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Tag: Drama

Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace by Miaomiao

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Hollis stumbled into her family mansion, soaked in rain and wearing a strange man’s oversized shirt after a traumatizing night.
But instead of offering comfort, her stepmother and stepsister ambushed her.
They framed her for offending a powerful billionaire, demanding she pay a massive settlement.
When her fiancé Aris arrived, Hollis thought she finally had an ally.
Instead, he looked at her with pure disgust.
“We’re over. I’m marrying Kyla now,” he sneered, wrapping his arm around her stepsister.
To force her submission, her stepmother canceled her college admission and threatened to leak degrading photos of her to the press.
That night, they even spiked her dinner and handed her over to thugs to be delivered to the old billionaire’s bed.
Betrayed, humiliated, and stripped of everything, a white-hot rage burned through Hollis’s despair.
Why did the people she lived with want to destroy her so ruthlessly?
Using her last ounce of strength, she escaped the thugs and stumbled into a random hotel room.
The next day, Hollis crashed Aris and Kyla’s lavish engagement party, holding the arm of a mysterious, imposing man.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet my new fiancé,” she announced with a victorious smile.
Aris stared at the man, his face draining of all color as a terrified whisper escaped his throat.
“Uncle Alaric?”

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Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace Chapter 1

The key trembled in Hollis’s hand.
It took three tries before it finally slid into the lock. The heavy oak door of the Buchanan mansion swung inward, spilling golden light onto the porch.
She stumbled across the threshold, her body a wreck of trembling limbs. A man’s white dress shirt, far too large for her, was the only thing she wore. Its hem barely grazed her upper thighs, and the collar carried the unfamiliar, sharp scent of tobacco.
The living room was brightly lit.
Her stepmother, Beverley, and stepsister, Kyla, were seated on the velvet sofa. They looked as if they had been waiting for her.
Kyla’s lips twitched, a flicker of triumph she couldn’t quite hide as she took in Hollis’s disheveled state.
Beverley set her porcelain teacup down on its saucer. The sharp clink echoed in the silent room. Her eyes, cold and sharp as splintered glass, raked over Hollis’s body.
“Look who’s finally home.”
Her voice was smooth, but laced with ice. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back tonight.”
Kyla rose from the sofa, her face a mask of false concern. She moved toward Hollis, reaching out as if to help.
“Hollis, what happened to you? That shirt… Aris will be so upset.”
The mention of her fiancé’s name was a deliberate twist of the knife.
Hollis flinched away from Kyla’s touch, a wave of nausea rolling through her. The dull ache in her body and the fractured, nightmarish images in her head made her stomach churn. She braced herself against the wall of the foyer, fighting to stay upright.
Her gaze locked onto Beverley.
A bitter laugh escaped her raw throat. “My drink,” she rasped, her voice hoarse with hatred. “You tampered with my drink, didn’t you?”
A flash of panic crossed Beverley’s perfectly made-up face before it was replaced by practiced indignation. She elegantly crossed her legs.
“Hollis, what nonsense are you talking about? I think you partied a little too hard and your brain has gone to mush.”
Kyla chimed in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Sister, how can you say that about Mom? She was just worried you’d drink too much and embarrass yourself at the party.”
Hollis ignored Kyla. Her eyes remained fixed on Beverley, a predator stalking its prey. She pushed herself off the wall and took a shaky step forward.
“Worried about me? Was sending me to an old man’s bed also for my own good?”
The accusation hung in the air, thick and poisonous. Beverley’s composure finally cracked. Her eyes darted away for a second, a telltale sign of her guilt.
She raised her voice to cover her unease. “If you say one more slanderous word, I swear I will tell your father!”
Just then, a phone vibrated violently on the coffee table. The screen lit up, displaying the caller ID: Clay Thorne.
Beverley’s face went white.
Her hand shot out, a reflexive move to silence the call, but it was too late. She snatched the phone, trying to move away to answer it privately.
Hollis lunged.
With a burst of adrenaline, she closed the distance and slammed her finger down on the speakerphone button just as Beverley answered.
A greasy, furious man’s voice erupted from the phone’s speaker.
“Beverley! What the hell are you playing at? I waited all night! Where’s the girl you promised me? Are you screwing with me? Do you still want that investment or not!”
A dead silence fell over the living room.
Kyla’s face was a mask of chalky horror. She stared at her mother, her mouth agape.
Beverley froze, looking like a strangled duck, the blood draining from her face.
Hollis’s heart plummeted. A tidal wave of grief and rage washed over her. The proof was there, undeniable. But as the man’s grating voice echoed in her memory, a more terrifying thought surfaced.
The hazy figure from her nightmares—tall, powerful, with an oppressive presence—did not match the voice on the phone. Not at all.
Beverley’s plan had failed.
She had been sent to the wrong room.
Delivered to the wrong man.
Looking at her stepmother’s panicked face, Hollis felt no thrill of victory. Only a profound, chilling emptiness and a terrifying confusion.
Beverley finally snapped back to reality. She shrieked, lunging for the phone. Hollis stepped back, letting it fall onto the plush rug.
Frantically, Beverley jabbed at the screen to end the call. She then glared at Hollis, her eyes filled with pure venom, like a cornered animal.
“You ruined it! You ruined everything!” Beverley’s voice was distorted with fury.
Hollis pressed her fingers to her temple, a fresh wave of dizziness washing over her. The drugs hadn’t fully worn off.
She didn’t want to speak to them, didn’t want to even look at them. She turned to go to her room.
Beverley’s hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. Her nails dug into Hollis’s skin.
“Where do you think you’re going? You think this is over?” Beverley hissed through clenched teeth.
Hollis tried to pull away, but her body was too weak. She couldn’t break the grip.
Kyla stood by, her expression a complex mix of shock and something else, something unreadable. She made no move to help.
A grotesque smile spread across Beverley’s face. “Hollis, since you refuse to be obedient, you can’t blame me for what comes next.”

Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace Chapter 2

Beverley’s fingers were like a vise around Hollis’s wrist. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for Hollis’s ears.
“Clay Thorne’s suite is 803. You’re going to go up there right now and ‘apologize’ properly. Otherwise, you can prepare to find five hundred thousand dollars to compensate me for my loss.”
Hollis stared at her, stunned. The audacity was breathtaking. Five hundred thousand dollars? She was a student. She didn’t have that kind of money.
With a sudden surge of strength—more a frantic reflex than real power—she ripped her arm free and stumbled back, putting distance between them.
“You’re insane! I’m not going!”
Beverley smoothed down her expensive silk robe, a cold smile playing on her lips. “No money? What about the trust fund your dear mother left you? You’re almost old enough to access it. Or, you could always call the police. Let’s see who they believe—a disgraced Buchanan girl with a ruined reputation, or me, a respected philanthropist.”
Hollis’s body trembled with rage. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the 9-1-1 icon. It was her only weapon.
Seeing the motion, Kyla shrieked. “Sister, don’t do something stupid! Think of the family’s reputation!”
Just then, the butler’s voice echoed from the foyer. “Ma’am, Miss, Mr. Baird is here.”
The name Aris Baird struck the room like a bolt of lightning. The three women froze. Hollis’s finger remained suspended over her phone screen.
Aris. Her fiancé. What was he doing here at this hour?
A cold dread washed over her as she saw the matching, triumphant expressions on Beverley’s and Kyla’s faces. She understood instantly. This was part of their plan.
Aris Baird strode in, tall and impeccably dressed in an Armani suit. His handsome face was a blank mask, his deep blue eyes sweeping across the room before they landed on Hollis.
When his gaze fell on the wrinkled man’s shirt she wore, her messy hair, and her pale, bruised face, his expression curdled into one of pure, undisguised disgust.
Hollis’s heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. The comfort and protection she had desperately hoped for were not there. Only judgment. Contempt.
He walked past her as if she were invisible, settling his attention instead on the two women who stood waiting—Beverley with her practiced smile, Kyla already drifting toward him with a familiar ease that made Hollis’s stomach turn.
Beverley’s voice cut through the air, smooth and deliberate. “Aris, dear, I’m so sorry you had to see this… unpleasantness. Some things are better left unseen.”
Hollis watched them—the way Kyla’s hand found its way to Aris’s arm, the way Beverley positioned herself as the matriarch of a scene she had written herself. The three of them stood together, a closed circle that had no room for her.
Aris’s gaze finally landed on her—cold, dismissive, as if she were a piece of trash he had just noticed on the floor.
Aris’s looking down at her from his great height.
He reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a checkbook and a Montblanc pen. With a few swift strokes, he wrote, tore out the check, and tossed it down in front of her.
It fluttered to a stop near her feet.
“Take it. It’s a breakup fee,” Aris said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “We’re over.”
Hollis slowly lifted her head. Her bloodshot eyes stared at the man she had loved for three years.
She didn’t look at the check. She just asked, “Why?”
Aris let out a cold laugh, as if she’d just told the world’s most pathetic joke. “Why? Hollis, you have the nerve to ask me why? The future wife of a Baird cannot be a shameless woman who fools around with strange men.”
“I wasn’t!” Hollis scrambled to her feet, her voice rising with desperation. “I was set up!”
Kyla immediately shrank behind Aris, feigning fear. “Aris, she’s scaring me…”
Aris shielded Kyla, his expression hardening with even more revulsion. “Shut up. Stop acting. It only makes me sicker. You’re not a virgin anymore, are you? That’s a fact!”
The cruel words struck Hollis’s deepest wound, the raw, secret shame she was still grappling with.
“So”—Aris paused, delivering the final blow—”I’ve decided to cancel our engagement. My fiancée… will be Kyla.”
The world stopped. Hollis stared at Aris, then at the triumphant, hypocritical face of her sister peeking out from behind his arm.

Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace Chapter 3

The world stopped. Hollis stared at Aris, then at Kyla’s triumphant, hypocritical face peeking out from behind his arm.
Aris’s words hung in the air like a death sentence. The silence in the room was absolute.
But then, something flickered in Hollis’s chest. Not grief. Not more shock. A tiny, sharp spark of disbelief that refused to be extinguished.
She looked at Aris again—really looked. Not at the handsome face she had loved, but at the man standing before her, the man who had just pronounced her “used goods” and replaced her with her sister in the space of a single breath.
And she heard it.
Not what he had said—but how he had said it.
“You’re not a virgin anymore, are you?”
Not “Did you sleep with someone else?” Not “What happened to you?” Not even “Who was that man?”
He had stated it as fact. As if he already knew the outcome. As if he had expected it.
Hollis’s blood turned cold.
Her voice came out slow, barely more than a whisper. “How did you know?”
Aris frowned. “Know what?”
“That I wasn’t a virgin anymore.” She held his gaze. “I never told you that. I never said a word about what happened last night. You walked in, saw the shirt, and you didn’t ask—you just knew. How?”
A flash of something crossed his face—too quick to read, but it was there. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“It’s obvious,” he said, but his voice had lost some of its edge. “You’re wearing a strange man’s clothes. Your hair is a mess. You look like—”
“Like someone who was drugged and dragged to a hotel room,” Hollis cut him off. Her voice was rising now, a tremor running through it, but not from weakness. “Like someone who doesn’t remember half of what happened because her drink was tampered with. Like a victim, Aris. Not a cheater.”
She stepped closer to him. He did not step back, but his eyes darted away for a fraction of a second.
“You didn’t ask me what happened. You didn’t give me a chance to explain. You just pronounced me guilty. Because—”
She stopped. The words formed in her mind like ice crystallizing.
Because you already knew what was supposed to happen.
The phone call. The wrong room. Clay Thorne’s furious voice demanding the girl he was promised.
And Aris, her fiancé, standing here in the early morning, acting as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.
“You knew,” Hollis said. Her voice was flat now. Empty. “You knew about the drink. You knew about the plan. You knew they were going to send me to someone else’s bed—and you let it happen.”
Kyla’s face went pale behind Aris’s shoulder. “That’s ridiculous—”
“Shut up,” Hollis snapped, her eyes never leaving Aris. “I’m talking to him.”
Aris’s composure cracked. Just a hairline fracture, barely visible—but she saw it. The way his lips pressed together. The way his hand, the one not holding Kyla’s, curled into a fist at his side.
“You’re hysterical,” he said, but it came out too fast. “You have no proof of anything.”
“I have you,” Hollis said, and her voice was ice. “I have the way you just answered me. You didn’t say ‘I didn’t know.’ You said ‘You have no proof.’ That’s not a denial, Aris. That’s an admission.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
And in that silence, everything clicked into place.
Her stepmother’s scheme. Her sister’s eager complicity. And her fiancé—the man who had kissed her goodnight a hundred times, who had promised to love her forever—standing here, waiting for her to fall so he could catch Kyla instead.
He had not been betrayed by her.
He had been waiting to betray her.
Hollis let out a breath. It came out shaky, but she did not break.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the check he had thrown at her. She had picked it up without thinking, an instinct to not leave anything of his lying on her family’s floor.
She unfolded it slowly, looked at the number, and then let it fall from her fingers.
It drifted down and landed at his feet.
“That,” Hollis said, her voice as cold as a tombstone, “was for my dead love.”
“Keep your filthy money,” she spat. “Buy your new fiancée some candy.”
She threw the confetti of paper into their faces, then turned and ran out of the house without a backward glance.
Hollis ran blindly through the New York streets. The cold wind whipped at her face, but it couldn’t cool the fire of rage and despair in her heart. She was homeless.
The next day, exhausted and numb, she made her way back to her dorm at New York University, seeking a moment of peace.
She was stopped by her academic advisor before she even reached the building entrance. The advisor’s face was etched with pity and discomfort.
She was told that her stepmother, Beverley, had come to the university that morning. Acting as Hollis’s “guardian,” she had filed the paperwork for a mandatory withdrawal.
The news hit Hollis like a physical blow. NYU was her escape. The one thing she had earned all by herself.
She ran to the registrar’s office, but the answer was the same. The withdrawal was processed. It could not be reversed without her guardian’s consent.
Hollis called Beverley. Her stepmother’s voice was smug and victorious on the other end of the line.
“I gave you a chance, Hollis. Now, you only have one path left.”
The threat was clear.
“Eight o’clock tonight. The St. Regis, suite 803. Mr. Clay Thorne is waiting for you. If you’re not there, photos of you with your ‘wild man’ will be on the front page of every gossip magazine tomorrow morning.”
Beverley hung up.
Hollis listened to the dead tone, feeling as if the entire world had gone dark.

