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Tag: Betrayal

  • Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! by wheat globe

    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! by wheat globe

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    When Natalie’s hearing returned, betrayal was the devastating truth waiting for her.

    She repaid the cheating pair with sharp slaps, then took her sister’s place in an arranged marriage.

    Her groom, Nathan, was rumored to be frail, vicious, and unable to satisfy a woman.

    Their wedding night, however, demolished every warning when he pinned her against the glass and challenged the rumor himself. Three relentless days proved the gossip laughably wrong.

    Later, her groveling ex begged her back. Nathan asked for a knife to deal with the “pest.”

    Everyone saw a monster. Natalie alone knew his madness hid a love that burned only for her.

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    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! Chapter 1 I’ve Changed My Mind

    “You seriously brought your adopted sister home, Ryan? What do you think Natalie will do when she finds out?”

    For the first time in a year, Natalie Phillips could hear clearly again. She stood outside the club’s private room when those words reached her. The smile disappeared from her face, and she suddenly couldn’t move.

    Caylee Edwards had returned?

    “If none of you says anything, Natalie won’t know,” Ryan Edwards replied without concern. “Caylee has been away for more than a year, and she wanted to come home.”

    “She didn’t miss home. She missed you.”

    Knowing laughter broke out among the people inside.

    “Stop talking nonsense. Caylee is my sister.”

    “Your sister? Come on, Ryan. I watched her kiss you earlier, and there was nothing sisterly about it. She acted more like your girlfriend!”

    Ryan frowned. “She surprised me, and it was over before I had a chance to stop her. Caylee is still young, so she doesn’t always understand where the boundaries are. I’m not going to turn one foolish kiss into a serious issue.”

    Then Ryan seemed to remember something, and a warning entered his voice. “Nobody mentions this again. Natalie will arrive soon, so be careful what you say around her.”

    Someone cleared his throat before asking in a sober tone, “You’re honestly going to ignore what happened, Ryan? Caylee paid someone to run Natalie over. Natalie nearly lost her life, and she still hasn’t regained her hearing.”

    “Caylee was only nineteen at the time,” Ryan responded coldly. “She acted without thinking and made one honest mistake. She was overseas for an entire year, and she has already suffered the consequences. She won’t do it again, so why are we still talking about it?”

    One honest mistake?

    Disbelief swept through Natalie as she listened from the hallway.

    Nothing about his excuse made sense to her.

    One year ago, Caylee’s obsession with Ryan had taken a violent turn. His rejection had pushed her over the edge, and she hired someone to strike her with a car. That crash had taken her hearing from her.

    Back then, Ryan had been furious beyond reason. His punishment left Caylee so badly injured that she nearly died. Eventually, his parents intervened and arranged for her to be sent overseas.

    Throughout the following year, Ryan spent an enormous amount of money bringing specialists from every corner of the world to treat her hearing loss. He even stepped away from his career so he could remain with her throughout the entire recovery.

    Months of treatment brought her unbearable pain and exhaustion. Whenever she felt too overwhelmed to continue, Ryan would become teary-eyed. He always pulled her into his arms and whispered that he wanted Caylee dead for destroying her life.

    For a long time, she had carried nothing but bitterness over what happened. Still, she had seen Ryan travel anywhere necessary to find the right doctors, and he had never left her side through all those difficult days and nights.

    Somewhere in her heart, she had begun to believe that despite everything she had suffered, she had at least found a man who truly treasured her.

    Her hand moved to the small velvet box inside her pocket before she even realized what she was doing.

    Hidden inside was a custom-made ring for Ryan that she had secretly ordered.

    Their wedding had faced one delay after another because of that pointless tragedy.

    With her hearing restored, she had believed she could finally marry Ryan and begin the life she had waited so long for. Instead, he had welcomed Caylee home and dismissed everything she had done as though forgiveness should come easily.

    What a cruel joke.

    While resentment settled in her chest, a sudden vibration came from the phone inside her pocket.

    Several minutes passed before Natalie regained enough composure to check the screen. Kathleen Phillips had sent her another lengthy message. Her mother repeated the same request as before and begged her to return to Klimery. She wanted Natalie to replace her stepsister Aimee Phillips in an arranged marriage.

    Only an hour had passed since Kathleen sent the first message, yet this was already her second attempt to reach Natalie.

    Marriage was supposed to unite the Phillips and the Warren families, but Aimee had somehow escaped rather than honor the arrangement.

    Within Klimery, few families could rival the Warrens in wealth or influence. Nathan Warren was the man chosen to marry Aimee, and rumors painted him as someone merciless enough to ruin anyone who crossed him.

    Once Nathan learned that the Phillips family planned to abandon the engagement and humiliate him, nothing could stop him from destroying them in a single night.

    Out of options, Kathleen finally called Natalie and pleaded, “Natalie, Robert and I don’t know what else to do. Please come back and save our family. I’m begging you.”

    Years earlier, Kathleen had married Robert Phillips with Natalie beside her. Never once during all that time had her mother begged her for help.

    Although her stepfather had treated them reasonably well, she understood how much effort her mother had spent earning a secure position in that household. Nearly all her mother’s attention had gone toward caring for her husband and Aimee over the years.

    For that reason, she had always behaved exactly as Kathleen expected and had done everything possible to avoid causing problems.

    Only twice had she ever gone against her mother, and Ryan had been the reason both times.

    The first time happened years ago when Natalie left Klimery alone to be with him.

    The second happened earlier that day when she refused to take Aimee’s place at the wedding because she still planned to marry him.

    Thinking back on her reply to Kathleen brought a weak and bitter smile to Natalie’s face. She had proudly announced that her hearing had returned and that Ryan loved her more than anyone else. Natalie had also promised they would marry soon and insisted that he would help settle the Phillips family’s crisis.

    Her faith in Ryan had been absolute.

    Pain tightened around Natalie’s heart when she closed her eyes. Her fingers gripped the ring box inside her pocket, while she struggled to keep the ache in her throat from breaking into a sob.

    Reality had finally shown itself. The everlasting devotion she trusted and the love that had become the center of her life were nothing more than lies. One painful discovery had torn the entire illusion apart.

    Looking back, she could no longer tell which tender moments had been genuine. Had Ryan cared for her because he loved her, because guilt drove him, or simply because he wanted others to believe he was devoted?

    After drawing a steady breath, Natalie entered her answer one word at a time. “Mom, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take Aimee’s place and marry Nathan Warren.”

    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! Chapter 2 She Can’t Hear Anything We Say

    Once the message went through, Natalie pushed open the private room door.

    Every conversation ended at the same time, and the laughter vanished with it.

    Dim lights cast a hazy glow across the room. Cigarette smoke, liquor, and heavy perfume had blended into a stale odor that filled the air.

    Several sharply dressed men and women occupied the room. Some sat while the others stood, but every one of them looked toward the entrance.

    Natalie stopped at the edge of the light. Her long gown followed the graceful lines of her slim body, while the soft glow made her skin appear almost radiant.

    Usually, her beautiful eyes shone with warmth and energy. Tonight, however, something dark concealed every emotion behind them.

    Ryan sat in the middle of the sofa with a clear view of the entrance. Smoke rose from the cigarette between his fingers and drifted across the sharp angles of his face.

    Before anyone else could react, Ryan noticed her and briefly panicked. Then he saw that her hearing aids were missing, and the strain left his body. He rose from the sofa and walked toward her while signing, “Baby, why did you take so long? We’ve all been waiting for you.”

    Disgust twisted Natalie’s stomach.

    Before she could answer, someone behind her called out, “Well, this looks like quite the party.”

    Each word carried a playful sweetness that sounded forced enough to make anyone uncomfortable.

    Everyone instinctively turned toward the doorway to see who had interrupted them.

    Caylee waited beneath the warm hallway light in a fitted red slip dress. Its high slit revealed nearly the full length of her thigh. Loose waves of hair covered her shoulders, while perfect makeup and bright red lipstick completed her striking appearance.

    She rested against the doorframe and slowly surveyed everyone in the room. When her attention reached Ryan, a secretive smile appeared on one side of her mouth.

    Something changed in Ryan’s expression. Natalie’s failure to react convinced him that she couldn’t hear anything, and some of his unease faded. After facing Caylee, he spoke quietly. “Why did you come in here? I told you to stay in the room next door.”

    Every trace of tension in his voice reached Natalie clearly.

    Caylee laughed. “I didn’t want to be so far away from you. I’ll just stay near the doorway for a little while. Natalie won’t know I’m here unless she turns around, and she can’t hear what we’re saying. So why are you acting so nervous?”

    Her words helped everyone in the room relax.

    Someone muttered in agreement, “Shit, I completely forgot she can’t hear us. She nearly scared me to death!”

    “Exactly. For one second, I thought everything was about to come crashing down.”

    Soon, everyone stopped caring about what they said around Natalie, and their voices took on a cruel, mocking edge.

    Natalie curled both hands into tight fists beside her body. Her fingernails dug so deeply into her palms that the sharp pain became impossible to ignore.

    Each word cut into her.

    She could hear them.

    Every single word.

    Caylee’s smile became even more pleased as she lifted her voice. “You can’t hear me, can you, Natalie? That terrible crash failed to kill you, but at least it left you deaf. How tragic.”

    “Knock it off,” Ryan snapped in a low, stern voice. He glanced nervously at Natalie and seemed afraid that she might somehow understand what they were saying.

    His anger didn’t bother Caylee in the slightest, and her grin only widened.

    Leaving the doorway, she walked into the room and stopped directly behind Natalie. Affection filled her eyes when she looked at Ryan, and she made sure everyone could hear her. “Weren’t you just worried that Natalie might learn I’d come back, Ryan? You can relax now. She can’t hear anything we say. I could call her a bitch right in front of her, and she still wouldn’t…”

    Before Caylee could finish, Natalie turned around and struck Caylee hard across the face.

    Every sound inside the room disappeared at once.

    Everyone present could only stare at Natalie in disbelief.

    What had just happened? Had Natalie heard Caylee? That was impossible. She had lost her hearing.

    Mr. Billionaire, Your Madness Belongs To Me! Chapter 3 Her Head Is Bleeding!

    Color quickly spread across Caylee’s cheek in the shape of Natalie’s hand.

    Disbelief widened her eyes as she pressed one palm against the burning skin. Several seconds passed before she managed to say, “You… You really had the nerve to slap me!”

    When Caylee tried to strike back, Natalie reacted first and caught her wrist before the blow could land.

    Before Caylee could pull away, Natalie slapped her across the face again.

    Its force snapped Caylee’s head sideways, while her carefully arranged curls tumbled loose and covered part of her face.

    Even after being struck twice, Caylee remained frozen in shock and seemed unable to understand what had happened.

    Inside the private room, nobody dared make a sound.

    Everyone stared at the two women without blinking.

    Ryan recovered before the others, though he didn’t move from his place. Alarm briefly crossed his face.

    Had Natalie’s hearing returned?

    Unease jolted his heart, and his attention shifted toward the liquor cabinet without conscious thought.

    Warm light from the wall sconces reflected across the cabinet’s mirrored doors. Moving shadows passed over the glass.

    Of course. Natalie must have spotted Caylee’s reflection in the mirror.

    Relief allowed Ryan to breathe again. He still sensed that something wasn’t right, but before he could figure it out, Caylee erupted and screamed, “You bitch! I’m going to rip you apart!”

    With her nails pointed toward Natalie’s face, Caylee charged at her.

    Both women grappled for control and clawed at each other’s hands.

    Natalie’s quicker reflexes gave her the advantage. She seized Caylee by the hair and pulled so hard that Caylee screamed in pain.

    “That’s enough!” Ryan roared as he rushed between them. He used one arm to force them apart before grabbing Natalie’s wrist. “Stop fighting. Both of you.”

    Caylee immediately took advantage of the opening and lifted her hand once more.

    Panic tightened Natalie’s stomach, and she twisted her arm in an attempt to escape Ryan’s grasp.

    Ryan’s fingers held her like a steel clamp. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t free herself.

    Natalie opened her mouth and tried to order him to release her, but only a faint and raspy noise left her throat.

    Yesterday’s high fever had somehow restored her hearing, yet it had made her voice disappear.

    Desperation drove her to keep trying, yet she couldn’t force out even one clear word.

    Her wordless struggle finally made Ryan uncertain, and his grip weakened for the briefest moment.

    Caylee’s hand was already flying toward Natalie during that instant of hesitation. Natalie instinctively pulled her head aside. The slap failed to land, but Caylee’s pointed nails still scraped across her cheek and left behind a painful sting.

    Blood appeared along the fresh scratches on Natalie’s face, and Ryan froze when he saw it. Then rage took over. He released Natalie’s wrist and shoved Caylee backward. “Caylee, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

    The sudden push sent Caylee stumbling several steps until her shoulder struck the liquor cabinet behind her.

    A loud crash rang out.

    Violence from the impact made the cabinet sway. Several expensive imported bottles tipped over and slid from the shelves. Liquor sprayed everywhere before the bottles shattered against the floor.

    Through the confusion and shouting, Ryan rushed toward Caylee and shielded her with his body.

    Several bottles crashed against Ryan’s back with heavy thuds while splinters of glass scattered across the room.

    Nearby, Natalie barely managed to shield her head and face with both arms before a bottle crashed against her shoulder. Fierce pain tore through her immediately. More bottles followed before she could move away.

    Only a weak groan escaped her throat.

    One of the blows knocked Natalie onto the floor. Freezing liquor soaked her clothes as small pieces of glass rained over her. Blood trickled from the wound near her temple and blended with the alcohol around her.

    Natalie curled into herself while numbness spread through one side of her body. Heavy pain throbbed through her shoulder, back, and the bottom of her skull. Her ears buzzed so loudly that the frightened screams around her became difficult to separate.

    “Ryan, help me!” Caylee cried as tears streamed down her cheeks. “My foot hurts so badly…”

    Despite the pain in his back, Ryan quickly pushed himself off her. “Where are you hurt? Show me what happened!”

    “It’s my ankle… It really hurts…” Caylee whimpered. Tears filled her eyes as she pointed to the injury.

    Several glass fragments had sliced her ankle and left behind a few narrow lines of blood. The wounds appeared minor, yet Caylee wept as though her life were in danger.

