ASCII, the launch dates of their most famous missile systems. She closed her eyes, visualizing the numbers as constellations. It was a prime number sequence, interwoven with the Fibonacci spiral. A beautiful, elegant equation hidden in plain sight.
    Her fingers flew across the keypad. The final digit was pressed.
    A soft, electronic click echoed in the silence.
    A drawer slid open.
    Inside lay a piece of parchment that smelled of dust and history. The 1920 Maxwell-Mayo Alliance Covenant.
    Her fingers trembled as she unrolled it. She scanned the calligraphy, looking for the clause she had memorized during her “grooming” lessons. Marriage to any direct male heir of the Maxwell bloodline…
    Any. Not just Hugh.
    A cold smile touched her lips. She looked up, through the rain-streaked window, toward the East Wing.
    The East Wing was a mausoleum. Dark. Silent. It was where they kept him.
    Fleet Maxwell.
    Hugh’s uncle. The legend. The war hero. The man who had built this company into an empire before a helicopter crash turned him into a vegetable. Or so they said.
    The library door handle turned.
    Darcie dove behind the heavy velvet curtains, holding her breath until her lungs burned.
    The butler Alfred shuffled in. He picked up a remote and turned on the TV.
    “Breaking News,” the anchor announced. Gwendolyn’s face filled the screen. She looked devastated. Fake tears shimmered in her eyes.
    “We are so worried about Darcie,” she sobbed. “She has been under so much stress. We just want her home safe.”
    Liar. Darcie thought.
    She dug her fingernails into her palms until the skin broke. The sharp pain grounded her.
    Alfred sighed, turned off the lights, and shuffled out.
    Darcie stepped out of the darkness.
    She wasn’t the victim anymore. She wasn’t the poor girl from the mountains who should be grateful for scraps.
    She looked at the contract in her hand.
    She was going to burn their house down. And she was going to use their own laws to do it.

    Married To My Ex-Fiancé’s Silent Uncle Chapter 3

    The main doors of the Maxwell manor flew open, banging against the stone walls with a violence that made the crystal chandelier tremble.
    Rain and wind swept into the grand foyer.
    Darcie stood on the threshold. Her hair was plastered to her skull, the gray jumpsuit was soaked, and she was shivering. But she didn’t look down.
    She looked straight at them.
    The family was gathered in the living room like a coven of vultures. Gwendolyn, Hugh, Preston, and Mr. Sterling. They’d all gotten Darcie’s message and must have sped home without a second thought.
    “You!” Hugh roared. He lunged across the room. “You bitch! You have the nerve to come back?”
    “Stop!” she shouted.
    Darcie held up the parchment.
    “One step closer, Hugh, and she rips this original document in half. The ink is a hundred years old. It will crumble.”
    Hugh froze.
    Mr. Sterling stood up, his eyes narrowing. “Hugh, stand down.”
    Gwendolyn stepped forward, her heels clicking on the marble. “What do you want, Darcie? Money? An apology? We can write a check.”
    Darcie walked to the fireplace. The fire was roaring, offering the only warmth in this cold, hateful house. She stood with her back to it, using it as a shield.
    “I want to fulfill the contract,” she said. Her voice was steady, surprising even her.
    Hugh let out a bark of laughter. “I knew it. You can’t walk away from the money. You’re just a greedy little hillbilly.”
    “Not with you,” she said softly.
    The silence that followed was heavy.
    Darcie looked at Sterling. “The covenant says ‘direct male heir.’ It doesn’t specify which generation.”
    Sterling’s face went slack. He looked from Darcie to the document, his legal mind racing.
    “Fleet Maxwell is a direct heir,” Darcie said. “In fact, as the former CEO and Hugh’s uncle, his claim supersedes Hugh’s.”
    “You’re insane,” Gwendolyn spat. “Fleet is a vegetable! He’s brain dead! He can’t consent to marriage!”
    “Actually,” Sterling interrupted. His voice was quiet, calculating. He pulled out his tablet. “Under the state’s conservatorship laws… if the marriage is deemed in the ‘best interest of the estate’ and the patient… a legal proxy can sign.”
    “Best interest?” Gwendolyn screeched. “How is marrying this… this gold-digger in his best interest?”
    “The stock,” Darcie said.
    Everyone looked at her.
    “The stock is tanking because of a sex scandal,” Darcie explained, channeling every ounce of math-brain she had. “Imagine the headline tomorrow: ‘Devoted Bride Stands by Family Hero.’ ‘Darcie Mayo Marries Comatose War Hero to Honor Alliance.’ It’s romantic. It’s tragic. It cleans up Hugh’s mess instantly.”
    Sterling looked at the stock ticker on his phone. It was down 40%.
    “She’s right,” Sterling said. “The narrative works. It saves the merger. It saves the liquidity.”
    “I won’t allow it!” Gwendolyn yelled. “Fleet is my responsibility!”
    “And I want to be near him,” Darcie said, forcing a tremor into her voice, playing the part of a lost, desperate girl. “He was always kind to me. It feels… right. To honor the agreement this way.”
    “Absolutely not,” Gwendolyn said, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
    Darcie let the parchment drift closer to the fire, the heat curling its ancient edge.
    “Gwendolyn, stop,” Sterling commanded, seeing the bigger picture. “We need to control this. If she marries Fleet, we contain the damage. For this to be legally binding and satisfy the trust, she would require proxy rights. Medical power of attorney would be a necessary component to legitimize her role as caregiver and seal the PR narrative. We give her a cage, but it’s a gilded one we control.”
    He looked at Darcie. “We’ll grant you residency in the East Wing and the necessary legal authority. In return, you save this family from ruin.”
    Darcie looked down, hiding her triumphant smirk. She let a tear roll down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I just want to take care of him.”
    “Fine,” Gwendolyn hissed through gritted teeth. “Marry the corpse. See if I care. Sterling, when he dies, the contract is fulfilled, we keep the land, and she gets nothing. Make sure that’s ironclad.”
    Hugh looked at Darcie, disgust curling his lip. “So what do I call you now? Auntie?”
    Darcie gave him a razor-sharp smile. “Not yet, nephew. But soon.”
    Sterling was already typing on his tablet. “The chaplain is on his way. We’ll do it in the East Wing ICU. Thirty minutes.”
    Darcie turned to look out the window, hiding the trembling in her hands.
    “I’m sorry, Uncle Fleet,” she whispered to the reflection in the glass. “But I need you.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini
    👉 READ NOW

    Chloe had just given birth to twins, lying exhausted in a cramped, bustling hospital ward.

    When she called her husband, Julian, he was busy partying with his actress mistress. He coldly hung up on her, having already drafted a brutal divorce agreement that would leave her with a pittance.

    Strangers in the next bed loudly mocked her pitiful state, gossiping about how Julian was dumping her. For years, Chloe had erased her own identity to fit into his elite world, only to be thrown away like garbage. She was completely alone, clutching her helpless babies, bracing herself to sign the cruel papers just to survive.

    She couldn’t understand why her absolute devotion was met with such chilling indifference. Why did she have to suffer this ultimate humiliation while he celebrated with the woman who ruined her life?

    But then, a senior doctor noticed a unique mole on her wrist and ran a secret DNA test. The results were staggering: Chloe was the long-lost daughter of the billionaire Beaumont family. With her fiercely protective parents and three powerful brothers suddenly forming an impenetrable fortress around her, Chloe picked up her phone and texted her arrogant husband.

    “City Hall tomorrow at 10 AM. If you don’t show up, my lawyer will handle everything. And trust me, you won’t like their terms.”

    👉 READ NOW

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 1

    A sharp, piercing cry sliced through the sterile air of the delivery room, followed immediately by another.
    Chloe Hayes’s vision swam. Sweat pasted strands of hair to her temples. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing down on her bones, but the sound of her babies’ cries was a tether to life. Tears, hot and thick, blurred the already hazy lights above her.
    With a kind expression on her face, the midwife placed the two warm little babies on Chloe’s chest. The weight was surprisingly solid. A tiny, thumping heartbeat pulsed against her own exhausted one. A wave of love, so fierce it felt like a physical blow, crashed over her, stealing what little breath she had left.
    The midwife ’s voice a soothing balm. “You gave birth to a pair of adorable boy and girl twins . Both perfectly healthy.”
    Chloe smiled weakly, trying to look at the two babies surrounded by the midwives.
    Outside the delivery room, a nurse cried out, “Where’s Chloe Hayes’s family? Where are Chloe Hayes’s parents?”
    She called out again and again, but no one responded.
    On the hospital bed, Chloe’s face turned even paler at the sound.
    Had Julian really not come?
    Even though they were divorcing, he was still the children’s biological father. So before entering the delivery room, she called him.
    She lay in the hospital bed, completely exhausted and weak.
    The doctor and nurse quickly took her to the ward.
    However, she wasn’t taken to the private VIP ward that Julian had promised her, but rather an ordinary multi-person room.
    There were many people in the ward. Besides her, there were also pregnant women lying in the other three beds. Each of them was attended to by several family members.
    Some were taking care of their wives, some were leaning over the baby cribs to watch their children, and there were also new dads holding their babies and comforting them. Everyone had a happy smile on their face.
    A sense of icy humiliation swept through Chloe’s entire body.
    She gave birth suddenly, and now there was no one to take care of her. She was unable to care for the baby on her own, and the nurses couldn’t help all the time. So, she decided to call Julian for help.
    A nurse handed Chloe her phone. Her trembling fingers fumbled across the screen until she found Julian Sterling’s name in the contacts. The sharp-looking business photo he used as his profile picture seemed to mock her from the screen.
    She took a deep, shaky breath and pressed the call button.
    The sound that answered wasn’t his voice. It was the cacophony of a party-loud music, the clinking of glasses, a swell of laughter.
    Then, his voice, sharp and impatient. “Chloe? What is it? I’m busy.”
    The coldness in his tone was a familiar ache. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. “Julian, the babies… have been born. “
    A beat of silence on the other end. Just long enough for a sliver of hope to flicker in her chest.
    Then it was extinguished. “Okay. Send the details to my assistant.”
    Before she could form a reply, a woman’s laugh, high and melodious, echoed close to the receiver. It was a laugh she recognized from countless celebrity news segments. Amelia Hayes.
    Julian’s voice returned, layered with a dismissive politeness that was worse than outright anger. “I have to go. We’re celebrating Amelia’s new movie deal.”
    The line went dead.
    The dial tone buzzed in her ear, a relentless, mechanical sound that felt like it was drilling into her skull. Chloe’s hand fell limp, the phone slipping from her grasp onto the starchy white sheets.
    The tears finally came. Not loud, hysterical sobs, but silent, wracking tremors that shook her entire body. She curled onto her side, facing the wall, pressing her face into the thin pillow to muffle the sound. She couldn’t bear the thought of the woman on the other side of the curtain hearing her.
    A boisterous family spilled in, their happy chatter filling the small space.
    “Look at the one in the next bed,” a middle-aged woman said, her voice a stage whisper. “So pitiful. Gave birth and her husband isn’t even here.”
    A younger girl replied, “Isn’t that Chloe Hayes? The one who married into the Sterling family.”
    “That’s the one!” the woman confirmed, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The papers are saying Julian is going to divorce her for that actress, Amelia Hayes.”
    “I heard Amelia’s pregnant too,” the girl added. “This is going to be some drama.”
    Each word was a fresh cut. Pity and malice, a cruel cocktail served by strangers.
    In fact, not many people knew about their marriage, as Julian always refused to bring her into his life.
    Occasionally, a few people might have seen her through certain channels and learned who she was. But so what? She smiled bitterly. Even if she became an actress like Amelia and was exposed to everyone, it was also possible that no one would recognize her as Julian’s wife.
    Chloe clamped her hands over her ears, but she couldn’t block them out. She squeezed her eyes shut, the darkness a welcome relief.
    A gentle squeak of wheels broke through her misery. A nurse was pushing a clear, plastic bassinet towards her bed, then another. The two sleeping infants were placed beside her.
    Chloe’s sobs caught in her throat. She pushed herself up, her sore muscles protesting, and gazed at her children.
    Their faces were so new, so perfect. The boy had her brow, a serious little frown even in sleep. The girl had a delicate nose that was an exact replica of Julian’s.
    She reached out a hesitant finger, her nail bitten and short, and gently stroked her daughter’s cheek. The skin was impossibly soft.
    In that moment, something shifted inside her. A foundation of steel began to form where only rubble had been. She was no longer just a wife, waiting for a man who would never love her.
    She was a mother.
    She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her gaze, once filled with despair, now held a new, hard-edged resolve.
    For her babies, she had to be strong.
    She picked up her phone again. Not to call Julian. She scrolled through her contacts, a desperate search for a friend, a lifeline. Her finger swiped past business contacts for the Sterling family, past numbers for caterers and florists from a life that was no longer hers.
    The scrolling stopped. The screen glowed with the names of people who were not her people. She had spent years trying to fit into Julian’s world, and in the process, she had erased her own.
    She was utterly, completely alone.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 2