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August 13, 2026
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

August 13, 2026
The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle by Amigo

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After four years of playing the perfect girlfriend, my wealthy boyfriend publicly humiliated me for a rich heiress.

He sneered that I was just a poor Omega who couldn’t survive without his money.

“You’re not going anywhere without my permission.”

I didn’t cry or beg. I simply packed my single suitcase, blocked his number, and walked out into the night to reclaim my life.

That same evening, I ended up saving a dangerously handsome stranger bleeding out in a dive bar restroom.

I thought I had finally escaped that toxic world to focus on my career as a top heart surgeon.

But a week later, my ex’s grandmother suffered a massive heart attack, and his desperate family dragged me back to the hospital to save her.

After the grueling surgery, my ex’s mother tried to force us back together, while my ex glared at me with pure contempt.

I was about to reject them all when the terrifying Alpha King-my ex’s ruthless uncle-stepped out of the shadows.

My blood ran cold. His piercing blue eyes were unmistakable. He was the bleeding stranger from the bar.

I thought he would simply thank me and let me walk away.

“From this moment on, Dr. Freeman will reside at the Manor.”

He didn’t ask. He commanded it in front of the entire family, completely ignoring my ex’s shock.

Before I could even protest, his men were already at my new apartment, packing up my life.

I had just escaped my ex’s gilded cage, only to be trapped by the King himself.

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The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle Chapter 1

Colette POV:

“Colette, Alpha Colten is hurt. Get to the pack’s club, now.”

That frantic phone call from one of Colten’s enforcers had sent me running.

I had just finished an exhausting eight-hour surgery at the pack hospital.

My legs ached, and I hadn’t even had a sip of water before sprinting all the way to the VIP lounge.

Pushing the heavy oak door open, the sickly sweet scent of a strange she-wolf hit me before the visual did.

Colten was lounging on the plush leather sofa.

A young woman named Hanna was sitting sideways on his lap, with her pale, slender legs draped intimately over his thighs.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and unshed tears clung to her long lashes.

Seeing me walk in, Colten frowned impatiently. “Colette, Hanna hurt her right ankle. Check it quickly.”

Hanna looked at me with wide, tearful doe eyes. “Sorry to trouble you, Colette.”

The frantic worry that had kept me running on empty lungs instantly turned into a bucket of ice water poured over my head.

He wasn’t hurt.

He had his men lie to me just to tend to his new fling’s minor sprain.

A sharp, stinging ache gripped my heart.

I had loved him for so long, always putting him first, yet to him, my exhaustion and devotion meant absolutely nothing.

He didn’t even care to ask why I was still in my scrubs, or why my face was so pale.

I stared at her foot resting on the sofa.

Swallowing the bitter lump of grievance in my throat and forcing down the trembling in my legs, I slowly crouched down.

I reached out.

My fingers were still an inch away from her skin, not even brushing her ankle, when—

“Ouch! It hurts so much!” Hanna shrieked in agony, burying her face into Colten’s chest like a frightened pup.

“Colette! Do you even know how to treat a patient?” Colten roared, his heavy Alpha aura flaring with sudden anger, pressing down on me.

“I haven’t even touched her yet,” I explained calmly, looking up.

His brows knitted together in deep annoyance. “If you didn’t touch her, why is she crying in pain?”

As he spoke, his large hand gently patted Hanna’s back, soothing her.

I had always known he could be gentle to other females.

But seeing this tender, affectionate side of him directed at someone else today made me realize how pathetic I was.

The stark contrast felt like a silver blade twisting deeply into my chest.

I had been his official girlfriend for four years, but our history spanned nearly two decades.

We grew up going to school together.

During the holidays, I meticulously took care of his daily life.

When he was struck by wolfsbane fever, I stayed awake for three days straight to keep his temperature down.

He had known this girl in his arms for barely four days.

Yet, Colten chose to believe a four-day fling over me.

I slowly stood up, forcing my spine straight. “I’m sorry. I can’t treat this.”

“Can’t treat it?” Colten sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Our pack took you in, fed you for years, and paid for your medical degree, and you can’t even treat a minor sprain?”

I finally heard the underlying contempt in his voice.

I recognized his dissatisfaction with me and our relationship.

Above all, I recognized that my status in his heart had never changed.

I was just a servant to him.

Standing tall, I lowered my eyes and took one last, careful look at the man I had loved for so many years.

Then, I forced the words out. “Alpha Colten, I cannot treat this lady’s injury.” I paused, taking a steady breath to stop my voice from trembling. “Also, I apologize for occupying the position of your girlfriend for the past few years. It won’t happen anymore.”

Colten lifted his dark eyes, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. “Are you throwing a tantrum and breaking up with me? Perfect. I wanted to give Hanna a proper title anyway.”

His tone was so relaxed.

Light.

It was as if… he had been waiting for me to say those exact words.

“Enjoy your night, Alpha. I’ll take my leave.” I turned on my heel and walked away.

Before I even stepped out of the lounge, the mocking voices of Colten’s enforcers leaked into the hallway.

“Whoa, do you think she’s actually serious this time?”

“Please. If his father hadn’t pressured him, would an orphaned Omega ever get to sit in that position? She’s just bluffing.”

“She won’t leave. Give it a day. One call from him and she’ll come running back like a good little pet.”

I quickened my pace, practically fleeing the club.

The moment I stepped out of that room, a tidal wave of suffocating grief crashed over me.

My mother was a servant for the Alpha’s family.

Twenty years ago, she died protecting the packhouse during a rogue attack.

My cowardly father took the compensation money and fled the pack.

Out of pity, the Norton family took me in.

They let me attend school alongside Colten, tasking me with serving him.

I had no family; all my childhood memories were tethered to him.

Later, we got together.

He once announced to the entire pack at the annual mating gala that I was his.

He once bought me a diamond ring, saying he wanted to mark and marry me.

The memories violently clashed with what had just happened.

It felt like an invisible hand was crushing my heart, hurting so much I couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t until passing pack members cast strange looks my way that I realized tears were uncontrollably streaming down my face.

I turned and rushed into the club’s women’s restroom, locking myself in the furthest stall before breaking down, sobbing silently.

I let the tears wash away two decades of a foolish illusion.

When I finally purged all the sorrow from my system, ready to step out and embrace a new life…

I unlatched the door.

Before I could open it fully, a massive, towering figure shoved his way inside.

Terrified, I opened my mouth to scream, but a large, rough hand clamped over my lips.

The overwhelming scent of blood and terrifying, raw Alpha power filled the tiny space, completely paralyzing my wolf.

He pinned me against the corner wall, lowering his voice into a dangerous, gravelly warning.

“Keep quiet and cooperate if you want to live.”

The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle Chapter 2

Colette POV:

The man’s voice was heavy, strained with a clear suppression of agony.

The moment he leaned in, an overwhelming stench of metallic blood engulfed me.

The large hand clamped over my mouth and nose was slick with fresh blood.

My doctor’s instinct kicked in.

Sensing he was severely wounded, my initial thrashing immediately ceased.

Hearing chaotic footsteps outside, the man turned to lock the stall door, only to find the latch was completely broken.

He cursed under his breath.

“Where the fuck did he go?” a rough voice barked from the hallway.