    Not far away, Natalie remained sprawled on the floor while darkness repeatedly swept across her vision.

    With trembling fingers, she struggled to raise her left arm toward Ryan. Her lips silently shaped his name, but her voice couldn’t produce a sound.

    By then, Ryan had already lifted Caylee into his arms and turned toward the exit.

    “Ryan, Natalie looks hurt too,” someone called out while pointing toward the floor.

    For a moment, Ryan stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

    Still cradled against him, Caylee sniffed and pressed her face against his neck. “Ryan, it hurts so much. What if one of my bones is broken?”

    Ryan’s brow tightened before he turned away from Natalie. “One of you stay with her. If she isn’t badly injured, take her home. Caylee needs to get to the hospital now because she has a low tolerance for pain.”

    The man who had warned him hesitated and seemed ready to object, but he eventually answered, “Fine.”

    Without any hesitation, Ryan hurried out of the private room with Caylee in his arms.

    Behind him, his friends traded uneasy looks. Several wanted to approach Natalie, but none seemed willing to take the first step.

    “Natalie, can you hear me? Are you able to stand?”

    “Man, she’s deaf. Calling out to her won’t help. Does anyone here know sign language?”

    “Shit, why would I know how to do that?”

    At that point, Natalie’s surroundings had begun to blur, and every voice sounded distant and unclear.

    Moving lips surrounded her, but she could no longer understand what anyone was saying.

    Blood continued flowing from her forehead and spilled into her eyes until a dark red haze covered everything.

    Even the simple act of shaking her head required more strength than she had left.

    She could feel nothing except cold.

    The chill seemed to rise from somewhere deep within her body.

    Soon, the room spun around her, and every person nearby faded into a shapeless shadow.

    Then someone cried out, “God, her head is bleeding! There’s blood everywhere!”

    Her hearing kept disappearing before briefly returning again.

    Darkness closed around Natalie and grew heavier with each passing second. Before long, she could barely keep her eyelids open.

    “Call an ambulance right now!”

    “Damn it, why won’t Ryan answer his phone?”

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  • The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess by Star Dust

    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess by Star Dust

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    Leyla sacrificed her face to save Kristopher, only to endure three years of humiliation in a loveless marriage.

    Her last hope died when she learned the “vitamins” he gave her were contraceptives-and watched him lavish money on his returning first love.

    She demanded a divorce and walked away with nothing. Then her true identity stunned everyone: she was the cherished daughter of a royal-level dynasty, backed by three powerful brothers.

    On the very first day of her divorce, a limo picked her up. her second brother had worked his magic-her scarred face was restored to its former radiance. And at the first banquet she attended, she made such a stunning entrance that jaws dropped across the room.

    As for her ex-husband-the one who’d never given her a second glance-he was completely blindsided. For the first time in his life, Kristopher felt the sharp bite of regret. Now, he was desperate to win her back.

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    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess Chapter 1 Betrayal

    At the hospital, Leyla Thorpe tightly clutched her test results as she handed them to the doctor. “Am I pregnant?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

    The doctor scanned the report, his brows knitting together. “Of course you’re not. You’ve been taking birth control regularly. There is no way you could get pregnant.”

    A wave of cold swept through Leyla.

    Birth control?

    Every month after they slept together, her husband, Kristopher Gordon, would give her what he claimed was a multivitamin pill.

    He would always say, “You’re too fragile. You need to take better care of your health.”

    For three years, she had been touched by his thoughtfulness.

    Only now did she realize the truth—he had been giving her contraceptive pills.

    An invisible hand seemed to squeeze the air from Leyla’s lungs, making it hard for her to breathe. Trembling, she pulled out her phone and called Kristopher.

    The call went unanswered.

    Just then, a breaking news notification popped up on her screen.

    The bold headline read, “The Gordon Group CEO Kristopher Gordon Spends 100 Million on ‘Angel’s Heart,’ Winning It at an Auction for His Girlfriend!”

    Leyla stared blankly at the words, her pupils contracting.

    Beneath the headline was a photo taken at the auction.

    Dressed in a tailored black suit, Kristopher sat in the front row. His sharp features and composed expression gave him an air of effortless elegance.

    He was looking at the woman seated beside him, his attention fixed entirely on her.

    She wore a pale yellow evening gown, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, while a faint smile softened her delicate profile.

    It was Phoebe Brooks—Kristopher’s friend since childhood.

    She had gone overseas to study three years ago and, according to rumors, had only recently returned.

    Leyla blinked against the burning sensation in her eyes, yet there were no tears in them.

    A hollow laugh escaped her lips.

    She found the situation ridiculous.

    Phoebe was the woman Kristopher truly cherished, while she was nothing more than the wife he had hidden away from the world.

    Three years ago, when Kristopher had been in danger, she hadn’t hesitated to shield him.

    She had taken a knife meant for him, getting her face ruined in the process.

    Even as the blade sliced through her skin, she never cried out in pain.

    Afterward, he had promised to marry her and take care of her for the rest of her life.

    True to his word, they had become husband and wife.

    Yet throughout their marriage, he remained consumed by the heartbreak of Phoebe leaving the country.

    For three long years, she devoted herself to being the perfect wife, believing that one day, he would finally notice her devotion, understand her suffering, and perhaps even come to love her.

    She had foolishly believed that having a child might finally bring them closer.

    Instead, he had quietly made sure she would never have that opportunity.

    Now, watching him openly shower another woman with affection, she finally accepted the truth. His heart had always belonged to someone else.

    There had never been a place for her in it.

    The realization tore through Layla bit by bit, each moment more agonizing than the last.

    She made up her mind. She was going to divorce him.

    ***

    Leyla returned to Prime Estate, her home with Kristopher.

    The moment she walked through the front door, the housekeeper, Helen Miller, approached her with a frosty expression. “Mrs. Gordon, you’re becoming quite impossible. You’ve stayed out for so long.”

    Though she was only the housekeeper, she had taken care of Kristopher since he was young and had always considered herself above the rest of the household staff.

    Leyla knew exactly why Helen dared to speak to her so disrespectfully; Kristopher allowed it.

    In the past, desperate to win Kristopher’s affection, she had gone out of her way to please everyone around him.

    But not anymore.

    Leyla’s palm struck Helen’s face with a sharp slap, her voice as cold as ice. “You’re nothing more than a servant. What gives you the right to speak to me that way?”

    Helen covered her burning cheek, staring at Leyla in stunned disbelief. “H-how dare you hit me? I practically raised Mr. Gordon, you know! You should show me some respect!”

    “I am his wife,” Leyla shot back, every word crisp and unwavering. “Whatever your history with him may be, you’re still a paid employee of this household.”

    Helen shook with fury but didn’t dare utter another word.

    Without sparing her another glance, Leyla turned and headed upstairs.

    Behind her, Helen muttered venomously, “What’s there to be so proud of? Now that Miss Brooks is back, it won’t be long before she becomes Mr. Gordon’s wife.”

    Leyla paused for the briefest moment when she heard that.

    Even the housekeeper knew who truly held Kristopher’s heart.

    It seemed everyone knew except her.

    For the past three years, she had been the only fool deceiving herself.

    But none of that mattered anymore.

    She was the one choosing to leave Kristopher now.

    Back in her bedroom, Leyla opened the wardrobe and pulled out a small suitcase she had prepared long ago.

    After three years of marriage, everything she owned fit inside this single suitcase.

    Her gaze swept across the room.

    She had personally decorated every inch of it, yet not a single thing truly belonged to her.

    Pressing her lips into a thin line, she scrolled to a phone number she hadn’t called in years. She tapped the call button and lifted the phone to her ear.

    “I want to go home now.”

    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess Chapter 2 Let’s Get A Divorce

    A faint sound from the entryway shattered the stillness of the night.

    Leyla had just stepped out of the bathroom, droplets of water clinging to her damp hair. Looking toward the door, she said softly, “You’re back.”

    Kristopher stood in the doorway with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.

    Instinctively, Leyla gripped the sleeve of her nightgown. “I need to talk to you about something—”

    Before she could finish, Kristopher strode over and seized her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

    The scar that ran from her left eyebrow to her cheek caught the light, its jagged edges standing in stark contrast to the delicate beauty she had once possessed.

    “You want to talk?” Kristopher’s voice was quiet, but every word carried a chilling edge. “Leyla, since when did you learn to play these little games with me?”

    “I wasn’t…” Leyla tried to explain.

    She never got the chance to finish. Kristopher caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. She lost her balance and slammed into his chest.

    With his free hand, Kristopher grabbed the collar of her nightgown and tore it open. Buttons flew in every direction, bouncing across the polished floor.

    Startled, Leyla shoved against him with all her strength. “What are you doing? Stop!”

    “Enough with the performance.” Kristopher’s lips curled in disdain as he looked at her as if she were beneath him.

    “Why else would you insist on me coming home tonight? Isn’t this exactly what you’ve been after? One night with me every month—that’s what you’ve asked for, isn’t it?”

    Leyla froze.

    So, that was what the matter meant to him. Just another monthly obligation.

    Three years of swallowing her pride and sacrificing everything, yet she had never earned even the smallest trace of his affection.

    If this was all their marriage amounted to, there was no reason to keep holding on.

    “Kristopher,” Leyla said quietly, her eyes meeting his, “let’s get a divorce.”

    Kristopher’s movements stilled for a second. A faint crease formed between his brows. “What did you just say?”

    Without wavering, Leyla repeated, “Let’s get a divorce.”

    Kristopher tugged impatiently at his tie, annoyance flashing across his face. “A divorce?” His voice was emotionless, almost mocking. “Leyla, what ridiculous stunt are you pulling this time?”

    “I’m being serious.” Leyla’s tone remained calm and unwavering. “The woman you truly love is back. I’m giving you your freedom. You can be together with her.”

    Kristopher’s expression darkened instantly, his eyes turning dangerously cold. “Stop pretending. You don’t even have the courage to walk out of this house. If we divorce, where exactly can you go?”

    His words struck with brutal precision.

    To everyone else, she was nothing more than the scarred woman he kept hidden from the public—someone locked inside a gilded cage.

    She had no career, no social life, no financial independence.

    She didn’t deserve to be with him at all.

    Leyla lowered her gaze before answering evenly, “That’s my concern, not yours.”

    Kristopher narrowed his eyes.

    For three years, she had always been gentle and obedient.

    This composed, distant version of her was completely unfamiliar to him.

    “Leyla,” Kristopher warned, his tone growing colder, “this little game of playing hard to get has gone on long enough.”

    Leyla didn’t reply.

    Just then, the sharp ring of a phone cut through the suffocating silence.

    Kristopher glanced at his phone screen. The frost in his eyes melted away in an instant. He answered the call immediately. “Phoebe? What happened?”

    The concern in his voice was unmistakable. As he listened, his expression softened even further. “Don’t be scared,” he said gently. “I’ll be there right away.”

    The call then ended. Without sparing Leyla so much as another glance, Kristopher turned and walked out of the room.

    He was convinced Leyla would never leave him.

    After all, for the past three years, she never had.

    The bedroom door slammed shut behind him, leaving Leyla alone in the space.

    She sat motionless on the edge of the bed, staring into the emptiness for what felt like an eternity.

    Then, her phone suddenly vibrated.

    A message from an unknown number lit up her screen.

    “He came to see me again.”

    Attached was a candid photo of Kristopher.

    A gentle smile curved his lips, and his eyes brimmed with warmth—a tenderness Leyla had never once seen directed at her.

    Before Leyla could process it, another message popped up.

    “I told him there might be reporters outside, and he rushed over without a second thought. He was so worried about me. Oh, and he bought me ‘Angel’s Heart’ at today’s auction. I even suggested he pick out something for you, but he said there was no need. I suppose he is right. Only beautiful women should wear jewelry. With a face like yours, it would only go to waste. Leyla, he only married you because he had no choice. I’ve always been the one he truly loves.”

    Leyla stared at the message, and a cold laugh escaped her lips.

    Every sentence was another knife twisting in her wounds. It finally dawned on her that the man who had treated her with indifference for three long years could be so gentle and attentive to another woman.

    Without the slightest hesitation, Leyla typed a reply.

    “You want Kristopher? A used man like him suits you perfectly. The two of you deserve each other—two shameless people cut from the same cloth. Do everyone a favor and stay together forever, so neither of you gets the chance to ruin anyone else’s life.”

    She sent it, then immediately blocked the number.

    “Kristopher…” she murmured with a bitter smile. “From now on, we are even.”

    The next day.

    Leyla placed the signed divorce agreement on the bedside table.

    She wasn’t taking anything from Kristopher. All she wanted was a clean end to their marriage.

    With nothing but a small suitcase in hand, she walked out of Prime Estate.

    Three years had passed, yet she had never managed to earn Kristopher’s love.

    It was time to stop trying.

    The moment she stepped through the estate’s front gate, a limited-edition extended Rolls-Royce glided to a stop before her.

    The rear door swung open, and a tall figure stepped out.

    The instant Leyla saw her eldest brother, Damien Holden, tears rushed uncontrollably into her eyes. “Damien…” Her voice trembled. “I’ve signed the divorce papers.”

    For three years, she had buried every grievance, every humiliation, forcing herself to endure a loveless marriage. But the moment she saw her brother, all her emotions came crashing down.

    “Leyla, congratulations on getting your freedom.” Damien wrapped her in a warm embrace, his voice filled with concern. “It’s time to be yourself again.”

    He gently stroked her hair before smiling. “Welcome home.”

    In truth, Leyla was the youngest daughter of the prestigious Holden family, one of Wrafham’s most wealthy and influential households. Since childhood, she had carried her mother’s surname.

    Now that she had left the divorce papers for Kristopher, she was finally returning home.

    Before leaving, she had already hacked into the Gordon family’s surveillance system and erased every trace of her existence from their records.

    From this day forward, the so-called “Mrs. Gordon” no longer existed. Only Leyla Thorpe, the cherished daughter of the Holden couple, remained.

    The Hideous Wife Is A Billion-Dollar Princess Chapter 3 Returning Home At Last

    Kristopher stayed away the entire night.

    By the time he finally returned to Prime Estate, it was already noon the following day.

    The moment he entered the bedroom, his gaze settled on the divorce agreement left atop the nightstand.