    The early morning sun cast long, pale stripes across the floor. Chloe hadn’t slept all night. Her eyes burned with a dry, gritty exhaustion that went deeper than the physical toll of childbirth.
    She watched the gentle rise and fall of her son’s chest, the tiny flutter of her daughter’s eyelids. And as she watched them, a memory, sharp and unwelcome, surfaced.
    Six months ago, Julian, who hadn’t been home in ages, suddenly returned and handed her a divorce agreement.
    The terms were a public execution on paper. She was to relinquish all claims to any Sterling assets. She would receive a one-time payment, barely enough to cover a year’s rent in a decent neighborhood. In return, she had to sign a non-disclosure agreement so ironclad it would prevent her from ever speaking about their marriage, his family, or even the existence of the agreement itself.
    “Sign this,” he had said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze fixed on the skyline outside his window. “Amelia is the partner I should have had from the beginning.”
    “What about the babies?” she had asked, her hand instinctively going to her swollen belly.
    He had finally turned to look at her then, his eyes filled with a chilling indifference. “The Sterling family will provide for their financial needs. But don’t think you can use them as leverage for anything more.”
    She didn’t want to agree at all. She even thought that she’d be willing to endure this situation for the rest of her life. She refused to get a divorce. Even if his heart belonged to Amelia, she would still keep his wife’s title, ensuring that Amelia could never be anything more than a mistress.
    But she was willing to risk her entire life, yet she lost to his ruthlessness.
    He threatened her with the children—if she didn’t sign, the babies in her womb had to be aborted!
    She couldn’t give up her children.
    The doctor said that she had a special physical condition. If she aborted the babies, she might not be able to get pregnant again in the future.
    She had no relatives left. Her children were her only hope.
    For the sake of her children, she ultimately signed the divorce agreement.
    But she never expected that this man would be so heartless as to wouldn’t even take a look at his own children.
    Was it just because she was only a foster daughter of the Hayes family, while Amelia was the biological one?
    Twenty-two years ago, her adoptive parents, who had been unable to have children after years of marriage, adopted her from an orphanage. But no one expected that just a few months after adopting her, the adoptive mother became pregnant and gave birth to their own daughter, Amelia. From then on, she became the daughter whom the family didn’t really care for. Her adoptive parents always favored Amelia.
    Three years ago, Julian was in a car accident and fell into a vegetative state. In their own interest, the Hayes family put her forward as Julian’s wife in exchange for investment from the Sterling family.
    A year ago, Julian woke up unexpectedly. She thought that at last, after all the hardships, sweetness would come. But to her surprise, her sister Amelia fell in love with him at first sight.
    Throughout her life, she had already given in to Amelia far too much. She didn’t want to let her husband go to Amelia as well. In the end, she cut ties with her adoptive parents, because she truly loved him.
    But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t win Julian’s heart.
    Now, back in the stark reality of the hospital room, her nails dug into her palms. They signed the divorce agreement last time, but they haven’t officially gone to the civil affairs office to get the divorce certificate. So, legally speaking, they’re not yet divorced. She was determined to put an end to this as soon as possible.
    For her children, she had to. She had to take the money and get them as far away from the Sterling name as possible.
    A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
    A man in a crisp white coat entered, a warm, professional smile on his face. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with kind eyes and a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the rushed nurses. His name tag read: Dr. Quentin Beaumont, Head of Obstetrics.
    He was the department head. She wondered why he was doing routine rounds in a shared ward.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Sterling,” he said, his voice gentle. He asked about her recovery, his questions precise and his manner so genuinely caring it caught her off guard.
    Chloe answered politely, a wall of practiced courtesy around her.
    Quentin’s gaze drifted to the bassinets. His friendly expression tightened, just for a second. His eyes narrowed slightly.
    He turned back to her, his tone casual. “The children resemble you. Are your family coming to visit soon?”
    The question landed like a stone in her stomach. Chloe’s gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “I don’t have any family,” she said, the words tasting bitter.
    A fleeting, elusive expression crossed Quentin’s face. He noticed a small, light-brown mole on the inside of her left wrist, just below the pulse. That mole was identical to the one his sister-in-law Eleanor Beaumont had.
    His heart trembled violently. An idea, a hope that he had buried for over twenty years—a wild and seemingly impossible hope—struggled to surface in his mind.
    His heart gave a sudden, violent lurch. That was exactly why he came here. Confirm the birthmark.
    Yesterday, when he accidentally saw Chloe, he was shocked. Her appearance was too similar to his sister-in-law’s. There was even a faint resemblance to his brother Richard Beaumont in the girl’s features. He immediately thought of her niece who had gone missing 22 years ago.
    In the end, he couldn’t resist and secretly took a sample of the girl’s blood for a paternity test.
    The test results would be available today, and he would know the answer soon.
    “Get some rest,” he said, “I’ll make sure the nurses take good care of you.”
    Quentin returned to the office with steady steps, ready to endure the wait for the test results.
    The wait was agonizing. He paced the confines of his office like a caged animal. Every tick of the clock on the wall was a hammer blow against his nerves.
    An hour later, an email notification pinged. The subject line was stark: “99.99% Match.”
    Quentin’s hand shook so badly he could barely control the mouse. He clicked open the email. He stared at the report, at the undeniable, scientific proof on the screen.
    The doctor who had delivered thousands of babies, who had faced life and death with unwavering composure, felt his eyes burn with tears.
    He had found her.
    He had found Richard’s daughter.
    He grabbed his phone, his fingers punching in a number he knew by heart.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 3

    In a sprawling corner office atop a skyscraper in New York City, Richard was concluding a transatlantic video conference. His voice was a low, commanding rumble, and the executives on the screen listened with rapt attention. He was a man accustomed to absolute control.
    Suddenly, his private, encrypted cell phone vibrated against the polished surface of his desk. It was a frantic, insistent buzz. The caller ID showed a single name: Quentin.
    Richard knew his younger brother. Quentin would never call this line, at this time, unless it was a matter of life or death.
    He held up a hand to the screen. “Meeting adjourned.” He didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, plunging the screen into darkness.
    He answered the phone, his voice tight with apprehension. “Quentin, what’s wrong?”
    The voice on the other end was choked with an emotion Richard hadn’t heard in years. It was a raw, trembling mix of shock and elation.
    “Richard… I found her. I found your daughter. Her name now is Chloe Hayes.”
    The words struck Richard like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis. He shot up from his leather chair, the heavy, gold-plated fountain pen in his hand clattering to the floor.
    “Are you sure?” he demanded, his voice a strained whisper. “One hundred percent?”
    “DNA match. 99.99%,” Quentin’s voice cracked. “She’s here, Richard. In my hospital. She just gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.”
    Richard stumbled back, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. Twenty-two years of hollow anniversaries, of his wife’s silent tears.
    He took a deep, shuddering breath, the titan of industry forcing himself back into the role of the patriarch, the protector. “Don’t let anyone near her,” he commanded, his voice now laced with steel. “I’m on my way.”
    He hung up and slammed a small, red button concealed on the underside of his desk.
    Within seconds, his chief of staff burst into the office, his face pale with alarm.
    “Get the jet ready. We’re flying to Massachusetts. Now,” Richard ordered, his voice leaving no room for questions. “And get Eleanor, Alexander, Sebastian, and Nicholas on a conference call. Immediately.”
    The assistant, sensing the seismic shift in his boss’s universe, simply nodded and vanished.
    Minutes later, the Beaumont family’s emergency protocol was activated.
    On a screen in Richard’s office, four faces appeared. His eldest son, Alexander Beaumont, the formidable lawyer, was in his chambers, a court recess just beginning. His second son, Sebastian Beaumont, the hardened police detective, was at his desk in a bustling precinct. His youngest son, Nicholas Beaumont, the maverick film director, was on a chaotic movie set in California.
    Richard looked at his sons, his composure a thin veneer over a raging sea of emotion. “We found her,” he said, his voice thick. “Your sister is alive.”
    A stunned silence fell over the call. It was broken by a collective gasp, a chorus of disbelieving voices.
    At a charity luncheon on the Upper East Side, Eleanor was gracefully holding court. An assistant discreetly handed her a phone with an urgent message. Excusing herself with a serene smile that betrayed none of the sudden panic in her heart, she stepped into a private powder room and joined the call.
    When she heard her husband’s words, the regal composure she had maintained for decades shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed a silk handkerchief to her mouth, her perfectly applied mascara threatening to run for the first time in public memory.
    “She’s in a hospital in Massachusetts,” Richard continued, his voice firm, a general rallying his troops. “She needs us. Everyone, drop what you’re doing. We’re going to get her back.”
    The response was immediate and absolute.
    “Cancel all my appointments for the next week,” Alexander told his assistant off-screen.
    Sebastian was already on his feet, grabbing his keys. “Family emergency, cover for me!” he yelled to a bewildered colleague.
    On the film set, Nicholas ripped off his headset and bellowed into a megaphone, “Wrap for the day! Everyone go home!” The entire production ground to a halt, leaving a crew of hundreds standing in stunned silence.
    The vast, powerful machinery of the Beaumont family, an empire that spanned continents and industries, stopped on a dime. All for one girl.
    Back in Massachusetts, Quentin had already set his own plans in motion. He walked with purpose down the hospital corridor, his white coat a banner of authority. He stopped outside the door to multi-patient wards.
    He took a deep breath. His first job was to get his niece out of this public, undignified room. He was going to take her to a place where she would be safe, cared for, and treated like the princess she was.
    He raised his hand and knocked gently on the door, composing his features into the kindest, most reassuring smile he could muster.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Nine Rejected Marriages, I Wed My Ex’s Rival by Mattie Valelly

    Nine Rejected Marriages, I Wed My Ex's Rival by Mattie Valelly
    👉 READ NOW

    Amelia sat alone at the City Marriage Bureau, watching the clock tick down to closing time.

    Fifteen minutes before the doors shut, a phone call shattered her last flicker of hope. Her fiancé, Kayson, wasn’t coming. He had abandoned their wedding registration because Kamila-her stepsister-had twisted her ankle.

    It was his ninth broken promise.

    When Amelia returned home, there was no comfort. Her biological mother sneered at her humiliation, shielding the stepsister while ordering Amelia to apologize to Kayson.

    “Who would she marry without Kayson?” her mother mocked. “Let’s see how long she survives out there without his money.”

    Meanwhile, Kayson arrogantly dismissed her absence. Finding out she had vanished, he just laughed it off with his assistant.

    “It’s just a tantrum to force my hand,” Kayson smirked. “She still can’t live without me.”

    After nine years of absolute devotion, she was nothing but a convenient placeholder to the man she loved, and a worthless joke to her own family. The suffocating weight of their betrayal finally snapped something inside her.

    She packed a single suitcase, threw away nine years of anniversary gifts, and permanently blocked Kayson’s number.

    Standing in the freezing wind, she pulled out her phone and dialed the private number of Kayson’s biggest, most ruthless rival.

    “Mr. Thornton, what you said seven months ago… does the offer to marry me still stand?”

    Ten minutes later, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb.

    👉 READ NOW

    Nine Rejected Marriages, I Wed My Ex’s Rival Chapter 1 The Abandoned Bride

    Amelia Frye glanced at the Van Cleef & Arpels watch on her wrist.
    The delicate gold hands pointed to 4:45 PM.
    Fifteen minutes until the New York City Marriage Bureau closed for the day.
    Her thumb unconsciously picked at the already frayed skin beside her index fingernail. It was a nervous habit, one she thought she had kicked years ago.
    Clerk Sullivan, a kind-faced woman with salt-and-pepper hair, poked her head out of the office for the ninth time. Her eyes were full of a pity that made Amelia’s stomach clench.
    “Maybe it’s the traffic, dear,” Ms. Sullivan offered, placing a cup of lukewarm water on the small table beside Amelia’s chair.
    Amelia forced a smile that felt like cracking plaster. “Yes, New York traffic is always terrible.”
    Her gaze drifted to the poster on the wall. A beaming couple, with the words “Happy Marriages Start Here” printed in cheerful script below them. The irony felt like a physical weight on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
    A vibration buzzed from her handbag.
    Her heart leaped into her throat. Kayson.
    She fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy and cold. The screen lit up, but the name flashing wasn’t his.
    It was “Leo Foster.” Kayson’s assistant.
    The last flicker of hope inside her died, leaving a cold, dark void. She took a sharp breath, the air stinging her lungs, and answered the call.
    “Ms. Frye,” Leo’s voice was polite, professional, and utterly detached. “My sincerest apologies. Mr. Edwards has an urgent situation. Ms. Carlisle twisted her ankle during a rehearsal, and he had to go to her immediately.”
    Kamila Carlisle.
    The name was a familiar poison, seeping through the phone and directly into her brain. It was always Kamila. The reason for the first missed anniversary, the third missed birthday, and now, the ninth missed promise.
    Amelia said nothing.
    She simply ended the call.
    The phone’s screen went black, reflecting her own pale, numb face. She looked like a stranger.
    She opened her message thread with Kayson. Her thumbs moved with a strange, detached precision.
    “Kayson Edwards, we’re over.”
    Send.
    Then, without a moment’s hesitation, her finger found the option: “Block and Delete Contact.”
    A profound silence filled her head as she did it. The giant stone that had been crushing her chest for years finally rolled away. She could breathe again. The air, once thin and sharp, now felt full and clean.
    She stood up so abruptly that the chair scraped against the linoleum floor with a screech.
    Ms. Sullivan jumped, her expression shifting from pity to alarm.
    Amelia walked to the clerk’s desk and placed the untouched cup of water down gently.
    She looked Ms. Sullivan directly in the eye, her voice clear and steady in a way it hadn’t been in years.
    “I’ve decided. I’m not getting married.”
    Ms. Sullivan’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
    Amelia added, more to herself than to the clerk, a vow whispered into the sterile office air. “Not ever again.”
    With that, she turned and walked out of the Marriage Bureau.
    The cold November wind hit her face, but it didn’t chill her. It woke her up.
    She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through her contacts to a name she had saved seven months ago. A number she had never called.
    She remembered the man. Kayson’s biggest rival. He had cornered her at a gala, his blue eyes full of a mocking amusement, and said something utterly absurd to her.
    At the time, she’d dismissed it as a provocation, a way to get under Kayson’s skin.
    Now, it was her only option.
    Her heart hammered against her ribs as she pressed the call button.
    The phone rang only once before it was answered. A deep, magnetic voice cut through the city noise.
    “Who is this?”
    Amelia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the words rush out before she could lose her nerve.
    “Mr. Thornton, what you said seven months ago… does the offer still stand?”
    There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by a low, dangerously amused chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine.

    Nine Rejected Marriages, I Wed My Ex’s Rival Chapter 2 Ten-Minute Flash Marriage

    The soft chuckle vibrated through the phone, a sound so full of cynical amusement it made Amelia’s cheeks burn.
    “Which offer was that?” Garrett Thornton’s voice was a slow, deliberate drawl. “I have a terrible memory for things I’ve been turned down for.”
    Amelia bit her lower lip, the small pain grounding her. She forced her voice to remain steady. “You said if I ever needed a husband, I could call you.”
    She took another breath, pushing the rest of the words out. “You said you needed a wife to deal with your family.”
    The line went quiet again. This time, the silence stretched longer, so long that Amelia thought he was about to hang up. She could hear the faint rustle of fabric, as if he were shrugging on a jacket.
    Then his voice returned, stripped of all its earlier playfulness. It was sharp, direct, and decisive.
    “Where are you?”
    Amelia’s heart skipped a beat. She answered automatically, her voice barely a whisper. “The City Marriage Bureau.”
    “Good,” Garrett said. “Stay right there. Give me ten minutes.”
    She was stunned into silence. “Ten minutes?”
    “Thornton Tower is three blocks from there,” he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m coming over. We’ll register.”
    The line went dead.
    Amelia stood frozen on the sidewalk, the phone still pressed to her ear. Her mind was a complete blank. It had been an act of pure, desperate impulse, a last-ditch effort to prove to herself that she had some control over her own life. She never thought he would actually agree.
    Panic began to set in, a cold wave washing over her. Her first instinct was to run, to hail a cab and disappear back into the quiet misery of her life.
    But then she pictured Kayson’s face, his brow furrowed with performative concern for Kamila. The thought of returning to that life, of waiting for the tenth broken promise, was more terrifying than this insane gamble.
    She took a deep, shuddering breath and forced herself to stand straight, like a soldier awaiting her fate.
    Meanwhile, on the top floor of the Edwards Corporation building, Kayson was pacing his office, a knot of irritation tightening in his gut.
    He had sent Amelia a text.
    “Babe, sorry. Kamila’s situation was an emergency. I’ll make it up to you later.”
    But the message was met with a stark red exclamation point. Delivery failed.
    He frowned, assuming it was a network issue. He tried again. Same result.
    Pressing his fingers to his temples, a familiar gesture of frustration, he decided to call.
    A cold, automated voice met his ear: “The user you are calling is currently unavailable.”
    A surge of annoyance, sharper and more potent than usual, coursed through him. Amelia never did this. She was always there, always waiting, always forgiving.
    He concluded she was throwing a tantrum, a bigger one than usual, but a tantrum nonetheless. He’d let her cool off. She’d come around. She always did.
    Nine minutes later, a black Maybach pulled up to the curb in front of Amelia, its tires letting out a soft, arrogant hiss.
    The back door opened, and a long leg, encased in impeccably tailored trousers, emerged.
    Garrett Thornton unfolded himself from the car. He was taller than she remembered from the gala, with dark hair and eyes the color of a stormy sea. He radiated an aura of raw, untamed power.
    He didn’t look at her at first. His gaze went to the sign above the door: City Marriage Bureau. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. Only then did his eyes land on her.
    His gaze was intensely invasive, sweeping over her from head to toe as if he were assessing a potential acquisition.
    Amelia instinctively took a half-step back, feeling exposed and judged.
    The corner of Garrett’s mouth quirked up. He extended a hand towards her, his voice a low, possessive rumble.
    “Did you bring your ID and documents, future Mrs. Thornton?”