“Shit, you think he ducked into the restrooms?” another replied.

“You guard the exit. I’ll check the women’s restroom! When I find him, I’m breaking his legs with this silver-laced baton. Let’s see him run then!”

The man leaned heavily against the tiled wall.

Even in the dim light, I could see his face was deathly pale, the entire left sleeve of his dark dress shirt soaked in blood.

My eyes fell on his face.

There was something strikingly familiar about those cold, piercing blue eyes.

It was as if… I had seen them somewhere before.

Heavy boots stomped into the women’s restroom.

The chaser was kicking the stall doors open one by one.

I didn’t know what possessed me—maybe it was the adrenaline, or the reckless courage born from having my heart shattered tonight—but I grabbed the man’s leather belt and threw his exact warning back at him in a fierce whisper.

“Keep quiet and cooperate if you want to live.”

Treating him like a patient who needed immediate emergency intervention, I swiftly unbuckled his belt, yanked his expensive tailored trousers down, and kicked them toward the gap under the stall door.

Then, I ripped open the buttons of his blood-soaked shirt.

Listening to the chaser checking the stalls closer and closer, I grabbed the bottle of highly concentrated medical rubbing alcohol from my bag—a habit I kept for emergencies—and sprayed it everywhere, overpowering the metallic tang of blood.

At the same time, a surge of adrenaline spiked my own sweet Omega scent, mixing with the alcohol to create a heavy, intoxicating illusion of a couple in the middle of a heated mating frenzy.

Just as the door to our stall was yanked open, I made a split-second decision.

I pulled my T-shirt over my head, tossing it aside, leaving me in only my lacy bra.

Without hesitation, I cupped the stranger’s face and smashed my lips against his.

The man stiffened for a fraction of a second.

But then, an instinctual, primal reaction took over.

His large hand gripped my bare waist, pulling me flush against his hard, burning chest.

A strange, electric jolt sparked the moment our lips met, sending a shiver straight to my core.

He turned my desperate cover-up into a deep, dominating kiss that left me breathless.

I tore my lips away just enough to snap my head toward the intruder, screaming with feigned rage, “What the hell are you looking at? Go watch your own mate!”

Male shifters were predictable creatures driven by their primal urges.

Seeing my bare, pale back and the man’s trousers discarded on the floor, the rogue’s aggressive posture instantly relaxed into a sleazy smirk.

He even let out a low whistle.

“Got a couple of wild ones having a quickie in the stall,” the rogue yelled back to his partner at the door, chuckling. “You wanna come watch?”

That single scream had drained every ounce of courage I had.

I bit my lower lip hard, my hands tightly gripping the stranger’s bloody shirt, not even daring to breathe.

“You idiot! Stop watching a live show and keep looking!” the voice from the hallway snapped.

The heavy boots finally retreated, and the restroom door swung shut.

It wasn’t until the room fell into complete, dead silence that I let out a long, shaky exhale.

I turned to face the wall and quickly pulled my T-shirt back on.

Behind me, the man calmly bent down, pulled up his trousers, and fastened his belt.

He adjusted his collar, preparing to leave…

I grabbed his arm, pulling him back, and pointed at the closed toilet lid. “Sit.”

I completely ignored the flash of surprise in his piercing blue eyes.

Bending down to dig through my bag, I said in my stern, clinical voice, “If I were someone with a severed artery, I’d listen to the doctor.”

He glanced at the medical supplies in my hand, then at the lingering scent of alcohol I had sprayed.

A faint, amused smirk ghosted over his lips, and he actually sat down.

I noticed the edges of the wound on his arm were blackened and sizzling faintly.

Silver and wolfsbane.

No wonder a powerful Alpha like him couldn’t heal.

I took a silk scarf from my bag, tied it above the wound, and then used a pen to twist it into a makeshift tourniquet.

“If you can’t get to a pack healer immediately, remember to loosen this every forty minutes for about five minutes to let the blood flow, then tighten it again,” I instructed, expertly securing the pen.

When I finally finished and stepped back, I realized he hadn’t buttoned his shirt yet.

In the dim, flickering light, his abdominal muscles were sharply defined, his broad, hard chest rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy breathing.

But what caught my eye was a savage, jagged scar on his shoulder that extended all the way down his back.

It was an old wound, fully healed, but it would never fade.

A mark of countless life-and-death battles.

Besides that, there were several lighter scars crisscrossing his torso.

Before I could pull my gaze away, the man stood up.

He casually pulled his ruined shirt together, using his blood-stained fingers to selectively fasten just two buttons, leaving his chest dangerously exposed.

Then, he reached out and grabbed my hand just as I was about to pick up my bag.

“What are you doing?” I gasped, looking up into his dark, fathomless eyes.

My palm felt heavy.

A small, cold metal object was pressed into my hand.

The man’s thumb, rough with calluses, gently folded my fingers over it.

The overwhelming aura of a supreme predator washed over me as he leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly purr that sent shivers down my spine.

“Dr. Colette… until we meet again.”

Then, he turned, opened the stall door, and walked out into the shadows with the grace of a lethal king.

The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle Chapter 3

Colette POV:

I stared at the heavy platinum cufflink in my palm, my heart suddenly skipping a beat.

Wait.

He had just called me “Dr. Colette.”

He knew my name!

He knew who I was!

I clutched my bag and sprinted out of the restroom, but the dimly lit hallway was completely empty.

The only proof that the dangerous stranger had been there was the lingering scent of metallic blood and cold cedar in the air.

Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the club and immediately dialed my best friend, Brooke.

Then, I hailed a cab straight back to Colten’s villa.

I had to pack my things before that bastard returned.

The massive villa was filled with expensive designer goods.

The walk-in closet on the second floor was stuffed with luxurious dresses and custom heels.

But those were all Colten’s props.

The things that truly belonged to me were pitifully few.

A few pairs of worn-out scrubs, some basic skincare products, and my heavy stacks of medical textbooks.

It took me less than an hour to pack up my entire four-year relationship into one battered suitcase and a cardboard box.

I left the designer clothes untouched and restored the bedroom to its immaculate state, erasing any trace of my scent and existence.

By the time I dragged my belongings to the front gates of the villa, Brooke had just pulled up in her car.

She stepped out, staring at the heavy box of medical books in shock.

“Are you… planning to give Colten the silent treatment for half a year?”

“No,” I said calmly, loading the books into her trunk. “I broke up with him. For good.”

Brooke knew me well.

I had never once uttered the words “break up” in the past four years.

Seeing the absolute deadness in my eyes, she knew I was serious.

“Good riddance!” She helped me lift the suitcase. “I fully support you!”

Colten POV:

The next morning, I was jolted awake by my blaring alarm.

My head pounded from a massive hangover.

I rubbed my temples and walked straight into the walk-in closet.

Instantly, my eyes fell on the two perfectly matched suits hanging at the front, carefully selected for my meetings today.

Colette had prepared them.

I never had to worry about the trivial details of my life.

For years, Colette had meticulously coordinated my outfits based on my schedule.

To me, regardless of how many other she-wolves I played around with, Colette was the perfect, obedient choice for a mate.

Her Omega wolf was weak and submissive.

She was bluffing, I thought with a smirk.

She threw a tantrum about breaking up last night, but she still crawled back to lay out my clothes.