    One clause stated, “The wife voluntarily relinquishes all claims to the couple’s joint assets and will leave the marriage without receiving anything.”

    Kristopher’s fingers curled around the pages until his knuckles whitened.

    Pulling out his phone, he called Leyla.

    Her phone had been switched off.

    He tried once more.

    The result was the same.

    “Helen!” Kristopher barked, his voice sharp with fury.

    Helen came hurrying over from the kitchen. “Mr. Gordon, you’re home.”

    “Where’s Leyla?” Kristopher asked.

    Helen faltered beneath his stare. “She… she left first thing this morning with a suitcase. A luxury car worth tens of millions picked her up… The man inside the car was incredibly handsome. He looked very rich, too.”

    A layer of frost seemed to settle over Kristopher’s expression when he heard that.

    He strode back into the bedroom and called his assistant, Derek Carter. “Track Leyla down. I want to know her whereabouts before the end of the day.”

    After ending the call, he stopped before the window as a pulse hammered at his temple.

    So, Leyla had truly dared to leave him.

    He had assumed her demand the previous night was nothing more than a fit of temper.

    For the past three years, she had relied on him for every part of her life.

    How long could she possibly survive in the city without him?

    It would only be a matter of days before she came back in defeat.

    Drawing in a sharp breath, Kristopher crushed the divorce agreement in his fist and tossed the wad of paper into the trash can.

    There was no chance he would sign it.

    It wasn’t that he was unwilling to lose her; it was just that no one had ever dared walk out on him like that.

    Leyla had demanded a divorce the previous night, then left in a luxury car that morning. Clearly, she had planned everything in advance.

    She had never loved him. Otherwise, how could she have left so resolutely with another man?

    Kristopher let out a humorless chuckle. His jaw clenched as he muttered, “Leyla, you’ve really got some nerve!”

    ***

    A Rolls-Royce eased onto the grounds of Holden Manor.

    Looking out the car window, Leyla took in scenery that felt both familiar and strange. For reasons she couldn’t explain, her pulse began to race.

    After three long years, she had finally returned.

    Her parents, Gregg Holden and Jayde Thorpe, were already waiting for her at the entrance.

    The car door swung open.

    “Leyla!” Jayde ran forward and gathered her daughter into her arms. Tears spilled down her face as she said, “You’re finally home. We’ve waited so long for you to come back.”

    Leyla rubbed her mother’s back in gentle strokes. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry I put you through so much worry.”

    Even Gregg, a formidable titan of industry, felt his vision blur. His voice came out rough with emotion. “Having you home safe is all that matters.”

    Jayde finally loosened her embrace and brushed the tears from her cheeks, only to go rigid when her gaze landed on the scar marring Leyla’s face.

    “Leyla, your face…” A flash of concern crossed her features.

    She had spent all those years believing her daughter was happy.

    Leyla had rarely gone outside, and every phone call with her parents carried the same assurances. She spoke only of the good and concealed every hardship.

    Yet this was what had truly become of her?

    Leyla had gotten her face ruined to save Kristopher, hidden her privileged identity, and taken care of him for three years. But in return, he had held another woman at an auction and spent recklessly just to please her, completely ignoring Leyla’s feelings.

    Damien moved closer. “Mom, don’t worry. Collin is one of the best reconstructive surgeons in the world. He’ll be able to erase Leyla’s scar.”

    A spark of hope brightened Leyla’s gaze as she nodded. “Yeah.”

    Collin Holden, her second brother, was an exceptional surgeon.

    Her third brother, Felix Holden, had built a celebrated career as a jewelry designer.

    “Mom, Dad, I’m all right. It’s all in the past.” Leyla’s voice softened as she tried to reassure them. “From now on, I’ll stay right here with you, always.”

    Only now did she realize that being with Kristopher had been a huge mistake. Loving him had brought her a disaster.

    Gregg sighed heavily. Thinking of his daughter’s past choices left him torn between anger and heartache.

    “Take a few days to rest,” he told Leyla. “The Pearl Charity Gala is coming up next week. You’ll attend with Damien.”

    Gregg knew his family had made one critical mistake in the past.

    They had kept such a low profile that ignorant fools believed they could mistreat his daughter without facing any consequences.

    Gregg’s words stirred complicated feelings within Leyla.

    The Pearl Charity Gala ranked among the most exclusive gatherings in Wrafham.

    Despite being Kristopher’s wife for three years, she had never attended the event. She had not been considered worthy of an invitation.

    Gregg continued, “Since you’ve chosen to reclaim your true identity, it’s time to let everyone know that you are my daughter.”

    Leyla was silent for a moment before giving a firm nod.

    Three years ago, she had defied her parents and concealed her identity to marry Kristopher. Her decision had enraged them so deeply that they had nearly cut ties with her.

    Now, she owed it to them to make amends.

    “Okay,” she replied.

    “Now that’s my daughter,” Gregg said with approval.

    He then extended a sleek black card edged in gold toward her. “The card has no spending limit. The Holden family has more than enough money, so you can buy anything that catches your eye.”

    Leyla studied the black card, and a faint smile touched her lips.

    Only minutes earlier, she had been completely penniless. Did this mean she had suddenly become wealthy?

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress by Abel Dean

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress by Abel Dean
    👉 READ NOW

    My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter’ s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child.

    Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn’t just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby.

    To protect his company’s billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner.

    They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family’s image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn’t his.

    The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused.

    But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband’s world burn.

    👉 READ NOW

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 1

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

    I learned my marriage was ending the same way the rest of the world did: in a blinding flash of a camera at a charity gala I had organized.

    One moment, I was smiling, a glass of sparkling water held delicately in my hand, my mind on the baby growing inside me-our secret, our joy. The next, a reporter shoved a phone in my face, the screen glowing with a breaking news alert.

    “Mrs. Sullivan, any comment on your husband’ s big announcement?”

    The headline was stark, brutal. Tech Mogul Gabe Sullivan and Childhood Sweetheart Harper Nicholson Expecting First Child.

    The air in my lungs turned to ice. My smile froze on my face, a brittle mask that felt like it might crack and shatter. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, the whispers starting to ripple through the opulent ballroom like a wave of poison.

    I turned, my movements slow, robotic. And there he was. My husband, Gabe. He was standing across the room with Harper Nicholson, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She was looking up at him with tear-filled, adoring eyes, her own hand protectively cradling a barely-there bump on her stomach.

    They were a perfect picture. A loving couple sharing a beautiful secret with the world.

    A secret that was supposed to be mine.

    The reporter, a vulture sensing a kill, moved closer. “Is it true you and Mr. Sullivan have been living separately?”

    Panic flared in Gabe’ s eyes as he finally saw me. He saw the reporter, the phone, the crumbling expression on my face. His grip on Harper tightened for a split second before he let go, his face paling.

    Our eyes met across the crowded room. In that single, suspended moment, the seven years of our life together played out and died. The late nights when I’ d helped him brainstorm the code for his first app, the way he’ d held me when my adoptive parents criticized my career choice, the whispered promise last week that our baby, our son, would have the love neither of us ever truly had.

    It all turned to ash.

    A cold, quiet rage began to build in my chest, a glacial force pushing aside the shock. I started walking toward him. The murmurs in the room fell silent, the crowd parting before me like the Red Sea. The only sound was the steady, deliberate click of my heels on the marble floor. Each step was a hammer blow against the foundation of our marriage.

    I stopped directly in front of him. I didn’t look at Harper. My entire world had narrowed to Gabe’ s handsome, treacherous face.

    “You have a sixty-second head start to come up with a lie that I might actually believe,” I said, my voice dangerously low, stripped of all warmth.

    He opened his mouth, his charismatic charm already kicking in. “Lottie, baby, it’ s not what it looks like. Let’ s go home and I can explain everything.”

    I didn’ t let him finish. My hand moved on its own, a blur of motion. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the cavernous silence of the ballroom. A collective gasp rippled through our audience.

    Gabe stood there, stunned, the red imprint of my hand blooming on his skin. He didn’ t look angry. He just looked… caught.

    “Please, don’ t blame Gabe!” Harper’ s voice was a saccharine whisper, laced with faux fragility as she stepped between us, placing a hand on his chest. “It was all my fault. I… I was lonely. He was just being kind.”

    Her eyes, glistening with perfectly timed tears, locked onto mine. There was no apology in them. Only triumph.

    The rage inside me finally broke through the ice, and a single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path down my cold cheek. I felt the last of my composure shattering.

    Gabe reached for me, his voice a desperate rasp. “Lottie, please.”

    He tried to pull me into his arms, but I flinched away from his touch as if burned.

    “Don’ t touch me,” I choked out.

    His publicist materialized at his side, whispering urgently in his ear. Gabe’ s jaw tightened. He looked from the publicist, to the sea of watching faces, to Harper’ s pleading expression, and finally, back to me. The calculation in his eyes was sickening.

    “The baby is mine,” he said, his voice now clear and firm, not for me, but for everyone listening. “Harper and I have a long history. We’ re going to get through this together.”

    Harper let out a soft sob and leaned into him, burying her face in his expensive suit. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. A protective gesture. A gesture he hadn’ t offered me, his pregnant wife, standing alone in the wreckage he’ d created.

    “Gabe, what are you saying?” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “What about our baby?”

    He finally looked at me, his eyes dark with a pain that I knew wasn’t for me, but for himself. For the inconvenience I represented.

    “We’ ll talk at home,” he muttered, his voice low and tight. He began to steer a weeping Harper toward the exit, his team closing ranks around them like a royal guard.

    He was leaving me. He was leaving me here, alone, to face the humiliation.

    I stood frozen as they walked away. The weight of his public declaration settled over me, a suffocating shroud. He hadn’t just admitted to an affair. He had publicly claimed another woman’s child and, in doing so, had erased ours.

    My legs gave out and I stumbled back, catching myself on a table laden with untouched champagne glasses. The room started to spin.

    His company, Sullivan Tech, was on the verge of the biggest IPO in a decade. A scandal, a messy divorce, an illegitimate child-it would have been a disaster. But a tech mogul standing by his pregnant childhood friend? That was a story of loyalty. It was noble.

    It was a lie that sacrificed me and our unborn child on the altar of his ambition.

    As one of his security guards approached to escort me out a side door, away from the prying eyes and flashing cameras, a sickening realization dawned. Gabe hadn’t just made a mistake.

    He had made a choice. And he hadn’t chosen me.

    He had chosen her.

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 2

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

    The ride back to our penthouse was silent, a thick, suffocating blanket of unspoken words filling the space between myself and Gabe’ s grim-faced driver. I stared out at the glittering lights of New York, but saw nothing. My mind was a chaotic storm of betrayal and disbelief. The home I had designed, the sanctuary I had built for us, now felt like a gilded cage waiting to close in on me.

    When we arrived, Gabe was already there, pacing the length of our living room, the city skyline a dramatic backdrop to his distress. He had shed his jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up his forearms. He looked like a man preparing for a fight.

    He stopped when I walked in, his eyes searching my face. “Lottie.”

    I said nothing. I walked past him to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared down at the river, a dark, churning ribbon of black.

    “I know you’ re angry,” he started, his voice soft, persuasive. The voice he used to close billion-dollar deals and charm skeptical investors. “You have every right to be. But you have to understand. The IPO…”

    “Don’ t,” I cut him off, my voice flat. “Don’ t you dare talk to me about the IPO right now.”

    “It’ s everything, Lottie! It’ s everything we’ ve worked for!”

    “We?” I spun around, the fury I’ d been suppressing finally erupting. “We worked for this? I was the one holding you up when you were ready to quit. I was the one who believed in you when your own family called you a failure. And this is how you repay me? By publicly humiliating me and claiming another woman’ s child?”

    “It’ s not like that!” he insisted, taking a step toward me. “Harper is… she’ s fragile. She has no one. Her family threw her out. She came to me for help.”

    “And what am I, Gabe? Am I not fragile? Am I not carrying your child? Or does our baby not matter as much as the child of your childhood sweetheart?”

    The words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. He flinched as if I’ d slapped him again.

    “Of course our baby matters,” he said, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. He knelt before me, taking my hands in his. His touch felt alien, wrong. I didn’ t pull away, my body frozen in shock. “Lottie, look at me. I love you. You are my wife. Nothing changes that.”

    I stared down at the top of his head, at the man I loved kneeling at my feet, and felt nothing but a vast, empty coldness.

    “It’ s just for show,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. “A story for the press. Once the IPO is finalized, everything will go back to normal. We’ ll expose the truth, I promise. I’ ll tell the world that you are the one carrying my heir. We will quietly adopt our own child. Legally, it will be clean. No one will ever know.”

    The sheer audacity of his plan stole my breath. He wanted me to hide my own pregnancy. To give birth to our son in secret, only to “adopt” him later, all to protect his public image and his company’ s stock price. He was asking me to accept that our child would be born a dirty secret, while Harper’ s would be celebrated.

    “You’ re insane,” I whispered, pulling my hands from his grasp. “Absolutely insane.”

    “It’ s the only way!” he pleaded, getting to his feet. “My mother is already on board. Your parents, too. They all agree this is the best solution to protect the family and the business.”

    The mention of our families felt like a physical blow. His mother, Eleanor Sullivan, a woman who valued social standing above all else, had always seen me as an accessory to her son’ s success. And my adoptive parents, the Jennings, who had taken me in as a child but never truly loved me, were social climbers of the highest order. Of course they would side with Gabe. The Sullivan fortune was a prize they would do anything to remain attached to.

    “You told them?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You discussed the fate of my child with them before you even spoke to me?”

    “I had to manage the crisis, Lottie!”

    “This isn’ t a crisis, Gabe! This is our life! Our family! Our son!” My voice cracked on the last word. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, a primal instinct to protect the tiny life he was so willing to sacrifice.

    “And I am protecting him!” he yelled, his frustration boiling over. “I am protecting his future! The fortune he is set to inherit!”

    “He doesn’ t need a fortune!” I screamed back, tears streaming down my face. “He needs a father who will acknowledge him! A father who won’ t trade his legitimacy for a stock ticker symbol!”

    He ran a hand through his hair, his composure finally breaking. He looked cornered, desperate. “What do you want from me, Charlotte?”