    Nine Rejected Marriages, I Wed My Ex’s Rival Chapter 3 Wedding Vow

    Amelia stared at Garrett’s outstretched hand. It was large, with long, strong fingers. A hand that looked like it could build things or break them with equal ease. It represented a future she couldn’t possibly imagine.

    An image of Kayson, his hand gently resting on Kamila’s bandaged ankle, flashed in her mind.

    Her spine stiffened. The hesitation vanished, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.

    She placed her trembling hand into his. His palm was warm and dry, his grip firm as it enveloped her cold fingers. It wasn’t a comforting hold; it was a claim.

    A triumphant smirk played on Garrett’s lips. He tightened his grip, giving her no chance to pull away, and led her back towards the entrance of the Marriage Bureau.

    Ms. Sullivan was just packing up her desk when she saw Amelia return, this time with a tall, devastatingly handsome man in tow. The clerk’s jaw dropped.

    Garrett flashed Ms. Sullivan a smile so charming it could have melted glaciers. “Ma’am, we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

    Under the force of Garrett’s sheer presence, the entire process became a blur. Paperwork was filled out with swift efficiency.

    When it was time for the photo, Amelia’s face was a stiff, unnatural mask. Garrett leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

    “Smile, Amelia,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to travel straight through her. “From now on, you’re the winner.”

    Her breath hitched. She looked up at him, into those deep blue eyes, and for the first time, she saw something other than mockery. It was a flicker of… something else.

    A small, genuine curve touched her lips as the camera flashed, capturing a wedding photo.

    When the stamped marriage certificate was placed in her hand, it still felt unreal.

    Amelia Frye was now Amelia Thornton.

    The moment they stepped back outside, Garrett released her hand.

    He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a set of keys and a sleek, black card, pressing them into her palm.

    Amelia looked down. A beautifully designed apartment key and an American Express Centurion Card.

    “What is this?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

    “The key to a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Your new home,” Garrett said, his tone casual, as if he were handing her a brochure. “The card has no password and no limit. Use it.”

    He paused, his eyes glinting. “Consider it pocket money for being Mrs. Thornton.”

    The weight of the key and card felt scorching in her hand. “This wasn’t part of our agreement.”

    “It is now.” Garrett’s voice was flat, leaving no room for negotiation. “My wife doesn’t live frugally. Especially not in front of Kayson Edwards.”

    He said Kayson’s name, and everything clicked into place. This wasn’t just a marriage of convenience. It was an act of war. And she was his newest, most strategic weapon.

    He opened the Maybach’s door for her. “Get in. I’ll take you to get your things.”

    Amelia slid into the plush leather seat, the scent of mint and expensive leather filling her senses. It was the smell of a world she didn’t belong to.

    She recited the address of the imposing Carlisle family estate.

    The car pulled smoothly away from the curb. After a moment of silence, Garrett spoke, his eyes on her in the rearview mirror.

    “You are heading to the Carlisle estate?”

    Amelia froze. The address she’d given was the grand home shared by her biological parents. Yet, ever since her mother, Kristen Carlisle, had acknowledged her and brought her back, Kristen had coldly claimed there were “no spare rooms” in the massive house, relegating Amelia to a cramped maid’s room. In that sprawling mansion, she was treated as nothing more than an unwanted burden.

    Her reply was cold and sharp. “My name is Frye.”

    Garrett watched her in the mirror, catching the flicker of resentment in her eyes. A soft, knowing hum escaped his lips, a sound that was neither a laugh nor a sigh.

    He didn’t press further. Instead, he took out his phone, opened a social media app, and snapped a picture of the marriage certificate in his hand.

    He framed it carefully, showing only the official seal, the date, and the word “Married,” but hiding their names.

    He typed a single word as the caption.

    “Married.”

    And then he hit post.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • One Girl, A Pack Of Beasts by Brass Wren

    One Girl, A Pack Of Beasts by Brass Wren
    👉 READ NOW

    Lillian woke in a werecreature universe as a total loser.

    Good news was that women ruled here and could take multiple mates, yet she still ended up as the one everyone looked down on. Compared to her talented sister at every turn, she watched her first match get stolen and her next four mates reject her without mercy.

    The first mate was the King of Succubine himself. On their very first meeting, he warned Lillian that he was only staying long enough to recover from his injuries-and that there could never be anything between them.

    The second mate was a merman. He took one look at her and said he had no interest in a loser like her, tossing her some cash so she could break off their bond herself.

    The third mate was the progenitor vampire-over a thousand years old. He admitted to admiring her sister instead and made it clear he had no interest in a layabout like Lillian.

    Lillian cut every bond and chose her own path instead. But as she rose higher and higher, those same men returned, full of regret and begging her to look at them again.

    The fourth mate was a werewolf Lillian had rescued from an underground fighting ring. She thought he might actually stay-until he revealed himself as royalty. And of course, he wanted to break their bond for more power.

    👉 READ NOW

    One Girl, A Pack Of Beasts Chapter 1 Breaking The Bonds

    “Lillian Clark, I’ll ask you one last time,” Waylon Edwards said, his voice sharp with impatience. “Are you going to break the bonds or not?”

    Without rushing, Lillian set the knife in her hand aside and placed a bag of beast cores on the table. Blood continued to drip from her palm. “After everything I’ve done for the two of you… has it never been enough?”

    Disgust showed plainly on Waylon’s face as he looked her over. Her appearance was unkempt, far from what he believed a female should be.

    “With that F-level spiritual power of yours, you’ve never been able to soothe either Jaycob or me,” he said coldly. “All these years, it’s been your younger sister helping us behind your back. To us, she’s the one we truly recognize as our domina. If you actually care about us, then end the bonds.”

    Lillian’s answer came without hesitation. “If that’s how you feel, then I’ll give you what you want.”

    She paused, her eyes settling on him. “But there’s something you need to settle first. We’ve been married for years, and to make up for my lack of spiritual power, I handed over every beast core I earned hunting aberrant beasts. Altogether, that’s worth five million stellar coins. Pay me back, and you’re free to go.”

    Surprise flickered in Waylon’s eyes, quickly replaced by excitement. He had been pushing for this separation for a year and never thought she would finally agree.

    He didn’t have many stellar coins, but if he joined forces with Jaycob Warren and borrowed the rest, they could still pay her back. He didn’t hesitate to agree.

    Lillian moved just as quickly. She pulled up the agreement on her communicator, signed it, and sent it over. “Get the money transferred by tonight. We’ll finalize everything at the Notary Hall tomorrow afternoon.”

    It had only been a month since Lillian took over this body, and along with it came every memory that belonged to its original owner.

    The world she now lived in was shaped by something known as Yggdrasil, something that governed countless planets. Once males on these planets reached adulthood, they awakened esper abilities that matched their nature. To strengthen those abilities, they hunted aberrant beasts and collected beast cores. The esper ability progressed from the lowest rank, F, all the way to S Plus. The esper abilities of females were the same.

    There was, however, one critical difference. As males’ abilities advanced, they entered periods of rut. Without suppressants or a female’s spiritual power to soothe them, they risked losing control, turning into mindless creatures or even destroying themselves.

    Females were rare and highly valued, their status high. Through Yggdrasil’s system, a female could be assigned multiple males, and those males were expected to remain completely loyal to her. Only a female held the power to sever the bonds with them.

    The body Lillian now occupied belonged to someone who shared her name, yet their lives couldn’t have been more different. This Lillian had been considered the least capable female in her family, stuck with an F-level spiritual power.

    Her younger sister, Justine Clark, stood in complete contrast. From birth, she possessed an S-level spiritual power, something extremely rare. Many females never advanced even a single level in spiritual power, so someone like Justine held immense value. Their family treated her as their pride, giving her the best of everything. Lillian, meanwhile, had to struggle for whatever she wanted. Even then, anything she managed to claim would often be taken by Justine.

    The previous Lillian had always known her limits. She lacked the spiritual power needed to soothe the two A-level males bonded to her when she came of age, Waylon and Jaycob. To make up for it, she spent her days fighting in the Aberrant Thicket, pushing herself to gather more beast cores for them.

    At home, she lowered herself to doing everything. She handled the cooking, washed their clothes, and kept the place clean, yet neither of those men ever warmed to her.

    Later that evening, Lillian sat down to eat with her neighbor, Rosalyn Scott, and told her about her decision to end her bonds to Waylon and Jacob the next day.

    Rosalyn’s reaction came instantly. “That’s unbelievable! They actually asked for that? How dare them? You’ve been nothing but good to them!”

    Lillian didn’t seem bothered. “Justine enticed them away from me during the first year after the bonds were formed. I have never shared a bed with them. And all I could do to soothe them is pat them on the head. There’s no point in forcing them to stay with me.”

    Rosalyn fell silent for a while, clearly shocked. Then, her expression softened as she remembered Lillian’s weak spiritual power.

    She said, “You don’t need to worry too much. The Federal Directorate won’t leave a female without mates. Once you break the bonds, Yggdrasil will assign new males to you.”

    Lillian let out a frustrated sigh and replied, “That’s the problem. I don’t want to be bonded again. It always ends the same way. The males won’t like me.”

    She could already see how things would play out. If she ended up bonded to capable males, Justine would step in again and take them away, just like before.

    Rosalyn looked Lillian over from head to toe before speaking again. “You don’t really have a choice. Bonding is required, and new males will come looking for you whether you want it or not. At least try to change how you present yourself. You always look like you just came out of the wild. Even if males don’t hold the same status as females, you should still try to leave a good first impression.”

    For years, Lillian had dressed only for survival. Hunting aberrant beasts and gathering herbs in the Aberrant Thicket had shaped her habits, leaving no room for concern about how she looked.

    Now, a thought crossed her mind. Maybe Waylon and Jaycob had kept their distance because of how disheveled she looked? If that was the reason, then in her eyes, they were nothing more than shallow males.

    A quiet sigh escaped her. “Alright, I get it.”

    Rosalyn handed her a ticket. “Here. It’s for an underground fighting match. Go watch something fun and take your mind off things. The bar owner gave the tickets to me. We can go together.”

    Lillian accepted the ticket. “Thanks.”

    The following day, after giving it some thought, Lillian decided to take a short break. The money from Waylon and Jaycob had already been transferred, so there was nothing holding her back.

    She started by taking a long shower. After that, she used her communicator to order several elegant dresses and followed tutorials to style her hair into soft curls.

    Her natural beauty was actually remarkable. Her skin was smooth, and her features could easily rival Justine’s. Years spent outdoors had shaped her body into something balanced and strong. There was firmness in her muscles, yet her movements carried a light, controlled ease.

    When Rosalyn saw Lillian, she froze in place, her reaction almost comical. It took a moment before she found her voice again. “Why would you hide a face like that before? Even without strong spiritual power, males would still be drawn to you. Waylon and Jaycob would definitely regret leaving you!”

    One Girl, A Pack Of Beasts Chapter 2 She Bought The Dying Werewolf In The Arena

    Lillian gave a small smile, thinking that Rosalyn was only saying that to comfort her.

    However, when they showed up at the underground fighting arena, she indeed caught the attention of many males around her.

    Rosalyn located their seats, guided Lillian over, and sat down with her. The fight was already underway, a brutal scene with fists flying and legs kicking, the audience watching with excitement.

    At first, Lillian felt no real interest in what was happening. That changed when a werewolf was hauled onto the platform in chains. His gray ears were alert, and his eyes glowed with a dull, reddish hue. Lillian’s focus locked onto him immediately.

    The werewolf was in rut.

    The emcee’s voice rang out with excitement. “Here we have a slave who has been stuck in rut for a long time, rejected by every female, deprived of food for an entire week, and left without even a drop of water. Whoever manages to take him down will earn a hundred high-grade beast cores!”

    One after another, fighters stepped up to the fight, but every single one was violently overpowered and thrown off the stage by the uncontrollable werewolf.

    As the rounds went on, his wounds increased. One of his claws was broken. He remained crouched on the stage, blood spilling from his mouth as he coughed, yet he refused to make a sound, enduring the pain in silence.

    When the final horn echoed through the arena, he raised his head. By chance, his bloodshot eyes met Lillian’s gaze. The mix of fury and despair in his look made her press her lips together.

    Rosalyn inhaled deeply and said with a trace of pity, “He’s said to be from the Rogue Planet. He has been kept here for quite some time. I remember seeing him here last time; he’s got a criminal past and no family, just scraping by on his own. Honestly, this could be the last time he steps into the ring alive.”

    It was common knowledge that a male left too long without a female soothing him would eventually lose control and destroy himself.

    Lillian’s expression grew somber. Something about his loneliness struck a familiar chord in her.

    In the end, the werewolf gathered what little strength he had left, defeated his final opponent, and then collapsed, looking as though he might die at any moment.

    Seeing that, Lillian suddenly asked, “How do I buy him?”

    Rosalyn stared at her in shock. “What? You want to buy him?”

    Lillian tilted her head slightly. “Just for fun. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

    Rosalyn tried to talk Lillian out of it but eventually failed. She knew the arena’s owner and brought Lillian to meet him and explained her intention to buy the werewolf.