Feeling smug, I changed and walked downstairs.

“Alpha Colten, breakfast is ready,” Eleanor, the head housekeeper, said as she stepped out of the kitchen.

I frowned, looking around. “Where is Colette?”

“She sent me a message past midnight, asking me to prepare your meals from now on,” Eleanor hesitated, her voice dropping. “She moved out last night, Alpha. She said she won’t be returning.”

My arrogant expression instantly darkened. “Moved out? Did she take the jewelry and dresses I bought her?”

“No, sir. Just one old suitcase and her books.”

A brief silence fell over the dining room.

Then, a cold, mocking sneer escaped my lips.

She really thinks this little stunt will make me beg?

I raised my arm, glancing at my expensive watch.

It was 8:30 AM.

“I’ll give her until eight o’clock tonight,” I commanded, my voice dripping with contempt. “If she doesn’t come crawling back to beg for my forgiveness by 8 PM, clear out her remaining scent. Let Hanna move in permanently. It’s time this villa had a new mistress anyway. I don’t have the patience to play these childish games with a mere servant’s daughter.”

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August 11, 2026
Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir by Bae Writes

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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.

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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.

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August 11, 2026
One Night With My Billionaire Boss by Nathaniel Stone

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I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.

He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.

“Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins.”

He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.

I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn’t understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.

“Showtime, Mrs. Gardner.”

Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn’t just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

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One Night With My Billionaire Boss Chapter 1

Pain was the first thing Hali Andrews registered. It was a sharp, rhythmic thudding behind her temples, the kind of hangover headache that promised a day of misery. She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to let the morning light assault her retinas just yet. She shifted, expecting the lumpy comfort of her old mattress in Brooklyn, but the sheets beneath her fingers felt wrong. They were too smooth. Too cool. Silk.

She frowned, her fingers curling into the fabric. The scent in the air was different, too. Her apartment usually smelled of stale coffee and the vanilla candle she burned to mask the scent of the city. This air smelled expensive. It was a crisp blend of cedar, cold sandalwood, and something uniquely masculine.

Hali reached out blindly toward where her nightstand should be, fumbling for her phone to check the time. Her hand did not find wood or plastic. Instead, her palm landed on the rumpled mattress. The high-thread-count sheets were indented, holding the lingering, intense body heat of someone who had just vacated the spot.

Hali froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

She snapped her eyes open.

The room was vast, bathed in the soft gray light of a Manhattan morning. But Hali did not look at the floor-to-ceiling windows or the modern art on the walls. Her gaze was locked on the frosted glass door of the en-suite bathroom, where the heavy drumming of a running shower echoed through the quiet suite.

The memories of the previous night crashed into her mind like a tidal wave. The charity gala. The endless trays of champagne she had consumed to numb the boredom. The elevator ride where the air had suddenly become too thin. The heat of his hand on her waist. The way the door to the penthouse suite had clicked shut, sealing her fate.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her veins. She stopped breathing. This was a catastrophe. This was the end of her career. If Irving found out…

Irving. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had called him three times last night. He had not answered. That was why she drank the champagne. That was why she was here.

She snatched her hand back as if burned, clutching it to her chest. She had to leave. Now. Before he finished his shower.

Hali moved with painstaking slowness, inching toward the edge of the bed. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. She managed to sit up, swinging her legs over the side, her feet sinking into a plush carpet that probably cost more than her student loans.

She looked around frantically for her clothes. Her dress, a vintage piece she had altered herself to look like a designer gown, was lying in a heap near the door. It was ruined. The zipper was torn, the fabric ripped at the seam. A visceral memory of Ezra’s hands tearing it off her flashed through her mind, making her face burn.

She could not wear that. She was naked, stranded in the lion’s den, with no armor.

Suddenly, the water in the bathroom cut off. The silence that followed was worse than the noise.

Hali grabbed the silk sheet and pulled it up to her chin, scrambling backward until her back hit the headboard. She felt like a cornered animal.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Ezra walked out. He was fully awake, alert. There was no morning grogginess in his eyes, only a terrifying, predatory clarity. He wore a black towel low on his hips, water droplets clinging to his broad shoulders and tracking down the defined ridges of his abdomen. He moved with a stiff, controlled grace. The towel hung low enough to obscure his upper legs completely, revealing nothing but muscle. His presence filled the room, sucking the oxygen out of the air.

He looked at her. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes sweeping over her, clutching the sheet. He did not look embarrassed. He did not look regretful. He looked like he was in a boardroom meeting.

“Good morning, Hali.”

Hali opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat, her voice trembling when she finally spoke. “Mr. Gardner. I… this was… I need to leave.”

Ezra didn’t respond immediately. He walked past the bed, his movement fluid yet careful, toward the massive walk-in closet. He disappeared for a moment and returned holding a garment bag and a box.

He placed them on the foot of the bed.

“Wear these,” he said.

Hali stared at the logo on the box. Chanel. She looked back at him, confusion warring with her panic.

Ezra leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Given the events of last night, and my position, we need to discuss the path forward.”

Hali blinked. “What?”

“Marriage,” Ezra said. The word hung in the air, heavy and absurd.

Hali let out a choked laugh. It was a hysterical sound. “Excuse me?”

Ezra’s face remained impassive. “A scandal involving the CEO and a junior assistant would be detrimental to the stock price, especially with a vital, confidential brand acquisition currently in the sensitive negotiation phase. A sudden marriage, however, can be spun as a whirlwind romance. It stabilizes the board. It solves the PR crisis before it begins.”

Hali stared at him. He was discussing their night together-a night where he had touched her in ways that made her burn just thinking about it-as if it were a line item on a quarterly report.

“That is insane,” Hali whispered. “I am not marrying you for a stock price.”

Ezra tilted his head slightly. “It is a contract. A business arrangement. You will be compensated.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Hali blurted out.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Ezra’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them.

“The creative director,” Ezra said, his tone dismissive, as if referring to a minor clerical error. “He is an obstacle, but hardly an insurmountable one.”

“Yes,” Hali said, lifting her chin, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. “Irving.”

“He didn’t answer your calls last night,” Ezra stated. It wasn’t a question.

Hali flinched. “That doesn’t mean…”

“Get dressed, Hali.” Ezra pushed off the dresser and turned his back to her, walking toward the coffee machine in the corner of the suite. “The car is waiting downstairs.”

Hali watched his back, the muscles shifting under his skin. He was dismissing her. He had dropped a bomb and then dismissed her.

She grabbed the box and the garment bag and sprinted into the bathroom, locking the door with trembling fingers.

She leaned against the cool marble of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a disaster. Her lips were swollen. There were red marks on her neck and collarbone, undeniable evidence of Ezra’s mouth.

She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, scrubbing hard, trying to wash away the memory of his hands. It didn’t work.

She opened the garment bag. It was a tweed suit, a classic Chanel silhouette but with a modern, edgy cut. It was from the upcoming collection. It hadn’t even hit the stores yet.

She put it on. It fit perfectly.

A chill went down her spine. The waist, the bust, the length of the skirt. It fit remarkably well-standard sample size, perhaps, or maybe he just had an eerily accurate eye for proportions.

She pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to know. She opened the box. Underwear. La Perla. Black lace. Also her size.