    He used my full name. He only ever did that when he was trying to distance himself, to turn a personal conflict into a business negotiation.

    “I want a divorce,” I said, the words tasting like acid.

    His face went slack with shock. “No. Absolutely not. A divorce right now is out of the question. It would be a disaster.”

    “I don’ t care about your disaster, Gabe. You’ ve created mine.”

    He strode over to me, grabbing my arms. His grip was tight, bordering on painful. “You are not divorcing me. You are not leaving this apartment. We are going to see this through, as a family. Do you understand?”

    The threat was unmistakable. I was a prisoner in my own home. His home. He had the money, the power, the family support. I had nothing.

    The doorbell rang, a sharp, intrusive sound that made us both jump. Gabe released me and went to the door.

    My heart sank when I saw who it was. Harper. She stood there, looking small and helpless, an overnight bag at her feet. Behind her stood Gabe’ s mother, Eleanor, her face a mask of cold disapproval, and my own adoptive parents, their expressions a mixture of greed and pity.

    The enemy had arrived. And they were moving in.

    Eleanor swept past Gabe without a word to him, her icy gaze landing on me. “Charlotte. We need to talk.”

    My fate, it seemed, was no longer in my hands. It was a business transaction, and I was the liability being managed.

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 3

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

    “Get her things out of the master bedroom,” Eleanor Sullivan commanded, not looking at me but at one of the household staff who had materialized in the foyer. Her voice was as sharp and cold as shattered glass. “Harper needs rest. The guest wing is too far from the main living area for a woman in her delicate condition.”

    Gabe said nothing. He just stood by the door, his face a grim, unreadable mask, as Harper offered me a small, tremulous smile of pure, venomous victory. My adoptive mother, Carol Jennings, rushed to Harper’ s side, clucking over her like a hen.

    “You poor dear, you must be exhausted. Let’ s get you settled in.”

    My adoptive father, Robert, simply gave me a look of profound disappointment, as if my very presence was a stain on the family’ s reputation.

    I was being usurped in my own home, and my husband, the man who had vowed to protect me, was standing by and letting it happen. The staff, loyal to the man who signed their paychecks, began moving my clothes, my books, my life, out of the room I had shared with Gabe and into a small, sterile guest room at the back of the penthouse.

    The master suite, with its panoramic views of the city and the bed where our child was conceived, was now hers.

    “This is temporary, Charlotte,” Gabe said later, after the jackals had settled their chosen one into her new den. He found me standing in the middle of the cramped guest room, surrounded by boxes of my belongings. “Just until the media attention dies down.”

    “Temporary?” I echoed, my voice hollow. “You’ ve moved another woman into our bed, Gabe. There is nothing temporary about that.”

    “It’ s for appearances!” he hissed, his patience wearing thin. “Harper needs to be seen here. My mother insisted. It solidifies the story.”

    “And what about our story? What about the truth?”

    “The truth doesn’ t matter right now! Only the narrative does!”

    Over the next few days, my life became a waking nightmare. I was a ghost in my own home. Gabe was consumed with work, orchestrating the IPO launch, and when he was home, he was with Harper. I would hear them laughing in the living room, see them sharing meals on the terrace. Eleanor had taken over the household, directing the staff to cater to Harper’ s every whim, from organic prenatal smoothies to specialized pillows.

    My own pregnancy was ignored. A non-entity. When I experienced morning sickness, the cook told me Mrs. Sullivan had instructed her to prepare only the foods on Harper’ s approved diet plan. When I tried to speak to Gabe, he was always in a meeting or on a call. He was avoiding me, hiding behind the wall of his ambition.

    My adoptive parents were no better. They visited daily, not to see me, but to fawn over Harper and strategize with Eleanor about how best to present the “new family” to the press. They saw Harper’ s baby as a golden ticket, a direct heir to the Sullivan empire, and they were hitching their wagon to it with sickening enthusiasm.

    I was completely and utterly alone, a prisoner in a home that no longer felt like mine, carrying a child whose existence was an inconvenience to everyone.

    One afternoon, I found Harper in my studio. My private space. She was running her hands over my architectural models, a faint, condescending smile on her lips.

    “You’ re very talented,” she said, without turning around. “It’ s a shame you’ ll have to give it all up.”

    “I have no intention of giving anything up,” I said, my voice tight.

    She finally turned to face me, her expression one of faux sympathy. “Oh, darling. You still don’ t get it, do you? You’ re the past, Charlotte. I’ m the future. Gabe feels a responsibility to you, of course. But his heart… his heart has always been with me.”

    “Get out of my studio,” I said, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

    “This isn’t your studio anymore,” she purred, trailing a finger along the edge of my drafting table. “Soon, this will be the nursery. Gabe and I were just discussing it. We think a celestial theme would be lovely, don’ t you?”

    Something inside me snapped. I lunged at her, my vision blurring with red-hot rage. I didn’ t know what I intended to do, only that I couldn’t stand her smug, triumphant face for another second.

    But before I could reach her, a hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back. It was Gabe. He had come in silently, drawn by our raised voices.

    He pulled me behind him, shielding Harper as if I were the threat. As if I were the monster.

    “Charlotte, what the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his eyes blazing with anger.

    “She’ s trying to hurt the baby!” Harper cried, clutching her stomach and stumbling backward dramatically. “Gabe, I’ m scared!”

    “I didn’ t touch her!” I yelled, struggling against his grip. “She’ s lying!”

    But Gabe wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was looking at Harper, his expression softening with concern. He rushed to her side, helping her to a chair, speaking to her in low, soothing tones.

    He believed her. Without a moment’ s hesitation, he believed her over me.

    That was the moment I understood. This wasn’t just about the IPO. This wasn’t a temporary arrangement. This was a coup. And I had already lost.

    Later that evening, Eleanor Sullivan came to my room. She didn’ t knock. She entered with the air of a prison warden, my adoptive parents trailing behind her like obedient lapdogs.

    “You have become a problem, Charlotte,” Eleanor said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “Your instability is a risk to the company. To my son. To my grandchild.”

    She slid a document onto the small desk. A contract.

    “This is a post-nuptial agreement,” she explained. “It outlines the terms of your future with Gabe. You will remain married until after the IPO. You will make no public statements. You will cede all parental rights of Harper’ s child to Gabe. In exchange, you will be well compensated.”

    And then came the final, devastating blow.

    “Furthermore,” she continued, her eyes as cold as a winter sea, “Harper has informed us that you were unfaithful to my son. She said you confessed to her that your child may not even be Gabe’ s. Given your violent outburst today, we cannot risk the scandal of a contested paternity. It is too messy.”

    My blood ran cold. “That’ s a lie. That’ s a disgusting lie.”

    “It doesn’ t matter,” Eleanor said flatly. “The perception is what matters. Therefore, you will terminate the pregnancy. Immediately.”

    The air left my body. I looked from Eleanor’ s merciless face to my adoptive parents. They wouldn’ t meet my eyes. They were complicit. They were selling me, and my child, for a piece of the Sullivan pie.

    “No,” I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. “No. I won’ t.”

    Eleanor’ s lips curved into a cruel smile. “I’ m afraid you don’ t have a choice. The appointment is tomorrow morning. You can either walk in there yourself, or my men will carry you.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir by Bae Writes

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir by Bae Writes
    👉 READ NOW

    One lab error. Two betrayals. And a billionaire who doesn’t believe in accidents.
    Emily Vance thought she was carrying a miracle. After her fiancé, Julian, ended up in a coma following a horrific car crash, she underwent IVF to keep his legacy alive. It was supposed to be her anchor. Instead, a clinical mix-up reveals that the child in her womb isn’t Julian’s at all. It belongs to Alistair Wolfe, a man whose name is synonymous with ruthless power and a heart made of ice.
    The nightmare doesn’t stop at the doctor’s office. When Julian finally wakes up, he doesn’t call for Emily. He calls for her stepsister, Chloe, revealing a secret affair that turns Emily’s years of loyalty into a joke.
    Backed into a corner by a family ready to sell her to a predatory debt collector to save their failing business, Emily is left with a devastating choice. Her doctors warn her that this is her last chance at motherhood. To keep her baby and escape her family’s reach, she has to make a deal with the wolf at the door.
    Alistair Wolfe wants his heir. Emily wants protection.
    No love. No strings. Just a temporary union until the child is born. But as Emily moves into Alistair’s world, she quickly learns that playing the wife of a man like Alistair is a high-stakes game where the heart is the first thing you lose.

    👉 READ NOW

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 1 A Clinical Nightmare

    I’m staring at a document that just erased the last thread of my sanity.
    I’ve pinched myself so many times that my skin has turned bright pink. Yet…I haven’t woken up from this nightmare that seems to be my life and reality.
    Dr. Miller sits across from me, his hands folded over a tan folder, looking everywhere but at my face.
    “Can…can you repeat yourself?” I ask the doctor, hoping that I misheard him the first time. Because this can’t be real. This can’t be real.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Emily,” he says. His voice is small, lacking the professional confidence he usually carries. “There was a clerical error in the lab. A mislabeling during the cryopreservation retrieval.”
    “What…what does that mean?”
    He adjusts in his seat. “The embryo we implanted… it wasn’t created with Julian Thorne’s samples. The sperm used belonged to another donor.”
    I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling the slight curve of my belly through the thin fabric of my floral dress. This child is my anchor. Since Julian’s car spun out on that rain-slicked highway a month ago, this pregnancy has been the only thing keeping me from sinking. The doctors said Julian might never wake up from the coma, and his parents begged me to use the samples he’d frozen before we even got engaged. They wanted a piece of him to live on. I wanted it more.
    “No,” I say, shaking my head slowly. My voice is so calm it surprises me. “No, that’s not right. We… we used Julian’s sample. That’s what we agreed on. That’s what I signed for.”
    “Miss Emily-“
    “I went through weeks of treatment,” I snap, and the calm in my voice is gone. “Hormones. Injections. Blood tests. You told me everything was fine. You told me this would work.”
    “It did work,” he says gently. “You are pregnant.” Then his voice reduces. “But the biological father is not Julian Thorne.”
    A tear rolls down my cheek before I can stop it, and I angrily swat it away.
    “That’s not my child,” I say confidently, as if my confidence can erase the truth.
    “It is your child,” he says. “Genetically, you are the mother.”
    I glare at him for a few seconds and then I laugh. It’s a bitter, humorless sound. “It’s not my child with my fiancé. I wanted a baby with the man I love. The man I’m going to marry. I did everything right. I followed every step. I trusted you.”
    “I understand how difficult this is-“
    “No, you don’t!” I yell, banging my shaking hands against the table. “You don’t understand what this means.”
    Because Julian might never wake up. Because this child was supposed to be the only piece of him I’d have left. Because I built my entire future around this one thing.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “You’re sorry?” I scoff. “You didn’t lose my luggage, Doctor. You lost the last living piece of my fiancé. Julian is in a coma. He might never wake up, and you’ve filled me with-with what? Some random guy’s DNA?”
    The irony is a jagged pill in my throat. I spent six weeks pumping myself full of hormones, bruising my thighs with needles.
    “I want it out,” I say calmly. “Terminate the pregnancy. We’ll redo the cycle. I’m not carrying a ‘coding error’ to term.”
    “Miss Emily. The hospital board is prepared to offer you a settlement of one million dollars,” Dr. Carter continues quickly, his face pale. “Along with a full refund and the best prenatal care money can buy, provided you sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
    I stand up so fast my chair screeches against the linoleum. One million dollars. They want to pay me off for a stranger’s child. I look at the framed degrees on his wall, the anatomical charts, the little plastic models of life, and I feel a wave of heat wash over my neck. My skin feels too tight for my body.
    “One million dollars?” I whisper. Another tear slides down my face and that chilling calm returns. I am slipping between calm and rage, and I have no way of controlling it.
    “I… I don’t want your money,” I say. “I want this,” I point to my belly. “Gone.”
    His expression tightens. “I’m afraid that may not be advisable-“
    “I don’t care. Get. Rid. Of. It.”
    “That would be a mistake.”
    The voice is like a low vibration, commanding and cold. I spin around to see a man standing by the doorframe. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing an expensive-looking charcoal suit. His eyes are a piercing, unforgiving grey, and they are fixed directly on me.
    Dr. Carter stands up so fast he nearly trips. “Mr. Wolfe. I didn’t realize you were on the premises.”
    “I tend to move quickly when my assets are mishandled, Doctor,” the man says. He steps into the room, and the space suddenly feels half its size. He doesn’t look at the doctor; he looks at me, scanning me with a clinical, predatory intensity.
    His presence is so intense and intimidating that I almost feel the need to step back. But I don’t. I struggle with every bone in my body to maintain my composure.
    Mr. Intimidating reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick, matte-black business card onto the desk. Alistair Wolfe. CEO, Wolfe Industries.
    My lips part slightly. This is the man who has effectively automated half the logistics firms in the country. He is the “Ghost of Wall Street.”
    “I am the biological father of the child you’re carrying,” Alistair says. His tone isn’t apologetic; it is a statement of fact. “And I have no intention of letting you terminate. Carry the pregnancy to term. Hand the child over to me the moment it’s born, and I will deposit one hundred million dollars into an account of your choosing.”
    I take a step back until my calves hit the guest chair. I stare at him, my breath hitching. My calm changes to that hot feeling in my chest and I clench my fists. “You’re insane.”
    Dr. Carter’s eyes widen and Mr. Intimidating frowns. “What?”
    “You’re insane,” I repeat. “My fiancé is lying in the hospital in a coma and you think you can pay me to have your baby and not his?”
    “Two hundred mi-“
    “I don’t care about your money!” I snap. “I want my life back. I want my fiancé’s child.”
    Alistair’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it turns to stone. “Money buys time, Ms. Vance. And right now, you’re out of it.”
    “What does that mean?”
    He signals to Dr. Carter, who hands me another report from his table. “Your latest screenings came back this morning. Your uterine lining is… it’s significantly thinner than we anticipated. The hormonal stress of this IVF cycle has caused severe scarring.”
    He pauses, looking at Alistair, then back to me. “If you terminate this pregnancy, the damage will be irreversible. The likelihood of a successful second implantation is virtually zero. You would be permanently infertile.”
    My head spins, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. “That…that’s not true. You can give me some kind of injection. You can perform a surgery.”
    “Those aren’t feasible options Miss Emily.”
    The dream of a house with a tire swing, of a little boy with Julian’s messy blonde hair, it all starts to evaporate like mist. If I end this, I end everything. I will never be a mother. Not with Julian’s child. Not with any child.
    “Think about it,” Alistair says, his voice dropping to a silken thread. “You keep the child. You fulfill your biological potential. You get a fortune that ensures you never have to work a day in your life. And then you can have another child with your fiancé. All I ask is for-“
    He pauses when he sees fresh tears gather in my eyes. Something softens in his expression, but it lasts just one second.
    “What’s mine,” he completes.
    The dizziness worsens and now I can’t breathe. It’s too much information. I need to see Julian. I need to touch his hand and tell him I am sorry I’ve failed him.
    As if the universe read my mind, my phone on the table begins to vibrate. I lunge for it the second I see Julian’s mother’s name on the screen.
    “Emily!” she sobs the moment I answer. “Emily, come to the hospital. Now! Julian…he opened his eyes. He’s awake!”
    I don’t say a word to Alistair Wolfe. I don’t even look at him. I run. I sprint through the hospital corridors. My heart is a drum, beating out a single word: Julian. Julian. Julian.
    I reach the Intensive Care unit, my lungs burning. I slow down as I approach Room 402, my hand trembling as I reach for the handle. I want to burst in, to throw my arms around him, to tell him that we will figure out the mess with the baby together.
    But the door is cracked open an inch. And from inside, I don’t hear the beep of monitors or the steady breathing of a recovering patient. I hear a muffled, familiar sob.