    The owner looked taken aback. “You mean you want to buy Samuel? I was already planning to get rid of him. My lady, if you take him, you’ll spend an enormous amount trying to treat him; it’s simply not worth it.”

    Ignoring that, Lillian crouched down in front of Samuel Burton, who had reverted to his human form due to extreme exhaustion. Even in that state, he was strikingly handsome, with an intimidating presence. A pair of soft, furry ears still remained visible. Lillian reached out and gently stroked them.

    Samuel flinched. Startled, he abruptly sat up and was about to attack the person before him.

    But the moment he recognized Lillian as the striking, gentle-looking female he had noticed earlier in the crowd, his raised claw stopped mid-swing. The hostility and lethal intent in his eyes faded. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt an innocent female. So, he lowered his head and curled into himself, silently refusing her touch.

    Lillian chose not to bother him anymore. She had always moved on her own or occasionally teamed up with low-tier hunting groups, traveling to the outer edges of the Aberrant Thicket to hunt small aberrant beasts and collect herbs just to get by. Still, the earnings were barely enough, and the low-grade beast cores she absorbed had no real effect on improving her spiritual power.

    She began to consider that this werewolf could help her venture deeper into the Aberrant Thicket, where she might find quality herbs and stronger beast cores to elevate her spiritual power.

    At the very least, it seemed like a feasible plan.

    Lillian spoke calmly. “I’ll pay one million.”

    She turned her attention to the owner and said firmly, “That’s a fair deal for you, isn’t it? Even if he recovers, the cost of suppressants alone is extremely high. And without a female to soothe him, he won’t be able to return to the arena anyway.”

    She wasn’t wrong. At this point, Samuel was a rogue werewolf with no real value. After a moment of consideration, the owner accepted her offer.

    After taking Samuel out of the underground arena, Lillian noticed her communicator buzzing nonstop with missed calls and messages. She opened one of the video messages.

    Jaycob appeared on the screen, his face flushed with anger as he shouted, “Lillian, we’ve been waiting for you at the Notary Hall forever! Don’t test our patience! You already took the money and signed the separation agreement. Are you trying to go back on your word now?”

    Without the domina’s approval, it was impossible for the males to end the bonds on their own.

    In her rush to buy Samuel, Lillian had completely forgotten about the matter with Jaycob and Waylon.

    She quickly turned to Rosalyn. “Please take Samuel back to my place. There are medical supplies stored there. Use whatever you need and make sure he pulls through.”

    “Sure, leave it to me,” Rosalyn replied with confidence.

    By the time Lillian arrived at the Notary Hall, Waylon and Jaycob were already standing beside Justine.

    Walking up to them, Lillian said, “Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

    Waylon and Jaycob stared at her, startled, as though they didn’t recognize her right away.

    “Li-Lillian?” Jaycob’s eyes scanned her from head to toe. She did look more attractive than before, but when he noticed she was wearing a white dress just like Justine, he let out a mocking laugh, assuming she was trying to imitate Justine to win sympathy and avoid the separation.

    Waylon seemed to reach the same conclusion. Disdainfully, he said, “There’s no need for you to copy Justine. What we care about isn’t just her looks; it’s her kindness. Don’t waste your time doing something useless.”

    Justine offered a soft smile, putting on a fragile and apologetic front as she spoke to Lillian. “Lillian, I truly didn’t mean to ruin your bonds or take your mates away from you. Please don’t hold it against me, okay?”

    In her mind, Lillian was deeply attached to these two males. Seeing Lillian dressed like her today only reinforced her belief that she had come here to plead for reconciliation.

    However…

    One Girl, A Pack Of Beasts Chapter 3 She Finally Found A Way To Enhance Her Spiritual Power

    “Sure.”

    Lillian gave a short nod. She barely spared Justine a glance before heading straight for the registration desk. Instead of wasting time on pleasantries, she went straight to the point and asked the staff to stamp the documents.

    Without delay, a staff member processed everything and placed three separation certificates in her hands. A polite smile stayed on his face as he spoke. “Now that you’re registered as a single female, Yggdrasil will match you with new males. You can check your email tomorrow for the results.”

    After acknowledging him with a nod, she turned back and flicked her wrist, throwing two certificates toward Waylon and Jaycob. “It’s done. From this point on, the two of you are Justine’s fated mates.”

    Shock spread across Justine’s face as she went stiff for a moment. “Lillian, you actually broke the bonds with them? So that’s it? You don’t love them anymore?”

    A cold laugh slipped from Lillian as she shook her head. “Love? There was never anything like that between us. It was nothing more than an obligation that tied me to them. Since you’re willing to pick up what I threw away, go ahead.”

    Waylon’s anger flared at that. “Lillian, watch your mouth! You think you can talk about us like that? We refused to serve you because of Justine. She’s the one we truly love.”

    Lillian didn’t even bother responding. Arguing with them wasn’t worth her time.

    So, she left and made her way home before the sky turned dark.

    Earlier, Rosalyn had sent a message to her. She said she had given Samuel an injection that kept him alive, but his condition hadn’t improved. His mind was unstable, and he needed a suppressant or a female to soothe him as soon as possible.

    The moment Lillian arrived home, she found Samuel in the guest room. His body was hunched over on the carpet as he knelt there, and he was struggling through waves of pain. A strained sound escaped him while one of his hands had already shifted into a claw, about to hurt himself.

    Lillian’s expression hardened at the sight. She rushed forward without hesitation and caught his wrist to stop him.

    At the sight of her, Samuel went still for a second. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as his voice came out rough. “You shouldn’t get close to me. I might lose control and hurt you.”

    “I’m not leaving you like this.” Carefully, Lillian reached up and held his head between her hands. She tried to soothe him, letting her spiritual power flow through him in an effort to calm the storm inside him.

    Even so, the strain on Samuel’s face didn’t ease. Pain tore through him without pause. It felt like his bones were being forced apart, then crushed back together again. Something unseen seemed to press along his spine, breaking it piece by piece. The agony dragged him closer to the edge with every passing second.

    “Thank you for helping me.” Samuel realized Lillian’s ability wasn’t enough to soothe him, gritting his teeth and reaching out to push her away gently. “I’ll just face my destruction.”

    A flicker of anxiety crossed Lillian’s face. Regulations made it impossible to use suppressants on someone with a criminal record. Without a female willing to soothe him, there was no way to pull him back from this.

    She had already tried soothing him through touch, yet it hadn’t been enough. That left only one option—mating.

    It was typically reserved for a female’s fated mates.

    She had never done something like that before. Neither in her previous life nor in this one had she ever given herself to anyone.

    Still, watching Samuel struggle right in front of her, Lillian hesitated only for a brief second before making up her mind. She leaned in, steadied his head in her hands, and pressed her lips against his in a firm gesture.

    A flicker of shock crossed Samuel’s eyes the moment her lips met his. Something within him shifted in a way he couldn’t explain. He had never felt anything like this before.

    For the first time, he experienced what it felt like to be soothed by a female.

    Tension drained from his body without warning. The violent strain in his muscles eased, and the sharp pain tearing through his bones faded as if it had been pulled away by an unseen force. A tremor ran through him as relief settled in. Driven by instinct, his arms moved on their own. He circled Lillian’s waist and pulled her closer, holding her tightly against him. The need for comfort from her took over as he deepened the kiss instinctively.

    Caught off guard, Lillian lost her balance and ended up seated on his lap. Her tongue was entwined with Samuel’s, continuously licked and sucked, occasionally grazed by his sharp teeth, causing her to shiver.

    A strange sensation spread through her, leaving her mind unsteady. Not only was there a physical change in her, but spiritually, she also felt something unusual.

    Her previously depleted spiritual power suddenly swelled like a sponge absorbing water, pulling in everything that poured from him. The wild energy surrounding him flowed into her, and she turned it into her spiritual power, using it to soothe him.

    Time slipped by without her noticing. By the time the kiss finally broke, her spiritual power had been completely drained. Her body gave in, and she slumped against Samuel, her consciousness fading as exhaustion took over.

    For Samuel, the torment hadn’t fully disappeared, but the storm inside him had calmed enough for him to think clearly again.

    Carefully, he carried Lillian and laid her down on the bed. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he chose not to lie beside her. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor and stayed there, watching her quietly. Complex emotions lingered in his eyes.

    He couldn’t understand why someone like her would go so far just to save him.

    Nor could he figure out what he had ever done to deserve her help.

    In his eyes, she was perfect.

    When Lillian finally woke, a full day and night had already passed. Warmth surrounded her, and she noticed her hand was still being held firmly.

    A slight turn of her head revealed Samuel lying on the cold floor beside the bed, fast asleep.

    The small movement didn’t go unnoticed. He stirred almost at once, pushing himself upright as his blue eyes locked onto her.

    There was something intense in the way he looked at her. His gaze didn’t pull back, and combined with his rugged yet striking features, it made her heart skip a beat.

    Lillian paused for a moment before reaching out. Her fingers brushed through his messy hair, then touched his ear. “Samuel, why did you sleep on the floor?” she asked in a soft voice.

    A low sound slipped from Samuel at the touch. Since he was a werewolf, his ears and tail were highly sensitive. “I’m used to it. And… thank you for saving me and letting me stay here.”

    That answer wasn’t the truth. He hadn’t grown used to sleeping on the floor. But he had watched too many others like him get taken away by females who treated them like passing interests. They would leave with females smiling, only to return later with wounds covering their bodies.

    Some of those females, backed by their status, didn’t hesitate to cross the line and treat their slaves as nothing more than tools for their own desires.

    After seeing enough of that, Samuel had come to understand one thing. If he wanted to survive, he had to endure whatever came his way and be compliant.

    But…

    “Don’t say things like that. You should be sleeping on the bed.”

    Lillian pushed the covers aside and got out of bed, reaching for him as she pulled him to his feet. Only then did she realize just how tall he was. Standing close to him, she barely reached his chest, which forced her to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

    A trace of shyness slipped into her expression before she spoke again. “After what happened last night… are you feeling better now?”

    Samuel was stunned for a moment before answering, “I am. You got me through the rut safely.”

    The memory of that kiss lingered in his mind, and his gaze drifted to her lips without him realizing it. He swallowed instinctively.

    He realized that the rumors on Rogue Planet were true. Once a male experienced a deep level of soothing from a female, the feeling would stay with him, pulling him back toward it again and again. He could already feel that pull.

    “Wait… you really made it through because of me?” Excitement lit up Lillian’s face. “So what I did actually worked?”

    When Samuel confirmed it, everything clicked for her. The way her spiritual power worked wasn’t the same as that of other females.

    Beast cores had never improved her spiritual power, no matter how many she had used. All those years of fighting aberrant beasts hadn’t changed anything. Now, she finally understood why. Her spiritual power didn’t grow that way at all.

    And what had happened last night went beyond simple contact. It was a deeper connection that had allowed her to draw in far more energy than before, upgrading her spiritual power.

    Without thinking, Lillian wrapped her arms around Samuel, unable to hide her joy. “Thank you, Samuel!”

    The sudden embrace caught Samuel off guard. A faint heat crept across his face, and he didn’t know how to react. Every instinct told him to stay wary of her, yet he was unable to do that.

    He forced himself to pull away, steadying his thoughts before speaking. “You shouldn’t treat me this well. I’m not someone worth your kindness. I’ve got a criminal record, and I’m marked as a slave from Rogue Planet. If people find out what you did for me, they’ll laugh at you.”

    “No,” Lillian responded as she held his hand, her smile unwavering. “Bringing you home was the best choice I’ve ever made. You’re my lucky charm!”

    She looked at him. “Stay with me, Samuel. Maybe you’re the only one who will.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game by Xiu Luo

    The Neglected Wife's Vicious Comeback Game by Xiu Luo
    👉 READ NOW

    On our third anniversary, my husband canceled our dinner, claiming a sudden work emergency.

    I tracked his phone to an exclusive French restaurant, only to find him tenderly fastening a blessed bracelet—one I had flown across the world to get for him—onto his college ex-girlfriend’s wrist.

    The sheer shock triggered a violent placental abruption. Bleeding out in my car just across the street, I frantically called his number. Through the window, I watched him glance at his screen, frown in annoyance, and press decline to focus on his lover. While I was wheeled into a freezing operating room for an emergency C-section utterly alone, he took his mistress back to our marital bed.

    He didn’t even bother to check if I was alive, completely oblivious that our premature daughter was fighting for her life in the NICU. I soon discovered our entire marriage was a sham. He had used my family’s wealth to save his company, and now he was trading me to secure a massive business deal with his ex’s father. The man I loved didn’t exist; he only saw me as a disposable asset.

    “I’m going to make him wish he had never been born.”