She dressed quickly, her hands shaking so badly she could barely fasten the buttons. She felt like a doll he had dressed up. She shoved her ruined dress into the trash can, unable to look at it.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Ezra was sitting on a velvet sofa, a cup of black coffee in his hand. He gestured to a second cup on the table.

“Drink. You’ll need it.”

“No,” Hali said. She grabbed her purse from the floor. “I’m leaving. We are going to pretend this never happened. I am going to work, and I am going to be a junior assistant, and you are going to be the CEO, and we will never speak of this again.”

She walked toward the door, her heels sinking into the carpet.

“Hali,” Ezra’s voice stopped her. It was quiet, but it commanded obedience. “Running doesn’t solve problems.”

She paused, her hand hovering over the door handle. She didn’t turn around. “It solves this one.”

She yanked the door open and stepped into the corridor. It was empty. She practically ran to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly as if that would make it arrive faster.

When the doors slid open, she stepped inside and leaned against the mirrored wall, closing her eyes. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt.

The elevator descended, the numbers counting down. 40… 30… 20…

When the doors opened at the lobby, she kept her head down, using her hair as a shield. She walked fast, ignoring the doorman, pushing through the revolving doors into the crisp morning air.

She took a deep breath, thinking she had made it. She was free.

A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb, blocking her path. The rear window rolled down smoothly.

Finley Butler, the company’s head of legal and Ezra’s right hand, sat in the driver’s seat. He looked at her with a polite, professional smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ms. Andrews,” Finley said. “Mr. Gardner instructed me to take you home.”

Hali froze. She looked left, then right. There were no taxis. The subway was three blocks away. She was wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit that wasn’t hers.

She was trapped.

One Night With My Billionaire Boss Chapter 2

Hali stared at Finley, her grip on her purse tightening until her knuckles turned white. The morning sun glared off the polished black paint of the Maybach, stinging her tired eyes.

“I can take the subway,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Finley didn’t stop smiling. “The doorman is watching, Ms. Andrews. And I believe the paparazzi are often camped out at the corner café this time of morning hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Gardner. It would be best to get in.”

Hali glanced back at the building entrance. The doorman was indeed watching, his eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of the junior assistant in Chanel standing next to the CEO’s car.

She grit her teeth and opened the back door, sliding onto the leather seat. The interior smelled faintly of the same sandalwood scent that clung to her skin. It was suffocating.

Finley pulled away from the curb effortlessly, merging into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. The partition between the front and back was down. Hali stared out the window, watching the blur of yellow taxis and pedestrians.

“Where to?” Finley asked, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.

“Brooklyn,” she said, giving him her address. It felt wrong to say the street name in this car. It was like mixing oil and water.

Finley nodded. “Brooklyn. A long drive.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Hali picked at a loose thread on the seat-wait, there were no loose threads in a Maybach. She clasped her hands in her lap to stop fidgeting.

“Mr. Gardner rarely loses control,” Finley said suddenly. His tone was casual, conversational, as if he were commenting on the weather. “You must be… unexpected.”

Heat flared in Hali’s cheeks, burning hot and fast. She felt the blood rush to her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was the champagne. It was a mistake.”

Finley hummed, a noncommittal sound. “Mistakes usually don’t involve archival Chanel.”

Hali looked down at the suit. The fabric was soft against her skin, a constant reminder of the man who had given it to her. She remembered the way Ezra had looked at her last night in the elevator. There had been a hunger in his eyes that terrified her. And she had pulled his tie. She remembered that now. She had pulled him down to her.

She closed her eyes, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She jumped, her heart skipping a beat. It was a text from Irving.

“Hey babe. Sorry I missed your calls. Passed out early last night. Crazy week. Morning coffee?”

Hali stared at the screen. Passed out early.

She looked at the timestamp of her last call to him: 11:45 PM. Irving was a night owl. He never slept before 2 AM.

A knot of unease tightened in her stomach. He was lying. But why?

Then, a darker, colder thought washed over the suspicion. The date. She did the mental math quickly, counting the days on her internal calendar.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

“Stop the car,” she said. Her voice was sharp, urgent.

Finley frowned, glancing in the mirror. “Ms. Andrews? We are in the middle of-“

“Please, stop. There’s a CVS right there. I need… I need something.”

Finley’s eyes narrowed slightly, assessing her pale face. He understood. He didn’t say a word, just signaled and pulled the massive car over to the curb in front of the pharmacy.

Hali didn’t wait for him to open the door. She scrambled out, nearly tripping in the borrowed heels.

The fluorescent lights of the pharmacy were harsh. She walked straight to the family planning aisle, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt like everyone was looking at her. The woman in the hair care aisle. The teenager buying soda. They all knew.

She grabbed the small box of Plan B. One pill. Fifty dollars. A small price to pay to erase a life-altering mistake, even if the tiny print on the back warned of its diminishing efficacy window.

She took it to the counter. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, scanned the box. She looked at Hali’s expensive suit, then at her messy hair, then at the box. She didn’t say anything, but her expression screamed judgment.

Hali paid cash. She didn’t want a paper trail. She shoved the box into her bag and walked out, keeping her head down.

When she got back into the car, Finley didn’t ask what she had bought. He simply merged back into traffic. But the air in the car had changed. It felt heavier.

“He suspects,” Hali thought. And if he suspects, he will tell Ezra.

She sat in silence for the rest of the ride, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield. When the car finally pulled up to her worn-down apartment building in Brooklyn, the contrast was stark. The peeling paint of the entryway looked pathetic next to the gleaming black metal of the car.

“Thank you,” Hali muttered, pushing the door open.

“Ms. Andrews,” Finley said.

She paused, looking back.

“Ezra is a man who takes care of his assets,” Finley said. His voice was devoid of mockery now. It was a warning. Or maybe a promise.

Hali slammed the door shut and ran up the steps to her building.

She fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking so badly she dropped them twice. Finally, she got the door open and stumbled into her apartment. She locked the deadbolt, threw the chain, and leaned back against the wood, sliding down until she hit the floor.

It was quiet. Safe.

She pulled the box out of her bag. Her hands trembled as she tore the foil packaging. The small white pill looked innocuous.

She went to the kitchen, filled a glass with tap water, and swallowed the pill. It scraped against her dry throat.

Almost immediately, a wave of nausea rolled over her. It was psychosomatic, she knew, but she still gagged, clutching the edge of the sink.

She needed to get this scent off her. She needed to get Ezra off her skin.

She went to the bathroom and stripped off the Chanel suit. She looked at herself in the mirror. The bruises on her neck were darkening. A love bite right over her pulse point.

She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw and red, trying to erase the ghost of his touch.

When she finally stepped out, wrapped in her old, fraying bathrobe, she felt hollowed out. She bundled the Chanel suit and the lingerie into a plastic bag and shoved it into the back of her closet, behind her winter coats. She never wanted to see it again.

Her phone buzzed again. It was Lia, her best friend and a junior designer at the firm.

“Did you see Irving last night? I swear I saw him at The Box around 1 AM.”

Hali stared at the message. The Box. A nightclub.

Irving had texted her saying he was asleep.

The knot in her stomach twisted tighter. He lied.

Why would he lie about being at a club? Unless he wasn’t alone.

In the front seat of the Maybach, blocks away, Finley typed a message on his encrypted phone.

“She visited the pharmacy. She looks ill. Urgent.”