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 2 Double Betrayal

    The man I planned to spend my life with is currently stroking my sister’s hair like she’s the one who’s been sleeping in a hospital chair for a month.
    I stand in the shadows of the hospital door, my fingers curled in a fist. Julian looks different propped up against those white pillows. The rugged, athletic fiancé I knew has been replaced by a man who looks brittle. But his eyes are wide and focused on Chloe. She’s leaning in so close that their foreheads touch.
    “I was coming to see you that night,” Julian whispers. “I was in the car because I couldn’t wait another day to tell Emily that the wedding was a mistake. I was rushing to her to call it off, Chloe. The rain…I just didn’t see the truck coming.”
    Chloe lets out a strangled sob, burying her face in the side of his mattress. “You almost died for us,” she wails. “I’ve been so scared, Julian. Having to watch her play the grieving girlfriend when I’m the one who actually loves you.”
    The air in the hallway turns to ice. Every sacrifice I’ve made over the last four weeks comes to my mind. I think of the needles I stuck into my thighs for the IVF. I think of the crushing guilt I felt, believing he’d crashed that car because he was rushing home to me. I think of the child growing inside me, the child that belongs to a cold-eyed stranger named Alistair Wolfe, all because I wanted to give Julian’s parents a piece of their son before he slipped away.
    I push the door open and step into the room. The moment the light hits them, Chloe jerks away. Julian looks toward me, his eyes wide and glassy. He doesn’t hold my gaze for a second before his cheeks flush pink and he looks away at the ceiling.
    Before I can find my voice, a sound comes from behind me. I turn to see Julian’s mother standing there with a cardboard tray of coffees. Her eyes are rimmed with red and she looks like she hasn’t slept in a week.
    “Emily, dear, you’re white as a sheet,” she says. She looks at my stomach with a hopeful, watery smile. “How did the appointment go? Is our little miracle holding on?”
    I look at her, the woman who has treated me like a daughter for three years, then at Julian. The coward is still staring at the ceiling. The truth about Alistair Wolfe’s baby sits like a mouthful of ash in my throat.
    “It didn’t work,” I say. My voice is steady, devoid of grief in a way that surprises me. “The IVF failed. There is no baby.”
    The older woman’s face seems to collapse. She reaches for the back of a plastic chair to steady herself. “Oh, Emily. No. Not after everything. I’m so sorry.”
    I watch Chloe out of the corner of my eye. She’s staring at me, her mouth slightly open in a mock expression of shock. She brings a lace handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing at tears that aren’t there.
    “Oh, Emily, that’s devastating,” Chloe says. She stands up and moves toward me. She looks at the mother with a mournful expression before turning that gaze back to me. Her eyes don’t look sad. If anything, they’re bright. “I know how much you wanted this. We all did.”
    She stops a foot away from me. “But maybe,” Chloe continues, her tone dropping into a whisper, “maybe it’s probably for the best, isn’t it? Everything is so complicated right now with Julian’s recovery. Now you don’t have that burden holding you back. You can focus on yourself for once.”
    The word burden rings in my ears like a bell.
    A strange, freezing calm settles over me. The heat in the room seems to vanish, replaced by a clarity so clear it feels like a veil dropped from my eyes. I think of the hormones I pumped into my body. I think of the way I sat by Julian’s bed, whispering to him about a child I thought would save his family’s spirit.
    The rage I feel is not something I’ve ever felt before. It just sits there, a blinding, white-hot stillness that dictates my next move.
    Before I can even process, my hand goes up with a speed that catches her completely off guard. The sound of my palm hitting her cheek is loud in the small room.
    Chloe’s head snaps to the side and stumbles back, a red handprint blooming across her skin.
    “Emily!” Julian shouts from the bed. He tries to sit up, his face contorting in pain as his monitors begin to beep a frantic, irregular rhythm. “What the hell are you doing?”
    I don’t answer him. I grab Chloe by the collar of her silk blouse, dragging her toward the side of the bed. She’s screeching, her polished nails clawing at my wrists, but I don’t feel a thing. I shove her toward Julian.
    “You want to talk about burdens, Chloe?” I ask. “Let’s talk about the burden of being a liar. Let’s talk about what you two were doing while I was at the clinic trying to save a legacy that didn’t even want to be saved.”
    Julian reaches out, his fingers trembling as he tries to pull my hand away from her collar. “Emily, stop. You’re being hysterical.”
    I look at him then, and the man I thought I loved is gone. In his place is a stranger with a weak chin and a terrified expression. I let go of Chloe’s shirt, but only so I can turn the full force of my attention on him.
    I raise my hand and bring it down on his face. The first slap is for the three years I wasted. The second slap is for the guilt I carried, thinking I was the reason he was hurt. The third slap is for the farce. For the way they let me walk into a hospital and have a stranger’s child implanted in me while they were planning their getaway.
    “We’re done,” I say. “Don’t call me. If I see either of you again, I’ll make sure the rest of the world knows exactly what kind of people you are.”
    I turn and walk out, ignoring the muffled cries and the chaos erupting in the room. I don’t stop until I’m in the empty stairwell three flights down. I lean against the cold concrete wall and finally, the air breaks. I sob until my lungs ache.
    I am alone. I am pregnant with a billionaire’s child. And I have nothing.
    An hour later, I’m sitting in the waiting room of a low-cost women’s clinic on the other side of town. I can’t keep Alistair Wolfe’s child, not when it was conceived under the umbrella of a lie.
    The doctor is a woman in her sixties with tired eyes. She looks at my charts, then back at me. “I have to be honest with you. Your records show a history of severe endometriosis and a very thin lining. This pregnancy is essentially a medical fluke. If we proceed with the termination, the scarring will be permanent. You’ll likely never conceive again.”
    I leave that clinic and go to another. And another. I spend the entire afternoon driving through the city, hearing the same sentence repeated in different accents and different offices. Permanent infertility.
    By the time I pull into the driveway of the Vance estate, the sun is already setting. I head toward the study to find my father, but I stop when I hear voices coming from the cracked door of the sitting room.
    At this point, I should know not to listen to voices from cracked doors.
    “I don’t know about this, Lydia,” my father’s voice says.
    “The firm is underwater,” a voice replies. It’s Lydia, my stepmother. “And this deal with Silas Reed is the only thing that can save us now. He’s been asking about Emily for months. He won’t care about the fact that the engagement fell apart. He’s willing to pay off the primary debt the moment the marriage certificate is signed.”
    “But the rumors about him,” my father says weakly. “The way his last wife ended up… and he’s nearly twenty years older than her.”
    “He’s wealthy, Thomas,” Lydia snaps. “After the news we got from the hospital, we know that Emily needs to be handled. Silas will keep her on a short leash. “
    I lean against the hallway wall, my stomach churning. Silas Reed. He’s a predator who is known for his cruelty. My own family is selling me to a monster to save a failing business.
    My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and read the words on the screen with blurry vision. .
    Have you reached a decision, Emily? – Alistair Wolfe.
    I look at the door to the sitting room, where my father and stepmother are negotiating my life like a piece of livestock. Then I look at the text. I have no husband. I have no family. And if I lose this baby, I have no future.
    I hit the call button on the unknown number. It rings once before he picks up.
    “I didn’t expect your call,” the voice says.
    “I’ll do it,” I say. I stand up straight, my hand resting on my stomach. “I’ll carry the child. I’ll give you your heir.”
    There’s a brief silence on the other end. “A wise choice, Emily. I’ll have the papers drawn up for the trust.”
    “No,” I say, my voice hardening. “I don’t want the hundred million. I want something else.”
    “Name it.”
    I take a deep breath. “You have to marry me, Alistair.”

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 3 The Gold Seal

    I’ve just asked a billionaire to marry me to save myself from a predatory debt collector and a family that views me as a line item.
    Silence feels like punishment when you’re talking to a man like Alistair Wolfe. And the phone has been silent for what feels like hours now. I grip the phone so hard that the edge of the case bites into my palm,
    “Just a marriage of convenience,” I say, my voice sounding much firmer than I feel. “I don’t want your money. Once the baby is born, we can file for divorce. The only thing I ask for is visitation rights so I won’t be a ghost in my own child’s life.”
    The silence stretches for another five seconds, long enough for me to count the cracks in the hallway floorboards. I’m about to emphasize that it’s just for convenience but I don’t get the chance.
    “Seven in the morning,” Alistair says. “The City Clerk’s Office. Bring your birth certificate, your passport, and every piece of identification you own. My lead attorney will be there at six forty-five with the paperwork. Don’t be late, Emily.”
    The line clicks dead before I can even breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t say yes, but the instructions are good enough. I lean my head against the cool wallpaper, closing my eyes. This isn’t the wedding I spent my girlhood dreaming about. There are no peonies, no cathedral veils, and certainly no groom who looks at me like I’m his entire world. Instead, I’m trading my freedom for a shield. It’s a fair trade, I suppose.
    I sleep fitfully, waking every hour to the image of Silas Reed’s oily smile and Chloe kissing my fiancé. When the sun finally starts to bleed through the curtains, I pull myself out of bed, take a short shower, and reach for a simple navy blue wrap dress. It’s professional, modest, and hides the fact that I’ve lost weight over the last few weeks. I brush my hair until it’s a dark, glossy sheet. A little concealer and a swipe of tinted lip balm hide my weary look.
    The City Clerk’s Office smells like lemon floor wax and old coffee. It’s a drab, municipal building with rows of plastic chairs and the constant, dull drone of a printer somewhere in the back. A man in a charcoal suit stands near the information desk, clutching a leather briefcase. The quality of his suit tells me he’s the billionaire’s lawyer.
    “Ms. Vance?” he asks when he sees me. He doesn’t smile. “I’m Markson, Mr. Wolfe’s personal counsel. We have quite a bit to get through before he arrives.”
    He leads me to a small, private table in the corner and begins spreading out sheets of thick, high-bond paper. The prenuptial agreement is so detailed I almost suspect it was prepared weeks before. But that’s not possible because this marriage was my idea. It outlines the duration of the marriage, the post-divorce property arrangements, and the most painful part: full legal and physical custody of the child for Alistair Wolfe. My visitation rights are listed in a series of bullet points.
    I read every word, the ink blurring as tears gather my eyes. I realize I’m signing away the only thing that will be truly mine. But then I remember the alternative. If I stay in that house, my stepmother will drag me to marry a man who breaks women for sport. I reach for the gold-tipped pen Markson offers and sign my name on the bottom of every page.
    “Everything seems to be in order,” Markson says, checking his watch.
    A few minutes later, the glass doors at the entrance swing open, and the atmosphere in the room shifts. It’s as if the temperature has dropped ten degrees. Alistair Wolfe walks in, and almost everyone in the room turns to lok at him. He isn’t wearing a full suit today. He has on a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a pair of dark tailored trousers. He looks effortless, rugged, and breathtakingly handsome in a way that makes my throat feel dry.
    He stops in front of our table, his gaze sweeping over me with the same intensity he had yesterday. He doesn’t offer a greeting. He looks at the signed papers, then back at me. For a split second, his eyes drop to my lips, his focus lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. Then, the coldness returns.
    “Did she sign?” Alistair asks the lawyer.
    “Every page, sir,” Markson confirms.
    “Good. Let’s get this over with.”
    The registration process is a blur of stamps and signatures. Because of Alistair’s influence, we are ushered into a private office where a clerk with a tired expression processes the expedited service. Within fifteen minutes, a piece of paper with a gold seal is slid across the desk toward us.
    Alistair picks up one copy and hands it to me. His fingers brush mine, and I feel a jolt of something that isn’t quite fear but feels just as dangerous. His skin is warm, a sharp contrast to his icy demeanor.
    “You’re now Mrs. Wolfe,” he says. “I have to fly to London immediately. There’s an acquisition that needs my direct attention. I’ll be gone for three days.”
    I stare at the paper. Emily Wolfe. It looks wrong. It looks like a lie written in gold ink.
    “I’ll send a car and a team of movers to your father’s house on Thursday morning at eight,” he continues. “You’ll move into my estate. For the duration of this contract, you live with me. I need to ensure the health of my heir is monitored properly.”
    “I can take care of myself, Alistair,” I say, trying to reclaim some shred of my dignity.
    He steps closer, his shadow falling over me. He smells like sandalwood. “You’re carrying my child, Emily. That makes your safety my business. Don’t make this difficult.”
    He pauses, his gaze softening by a fraction of a millimeter. “Do you need a ride back?”
    I shake my head quickly. The thought of Alistair’s black car pulling up to my father’s driveway is a nightmare. Lydia would have a heart attack, and Thomas would probably try to ask him for a loan before I could even get out of the vehicle. “No. I’ll take a cab. I need to handle things at home first.”
    Alistair nods once, a sharp, decisive movement. “Thursday. Eight o’clock. Don’t make my men wait.”
    He turns and walks out, Markson trailing behind him like a loyal shadow. I stand in the middle of the lobby, clutching my marriage license to my chest. My heart is a steady, heavy thud. I’ve done it. I’ve jumped off the cliff, and now I just have to wait and see if the parachute opens.
    When I walk through the front door of the Vance estate, the scent of Lydia’s expensive lilies almost suffocates me. My father and stepmother are sitting in the foyer, dressed as if they’re going to a funeral. Lydia is wearing a sharp, black suit, her hair pulled back into a bun so tight it looks painful. Thomas is fidgeting with his cufflinks with a small frown on his face.
    “Where have you been?” Lydia snaps, standing up the moment the door clicks shut. “We’ve been calling you for two hours. We have someone expecting us at the St. Regis for lunch. You need to go upstairs and put on that red dress I bought you. And for heaven’s sake, do something about your face. You look exhausted.”
    “Who are we going to meet?” I ask, pretending not to already know.
    “Someone important.”
    My father stands up too, though he won’t quite meet my eyes. “Emily, please. Just cooperate. It’s a simple lunch. This person is a very influential man. He can help us.”
    “Help you,” I correct him. I feel a strange sense of power bubbling up inside me, a cold, clean anger that burns away the last of my fear. “I know it’s Silas Reed we’re going to meet. And you want to see me off because he can help you pay for your bad investments and Lydia’s jewelry. But he can’t help me.”
    “Don’t be dramatic,” Lydia says, walking toward me. “You’re a Vance. You have a responsibility to this family. Now, get upstairs.”
    I don’t move. I reach into my purse and pull out the marriage license. I hold it up, the gold seal catching the light of the chandelier.
    “I’m not a Vance anymore,” I say. “I got married this morning.”
    Lydia stops dead in her tracks. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air. My father’s face goes pale, his eyes wide as he stares at the document.
    “What are you talking about?” he stammers. “Married? To who? Julian is still in the hospital, he-“
    “Not to Julian,” I say, stepping closer so they can see the name on the paper. “To Alistair Wolfe. I’m his wife now. Which means I’m his responsibility. So, you can call Silas Reed and tell him the deal is off. I’m moving out on Thursday.”
    The silence that follows is the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard. I walk past them toward the stairs, my head held high, leaving the ruins of their plans scattered on the floor. I’m going to a house of ice, but at least the walls there would be mine.
    For a while.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Lycan King Curse: Similar Book to The Lycan King’s Army