    After secretly securing my baby in a private retreat, I ordered a medical-grade silicone pregnancy belly to hide my flat stomach. I stepped back into our penthouse, ready to burn his precious empire to the ground.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 1

    “I made the reservations at Per Se, just like you wanted.” Adalynn Craig smoothed down the silk of her dress, her voice a little too bright in the cavernous silence of their penthouse apartment. She ran a hand over her seven-month belly, a reflexive, protective gesture.
    Across the room, Julian Hawthorne didn’t look up from his phone. “Cancel it.”
    The words, clipped and cold, hung in the air. Adalynn’s fingers tightened on the photo album she was holding—a leather-bound collection of their three years of marriage, her anniversary gift to him. “But… it’s our anniversary, Julian. I thought we could—”
    “Something came up at work. Emergency board meeting.” He finally looked at her, his expression impatient, as if she were a minor annoyance he had to deal with. “We can do it another time.”
    He never specified when “another time” would be. It was his standard line, the one he used to brush her off for the last six months. A familiar, cold knot formed in Adalynn’s stomach. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face feeling stiff. “Okay. Of course. Work is important.”
    She watched him grab his keys, his movements brisk and final. He didn’t kiss her goodbye. He didn’t even glance at her belly. The heavy front door clicked shut, leaving her alone with the perfectly set dinner table for two and the scent of the roast cooling in the oven.
    Disappointment, sharp and bitter, rose in her throat. She sank onto the velvet sofa, the photo album a heavy weight in her lap. She wouldn’t let him ruin this. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was just stressed. An idea sparked—a desperate, hopeful one. She would go to him. She would bring him a thermos of the soup he loved, show him she supported him. A surprise.
    A few minutes later, dressed in the dress he once told her made her eyes look like the sea after a storm, she grabbed the gift and headed for the garage. As she started the car, a familiar, sick feeling of doubt crept in. It was a small, ugly habit she’d developed—checking his location. She told herself it was just for peace of mind.
    She opened the app on her phone. Her thumb hovered over his icon. The screen refreshed, and a small dot appeared on the map. It wasn’t at the Hawthorne Group headquarters downtown. It was pulsing steadily over a small, exclusive block in the West Village. Over Le Ciel, the most expensive, most romantic French restaurant in the city.
    Her breath hitched. Maybe it’s a surprise, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. A reverse surprise. He’s waiting for me there. The thought was flimsy, a paper-thin shield against a much darker possibility, but she clung to it.
    She drove, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. A light rain began to fall, blurring the city lights into long, weeping streaks. Her stomach churned, a mixture of bad premonition and pregnancy-induced nausea.
    She parked across the street from the restaurant. The rain was heavier now, drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof of the car. Through the enormous, floor-to-ceiling window, she saw him. He was seated at a secluded corner table, bathed in the warm, intimate glow of a candle.
    And he was not alone.
    Across from him sat Carlene Shaffer. His college girlfriend. The one he’d sworn was just a part of his past. Carlene looked elegant, her blonde hair catching the light as she laughed at something he said. Julian was smiling back, a soft, unguarded smile that Adalynn hadn’t seen directed at her in years. It was a physical blow.
    Then, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, velvet pouch. From it, he drew a bracelet made of dark, polished sandalwood beads.
    Adalynn’s vision tunneled. She felt the air leave her lungs in a painful rush. It was the bracelet she had flown twelve hours to a remote temple to get for him, a blessing for his loyalty and success that she had prayed over for hours. He had promised to wear it forever.
    She watched, frozen, as Julian leaned across the table. He took Carlene’s delicate wrist in his hand and gently, tenderly, fastened the bracelet around it. Then he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
    A sound escaped Adalynn’s throat—not a scream, not a sob, but something raw and involuntary, like an animal caught in a trap. Her hand flew to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips as if she could force the sound back inside. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She pressed her other palm flat against the cold glass of the car window, her fingers splaying wide, her breath fogging the pane in short, ragged bursts.
    Her entire body began to tremble—not from the cold, but from a seismic shift happening deep within her. The woman who had climbed into this car an hour ago, still clinging to the hope that her marriage could be saved, was dying. And in her place, something else was being born. Something cold. Something unforgiving.
    She didn’t cry. She didn’t look away. She pressed her hand against the cold glass of the car window, her eyes burning into the scene in front of her, and she burned every detail into her memory. The way his thumb stroked Carlene’s wrist. The way Carlene tilted her head, basking in his attention. The way her bracelet—her blessing, her prayer, her twelve-hour flight—dangled from another woman’s arm like a trophy. She would remember this. When the time came, she would remember every single detail. And she would make sure he regretted it with every breath he took.
    The world tilted. The gift box in Adalynn’s lap slid to the floor, landing with a dull, final thud. At the same instant, a vicious, searing pain tore through her abdomen. It was a cramp so intense it stole her breath, making her double over. It wasn’t like the Braxton Hicks contractions she was used to. This was different. This was violent.
    With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and dialed Julian’s number. She watched through the window as he glanced at his screen, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he pressed the decline button.
    The pain sharpened, a hot blade twisting deep inside her. She tried again. He declined it again, this time silencing his phone and placing it face down on the table, his full attention returning to Carlene.
    She watched Carlene glance at the phone, then look up at Julian with a knowing smile. She watched Carlene’s lips form the words: “Is it her again?” She watched Julian shrug—actually shrug—as if his wife’s life-or-death emergency was a minor inconvenience. And then she watched Carlene laugh.
    A wave of dizziness washed over her. Another cramp, stronger this time, made her cry out. A sudden, warm gush of fluid soaked through her dress and onto the leather seat. Her water had broken. Panic, cold and absolute, seized her.
    She fumbled with her phone, her fingers slick with sweat. She couldn’t think. 911. She had to call 911. She managed to dial the numbers, her voice a choked whisper as she gave the operator her location.
    Inside the restaurant, Julian raised his wine glass, toasting the woman across from him. He was completely oblivious to the flashing lights that were now approaching, to the wife who was fighting for her life and the life of their child just a few feet away.
    The paramedics were gentle but firm, pulling her from the car and onto a gurney. As they lifted her into the ambulance, her gaze found the restaurant window one last time. Julian was leaning in, his eyes locked on Carlene’s, his expression full of a tenderness that had once been hers.
    The doors slammed shut, and Adalynn’s heart shattered into a million pieces. The physical agony and the emotional devastation merged into a single, overwhelming wave of blackness.
    At the hospital, a doctor with tired eyes, Dr. Foster, spoke to her in urgent, clipped tones. “Severe placental abruption. The baby’s in distress. We need to do an emergency C-section. Now.”
    They wheeled her into the sterile, freezing operating room. There was no one to hold her hand. No Julian to whisper that everything would be okay. His wedding vow, “I will never let you be alone,” echoed in her mind, a cruel, mocking joke.
    As the anesthesia began to pull her under, a single thought burned through the pain and the fog: My baby. Please, let my baby live.
    She was vaguely aware of frantic voices, the words “hemorrhaging” and “losing her” floating somewhere above her.
    Hours later, after a romantic dinner and a nightcap in his office, Julian Hawthorne finally checked his messages. He saw the missed calls from Adalynn and rolled his eyes, assuming it was just another one of her needy episodes.
    In the hospital, Adalynn was fighting for her life.
    When she finally stabilized, her daughter had already been born. Lily Craig Hawthorne, weighing just three pounds, was whisked away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit before Adalynn even had a chance to see her.

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 2

    The first thing Adalynn felt when she woke was a line of fire across her lower abdomen. The pain was a brutal confirmation that the night before had not been a nightmare. It was real. The empty chair beside her hospital bed was also real.
    A kind-faced nurse named Olivia Price came in to check her vitals. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, her voice soft with a pity that made Adalynn’s skin crawl.
    “My baby,” Adalynn rasped, her throat raw. “Is she…?”
    “She’s a fighter,” Olivia said with a reassuring smile. “Stable for now. She’s in the NICU, getting the best care.”
    A sliver of relief pierced through the fog of pain and betrayal. Stable. That was enough for now. The anger, however, was becoming clearer, sharper. She reached for her phone on the bedside table, her movements slow and agonizing. She would give him one last chance. One final opportunity to not be the monster she now knew he was.
    She dialed his private number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, someone picked up.
    But it wasn’t Julian’s voice.
    “Hello?” The voice was feminine, husky with sleep, and sickeningly familiar. It was Carlene Shaffer.
    Adalynn’s heart stopped. In the background, she could hear the distinct sound of the rain showerhead in their master bathroom. Their bathroom. In their home.
    “Julian’s in the shower right now,” Carlene continued, her tone dripping with smug ownership. “Can I take a message?” A beat of silence, then, “If this is a business matter for Mr. Hawthorne, you can try his office later.”
    The implication was clear. She was the personal. Adalynn was the business.
    While Adalynn had been bleeding on an operating table, her husband had taken his mistress home to their bed. The bed where their child was conceived.
    Adalynn’s voice, when it came, was not the broken whisper of a wounded wife. It was ice. “Carlene,” she said, and she heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line—the sound of a woman realizing she had been caught. “You’re in my house. Wearing my bracelet. Sleeping in my bed. Enjoy it while it lasts. Because when I’m done, you won’t even be a footnote in his story. You’ll be the punchline.”
    She hung up before Carlene could respond.
    Without a word, Adalynn ended the call. The last, fragile thread of hope she didn’t even know she was holding onto snapped. It wasn’t just an affair. It was a complete and utter replacement.
    A cold, terrifyingly clear thought formed in her mind. He cannot know about the baby. Lily was not a Hawthorne. She was a Craig. She was hers alone. This child would not be a pawn in a divorce, a bargaining chip for a man who didn’t deserve the title of father.
    Her hands shook as she scrolled through her contacts and found Sloane Hayes. Her best friend. Her rock.
    Sloane picked up on the first ring. “Addy? What’s up? Ready for our yacht weekend?”
    A choked sob escaped Adalynn’s lips. “Sloane,” she whispered, and then the dam broke. The story spilled out in a torrent of broken, gasping sentences—the restaurant, the bracelet, the rejected calls, the emergency surgery, Carlene answering his phone from their bed.
    On the other end of the line, Sloane’s silence morphed from shock into pure, unadulterated rage. “That son of a bitch,” she finally hissed. “That absolute, grade-A piece of human garbage. I’m going to make him wish he was never born. I’m coming. Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
    After hanging up, Adalynn wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes were dry, burning with a new, cold fire. She was done crying. She was done being a victim.
    In the penthouse, Julian stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. Carlene was perched on the edge of his desk, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts. Her face was pale, her hands trembling slightly.
    “Your wife called,” she said, her voice lacking its usual smug confidence. “I answered for you.”
    Julian frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He rubbed at his temples. “What did she want?”
    “She… she knew I was here. She said—” Carlene stopped, unable to repeat Adalynn’s words. “She’s not what you told me she was, Julian. She’s not weak.”
    “She’s always dramatic,” Julian muttered, pouring himself a scotch. “It’s exhausting. Whatever she said, ignore it. She’s harmless.”
    Carlene opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Harmless. The woman on the phone had not sounded harmless. She had sounded like a promise.
    He accepted the explanation without question. It was easier than confronting the truth.
    Twenty minutes later, Sloane burst into the hospital room, her face a mask of fury and concern. She took one look at Adalynn’s pale face, the IV in her arm, and the slight mound under the blanket where her stomach was bandaged, and her eyes filled with tears.
    “Oh, Addy.”
    Adalynn met her gaze, her own eyes steady and resolute. “I’m going to hide her, Sloane,” she said, her voice low and even. “He can never know she was born.” She took a breath. “Secure the child, ditch the father.”
    Sloane stared at her, the shock on her face quickly replaced by a fierce, predatory grin. “Damn right,” she said, her voice full of admiration. “That’s my girl. We are not letting that bastard or his dragon of a mother use that baby to control you or the trust fund. Not happening. When we’re done with him, he won’t even be able to afford the shirt on his back.”
    Sloane immediately took charge. “You rest. I’m going to go meet my goddaughter.” She squeezed Adalynn’s hand. “And don’t you worry. He’s going to pay for this. For every single thing.”
    As Sloane left, Adalynn’s phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification. A new post from Carlene Shaffer. The photo was a selfie, taken from behind Julian’s desk, the glittering skyline of the city spread out behind her. Her chin was tilted up in a look of triumph. On her wrist, the sandalwood bracelet was prominently displayed.
    The caption read: “A new chapter.”
    Adalynn stared at the photo. Then, very calmly, she took a screenshot. She created a new folder on her phone and labeled it: “Evidence.” The screenshot went in, alongside the call log showing her rejected calls to Julian, the timestamp of her 911 call, and a photo of her empty hospital room.
    “A new chapter,” she murmured to herself. “You have no idea.”
    Sloane, who had paused in the doorway to check her own phone, saw it at the same time. A low growl escaped her throat. “I am going to rip her hair out.”
    “No,” Adalynn said, her voice stopping Sloane in her tracks. It was quiet, but held a core of steel. “Not yet. We don’t get emotional. We get strategic.” She looked at her friend, her eyes dark with purpose. “She just publicly wore stolen property and called it a new chapter. When I’m done with her, her entire story will be a cautionary tale that women whisper about at dinner parties for the next twenty years.”
    Sloane saw the look on her face and knew it was true. The sweet, accommodating Adalynn Craig she had known was gone. In her place was a woman who had been pushed past her breaking point and had come back as something far more dangerous.

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 3

    After Sloane left for the NICU, Adalynn’s gaze kept returning to the picture of Carlene on her phone. To the bracelet. The memory was so vivid it felt like it was happening now. A year ago, she had taken a solo trip to a small, secluded monastery in the mountains of Bhutan. Julian’s company had been on the verge of a hostile takeover, and he had been a wreck, consumed by anxiety.
    She’d spent two days with the monks, praying for him, for his peace of mind, for the protection of his legacy. They had blessed the sandalwood beads, infusing them with prayers for fidelity and strength. When she gave it to him, he’d been moved to tears. He’d kissed her and promised he would never take it off, that it would be a symbol of their unbreakable bond.
    Now that symbol was on another woman’s wrist, a trophy of his betrayal. The memory, once a source of comfort, now felt like a shard of glass in her heart. But she didn’t flinch. She let it cut. Let it bleed. Every scar from this moment forward would be a reminder of what she was fighting for.
    Meanwhile, on the fifth floor of the very same hospital, Julian was trying to charm Mr. Knight, a key investor whose health was failing. Carlene was by his side, playing the part of the concerned, attentive associate. They had ridden the elevator up, completely unaware that Julian’s wife was lying in a hospital bed two floors below, recovering from major surgery.
    After the visit, they stopped by the nurses’ station to inquire about scheduling a follow-up. As they approached, they could hear two nurses, Patty Hicks and Olivia Price, talking in low voices.
    “That poor woman in 302, Mrs. Craig,” Patty said, shaking her head. “So beautiful, and she had to go through that emergency C-section all alone. The husband hasn’t shown his face once.”
    Olivia sighed, refilling a cup with water. “I know. And the baby, a little girl, so premature she’s still in an isolette. What kind of man misses a moment like that?”
    Julian froze. The name “Craig.” The room number “302.” The word “C-section.” A cold finger traced down his spine. He turned to the nurses, his voice sharper than he intended. “What did you say the patient’s name was?”
    Patty looked up, startled. “Mrs. Craig. Adalynn Craig. She came in last night. Emergency C-section. Almost didn’t make it. Why—do you know her?”
    For one breath, for one heartbeat, the truth hung in the air between them. Julian opened his mouth—
    And Carlene’s hand clamped down on his arm. “Julian,” she said, her voice tight. “We’re going to be late for your meeting.”
    He hesitated. He looked at the nurses. He thought of Adalynn—his wife, his pregnant wife, who was supposed to be at Sloane’s, safe and angry at him, not bleeding out on an operating table. But Carlene’s grip was insistent, her nails digging into his sleeve. And the truth was too big, too terrifying. If he acknowledged it, everything would change.
    So he didn’t.
    “No,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t know her.”
    He turned away from the nurses’ station and walked toward the elevator, Carlene’s hand still on his arm. He didn’t look back. But the words echoed in his head with every step: emergency C-section. Almost didn’t make it. Husband hasn’t shown his face once.
    He knew. Some part of him knew. But he had already chosen not to care.
    Just as they turned the corner, Sloane Hayes walked directly into their path, coming from the direction of the NICU.
    Sloane stopped dead in her tracks. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Hawthorne,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fancy meeting you here. Of all the hospitals in all the world.”
    Julian’s face darkened. “Sloane. What are you doing here?”
    Her eyes flicked dismissively over to Carlene, then back to him. “I’m visiting a friend,” she said, her voice sharp as a blade. “A friend whose husband was too busy wining and dining his mistress to answer his phone while she was bleeding out on the side of the road. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Julian?”
    The blood drained from Julian’s face. For a split second, he looked like a man who had just been punched in the gut. Carlene’s grip on his arm tightened convulsively.
    “Watch your tone, Sloane,” he managed, but his voice had lost its commanding edge. It sounded weak. Defensive. Guilty.
    Sloane just laughed, a cold, humorless sound. She didn’t give away a single detail about Adalynn’s current condition. She didn’t need to. “You’d better hope you haven’t done anything you’ll regret, Julian,” she said, her smile vanishing. “Because I’ve seen what happens to men who cross the Hayes family. Spoiler alert—they don’t recover. And you?” She looked him up and down with utter contempt. “You crossed the wrong woman. And you don’t even know it yet.”
    Carlene, sensing the conversation was about to escalate into a full-blown scene, pulled Julian’s arm again, more insistently this time. “Let’s just go, Julian. She’s not worth it.”
    Julian shot Sloane one last glare before letting Carlene lead him away. The encounter left him feeling irritated and vaguely uneasy, but more than that—he felt exposed. Sloane knew something. Something about Adalynn. Something he should know but was too afraid to ask.
    Sloane watched them go, her fists clenched. She took a deep, calming breath before turning back towards Adalynn’s room. She decided not to mention the run-in. Adalynn didn’t need the extra stress.
    When she entered the room, her expression was bright. “She’s beautiful, Addy,” she gushed, pulling out her phone to show Adalynn a picture she’d snapped through the glass of the isolette. “She’s tiny, but she has your nose. And she’s a fighter. I can already tell.”
    Adalynn stared at the image of her daughter, a tiny, perfect creature connected to a web of wires and tubes. A fierce, primal wave of love washed over her, so powerful it momentarily eclipsed everything else. This tiny person was all that mattered now. The last lingering shred of attachment she might have felt for Julian, the man who co-created this life, severed completely. He was nothing. A stranger. An obstacle.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • His Abandoned Wife, Now Untouchable by Decaf Demon

    His Abandoned Wife, Now Untouchable by Decaf Demon
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    For four years, I played the part of the perfect, pathetic wife to my billionaire husband, Damian Nunez. Bleeding from a gunshot wound I took to secure a multi-billion-dollar deal for his company, I dragged myself to our penthouse, ready to finally end the charade.