Across the city, in the penthouse suite, Ezra Gardner looked at the message. The phone in his hand creaked under the pressure of his grip.

He stared at the words, his jaw tightening until a muscle feathered in his cheek. He closed his eyes, exhaling a slow, controlled breath. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he snapped the fountain pen he was holding in half. Ink bled onto his fingers, black as oil.

One Night With My Billionaire Boss Chapter 3

Monday morning arrived with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Hali stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the collar of her thickest, highest cashmere sweater. It was charcoal gray and stiflingly warm for September, but it was the only thing that effectively hid the bruising on her neck.

She applied an extra layer of concealer under her eyes, trying to mask the shadows left by a sleepless weekend. The nausea from the Plan B had settled into a dull, constant ache in her lower abdomen.

She checked her phone. No new messages from Irving since his Sunday night “hope you had a good weekend” text. She hadn’t replied.

On the subway ride to Midtown, Hali obsessively refreshed Irving’s Instagram. Nothing. His tagged photos were clean. But the doubt planted by Lia’s text had taken root and was growing fast.

She swiped her badge at the turnstiles of Gardner Holdings, the beep sounding like an accusation. The lobby was a hive of activity, heels clicking on marble, the hum of ambition and caffeine filling the air.

Hali kept her head down, clutching her coffee cup like a lifeline. She made it to the design department without running into anyone important.

Her cubicle was exactly as she had left it: cluttered with fabric swatches, sketches, and half-finished mood boards. It felt like a different lifetime.

Yara, the department gossip and Hali’s work friend, rolled her chair over the moment Hali sat down.

“Oh my god, you look like death,” Yara whispered, her eyes wide. “But listen. The rumor mill is on fire.”

Hali’s heart skipped a beat. She forced a smile, booting up her computer. “What else is new?”

“No, this is big. Someone from the cleaning crew said they found a woman’s dress in Ezra’s penthouse suite on Saturday morning. Ripped.”

Hali’s hand jerked, splashing hot coffee onto her wrist. She hissed, grabbing a tissue.

Yara leaned in closer. “They say he took someone home from the gala. Everyone is trying to guess who. Some say it was that model, Kaia. Others think it might be a socialite.”

Hali wiped her wrist, her heart pounding against her ribs. “Or maybe a junior assistant who wants to die,” she thought.

“Probably a model,” Hali said, her voice sounding thin to her own ears.

Just then, Nolan Hayes, the Design Director, swept through the aisles. He paused at Hali’s desk, picking up a sketch she had left out-a rough charcoal drawing of a structured bodice.

“Interesting lines, Andrews,” Nolan murmured, adjusting his glasses. “Very aggressive. It has a certain… disruptive quality. Reminds me of the avant-garde movement in Berlin.”

Hali froze. The blood drained from her face. “Oh, I… I was just doodling. It’s nothing.”

Nolan hummed, dropping the sketch back onto the desk. “Don’t be so modest. I need you in the concept meeting this afternoon. Taking notes. 2 PM.”

He walked away before she could protest.

Hali exhaled, sinking into her chair. Being noticed was dangerous. She had to be more careful.

A ping from her computer drew her attention. A small notification box popped up in the bottom right corner of her screen. It was from the company’s internal messaging system, Slack.

New Friend Request.

Hali frowned. Who added people as friends on Slack? It was usually automatic.

She clicked the notification.

User: E.G.

Role: CEO

Hali stared at the screen. The avatar was a black square.

Ezra.

Her breath hitched. He was adding her. On the company server. Where IT could see. Where anyone looking over her shoulder could see.

Her mouse hovered over the Accept button. Her finger trembled. This was a power move. He was invading her workspace, reminding her that he was everywhere, asserting his dominance even through a digital screen.

She gritted her teeth. No. She wasn’t going to play this game. She wasn’t his fiancée. She was his employee.

She moved the cursor to the Decline button and clicked.

Request Declined.

She sat back, her heart racing. She had just rejected the CEO. She was insane. She was going to be fired.

Five minutes passed. Hali tried to focus on a spreadsheet, but the numbers were swimming.

The phone on her desk rang. The shrill sound made her jump.

“Design Department, Hali Andrews,” she answered, her voice tight.

“Ms. Andrews,” Finley Butler’s smooth voice came through the line. “Mr. Gardner would like to see you in his office. Now.”

Hali closed her eyes. Of course.

“I’m in the middle of preparing for-“

“Now, Ms. Andrews.”

The line went dead.

Hali hung up the phone slowly. Yara was looking at her with pity. “You’re getting called to the principal’s office? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Hali said, standing up. Her legs felt like jelly.

She walked to the elevator banks, clutching her notebook to her chest. She pressed the button for the penthouse floor.

The ride up was agonizingly fast. The doors opened onto the 45th floor, a space of quiet luxury and terrifying silence.

Finley was seated at his desk outside the double mahogany doors. He looked up, his expression neutral.

“Go right in.”

Hali walked to the door and knocked.

“Enter.”

She pushed the door open. Ezra was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her. He was wearing a suit that cost more than her father-if she knew who he was-probably made in a year.

He turned slowly. He held his phone in his hand. The screen was lit up.

Hali stopped in the middle of the room, keeping a safe distance.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Gardner?”

Ezra didn’t answer immediately. He walked toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. He stopped two feet away, invading her personal space.

He held up the phone. On the screen was the notification: Hali Andrews declined your request.

He looked at her, his dark eyes boring into hers.

“Is this how you treat your fiancé?” he asked, his voice low and laced with a dangerous calm.

“I’m not your fiancé,” Hali whispered, backing up until her heels hit the wood of the door behind her.

Ezra followed, placing one hand on the doorframe above her head, boxing her in. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her again, triggering a sensory flashback to the silk sheets and his warm skin.

“We are negotiating,” Ezra said, leaning down until his mouth was inches from her ear. “And declining a friend request is a poor opening move, Hali.”

👉 CONTINUE READING

August 11, 2026
Invisible To Her Bully by Dea B

👉 READ NOW

Unlike her twin brother, Jackson, Jessa struggled with her weight and very few friends. Jackson was an athlete and the epitome of popularity, while Jessa felt invisible.

Noah was the quintessential “It” guy at school-charismatic, well-liked, and undeniably handsome. To make matters worse, he was Jackson’s best friend and Jessa’s biggest bully.

During their senior year, Jessa decides it was time for her to gain some self-confidence, find her true beauty and not be the invisible twin.As Jessa transformed, she begins to catch the eye of everyone around her, especially Noah.Noah, initially blinded by his perception of Jessa as merely Jackson’s sister, started to see her in a new light.

How did she become the captivating woman invading his thoughts? When did she become the object of his fantasies?Join Jessa on her journey from being the class joke to a confident, desirable young woman, surprising even Noah as she reveals the incredible person she has always been inside.

👉 READ NOW

Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 1

Jessa

Seven Years Earlier

Growing up as a twin sounds fun, right? Built-in best friend, someone who always has your back, someone who gets you without explanation. That’s what I had-at least for the first ten years of my life.

My twin brother, Jackson, was the center of my world. We were fraternal twins, but opposites in every way. Jackson was tall, lean, athletic, and could make friends with just about anyone. I was short, a little chunky, shy to the point of painful, and usually tripping over my own feet.