    The Lycan King Curse by Bobbie_
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    “Our marriage was only a deal between me and my father. I don’t love you. The woman I love is pregnant and in critical condition… This marriage is cancelled!”
    Those words shattered Quinn on what should’ve been the happiest day of her life. Betrayed by her fiancé and best friend in one brutal moment, she spirals into heartbreak-and lands in the arms of a dangerous stranger after a reckless, wild night.
    But the man she gave herself to wasn’t just any stranger.
    He was the cursed Lycan king-a feared beast of legends who disappeared from the world long ago. And now, he’s back… for her.
    Framed for murder by the same people who betrayed her, Quinn finds herself hunted-until the king rises from the shadows to claim what’s his. Her.
    And she’s not alone.
    She’s carrying his pup.
    Cold. Possessive. Lethal. He will burn kingdoms to protect her, shed blood for her vengeance, and tear apart anyone who made her cry. Because she isn’t just his mate…
    She’s his cure.
    And no one touches what belongs to the cursed king.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Lycan King Curse Chapter 1 The Rejection

    I should’ve known.
    The moment Dylan stepped onto that stage with his tie undone and his lips pressed into a flat, miserable line, I should’ve known something was wrong. Something was always wrong with Dylan, I just didn’t want to see it.
    The guests murmured. My heart thumped in my ears. I took a shaky breath and stepped forward in my ivory dress, the veil clutched in one hand. My smile wavered.
    He didn’t even look at me.
    “Dylan?” I whispered.
    He turned to face the crowd instead, jaw tight. “I-I can’t go through with this.”
    Silence. Pure, suffocating silence. Then-
    “What?” I choked, the word barely leaving my throat.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, like it meant anything. “But I’m not marrying Quinn.”
    Gasps broke out across the pack house hall.
    My chest caved inward.
    “My mate is in the hospital,” he said louder now, for everyone to hear. “She’s carrying my child. And she’s in critical condition.”
    The room spun. My body turned to ice.
    Mate?
    Pregnant?
    My feet moved on their own. “Dylan, what are you talking about?” My voice cracked, shaking.
    “I can’t let her die while I stand here pretending to love someone I don’t.” His eyes finally met mine, hard and cold. “I never loved you, Quinn.”
    Pain hit like a slap. I stepped back. My wolf whimpered in my mind.
    He kept going. “I needed to prove to my father that I was responsible. That I could commit. That’s why I proposed. That’s why I played along.”
    Played along?
    I laughed. It was sharp and hollow. “You used me.”
    “I had no choice,” he snapped. “You think my father would’ve let me near the Alpha title if I didn’t prove myself with the perfect, obedient she-wolf? You were convenient.”
    I clenched my fists. “Say that again.”
    But he turned his back to me.
    That was it. No explanation. No guilt.
    Just cold-blooded betrayal.
    I could hear someone crying in the crowd. I didn’t know if it was my aunt, my cousin-or me. My throat burned. I couldn’t breathe.
    My mother stood at the far end of the room, arms folded, face unreadable.
    Of course she wasn’t surprised.
    Of course she knew.
    She always knew everything before I did.
    I turned toward her, and for once, I saw what she really thought of me. No pity. Not concerned. Just disgust.
    “Don’t make a scene,” she mouthed slowly.
    Don’t make a scene?
    I stormed down the aisle, ripping off my veil and tossing it to the floor. My father avoided my gaze like getting has always done when things get sour. Coward.
    Outside, the wind howled. My hands trembled as I tugged off the heels. I didn’t care that I was barefoot on the gravel path. I didn’t care that I was still in my wedding dress.
    I needed answers.
    I needed a name.
    I needed to know who Dylan threw everything away for.
    So I ran.
    The hospital smelled like bleach and betrayal. I charged up to the nurse’s station, my voice steel. “I need to know who was just admitted for an emergency pregnancy. Critical condition. The father’s name is Dylan Reid.”
    The nurse blinked. “Ma’am, we can’t-“
    “I’m his fiancée. Or… I was,” I bit out. “Tell me where he is.”
    The nurse hesitated, then pointed. “Room 213. Maternity emergency wing.”
    I didn’t thank her. I didn’t slow down.
    I burst through the door like a hurricane.
    And there she was.
    Cassandra.
    My best friend.
    In the hospital bed, propped up by pillows, looking pale and beautiful, was the girl I’d grown up with. The girl who laughed with me in high school, shared secrets, painted my nails, and told me Dylan was “just her cousin” when they met two years ago.
    She looked shocked when she saw me. But not guilty.
    “Quinn…”
    I laughed bitterly. “You?”
    She blinked, pretending to be confused. “W-What are you-“
    I marched to the bed. “Cut the crap. You’re the one carrying Dylan’s baby?”
    Her hands went to her stomach. Protective. Possessive.
    Like she had any right.
    “He said you’d hate me,” she whispered.
    “Hate you?” I seethed. “You sat in my house. Ate with my family. Planned my engagement party. All the while, screwing the man I was supposed to marry?”
    “He was never yours Quinn, you were just a temporary replacement” she said, a tone of mockery evident in her voice.
    “Oh, that makes it okay?” I barked out a harsh laugh.
    The door opened behind me, and Dylan stepped in, panting, sweaty, looking like he’d just run a marathon.
    His eyes widened when he saw me.
    “You,” I said quietly. “Told me she was your cousin.”
    He didn’t respond.
    “She’s pregnant,” I continued, voice rising. “With your child. And you introduced her to me as your goddamn cousin.”
    “Quinn, I-“
    I slapped him.
    The sound echoed in the room.
    Cassandra gasped. Dylan reeled back, but I wasn’t done.
    “You humiliated me in front of the entire pack,” I hissed. “You lied. You used me. For what? To earn Daddy’s approval?”
    He looked ashamed, but not enough.
    “I should’ve known. You were always a coward.”
    “Don’t talk to him like that,” Cassandra said, frowning.
    I turned to her. “Shut up. You don’t get to defend him.”
    “Please leave,” Dylan said, voice low. “She’s not well.”
    “I don’t give a damn.” I stepped closer. “You could’ve told me the truth. You could’ve broken it off like a man. But instead you waited till our wedding day to throw me away like garbage.”
    “You were always garbage,” he said, his voice rising.
    “I gave you people to rely on when no one wants to play with a cursed and weak omega like you so be grateful for that” he said scorn
    “I was just a tool to get what you wanted.”
    He didn’t deny it.
    My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall.
    “You’re dead to me, both of you.”
    I turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Dylan? You better pray your father never finds out the truth. Because I’ll make sure he does.”
    “Too bad, his father died this morning and that’s why your engagement was broken” Cassandra said with a smirk playing on her lips
    My face went pale.
    I slammed the door on my way out.
    It is raining now. Of course it was.
    I stood on the sidewalk, wedding dress soaked, mascara running. People stared. I didn’t care.
    My phone rang. My mother.
    I declined the call.
    It rang again.
    I picked it up.
    “What?” I snapped.
    “You made a spectacle of yourself,” she said coldly. “We’ll never live this down.”
    “I don’t care,” I spat. “I’m done pretending.”
    “I warned you about Dylan. You didn’t listen.”
    “You didn’t warn me. You just hated me so much you wanted me to fail.”
    She was silent.
    I continued, voice shaking. “You never loved me. You just tolerated me because it made you look good in front of the pack.”
    “You’re being dramatic.”
    “No. I’m finally seeing things clearly.”
    I hung up and tossed the phone into a puddle.
    Let it drown like the trust I once had in everyone around me.
    I didn’t go home. I walked for hours, barefoot, cold, and furious. I ended up at the old training field, the one Dylan and I used to sneak into when we were younger. The gate creaked as I pushed it open.
    I let out a scream.
    One long, raw, animalistic scream that tore from my throat like a wound being ripped open.
    Then I shifted.

    The Lycan King Curse Chapter 2 The Stranger

    The wind stung my face as I tore through the woods, paws thudding against the wet earth. I didn’t care where I was going-I just needed to run, to escape the crushing weight in my chest.
    Branches snapped underfoot. Trees blurred past. My wolf didn’t stop. Not until the pain dulled to a low throb and even she was tired of being angry.
    By the time I shifted back, my skin was damp with rain and sweat. My hair clung to my face, and I was somewhere deep in the northern edge of Graybridge-far from the pack, far from home, if I could even call that place home anymore.
    I didn’t plan on going back. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
    In the distance, I spotted flickering neon lights-Blue Moon Tavern. Fitting.
    I walked barefoot toward it, mud caking my feet, still wearing the tattered remains of my shift clothes from under the wedding dress. A few people outside started, but I didn’t stop. I pushed the door open and was greeted with loud music, stale smoke, and the clink of glasses.
    The bartender blinked as I approached.
    “You alright there?” he asked, eyeing my torn dress and matted hair.
    “I need a drink,” I croaked. “Something strong.”
    He poured without another word. I downed the first shot, then the second, then three more. The burn didn’t bother me. I wanted it.
    I wanted to forget.
    “Rough night?” the bartender asked after a while.
    I slammed my sixth shot glass down. “You have no idea.”
    “Maybe a bed would be better than the bar.”
    “Maybe,” I muttered, swaying slightly. “You rent rooms?”
    “Upstairs. We’ve got a few for overnight travelers.”
    “I’ll take one.”
    He handed me a key. “Room twelve. Down the hall, second left, past the stairs.”
    “Got it.” I nodded… or tried to.
    I grabbed the key, slid off the stool like a newborn deer, and made my way toward the hallway. I forgot the number immediately.
    Was it ten? Or twenty? No-twelve.
    I squinted at the numbers on the doors, my vision dancing. I stopped at a door that looked vaguely right. 210? 201? 120? Who cares.
    The key fit.
    I turned it and stumbled in.
    Dim lights. A warm scent of cedar and something spicy.
    I yawned and dropped my purse, letting my dress fall from my shoulder.
    Then I heard the door to the bathroom open.
    “What the hell?” a deep voice rumbled.
    I froze, heart lurching.
    A man stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet, water dripping down his abs like a slow tease from the goddess herself.
    He stared at me, stunned. “Who are you?”
    I blinked. “This is my room.”
    “No. It’s not.”
    I looked down at the key still in my hand, confused. “Room twelve?”
    He raised a brow. “This is twenty-one.”
    Shit.
    “Oh,” I mumbled. “My bad.”
    He walked forward, still dripping, still towel-clad, and just-why did he look like that? The body of a warrior, but the face of a man who could ruin someone without saying a word.
    “I’ll leave,” I said quickly, trying to back up.
    But I stepped on the hem of my dress and slipped.
    “Whoa-!”
    He caught me before I hit the floor, one strong arm around my waist.
    And just like that, the room shifted.
    Our eyes locked.
    There it was. That damn electric snap. Like the universe had grabbed my spine and yanked.
    My hands were on his chest. His skin was hot. My head spun-but not from the alcohol anymore.
    “Don’t,” I whispered.
    “Don’t what?” he murmured, his voice low, steady.
    I should’ve pulled away.
    I should’ve walked out.
    But I didn’t.
    Instead, I leaned in and kissed him.
    Hard. Desperate.
    He froze for half a second, then gripped my waist and kissed me back-deeper, rougher, like he’d been waiting for something to break him open too.
    My dress dropped to the floor.
    His towel hit the ground.
    There was no name, no promise, no future. Just breath and skin and pain and need.
    He pressed me to the wall, lips grazing my jaw. “What’s your name?”
    I closed my eyes. “Does it matter?”
    He paused. Then, “No. Not tonight.”
    That was all it took.
    He lifted me with ease, laid me on the bed, kissed every broken part of me like it could be stitched together by mouth and tongue and fire.
    It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.
    It was raw.
    And somewhere between the gasps and the tangled sheets, I gave something I’d never given anyone else-my body, my heart, my firsts.
    My virginity.
    To a stranger.
    And I didn’t regret it.
    Not even a little.
    I woke up to sunlight slanting through the window and the weight of an arm draped across my hip.
    For a moment, I forgot where I was.
    Then I turned and saw him.
    God, he was even more beautiful in the light.
    His face was relaxed, lashes dark against his cheekbones, jaw rough with stubble. He looked peaceful. Untouchable.
    I slipped out of bed carefully, grabbing my dress from the floor and wincing at the soreness between my legs.
    Last night came back in pieces-drinks, heat, skin, his voice whispering something I didn’t understand in my ear as I collapsed on top of him.
    I didn’t even ask his name.
    And I still didn’t want it.
    Not yet.
    I needed the illusion-that just once, I’d done something reckless for myself. That just once, I wasn’t someone’s pawn.
    I scribbled a note on a hotel notepad:
    “Thanks for the rescue. No regrets. – Q.”
    I placed it on the bedside table and slipped out quietly.
    I didn’t even look back.
    Outside, the town was waking. I stood at the corner of the street, unsure where to go. No home to return to. No pack to belong to.
    But for the first time in years, I felt something close to free.
    Still hurt. Still pissed. Still burning.
    But free.
    My phone buzzed. I’d forgotten I even had it.
    Caller ID: Mom.