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    His Abandoned Wife, Now Untouchable Chapter 1 Divorce, leaving with nothing

    June’s brutal sun blazed down, warping the New York City skyline in a haze of sweltering heat.
    Gabriella stepped out of the corporate skyscraper, her clothes streaked with drying blood. She stared down at the signed partnership contract in her hand, a bitter smile tugging at her delicate, porcelain features.
    She’d taken a bullet to lock this deal down.
    And it would be the last thing she ever did for Damian Nunez.
    Damian had chased her relentlessly for three years. They’d been married for one, until he’d looked her dead in the eye and said he was bored of her. At first, she’d screamed, fought, sobbed-only to be met with his cold, cutting mockery. “Gabriella, you look hideous right now. You make me sick. Let’s get a divorce.”
    She’d found out later it was never just boredom. He’d met his so-called soulmate.
    He hadn’t set foot in their Tribeca penthouse in two months, not since the day he’d first mentioned divorce.
    There was no point in dragging this out any longer.
    Gabriella changed out of her bloodied clothes, hailed a yellow cab, and rode straight to Damian’s downtown Manhattan headquarters. She took the private elevator directly to the top-floor executive suite, and before she could reach the office door, a soft, breathy female voice froze her to the spot, drifting through the crack in the heavy oak door.
    “Damian, stop it… you’re gonna make my lips swell.”
    A sharp, searing pain seized Gabriella’s chest.
    To force herself to let go completely, she pushed the half-open door and stepped inside.
    The lavish, sprawling office came into view. Hayleigh Blair was perched in Damian’s lap, face flushed, lips swollen and marked, clear evidence of what they’d been doing only moments before.
    The biological daughter of the Blair family that had taken Gabriella in-the same woman who’d always claimed this marriage was meant to be hers.
    When she saw Gabriella walk in, panic flashed across her young face, and she scrambled off Damian’s lap. “Sis, I-“
    Gabriella didn’t spare her a single glance. She walked straight to the solid mahogany desk, set down the signed partnership contract, and laid a divorce agreement on top of it.
    Only then did she look up at the man across from her: Damian Nunez, the wealthiest man in New York City. He wore a tailored black dress shirt and slacks, exuding lazy old-money elegance, his features sharp and devastatingly handsome. Beneath his dark, swept-back hair, his face twisted into cold disgust as he stared at her-a look that sent a stabbing pain straight through her chest.
    “The corporate partnership is locked down. Fully executed contract,” she said, her voice eerily calm, as if this marriage meant nothing to her at all. “Beneath it is the divorce agreement. I’ve already signed it. It’s 2 PM. We’re going to the courthouse to finalize this today.”
    Only the deathly pallor of her face, and the way her thin, fragile frame swayed unsteadily on her feet, gave away the agony she was in.
    A flicker of surprise crossed Damian’s face, quickly replaced by his usual icy contempt. “Color me impressed, Gabriella. Half the firms on Wall Street couldn’t close this deal, and you locked it down. I’m curious-how exactly did you get this over the line?”
    His low, drawling voice dripped with disdain, as if he was already certain she’d used underhanded means to secure the contract.
    Gabriella’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her gaze dropping for a split second to hide the raw pain in her eyes. She let out a cold, hollow laugh. “You only care about the end result, don’t you, Mr. Nunez? Why do you care about the process? Are you gonna sign the divorce papers, or not?”
    Hayleigh looked up at Damian anxiously, voice tight and pleading. “Damian, you promised you’d marry me. This marriage was never meant to be hers in the first place-it was mine. I’m back now, and you have to keep your promise.”
    Damian lifted a hand, brushing his fingers gently over her soft cheek, before glancing at Gabriella, expression dark and unreadable. “Marry you? Of course I will. I’m gonna finalize the divorce with this woman right now.”
    The tenderness in his eyes as he looked at Hayleigh cut through Gabriella’s chest like a knife. In that moment, she realized with a sickening jolt that Damian had never looked at her with that much softness. Not once in all their years together.
    “Damian, I knew you’d always choose me,” Hayleigh cooed, snuggling happily into his chest, shooting Gabriella a triumphant, challenging smirk over his shoulder.
    Gabriella dropped her gaze to the floor, refusing to look at the sight shattering her heart. She could barely tell if the searing pain was from the bullet wound in her side, or the one that had just split open her chest.
    Damian picked up the divorce agreement, flipping through the pages until he landed on the clause Gabriella had amended. His pupils constricted violently, voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly rumble. “You’re waiving every single right to the Nunez family fortune? You’re walking away with nothing? A clean break?”
    Gabriella forced the words out through gritted teeth, voice hoarse and broken. “If we’re getting a divorce, we’re cutting ties completely. I want nothing from you.”
    Once she’d made up her mind, she never turned back.
    Four years. Her four years with him were over. It was time to leave, for good.
    Damian’s handsome face shifted, a storm of conflicting emotions raging in his deep eyes, disdain plain to see. “That’s so you, Gabriella. You always have to be this ruthless with everything. Let’s go. The courthouse.”

    His Abandoned Wife, Now Untouchable Chapter 2 She was shot in a calculated attack

    A bitter smile tugged at Gabriella’s lips. So this was what she’d always been to him.
    An hour later, Gabriella and Damian Nunez stepped out of the New York City Civil Courthouse, each holding a finalized divorce decree in their hand.
    Hayleigh Blair waited eagerly by the curb, eyes lighting up the second she saw the divorce papers in Damian’s hand. She’d finally earned the right to be Damian Nunez’s wife, fair and square.
    She put on a fake look of concern as she glanced at Gabriella. Something had shifted in the woman-her striking features were even more captivating now, but there was a cold, unapproachable edge to her that made it hard to meet her eye.
    Hayleigh had always been jealous of that face. Now, she’d never have to look at it again.
    “The family doesn’t want you anymore, and you walked away with nothing,” Hayleigh simpered, voice sickly sweet. “Do you even have anywhere to go?”
    In her eyes, Gabriella was nothing but a backwoods hick from the Ohio Rust Belt. It had been a blessing for her to even be tied to the Blair household, and now that blessing was gone.
    Gabriella let out a cold, humorless laugh. Even now, Hayleigh was still pretending to care about her.
    Memories flashed through her mind, sharp and unforgiving: when the Blairs found out she’d been switched at birth, they’d shipped her off to live with distant relatives in the Rust Belt the second she was born, never checking in, never caring. They’d only brought her back to New York when she turned 18-the same year she’d met Damian Nunez.
    Hayleigh, the Blairs’ real daughter, had been found two years prior, immediately sent to an elite private boarding school in Switzerland, all to make her worthy of old-money heir Damian Nunez.
    It wasn’t until Hayleigh returned to New York for good that Gabriella learned the truth: the family had found their real daughter, and they wanted nothing to do with her anymore.
    They’d never raised her. Cutting ties meant nothing to her. She’d only come back to New York to find out what had happened to her birth parents.
    She’d also finally learned why she’d been sent away in the first place: she was never a Blair, not by blood.
    And just a few days prior, she’d overheard Damian’s friends talking, and learned the truth: Damian had met the sweet, innocent Hayleigh on a business trip to Europe, and fallen head over heels at first sight. When Hayleigh came back to New York, they’d fallen into a whirlwind romance.
    Hayleigh had even sent Gabriella explicit photos of her and Damian in bed, over and over, just to taunt her, to humiliate her.
    A homewrecker, bold and unapologetic to the extreme.
    Gabriella shot her a single, indifferent glance. “Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Blair. Where I go is none of your business.”
    She didn’t spare Damian a single look. Spine perfectly straight, she hailed a yellow cab on the side of the road and climbed inside, the door slamming shut behind her.
    She’d walked away so decisively because she knew the other terrible thing Damian had done.
    Damian’s hand tightened around the divorce decree until his knuckles turned white, veins bulging in his forearm. She’d left without even glancing at him. Not once.
    But why had her gait been so off? So strange?
    He stared at the cab as it disappeared into New York traffic, gaze fixed on the empty road long after it was gone, unable to look away.
    “Damian, this is perfect!” Hayleigh gushed, clinging to his arm. “That backwoods hick is finally gone, and we can be together, properly, for everyone to see.”
    She was so overjoyed, she could barely wait to call her parents and tell them the good news.
    A cold glint flashed through Damian’s eyes, but his voice was soft and tender when he spoke. “Hayleigh, let me drive you home.”
    “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Hayleigh beamed. “Daddy will be so happy when he hears you’re divorced. Let’s go home and tell him the good news right now!”
    Damian’s eyes swirled with barely restrained emotion, unreadable to anyone but himself. He looked down at the sweet, innocent young woman in front of him, and smiled a soft, gentle smile. “Of course, Hayleigh. Let’s go tell your father right now.”
    “Yes!” Hayleigh was ecstatic. She’d finally gotten rid of Gabriella for good. Gone completely. It was all thanks to her mother’s flawless plan, the one that had gotten Damian and Gabriella divorced once and for all.
    Damian pulled the car to a stop in front of the Blair family’s grand Upper East Side townhouse. His phone buzzed in his pocket, caller ID flashing the CEO of H.Y. Holdings. He told Hayleigh to get out of the car and wait for him inside.
    Hayleigh nodded obediently, climbing out and waiting on the front steps.
    “Hello?” Damian answered, voice low and gravelly, features sharp and cold.
    A mocking, yet deeply impressed voice came through the line. “Well, well. Your sales director’s got some real nerve. Showed up at my warehouse with a knife to my throat, made me sign that damn contract. I put a bullet in her side, and she dug that slug out with her bare hands right in front of me. I’ve never admired a woman in my life, but your Gabriella? She’s the one. She still breathing?”
    Damian’s pupils constricted violently, his blood turning to ice in his veins. “What did you just say?”

    His Abandoned Wife, Now Untouchable Chapter 3 Left, picked up by a luxury car

    Damian hung up the phone, knuckles white around the device, and immediately dialed his executive assistant’s number.
    “Where is Gabriella Blair?”
    “Mr. Nunez, Miss Blair stopped by the estate briefly earlier. She grabbed a single suitcase and left.”
    Damian had known she would leave, but he’d never imagined she’d vanish this fast. Shot, and with nowhere to go?
    “Did she say where she was going?”
    “No, sir. But Director Blair was picked up by a multi-million dollar luxury vehicle. A man was behind the wheel-handsome, clearly extremely wealthy.”
    A sheet of ice instantly descended over Damian’s dark eyes. He slowly set the phone down on his desk, face schooled into a mask of casual indifference, even as rage and venom coiled tight in his chest.
    Divorced for less than a day, and she’s already being chauffeured around by some rich bastard. She never loved me at all, did she? That’s why she betrayed me without a second thought.
    Gabriella, you’re really something.
    Gabriella had been picked up by her older brother, Andrew Carlisle, and driven straight to Carlisle Manor-the Carlisle Foundation’s palatial, heavily guarded private estate in the heart of Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Andrew had been called away on urgent foundation business, leaving her alone in the manor. He had no idea she’d been shot.
    She lay back on the soft, custom-made king-sized bed, staring at the familiar, opulent surroundings of the suite she hadn’t stepped foot in for four years. She couldn’t hold on any longer. Her face was deathly pale, cold sweat beading and dripping down her forehead. The searing pain from the bullet wound in her side, tangled with the crushing heartache in her chest, was unbearable.
    She lay there weak and exhausted, eyes closed, long lashes trembling softly. She couldn’t understand it. How could two people who’d once loved each other so deeply, fall apart so completely, so suddenly?
    Every memory of the past four years with Damian flashed through her mind-the soft, tender look in his eyes that was once only for her, a look that now belonged to someone else forever. The thought sent a searing, tearing pain through her chest.
    It turned out even the most heartfelt vows had an expiration date.
    There was another reason she’d been so determined to finalize the divorce: she was pregnant.
    But Damian had eyes and ears everywhere, his reach endless across Wall Street and Manhattan. She could never, under any circumstances, let him find out about the baby.
    After she’d been shot, she’d dug the bullet out of her own side with her bare hands. She’d refused anesthesia, terrified it would harm the baby growing inside her.
    Her mind drifted to the promise she’d made her grandfather, the head of the Carlisle Foundation, all those years ago. She’d finally made her decision: she would return home, take her rightful place as the sole heir to the Carlisle legacy.
    She had finally let go of this broken relationship for good. It was time to return to where she truly belonged, to step back into her true identity: Gabriella Carlisle.
    One Month Later.
    Early autumn, bright and sun-drenched.
    Gabriella’s wound had fully healed. She stepped out of Carlisle Manor, slipping a pair of oversized designer sunglasses over her eyes. She stared up at the brilliant sunlight, a deep, unbridled smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
    For a month, she’d lain low here, cutting off all contact with the outside world.
    She wore a sharp, tailored crimson blazer, her red lipstick bold and vivid, her smile unruly and free. She climbed into the waiting luxury sedan at the curb, and gave the driver a single instruction: the Nunez Group headquarters. She was going to collect the last of her things from her office.
    At the base of the Nunez Group skyscraper.
    Gabriella pulled open the car door, and came face to face with Damian Nunez, who was just stepping out of the building. Beside him stood Hayleigh Blair, her smile soft and demure, her arm looped through his.
    The tender, loving look in Damian’s eyes as he glanced down at Hayleigh stabbed straight through Gabriella’s chest. Her hand at her side clenched into a tight fist, unbidden.
    Hayleigh’s eyes flicked to Gabriella, a flash of surprise crossing her face-what was she doing back here? But her expression smoothed over instantly, and she shot Gabriella a challenging, triumphant smile. “Blair, long time no see!” she greeted, voice sickly sweet.
    Gabriella ignored her completely.
    Damian looked at Gabriella with a lazy, mocking smirk, his gaze sweeping past her to the multi-million dollar luxury sedan idling behind her. Their eyes locked, and his sharp, penetrating gaze drifted, almost imperceptibly, to her side where the bullet wound had been.
    He let out a cold, sharp laugh, disgust swirling in the depths of his eyes. “You’ve got quite the life, Blair. Took a bullet to the side, and you’re still up and walking around like nothing happened. You’re lucky to be alive.”
    A sharp, searing pain lanced through Gabriella’s chest. The heart he’d broken hadn’t gone numb; it hurt worse than ever, now that he’d said it out loud. “My apologies for not dying and disappointing you,” she said, voice flat and cold. “I’m just here to collect my things from my office, then I’ll be gone.”
    Damian stared at her cold, emotionless gaze, his eyes growing darker, more frigid, more bloodthirsty by the second. “No wonder you walked away with nothing in the divorce, Gabriella. You already had your next sugar daddy lined up, didn’t you? You’re absolutely shameless.”
    The words stabbed into her chest like a knife. Gabriella looked up at his cruel, smirking face, and let out a cold, bitter laugh. “You cheated on your wife while you were still married, Mr. Nunez. What right do you have to call me shameless?”
    She stepped past the two of them, spine perfectly straight, and walked toward the glass doors of the Nunez Group skyscraper.
    Damian’s furious voice boomed out from behind her, sharp and unyielding: “Gabriella! Stop right there!”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss by Gregory Ellington

    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss by Gregory Ellington
    👉 READ NOW

    Madison Harper knows all too well the chaos Alexander Knight leaves in his wake. As the billionaire CEO’s personal assistant, she’s cleaned up after countless scandals, soothed ex-lovers, and kept his messy private life from spilling into the boardroom. But when one fateful night lands her in Alexander’s bed, the dynamics shift dramatically.

    What begins as a moment of uncontrollable spirals into a neither can resist: Madison needs financial help for her mother’s mounting medical bills, and Alexander offers the resources-on the condition she becomes his girlfriend for a year. No strings, no emotions, just business.

    But as the lines between their professional and private lives blur, Madison’s resolve to keep her heart guarded begins to waver. Beneath Alexander’s reckless charm lies a magnetic that draws her closer than she ever intended. Just as she starts to believe she might be more than his latest “arrangement,” the ghost of Alexander’s long-lost first love, Katherine, reappears, threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

    Can Madison protect her heart while navigating this high-stakes game of desire and deception? Or will this with her infamously reckless boss cost her more than she’s prepared to lose?

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    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss Chapter 1

    Madison

    I lifted my gaze from the computer screen as the elevator dinged. A woman in a red dress strutted toward me, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a timer counting down to chaos.
    “I’m here to see Alexander.” She planted her manicured hands on my desk, leaning forward with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
    “Do you have an appointment?”
    “I don’t need one. We have… history. Just tell Shim Vanessa’s here.”
    “I’m sorry, but Mr. Knight only takes scheduled appointments. I can help you set one up for next week-“
    “Listen here, little secretary.” She interrupted. “I’m Vanessa Caldwell. I spent the night with Alexander last weekend, and I’m not leaving until I see him.”
    “As I mentioned, without an appointment or express permission from Mr. Knight-“
    “Who do you think you are? Just because you stand next to him all day, fetching his coffee and taking notes, you think you’re special?”
    “Ma’am, I need to ask you to leave-“
    “You’re pathetic. Playing gatekeeper, pretending you matter. I bet you fantasize about him noticing you, don’t you? Honey, even if you spread those thighs on his desk, he wouldn’t give you a second glance. He needs a real woman, not some desperate little assistant playing dress-up in her Target blazer.”
    “Security will escort you out if necessary.”I maintained an expressionless face.
    “You wouldn’t dare. Do you know who my father is? I could have your job with one phone call.”
    “And I could remove you from the premises with one button.” I placed my hand near the security alert under my desk. “Your choice, Ms. Caldwell.”
    Vanessa’s face contorted with rage. In one fluid motion, she snatched the water pitcher from my desk and emptied its contents over my head. Ice-cold water drenched my hair, makeup, and brand-new blouse – for the record, it wasn’t from Target.
    “Oops.” She smirked, dropping the empty pitcher on my keyboard with a clatter. “Looks like someone needs a towel.”
    But before I could process my next move, the elevator dinged again.
    Alexander Knight stepped out, filling the lobby like a storm front. His easy stride faltered as he took in the scene – me looking like a drowned rat, Vanessa preening like a cat who’d gotten the cream, and water pooling across my desk and expensive electronics.
    “Well.” His voice cut through the tension. “This is certainly not the greeting I expected.”
    Vanessa’s face lit up. “Alexander, darling! I was just-“
    “Assaulting my PA and damaging company property?” He crossed to us in three strides. “Bold strategy.”
    “I was simply having a conversation with your PA.” Her voice dripped honey while her eyes stabbed mine. “She refused to let me see you.”
    “Because that’s her job.” Alexander handed me his monogrammed handkerchief. His touch sent an unwanted tingle up my arm. “Miss Harper follows my protocols to the letter. That’s why she’s invaluable.”
    I dabbed at my face, grateful I’d worn waterproof mascara today. The handkerchief smelled like his cologne – a detail I wasn’t focusing on.
    “But darling,” Vanessa stepped closer to Alexander, her hip swaying. “After our magical night together-“
    “You mean the charity gala where you had too much champagne, and I called you a cab? That was hardly magical, though I hear you’ve been telling a different version around town.”
    I bit my lip to hide my smile.
    “I-” Vanessa gaped like a fish.
    “Now,” Alexander’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I prayed he couldn’t feel how my pulse jumped. “You’ve just assaulted my favorite employee and probably destroyed about ten thousand dollars worth of equipment. Would you like me to call security or the cops?”
    I felt my cheeks heat at my ‘favorite employee.’ He was always like this-charming, flirtatious, and making everyone feel special. It didn’t mean anything.
    “You wouldn’t dare.” But Vanessa’s confidence wavered.
    “Try me. I protect my people, especially those who keep my life running smoothly. In fact, I should ban you from the building entirely. What do you think, Miss Harper?”
    “I think that sounds reasonable, Mr. Knight.” I stayed professional despite his touch warming me.
    Vanessa’s face cycled through fifty shades of red. “This is ridiculous. You’ll regret this. Both of you will.”
    “The only thing I regret is not having my phone out to record this tantrum. Security’s on their way up. I suggest you leave before they arrive.”
    “My father will hear about this!”
    “I’m sure he will. Give Charles my regards. Tell him his company’s stock is looking shaky these days.”
    As soon as the elevator doors closed on her scowling face, Alexander’s hand left my shoulder, and I immediately missed its warmth – a thought I quickly shoved into my brain’s ‘do not examine’ folder.
    I stood from my chair, water dripping onto the floor.
    “Are you alright?” Alexander’s brow furrowed as he assessed the damage. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”
    “Just my pride. And maybe my electronics.” I poked at my waterlogged keyboard, which responded with an alarming spark.
    “Leave that. I’ll have IT bring up replacements.” He pulled out his phone. “John can get you to the mall in fifteen minutes. Use the company card to pick up whatever you need-clothes, makeup, hair products.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Knight, but it’s no big deal. My shift ends in an hour, and I have a prior engagement after work.”
    “You’re going to sit in wet clothes for another hour?”
    “I’ll manage,” I insisted with a smile. “But I appreciate the offer.”
    He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me but nodded anyway.

    I pushed open the door to the restaurant, ready for a relaxing dinner with Hazel after my disaster of a day. The hostess led me toward our usual corner booth, but I stopped short. Instead of just my best friend, a man sat beside her.
    “Mads!” Hazel bounced up, waving like I might miss her in the half-empty restaurant. “You made it! Come meet Derek!”
    I forced a smile and sat across from them. Of course, Hazel would ambush me with a surprise blind date after the day I’d had.
    “Mads, this is Derek. He’s a financial analyst, and I met him at that yoga retreat last month.” Hazel’s eyes sparkled with matchmaking glee. “Derek, meet my best friend Madison.”
    “Pleasure.” Derek flashed perfectly whitened teeth. “Hazel told me so much about you.”
    I resisted the urge to kick Hazel under the table. “All good things, I hope?”
    We fumbled through awkward small talk about the weather and restaurant specials until Derek excused himself to the restroom.
    The moment he was out of earshot, Hazel pounced. “Isn’t he dreamy? Those shoulders! And he’s so successful – you should see his condo downtown.”
    “Haze…”
    “Come on, when did you last go on a real date? You work too hard, sweetie. Everyone needs someone to lean on.”
    “I’m fine on my own right now. With Mom’s treatments and everything…”
    “How is she doing?” Hazel’s expression softened.
    “The same. The new medication is expensive, but…” I shrugged.
    “And that brother of yours is still MIA?” Hazel’s face darkened. “What a selfish asshole, leaving you to handle everything alone.”
    “I don’t want to talk about him. Mom worked three jobs to raise us. The least I can do is help her now.”
    Derek slid back into the booth, adjusting his designer tie. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”
    “Madison was just telling us about her day at work,” Hazel chirped.
    “Oh, right – you work as a secretary or something?” Derek asked.
    “Personal assistant to Alexander Knight at Knight Industries.”
    “Alexander Knight? The CEO?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Must be quite the… demanding position.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Come on, we all know how these things work.” He winked. “Beautiful young woman, powerful executive-I’m sure you’ve found ways to make yourself invaluable to the company.”
    Hazel’s jaw dropped. “Derek!”
    “What? I’m just saying what everyone thinks when they see these arrangements.” He gestured vaguely at me. “No judgment here. A girl’s got to use her assets.”
    “You absolute pig.” Hazel’s face flushed red. “Get out.”
    “Hey, I’m just being honest. No need to get defensive-“
    “Out!” Hazel stood up, pointing toward the door. “Now.”
    “Alright, alright. Guess some people can’t handle the truth.” He slid out of the booth, adjusting his jacket. “Call me when you’re ready to be real about things.”
    We watched him weave between tables toward the exit. Hazel collapsed back into her seat, mortified.
    “Oh my god, Mads. I am so, so sorry. I can’t believe I thought he was decent. He seemed so nice at yoga!”
    “Hey, at least we found out he was trash before the appetizers arrived.” I grabbed the menu, determined to salvage our evening. “Now, about those loaded nachos we always get…”
    “But still! The things he said about you and Mr. Knight!” She shook her head. “I feel awful.”
    “Forget him. Seriously.” I waved down a waiter. “The nachos and two margaritas, please. Make mine a double.”
    Hazel brightened with mischief. “Although, maybe Derek had a point. Not about you being – you know – but about Mr. Knight liking you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
    I choked on my water, sputtering. “What? No! That’s – that’s impossible. He’s my boss!”
    “Why not? You’re smart, gorgeous, and he’s clearly interested.”
    “Stop it!” I grabbed a napkin to wipe my chin. “It’s not like that at all.”
    Hazel burst out laughing. “Relax, I’m kidding! Everyone knows Alexander Knight is Manhattan’s most notorious playboy. Different supermodels every week, yacht parties in Monaco.” She leaned forward. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t let that pretty face and charm fool you. Men like him don’t do relationships – they collect trophies.”
    “Trust me, I know exactly who he is.” My phone buzzed.
    I pulled out my phone to check the message. Alexander’s name flashed on the screen.
    “325 Park Avenue, Penthouse. Come now.”
    No explanation, no context. Typical Alexander.
    “Everything okay?” Hazel peered across the table.
    “Work.” I grabbed my purse, already sliding out of the booth. “Rain check on those nachos?”
    “Again? This is getting ridiculous. It’s almost 8 PM!”
    “I know, I know. But-“
    “But nothing! You’re not his personal servant. You have a life, too. What could possibly be so urgent?”
    “It’s probably another last-minute networking event. He does this sometimes-invites potential investors over for drinks. Someone has to coordinate with catering and handle the guest list.”
    “And that someone always has to be you?”
    “It’s my job.”
    “Your job ended three hours ago.” Hazel’s voice softened. “I worry about you, you know?”
    “I know you worry. But this job – the benefits, the salary – it’s helping Mom fight. I can’t risk losing it.”
    “Just be careful, okay?”
    I nodded, already halfway to the door. The cool night air hit my face as I flagged down a cab.
    The cab wound through Manhattan’s glittering streets. Mom’s medical bills haunted me, mounting higher each month. I couldn’t mess this up. Not when she needed me.
    325 Park Avenue loomed ahead, all gleaming glass and steel stretching into the night sky. The doorman nodded as I crossed the marble lobby to the private elevator. My finger hesitated over the penthouse button. Something felt… off.
    Usually, when Alexander hosted impromptu gatherings, the lobby buzzed with activity-caterers rushing supplies, guests arriving in designer suits and cocktail dresses. Tonight, there was silence.
    My heels clicked against the marble floor as I stepped out, echoing through the empty space. Warm lighting spilled across modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows, showcasing the city’s sparkle below.
    “Mr. Knight?”
    No response. Just the soft whir of the central air.
    The hair on my neck stood up. Something definitely wasn’t right.
    A floorboard creaked behind me.
    I spun around, heart hammering. Alexander stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe.
    He stepped forward, closing the distance between us in three long strides. Before I could react, he had me cornered against the wall, one hand braced beside my head.