    The Lycan King Curse Chapter 3 The Truth Revealed

    I stared at the screen like it owed me a damn explanation.
    Caller ID: Mom.
    Of course.
    The second I picked up, her screech nearly shattered my eardrum.
    “Where the hell are you, Quinn? Do you think this is some kind of game? Get back here right now!”
    I held the phone away from my face and blinked into the sky. Still gray. Still miserable. I exhaled through my nose, trying not to punch a wall or dissolve into flames.
    “I’m coming anyway,” I muttered and hung up before she could spit another insult.
    I should’ve tossed the phone into traffic.
    I walked the rest of the way home. No one stopped me. No one cared. The stares I got? All pity. The same pity I hated when Dylan rejected me, the same pity I spat on when I ran away, barefoot and broken.
    But now? I didn’t feel broken anymore. Something inside me had snapped clean, like the last chain unhooked from my ribs. It still hurt, but I could breathe for once.
    When the Arledge estate came into view, I paused at the gate and stared up at it like it was a stranger’s home. Technically, it always felt like it.
    My hand gripped the cold handle of the front door, and just before I pushed it open, I froze.
    “…the cursed Lycan King’s envoy will be here shortly,” my father’s voice floated out the open living room window.
    I froze. My stomach turned.
    “She’s lucky,” Mother added. “After humiliating us, this is the least she can do.”
    “Sold,” I whispered to myself. “They’re selling me off like I’m… livestock.”
    My nails dug into the door.
    “Is this a goddamn joke?” I roared as I burst in, slamming the door behind me.
    Father turned, barely blinking. “Watch your mouth, girl.”
    I marched in. “Tell me what I just heard isn’t true.”
    “It is. You leave today. The King’s guard will arrive shortly,” he said like he was reading off a weather report.
    My chest caved in.
    “You’re selling me to the cursed Lycan King? The murderer? The one with a trail of blood behind him longer than his shadow?”
    “It’s an honor-“
    “It’s a death sentence!” I snapped. “And you didn’t even ask me? You didn’t think to-“
    A flash. A crack. My face whipped sideways as his palm smacked hard against my cheek.
    I gasped, tasting iron.
    “Be grateful,” he growled. “You’ve embarrassed this family enough.”
    I blinked at him, stunned for maybe half a second. Then I laughed. Laughed so hard I thought I’d choke.
    “You mean after your perfect deal with Dylan fell apart? That’s what this is about? Saving face?”
    “Don’t speak unless spoken to,” my mother cut in coldly.
    “You hate me so much you’re throwing me to a beast,” I hissed.
    “If you hadn’t failed at keeping a man-“
    I lunged forward, but one of the guards stepped between us. “Back off.”
    That’s when I noticed the three men by the hallway-pack guards I hadn’t seen in years. Muscle-bound, silver-armed, ready for war.
    “You’re seriously doing this,” I breathed. “You’re giving me away like a sack of rice?”
    My mother narrowed her eyes. “It’s done. Accept it.”
    “No.” I spun and bolted for the door.
    Before I could reach it, cold fingers yanked my wrist. Mother’s grip was steel.
    “You’re not leaving.”
    I jerked, twisted, tried to shake her off. But she pushed me toward the staircase, and the guards flanked me.
    “Don’t touch me!” I shrieked.
    “Put her in her room!” Father bellowed. “Now!”
    One of the guards hoisted me like I weighed nothing and shoved me up the stairs while I kicked and punched and screamed.
    “This is illegal! I’m not a damn toy! I’m not-“
    They pushed me inside my room and slammed the door shut behind me. A key turned. Then the bolt.
    Trapped.
    Like always.
    I roared, a deep growl tearing from my chest as I punched the wall. My hand ached. Didn’t matter. I grabbed the dresser and threw it against the door. Not that it’d stop anyone.
    My breaths were ragged. My pulse, wild. My wolf was clawing to the surface, as angry as I was.
    They were really going to send me off to the cursed king like some gift-wrapped offering. And no one was coming to save me.
    Fine.
    I’d save myself.
    The window. I ran over, threw it open. Wind howled through, cold and sharp. The branches of the tree beside my room were thinner than I remembered. But they were there.
    And I had nothing to lose.
    I climbed onto the window ledge, looked down at the drop.
    Then I jumped.
    The wind snatched my breath as I hit the first branch, bounced, scraped my arm, then landed hard in a pile of dead leaves.
    Groaning, I scrambled to my feet.
    “GO!” I hissed to myself, feet pounding the dirt as I sprinted away from the house.
    I didn’t make it far.
    Just two blocks down the private trail that led toward the old woods, a black SUV screeched to a halt in front of me.
    Four men in dark leather stepped out. Lycans. No doubt about it.
    One sniffed the air, checked the picture in his hand and grinned. “She’s the one.”
    I turned on my heel and ran.
    Another SUV behind me. They’d blocked both exits but I smirked crazily, “this is my hood bitch”.
    One of them shifted, mid‑air. Fur erupted, bones cracked, and a massive gray beast landed on all fours, snarling.
    I veered into the woods. My legs were on fire. My heart? A thunderstorm.
    Branches slapped my face. My foot snagged on a root. I tripped, fell, rolled, and scrambled up again.
    Behind me, I heard them yelling. One of them burst through the tree line and lunged.
    I ducked just in time. His claws missed my back by inches.
    I turned and screamed, “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”
    He snarled. “We don’t want to hurt you, but keep fighting and I can’t promise anything.”
    Another one lunged, this one in human form. He grabbed me by the waist, but I elbowed him hard. He grunted and lost his grip, and I took off again.
    Straight toward the old creek.
    I leapt over it, almost slipped on the mossy rock, and kept running until my lungs give out.
    A hand caught my ankle.
    I crashed forward, breath knocked out of me.
    He flipped me over and pinned me down.
    “You’re done running,” he said.
    I screamed. Bit his wrist. Kicked. He growled, shifting mid‑hold, muzzle snapping toward my face.
    Just then, another voice cut through the chaos.
    “Let her go.”
    The man froze.
    A shadow moved behind him. One of the guards who’d been quiet this whole time stepped forward, dark eyes locked on me.
    “She’s the King now. You don’t rough her up before she even gets there,” he said calmly.
    “I was following orders-“
    “Then follow them better.”
    The one pinning me hesitated, then released me slowly and backed off.
    I lay there gasping, blood on my lip, knees scraped, heart racing.
    “We’re taking you now,” the calm one said, extending a hand.
    I didn’t take it.
    “You’ll have to drag me,” I said.
    He gave a small smirk. “Then I will.”
    He stepped forward.
    But I was faster.
    I yanked the dagger from my boot-one I’d hidden there months ago for emergencies-and stabbed it into his thigh.
    He roared in pain.
    I jumped back and sprinted into the thickest part of the woods, branches tearing at my skin, hair flying behind me.
    They were shouting, chasing me again, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to stop.
    Not now. Not ever.
    I didn’t know where I was going.
    But I knew what I was running from.
    And that was enough.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King by Krystal

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King by Krystal
    👉 READ NOW

    Contract Marriage+Kickass Heroine+Hidden Identity+Regret
    For two long years, Aria Smith devoted everything to Ethan Holt, convinced she was his beloved Luna and his fated mate.
    Until a trip to replace her lost marriage certificate shattered every lie.
    Ethan had never loved her. Her closest best friend Clara was his real destined mate. The adopted son Aria had raised with all her love for two years was actually their biological child.
    Before she could process the brutal truth, a sudden call overturned her whole life. She was not a lonely, powerless human orphan as she had always believed. She was the sole legitimate heir to Vincent Smith’s staggering cross-realm fortune, inheriting his massive business empire that dominated both human and werewolf worlds.
    Her heart completely broken, Aria made her choice without hesitation.
    “I am single. Legally, I have never been anyone’s wife.”
    She cut off all ties with the Silver Creek Pack and stepped into her rightful identity as a billionaire heiress overnight.
    Ethan and Clara mocked her relentlessly. They believed the helpless human orphan could never survive outside the pack, and she would soon come crawling back begging for forgiveness.
    They never foresaw the day they met again.
    When Aria returned, she was no longer the humble, gentle human Luna who lived for Ethan. She stood powerful, wealthy, and untouchable, holding unmatched commercial power that shook the entire werewolf realm.
    And right by her side stood a dominant, peerless Alpha King-someone far more powerful than Ethan could ever dare to rival, ready to burn the whole world down for her revenge.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King Chapter 1 How could our certificate possibly be fake !

    Aria’s POV
    “Ma’am, I’ve checked the system three times. There’s no marriage record under your name. Are you certain about the date?”

    I stood frozen outside the County Clerk’s office, the clerk’s words still ringing in my ears.

    Two years. Two years of believing I was Ethan Holt’s wife, his Luna.

    As the only human Luna, we had also applied for a marriage certificate in my human community, and it now sat in the nightstand drawer in my bedroom. Real enough that I never questioned our relationship, even though we never had a mating ceremony with his pack.

    Until three days ago, when Marcus tore it to shreds during one of his tantrums. That was what brought me here today-to get a replacement copy.

    But now, standing here with trembling hands…

    How could our certificate possibly be fake?!

    My phone buzzed. An unknown number. Normally I would have ignored it, but something made me answer.

    “Ms. Smith? Aria Smith?”

    “Speaking.” My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.

    “My name is Richard Castellano. I’m the attorney handling the estate of Vincent Smith. I apologize for the abrupt contact, but it’s imperative that we meet as soon as possible. You are the sole heir to your father’s estate.”

    I blinked. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t have a father. My parents abandoned me when I was born.”

    “Ms. Smith, Vincent Smith passed away two weeks ago. The DNA test and his will are both conclusive. You are his only legitimate biological child.”

    Vincent Smith. That name was nothing short of legendary in both human society and the werewolf world. Orphaned as a child, taken in by a wolf pack, he’d displayed extraordinary business genius from an early age. As an adult, with the backing of his adoptive Alpha brother, he forged a massive commercial empire connecting the human and supernatural realms.

    And now someone was telling me that I, as his sole daughter, stood to inherit the bulk of his fortune?

    “The estate is substantial,” Castellano continued, “including commercial holdings across multiple Pack territories. We need to begin the inheritance process immediately.”

    “I need to confirm something first,” I heard myself say. “I’ll call you back.”

    The most important thing now was to verify my marriage status with my husband. If this was real, Ethan and I wouldn’t have to worry about the pack’s questioning looks anymore. I could complete the final mating ceremony with him smoothly, become the pack’s Luna, and lead them to even greater prosperity.

    The drive to Silver Creek Pack’s main building took twenty minutes.

    The hallway on the third floor was unusually quiet. As I approached Ethan’s office, voices drifted through the half-open door.

    A woman’s voice.

    “Ethan-yes-right there-“

    His voice, ragged and raw: “You feel so good, Clara.”

    Clara. My best friend.

    Then something even worse than betrayal hit like a freight train.

    “When are you going to get rid of her, Ethan? Our son is already three years old. I’m tired of pretending.” Clara’s voice was sharp with impatience.

    Marcus. The little boy Ethan claimed we’d adopted because my human body supposedly couldn’t handle pregnancy, and the pack needed a pup to serve as the Alpha’s heir.

    I couldn’t breathe. The pup I had lovingly raised was Ethan and Clara’s biological child.

    Inside the office, Ethan sighed. “Just a little longer.” His voice was cold. “We still need her. The Pack’s finances are stable because of her work. Once we’ve locked everything down, I’ll cut her loose.”

    “What am I supposed to do until then? Keep playing victim while she parades around as Luna?”

    “You know she’s nothing to me. Just a tool. Once we’ve squeezed every last drop of value out of her…”

    I didn’t wait to hear more.

    I shoved the door open.

    Clara was perched on Ethan’s desk, her blouse undone, skirt pushed up to her waist. Ethan was buried inside her, his hips driving into her as she gasped against his mouth.

    It made me want to throw up.

    “Sorry to interrupt.” My voice sliced through the air like a blade.

    They froze. Clara scrambled to cover herself, nearly falling off the desk. Ethan jerked upright, his mouth wet, his eyes wide with shock.

    I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a cold smile on my lips. “Don’t stop on my account. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

    “Aria. You shouldn’t be here,” Ethan said with mild annoyance.

    “Shouldn’t I?” My voice shook with rage. “You told me I was your True Mate. You pursued me for months. You convinced me the Moon Goddess chose us. But now you’re sleeping with my best friend?”

    “There’s nothing to explain. Clara is my destined mate.” Ethan said it flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The deal with V&A International Group needs final signatures. We need you for one last meeting as Luna. After that, we’ll give you reasonable compensation for your… services.”

    “Compensated?” The word tasted like poison. “You lied to me for two years. You used me to build your Pack’s business portfolio. And now you want to pay me off like a servant who’s served her purpose?”

    Clara walked toward me, adjusting her clothes with deliberate slowness. “You should be grateful, honestly. A human orphan with no family, no packs? Where else would you have ended up? If you’re smart, you’ll take whatever he offers and leave quietly. Otherwise-“

    I moved.

    I was across the room before Clara could finish, my hand fisting in her golden hair. Clara yelped, stumbling backward into the desk.

    “Aria!” Ethan grabbed my arm, twisting hard enough to make me gasp. Then he shoved me backward. Hard.

    I hit the floor, the impact jarring through my spine. Pain exploded in my tailbone. I looked up at him, stunned.

    Ethan stared down at me, his light blue eyes ice cold. “Touch her again and I’ll break your wrist.”

    The words hit harder than the fall.

    Something inside my chest cracked. Not my ribs. Something deeper.

    I pushed myself to my feet, my hands shaking. Everything hurt. Not just my body.

    “You’re going to regret this,” I said quietly. “Both of you.”

    I turned and walked out before either could respond.

    Back in my car, I dialed the lawyer’s number. “Mr. Castellano. About Vincent Smith’s estate. I’m ready to talk.”

    “Good. I need to confirm-inheritance requires the heir to sign as an independent individual. If married, the spouse must witness the process. Otherwise-“

    “I’m single,” I cut him off. “Legally, I always have been.”

    Silence for two seconds.

    “Understood,” Castellano said, his tone shifting, becoming more formal. “That simplifies things considerably. Are you available to meet soon?”

    “The sooner the better. I have plenty of time these days.”

    “My office then. This afternoon?”

    “I’ll see you at three.”

    I sat in the parking lot for another five minutes, staring at nothing.

    Two years of lies, manipulation, and humiliation. Two years of believing I was fighting for something real.

    But it was over now.

    Ethan was about to discover exactly what the fury of an heiress looked like.

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King Chapter 2 How pathetic

    Aria’s POV
    After signing the inheritance papers at Mr. Castellano’s office, I drove home in a daze.

    The house blazed with warm light. Through the front window I saw them-Ethan, Clara, and Marcus around the dining table like a perfect family portrait. Ethan laughed at something Clara said, his hand resting on the back of her chair. Marcus sat between them, grinning up at his father. Clara ruffled the boy’s golden hair; Ethan caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

    Domestic bliss.

    Everything I’d been too blind to see for two years snapped into clarity. The late nights he called “Pack business.” The way Marcus flinched whenever I tried to hold him. Clara’s constant presence, always with some excuse. They’d all known. Everyone except me.

    I forced myself to breathe. Not yet. Not here. I needed to play this smart.

    I walked in and schooled my face to careful neutrality. The laughter died the instant I stepped inside.

    “Aria.” Ethan stood quickly, putting distance between himself and Clara, as if that erased what I’d witnessed in his office. “You’re home early.”

    “Am I?” I crossed to the kitchen and filled a glass of water, more to occupy my hands than anything. My heart pounded in my ears.

    “Can we talk?” His voice was low, careful.

    I turned slowly. “About you and Clara?”

    “It’s not what you think. Clara’s going to be staying here as Marcus’s nanny. He needs consistency, and frankly, you’re not around enough-“

    “Not around enough?” I cut him off. “I’ve been running this Pack for you, Ethan. Every meeting, every decision-while you were off doing what, exactly?”

    His jaw tightened. “That’s not the point.”

    “Then what is?”

    “Marcus needs to be taken care of.”

    “I disagree. This is my home. I didn’t agree to a live-in nanny.”

    “She’s not just a nanny. She’s helped raise Marcus since he was born. He needs her here.”

    Of course. Because she was his real mother.

    “That’s not my problem,” I said. “If you want Clara housed, buy her an apartment. She’s not living under my roof.”

    “You’re just tired.” He raised a hand, his tone measured-managing me, like my opinion was a tantrum to be waited out. “We’ll discuss this after dinner.”

    “There’s nothing to discuss.”

    “Bad woman!”

    Marcus appeared out of nowhere, small face twisted with rage. “You’re really bad! You’re mean to Clara!”

    “Marcus, that’s enough-” Ethan started.

    But the boy was already charging at me, hands outstretched. He slammed into me with surprising force. I stumbled back, my hip colliding with the corner of the side table-exactly where I’d hit the floor in Ethan’s office earlier. Pain exploded through my lower back; my vision went white.

    “Marcus!” Ethan grabbed him by the shoulders. “What the hell are you doing?”

    “She’s mean!” Marcus wailed, but his eyes were dry-nothing but calculated defiance. “She’s mean to Clara and mean to you and I hate her!”

    Ethan reached for me. “Aria, I’m sorry, he didn’t mean-“

    I jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

    I pushed myself upright, ignoring the swimming in my vision. My tailbone throbbed from earlier; now my hip would bruise too.

    Clara burst in and gathered Marcus into her arms, stroking his hair while he buried his face in her neck. The devoted mother, perfectly performed.

    “He’s just a kid,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “Please forgive him.”

    “What a touching scene of motherly devotion,” I said. “I’m starting to wonder if he’s actually your biological pup.”

    Clara’s expression tightened-clearly she wasn’t sure how much I’d overheard.

    “Aria, as your friend, I’m very disappointed in you-“

    I turned and walked upstairs, each step sending fresh jolts of pain through my hip.

    I spent the next hour in the guest bathroom, running the hottest water I could stand. My hip had already darkened to purple, matching the bruise on my tailbone. Two injuries in one day. Both from the same “family.”

    By the time I emerged in pajamas, the house had gone quiet. A knock at the door.

    “Come in.”

    Ethan stepped inside, closing the door carefully. He looked tired. Worried. Like he actually gave a damn.

    “How are you feeling?”

    “Fantastic. Your son has quite the arm.”

    His jaw tightened. “He’s been disciplined. It won’t happen again.”

    “Right. Like the last dozen times really stuck.”

    He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I know today has been difficult. But Clara needs to stay here. Marcus needs her. She’s been more of a mother to him than-“

    “Than me?” I finished. “Yes, I’m aware. Hard to bond with a child who’s been taught to hate me since birth.”

    “That’s not-” He caught himself, changing tactics. “This isn’t about you and Clara. This is about what’s best for Marcus. He’s settled here. Taking Clara away would disrupt his entire world.”

    I stared at him, this man I’d believed was my husband, my mate. This man who’d convinced me I was broken. This man who’d built his entire Pack’s success on my labor while keeping his real family hidden in plain sight.

    He was still lying. Still manipulating.

    Fine. Let him think he’d won.

    “I have a condition,” I said.

    Wariness flickered across his face. “What kind?”

    “My birthday is next week. You forgot last year, and the year before. So this year, I want a proper gift.” I kept my voice light. “The penthouse at Meridian Tower. Top floor. In my name only.”

    He went very still. “That’s a fifteen million dollar property.”

    “Is it?” I tilted my head. “I think it’s fair-as a birthday gift, and as compensation for what you’ve done.”

    The muscle in his jaw jumped. For a moment I thought he might finally drop the pretense. Instead, he pulled out his phone.

    “Fine. Consider it an early birthday present.”

    “And the transfer note,” I added. “For Aria’s house fund. Happy birthday.”

    He tapped at the screen, expression darkening with every second, then turned the phone toward me. Fifteen million dollars. Transfer note included.

    “Happy birthday,” he said flatly.

    “Thank you, Ethan.” I let the endearment drip with acid. “You’re so generous.”

    He pocketed his phone. “Clara stays.”

    “Clara stays,” I agreed.

    He nodded and left.

    I waited until the door clicked shut, then pulled out my phone and opened the banking app.

    Balance: $15,150,000.00

    Two years as Luna-hosting banquets, negotiating alliances, building his reputation. My card had never seen a single paycheck, not a penny of Pack money. The only funds I’d ever had were fifteen thousand saved from part-time jobs during school.

    Now, because I’d caught him with Clara-because she was the leverage that finally forced his hand-he remembered I existed.

    How pathetic.

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King Chapter 3 Now it was his turn

    Aria’s POV
    I woke to the smell of pancakes and coffee.

    For a moment, still half-asleep, it felt almost normal. Then I heard Clara’s laugh drifting up from the kitchen, and reality came crashing back.

    I took my time getting dressed. Let them have their little domestic fantasy. I could afford to be patient. After all, I was a billionaire now. And their client.

    By the time I came downstairs, a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon sat waiting on the counter-the kind of gesture meant to look like an apology. I reached for it.

    Marcus lunged forward and yanked it away, the plate clattering against the marble. “No! This is for Clara! Daddy made it special for her!”

    Clara hurried over, hands fluttering. “Marcus, sweetie, that’s not how we treat people. Apologize to Aria.” Her words were honey. Her eyes, locked on mine, were pure triumph.

    Ethan appeared in the doorway. “Marcus. Apologize. Now.”

    The boy shuffled toward me, not meeting my eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

    I didn’t accept it.

    I stood, crossed the room, grabbed him, and pressed him against the wall. I took a thin branch from the nearby vase and brought it down hard on his backside.

    He burst into tears.

    “Aria, that’s too much.” Clara stepped forward. “He already apologized-“

    “Funny,” I said, landing another strike. “By what right do you interfere with a mother disciplining her child?”

    Clara’s face went white. “He’s still young… he didn’t do anything that wrong…”

    “Small mistakes uncorrected become big ones. If I don’t discipline him now, I’ll have a harder time later.”

    That shut her up.

    Ethan stepped forward and caught my wrist. “That’s enough.”

    He was right. The anger had cooled. I tossed the branch to the floor. Marcus scrambled behind Clara, sobbing too hard to even glare at me.

    “Marcus.” I fixed my gaze on him. “As long as I’m your mother, you will show me respect. If you can’t learn that, I’ll adopt a better child to be the pack’s rightful heir.”

    The room went quiet. Even Marcus stopped crying. I was smiling when I said it.

    “Aria, don’t-” Ethan’s voice tightened.

    “Don’t what?” I turned to him, sweetly. “Since I accepted adopting one child with no blood relation to me, I can certainly adopt a second. As long as you want me to stay with this pack, don’t try to provoke me.”

    Looking at their three faces, all dark as thunder, I cheerfully picked up my purse. “Enjoy your breakfast. All of you.”

    I was halfway to my car when footsteps followed.

    “Aria, wait.” Ethan caught up, slightly breathless. “I’ll drive you to the office. We can go over the Riverside contract on the way.”

    “I’m not going to the office.”

    “What? We have the meeting with-“

    “Reschedule it.” I pulled open the car door. “I have other plans.”

    “What other plans?”

    “I’m going to look at a house.”

    I closed the door and started the engine. In the rearview mirror, he stood in the driveway, fists clenched at his sides.

    The Meridian Tower was everything the listing had promised. Floor-to-ceiling windows, soaring ceilings, and most importantly, it was mine.

    Now I just needed furniture.

    The furniture district catered to Pack elite-somewhere I’d never shopped before, too expensive for someone like me. Now, walking through the gleaming showrooms, I felt like a kid in a candy store.

    That was when I saw it. A sofa in deep charcoal leather sat center stage. The tag read “Russo Collection – Limited Edition. 1 of 3.”

    Perfect.

    I was reaching for my phone when a voice cut through the air.

    “Excuse me, but I’m taking this one.”

    A woman about my age stood there, arms crossed, looking at me like I was something unpleasant she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. Dressed head to toe in designer labels, blonde hair in perfect waves, makeup flawless.

    “I’m sorry?” I said.

    “The sofa.” She gestured impatiently. “I saw it first. So you’ll have to find something else.”

    “I don’t think that’s how shopping works.”

    Her lips thinned. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

    “Should I?”

    A flush crept up her neck. “I’m Vanessa Crane. My father is Alpha Richard Crane of the Riverside Pack. And when I say I want something, I get it.”

    “That’s nice,” I said, turning back to the sofa. “I’m still buying it.”

    Vanessa’s face flushed scarlet. She snapped her fingers. Two large men in black suits materialized from behind the displays. “This woman is harassing me. Escort her out.”

    They moved toward me. I tensed.

    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

    A deep, cultured voice from the entrance-carrying the kind of authority that made everyone freeze. A silver-haired man in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit strode in, flanked by six men in dark suits. He moved like someone who had wielded power for decades and never once had to raise his voice.

    Vanessa’s guards stepped back instantly. Her face drained of color.

    “Beta Harrison,” she stammered. “I didn’t know you were-“

    “Clearly.” He didn’t look at her. His attention was fixed entirely on me. He inclined his head in something close to a bow. “Miss Smith. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

    The showroom went silent.

    “I’m Harrison Reid, Beta of Crescent Moon Pack. Your uncle Victor sent me to find you.”

    “Wait.” Vanessa’s voice came out strangled. “Smith? As in-Vincent Smith?”

    Harrison finally turned to her. “Miss Crane. I believe you were just threatening my boss’s daughter and sole heir. Would you like to rephrase your earlier comments?”

    Vanessa went from pale to gray. “I didn’t-she didn’t say-I had no idea-“

    “Ignorance is not an excuse for disrespect. Particularly when you were having her physically removed from the premises.”

    She turned to me, all earlier arrogance dissolved. “I’m so sorry. If I had known-“

    “You would have been polite?” I said. “How nice. Unfortunately, basic decency shouldn’t require a family pedigree.”

    “Please-if there’s anything I can do to make this right-“

    “An apology is enough. You can go.”

    She practically fled, her guards scrambling after her.

    I turned to the sales associate. “I’ll take the sofa. Have it delivered to the Meridian Tower, penthouse floor.” I paused. “And the matching armchair.”

    Then I faced Harrison. “Quite an entrance.”

    “Word will spread quickly. But it was necessary. Aria Smith is not to be trifled with. It will save you considerable trouble down the line.”

    He gestured toward the exit. “The car is waiting, Miss Smith. Shall we?”

    “Where are we going?”

    “Crescent Moon Pack house.” A slight smile. “Your home.”

    I was silent for a moment. My father-Vincent Smith. A billion-dollar inheritance had landed in my lap. Going to Crescent Moon was inevitable.

    “Alright,” I said. “If it’s my home, I should at least see it for myself.”

    What was meant to come would come eventually.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

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

    Chosen as the Cursed Alpha's Seventh Bride by Alibi
    👉 READ NOW

    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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