    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss Chapter 2

    Madison

    His presence was intoxicating. Alexander’s cologne wrapped around me, lingering like dark spices and something earthy. My pulse quickened as he leaned in, our faces just inches apart.
    “You’re here,” he murmured.
    “Mr. Knight, what’s going on?” My voice trembled. I placed a hand on his chest, meaning to push him back, but all I felt was the chiseled muscles under his shirt.
    He took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine and pressing them back against the wall. The heat from his touch was electric, coursing straight to my core. My breathing turned shallow, and my heart thudded in my ears. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
    “You’re really here.” He whispered huskily. His gaze swept my face, lingering on my lips as his breath warmed my cheek.
    “Are you… okay?” I stammered. His pupils seemed larger than normal, almost swallowing the blue of his irises. Something felt off. Was he on drugs?
    “I’m more than okay.” He nuzzled against my neck, lips brushing my skin. “You’re perfect.”
    “I think you might need medical assistance-“
    He didn’t let me finish. His mouth captured mine, and the world tilted on its axis. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and filled with a hunger that took my breath away. His free hand found my waist, pulling me against him.
    The sensible part of my brain screamed for me to push him away, to get help. But then his tongue parted my lips, and my knees went weak. I grabbed onto his shoulders to steady myself, my fingers digging into the fine fabric of his suit.
    His kiss grew more intense, leaving me scarcely able to think or breathe. A moan escaped my lips.
    My hands roamed over his shoulders and back, feeling the hard muscles flex beneath my touch. His grip on my waist tightened, lifting me effortlessly.
    Before I knew it, he maneuvered me backward, guiding me toward the bedroom. We stumbled, our lips never parting, until the back of my knees hit the king-sized bed. He gently pushed me onto the mattress, positioning himself above me. His eyes were wild.
    “Off,” he said, tugging at my blouse.
    I fumbled with the buttons. Finally, I managed to undo the fabric and slip out of it.
    His gaze darkened, and he pulled down the cups of my bra.
    He bent down, and I arched up, gasping.
    His free hand roamed lower, slipping under the waistband of my pants. A sharp jolt shot through me.
    “Fuck,” I moaned, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him to my chest.
    With one swift motion, he tugged my pants and panties down my legs. His hands spread my thighs apart. I cried out.
    “You’re so ready,” he muttered, almost to himself.
    Before I could respond, I watched, breathless, as he quickly moved to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He didn’t bother removing his clothes.
    He climbed between my legs, and I squirmed.
    He moved against me, and my nails dug into his back.
    His mouth crashed against mine in a desperate kiss. His hands gripped my hips as our bodies moved together, mingling with our groans and panting breaths.
    “God, you feel incredible,” he growled, breath hot and ragged.
    We moved together. I felt the pressure building. He angled his hips, and I cried out, my entire body tensing.
    “I’m close, Alexander,” I gasped, my nails raking down his back.
    My voice seemed to spur him on, his movements growing even more frenzied. I clutched at the sheets, trying to ground myself.
    “Yes,” he groaned, his pace becoming erratic. “Come for me.”
    His encouragement drove me over the edge. With a final scream, I shattered, waves washing over me as he continued moving with me through it.
    It was then, just as the intensity began to wane, that I heard him mutter, “Fuck, Katherine.”
    I froze. My mind reeled. Katherine?! Who the hell was Katherine?
    But I couldn’t dwell on it for long because he was still moving with me. My overstimulated body responded despite my confusion, another wave already building.
    “Katherine, you feel so good.” He drove into me one last time, with a guttural moan. His body trembled, triggering another wave that left me breathless and shaking.
    As the haze faded, reality sank in. Alexander had called another woman’s name while we were together. He didn’t even know who I was.
    As he collapsed next to me on the bed, his breathing heavy, I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing. Who was Katherine? Did she work for him, too, or was she just one of his many conquests? The thought gnawed at me like a persistent itch I couldn’t scratch.
    I slipped out from under his arm, my legs still trembling. Alexander’s soft snores filled the bedroom as I gathered my scattered clothes. Of course, he’d pass out – typical man. At least he hadn’t called me “baby” or some other generic pet name. No, he’d gone with “Katherine” instead.
    I stumbled to the bathroom, wincing at my reflection. My carefully straightened hair now resembled a bird’s nest, and my lipstick… well, that was definitely not where lipstick should be.
    As I cleaned up, my mind wandered to the stack of NDAs in my desk drawer – all the women who’d crossed paths with Alexander Knight.
    “At least I didn’t have to draft my own NDA,” I muttered. Being Alexander’s PA meant cleaning up his messes and arranging flowers and “sorry” gifts for the parade of models and socialites he left in his wake. But Katherine? That name wasn’t in any of my files.
    I smoothed down my outfit and checked my phone – 10:27 PM. The doctor would still be awake. I scrolled through my contacts, finding Dr. Peterson’s number. My thumb hovered over the call button as Alexander’s snores echoed from the bedroom.
    “Dr. Peterson? Sorry to bother you so late.” I kept my voice steady and professional. “It’s Madison Harper, Mr. Knight’s PA.”
    “What’s he done now?” Dr. Peterson sighed.
    “He seems altered. Dilated pupils, unusual behavior. I found him like this when I came to drop off some urgent paperwork.” The lie slipped out easily. Too easily.
    “Drugs?”
    “Possibly. He’s sleeping now, but-“
    “I’ll be there in twenty.”
    “Thank you, Doctor.” I ended the call and slipped my phone into my pocket.
    Back in the bedroom, Alexander sprawled across the unmade bed like a fallen Greek statue, suit wrinkled and pants still undone.
    “Right. Time to make you presentable.” I surveyed the scene. The nightstand had shifted a foot to the left. A decorative vase teetered on the edge – how had we not broken that?
    I approached Alexander’s sleeping form. “Don’t you dare wake up,” I muttered, reaching for his zipper. My fingers trembled as I worked quickly to tuck in his shirt and fasten his pants. The belt proved trickier – threading it through the loops while he was dead weight required some creative maneuvering.
    His head lolled to the side. “Mmm… Katherine…”
    I yanked the belt tight with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. Katherine. Whoever she is.”
    The doorbell rang. Shit. Dr. Peterson was early.
    I sprinted to straighten the nightstand, shoving it back into place. A quick scan of the room – nothing else seemed obviously disturbed. I grabbed a pillow and wedged it under Alexander’s head, trying to make it look like he’d dozed off.
    Dr. Peterson strode in, medical bag in hand. “Evening, Ms. Harper.”
    “Doctor. Thank you for coming so quickly.” I gestured to Alexander. “I found him like this when I came to drop off some urgent documents.”
    The doctor knelt beside the bed, checking Alexander’s pulse. “Any idea what he might have taken?”
    “None. He seemed… not himself.” Understatement of the century. “Dilated pupils, erratic behavior.”
    Dr. Peterson lifted Alexander’s eyelids, shining a small light. “Probably some party drug. Though it’s unlikely for him to indulge alone.”
    “Should I call security? His driver?”
    “No need. I’ll stay until he comes around.” He pulled out a blood pressure cuff. “You should head home, Ms. Harper. I’ve got it from here.”
    I nodded, gathering my purse. “Of course. Thank you again.”
    I hurried to the elevator, my reflection in the metal doors nearly composed except for my swollen lips and flushed cheeks.
    The night air slapped my face as I hailed a cab, needing to get home and think.
    “Where to?” the driver asked.
    “Anywhere but here.” I caught his concerned look in the rearview mirror. “Sorry. 42nd and 8th, please.”
    As the city lights blurred past, I wondered how I’d face Alexander tomorrow. Would he remember? And more importantly – who the hell was Katherine?

    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss Chapter 3

    Madison

    I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck – a very sexy, Alexander Knight-shaped truck. My body ached in places I’d forgotten existed, and my inner thighs bore the telltale bruises of last night’s activities.
    “Get it together, Madison,” I muttered to my reflection as I applied concealer under my eyes. Despite my best makeup efforts, the woman staring back looked debauched.
    The subway ride to work was torture. Every bump and sway reminded me of how Alexander had moved inside me. How his hands had gripped my hips. How he’d called me Katherine.
    Katherine. The name bounced around my skull like an angry ping-pong ball.
    I’d spent half the night googling “Katherine Alexander Knight” with zero results. Not that I was jealous or anything. I mean, why would I be jealous of someone whose name my boss moaned while high on God-knows-what?
    The elevator ride up to the office felt longer than usual. I checked my phone seventeen times in thirty seconds, praying there wouldn’t be a message from Alexander. Nothing. Thank God.
    I peeked into Alexander’s office. Empty. The relief that flooded through me was embarrassing.
    Collapsing into my chair, I buried my face in my hands. “This is fine. Everything’s fine. He probably doesn’t even remember. And if he does, well… I’ll just move to Antarctica. I hear they need secretaries there.”
    My phone buzzed. I jumped so hard that my knee slammed into the desk drawer.
    I rubbed my throbbing knee while checking the message. Just a spam email about enlarging body parts I didn’t possess.
    The morning crawled by in a haze of paranoia. Every footstep in the hallway had me tensing like a guilty teenager. By ten, my neck muscles felt like steel cables from constantly whipping around to check the door.
    My coffee mug sat empty, mocking me. I needed caffeine.
    I grabbed my mug and power-walked to the break room. I beelined for the coffee maker, already tasting that sweet salvation.
    “Madison! Just the person I wanted to see!”
    I nearly dropped my mug. Stella from Accounting materialized beside me, grinning like she’d just discovered tax evasion in the company books.
    “Hey, Stella.” I focused on pouring coffee, willing my hands not to shake.
    “So,” She leaned against the counter, eyes twinkling. “Hot date last night?”
    Coffee sloshed over the rim. “What? No. Why would you-“
    “That’s quite the love bite you’re sporting.” She pointed at my neck, smirking. “Unless you’ve taken up wrestling in your spare time?”
    My free hand flew to my neck. Horror dawned as I felt the tender spot just below my ear. The spot where Alexander had marked me like some overenthusiastic vampire.
    My mind raced faster than my morning subway ride. “Oh, this? My curling iron. Total klutz moment this morning.” I forced a laugh that came out like a strangled cat.
    “Must be some curling iron. Looks more like someone was trying to-“
    “Would you look at the time!” I glanced at my naked wrist, where a watch definitely wasn’t. “Those expense reports won’t file themselves!”
    “But you haven’t finished your coffee-“
    I abandoned my half-filled mug on the counter, speed-walking toward the exit with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. My heels clicked against the tile floor in what felt like morse code for “Help me!”
    I collapsed into my desk chair, heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon in heels. My hands trembled as I tried to pull myself together. What was I thinking? Curling iron? Really? I might have said it was a one-night stand. That would have been slightly more believable. God, a one-night stand would be even worse.
    Rumors about Alexander and me have been circulating since I became his PA. It was bad enough that I landed this position after being in the company for a short time.
    Everyone thought I’d slept my way to the top, that I’d spread my legs for him to get ahead. Despite all my hard work, the whispers never stopped.
    Colleagues who used to be friends now barely make eye contact with me. Their hushed conversations stop whenever I enter the room, replaced by forced smiles and awkward silence.
    Although I didn’t initially want this job, I took it because of the high salary necessary to cover my mom’s medical expenses.
    But now? The situation was an absolute mess. If anyone found out what happened last night, they’d think the rumors were true. They’d believe I used my body to climb the social ladder, something I would never do.
    No one could find out that Alexander and I had slept together. The very thought twisted my stomach into knots. I prayed Alexander would forget it all, erasing the memory as if it never happened.
    Of course, I knew I couldn’t hide from him forever. Sooner or later, I’d have to report to him for work. But I was convinced the doctor would tell him nothing happened. And even if he remembered something, he’d go to Katherine.
    Every woman Alexander slept with wanted to be his wife. So if he asked Katherine if she was with him the other night, she’d definitely say yes to get closer to him.

    The conference room felt smaller than usual as I arranged the meeting materials, hyper-aware of Alexander’s presence at the head of the table. My hands trembled as I distributed the financial reports, careful to keep my eyes glued to the papers.
    “Everyone here?” Alexander’s voice sent shivers down my spine. The same voice that had whispered things in my ear two days ago.
    I risked a glance up. Fatal mistake.
    His eyes caught mine, and suddenly, I was back in his penthouse, feeling his hands on my skin and his breath hot against my neck. My face burned hotter than fresh coffee.
    “Miss Harper?”
    I jumped, nearly dropping the remaining reports. “Yes, Mr. Knight?”
    “The quarterly projections?”
    Right. Work. Professional. I could do this. I shuffled through my papers, willing my racing heart to calm down.
    “Here they are.” My voice came out squeakier than a mouse in a cheese factory.
    Alexander’s brow furrowed. “Are you feeling alright? You look flushed.”
    Of course, I looked flushed.
    “Just warm in here.” I tugged at my collar, accidentally exposing the fading mark on my neck.
    His eyes flickered to the spot, then back to the reports without recognition. Nothing. Not even a flicker of remembrance about our passionate night together.
    The meeting droned on. I took notes mechanically, sneaking glances at Alexander between bullet points. He was completely at ease, discussing profit margins like he hadn’t rocked my world two days ago.
    The meeting finally ended, but my relief was short-lived. Alexander beckoned me into his office with a crook of his finger. My legs turned to jelly as I followed him inside.
    He settled into his leather chair like a king on his throne while I hovered near the door like a guilty teenager. The morning sun through the tall windows bathed him in an angelic glow. Unfair. The man looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot while I fought the urge to bolt.
    “Close the door, Miss Harper.”
    I did, my hand trembling slightly on the handle. This was it. He remembered everything and was about to fire me. Or worse, proposition me. I wasn’t sure which scenario terrified me more.
    “Take a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
    I perched on the edge, ready to sprint at a moment’s notice. The leather squeaked beneath me, betraying my nervousness.
    Alexander shuffled some papers on his desk, his expression unreadable. My heart performed an Olympic-worthy gymnastics routine in my chest.
    “I noticed something concerning.” He looked up, those blue eyes piercing right through me.
    He remembered everything. I’d be fired, humiliated, and probably end up on some reality TV show called ‘I Slept With My Boss.’
    “You didn’t check in yesterday when I was absent.”
    Wait, what? Of all the things he could’ve brought up, he chose this?
    “As my PA, I expect you to maintain contact, especially during unexpected absences.” His tone carried that signature Alexander Knight authority, making board members squirm and competitors sweat.
    My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. How exactly was I supposed to respond? ‘Sorry I didn’t check in; I was too busy having an existential crisis after our intense encounter where you called me another woman’s name’?
    “I apologize, Mr. Knight. I thought…” I thought you were sleeping off whatever happened between us. I thought you needed space. I thought a lot of things, none of which I could say out loud.
    “You thought?” Alexander’s piercing gaze made my brain cells commit mass suicide.
    “I thought… well…” My mouth went drier than the Sahara. What could I say?
    A phone’s shrill ring cut through the tension. The ringtone echoed through his office like a chorus of angels. Thank you, merciful universe!

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