But it never mattered to me. I didn’t need a million friends. I had Jackson. He was my best friend, my other half, my person.

It was always just the two of us. Our mom worked constantly to keep food on the table, so most of the time it was just me and him. Maybe that’s why we clung to each other so hard.

“Jax, I wanna go home,” I whined, dragging my feet as he tossed a football from hand to hand.

“Jess, chill. I told the new kid I’d meet him here to throw the ball around,” he said, his brown eyes locked on the field like he was already in the NFL.

“This is boring.” I plopped down on the grass.

He sighed, dug in his pocket, and tossed me a granola bar. “Here. Peanut butter. Your favorite.”

Instant mood boost. “Yes! Thanks, Jax.”

While I was tearing open the wrapper, he straightened up, glancing at the entrance to the field. “That’s him.”

A boy about our age walked toward us, a football tucked under his arm. He had dark, messy brown hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. The kind of eyes you notice right away. And his lashes? Long enough to make me jealous.

“Hey,” he said to Jackson.

“Hey, Noah. This is my twin, Jessa.”

I scrambled up, brushing grass off my jeans. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Wow… you’ve got really long eyelashes. For a boy.”

Noah’s cheeks turned pink. “Uh, thanks?”

Jackson groaned. “Sorry, she doesn’t have a filter sometimes.”

“I just meant they’re… pretty,” I tried, wishing I could disappear.

“Jess, why don’t you go sit while we toss the ball around,” Jackson muttered.

“She doesn’t play?” Noah asked.

I shook my head before Jackson could answer. “Not really my thing.”

“Nope. If she tried to throw, she’d probably knock herself over,” Jackson joked.

I pretended not to care, sitting back down on the sidelines, but my eyes kept drifting toward Noah as he and Jackson tossed the ball. He wasn’t just cute-he was quiet, too. Almost shy. Something about him made me want him to like me.

After they finished, Jackson clapped him on the back. “You’ve got a good arm.”

“Two older brothers taught me some stuff,” Noah shrugged.

“Oh! So they’re your best friends too, like me and Jackson?” I asked eagerly.

“No. They’re just… brothers. I don’t really have a best friend.”

My heart squeezed. “Then you should get one. Me and Jackson do everything together. He’s the best best friend you could ever have.”

Noah looked at Jackson. Jackson just shrugged. Noah nodded slightly, like he got the message.

At the time, I didn’t realize how wrong I was.

One Month Later

“I don’t wanna go to the movies, Jax!” I whined, arms crossed.

“Too bad. Noah and I wanna see the new Marvel movie. You can’t stay home alone.”

“We always do what you and Noah want. What about me?”

He sighed. “Jess, I love you. But sometimes I wanna do stuff without you. You need to find your own friends.”

That stung more than I wanted to admit.

The doorbell rang, and Noah walked in with his usual smirk.

“Sup.”

“Jess, get your shoes on,” Jackson ordered.

“She’s coming too?” Noah asked.

“Yeah. Mom’s at work. I’m babysitting.”

“Babysitting?” I snapped. “We’re the same age! You’re not babysitting me.”

“I’m twelve minutes older,” Jackson shot back.

Noah snickered. “She’s definitely acting like the baby.”

I stormed off to grab my shoes, but I froze halfway up the stairs when I heard Noah’s voice:

“Man, your sister’s such a brat. Wish she didn’t have to tag along.”

Jackson’s answer was the knife that cut deepest. “Tell me about it.”

At the theater, I tried to forget. “Jax, can we get popcorn? With extra butter?”

Noah raised his brows. “Do you really need the extra butter?”

I clenched my fists. “Yes. I like it that way.”

Jackson slipped me a couple of bills. “Get your own small one.”

I headed for the snack line, and that’s when I heard them again.

“She always has to be eating,” Noah muttered.

“Yeah,” Jackson said with a low laugh. “Sometimes it’s embarrassing to be seen with her.”

The words hit harder than any punch. My own twin-my best friend-was embarrassed of me.

“Hey, it’s your turn,” a girl behind me said gently.

I shook my head. “Changed my mind.”

She frowned. “You okay?”

“No,” I whispered. “I think I lost my best friend.”

She studied me, then said, “I’m Mariah. We’re in the same class, right? You’re Jessa. Jackson’s twin.”

“Yeah.”

“What movie are you supposed to be seeing?”

“Some superhero thing.”

Mariah smirked. “Ditch it. Come with me instead. There’s a new comedy. Way cuter lead actor.”

Before I could decide, Jackson and Noah appeared.

“Jess, what’s taking so long?” Jackson demanded. “Oh, hey, Mariah.”

Mariah smiled sweetly. “Hi. Jessa and I are seeing the comedy instead.”

Jackson shrugged. “Fine. Meet us in the lobby after.”

As he and Noah disappeared, Mariah tugged me toward her theater.

“Come on. You need a laugh.”

I glanced back one last time at my brother’s retreating figure.

He stole my best friend, I thought. And he’s never giving him back.

Three Years Later

Thirteen hit me hard. My body changed in ways I didn’t ask for. I wasn’t the chubby little girl anymore-I had curves. Breasts too big for my age. Hips that didn’t match the other girls at school.

Mom always said, Girls built like us need to cover up. Layers make you look thinner.

So I wore baggy shirts. Oversized hoodies. Clothes that swallowed me whole. It didn’t matter. The teasing still came.

“Jess, you’re wearing that?” Jackson asked one morning, eyeing my loose shirt.

“It’s comfortable.”

“It’s a tent.” He rolled his eyes and left.

Mom kissed my cheek. “Ignore him. He doesn’t understand what it’s like for girls like us.”

At school, the comments started before I even reached the doors.

“The circus is in town!”

“Yeah, they brought the whale exhibit!”

My stomach dropped when I saw where it came from-Jackson and Noah, flanked by their football buddies, all laughing.

“Nice shirt, Jess,” Noah snorted. “They only had tent size left?”

“Shut up, Noah.”

Jackson smirked. “Told you it was too big.”

“Perfect for hiding that fat ass,” Noah added, sending the group into hysterics.

I turned away, pretending I couldn’t hear. But their laughter followed me.

By the time I reached my locker, my hands were shaking. I tugged the handle, but it was jammed. Mariah appeared at my side.

“Need help?”

We pulled together until it finally burst open-and trash bags tumbled out, spilling all over the hallway.

A note taped to one read: Got you a new wardrobe.

The roar of laughter around us was deafening.

“Did you do this?” Mariah snapped at Jackson and Noah, who had pushed through the crowd to watch.

Noah grinned. “She wants to dress like a hobo? Why not just give her options?”

Jackson chuckled. “Relax. It’s just a joke.”

Mariah glared at him. “She’s your sister.”

But Jackson only walked away with Noah.

I stared at the trash bag in my hands. For just one second, I wished I could trade places. To be the one laughing, not the one humiliated.

Present Day

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I groaned, slamming my alarm clock. Senior year. My last year in this hellhole.

I’m Jessa. Nobody special. Just the overweight twin sister of Jackson, starting quarterback and golden boy of our high school. The sister his best friend, Noah Carter, has made it his life’s mission to torment.

Once, when I was ten, I thought Noah was cute. That crush didn’t survive the year. Now at eighteen, he’s tall, broad-shouldered, perfect hair, perfect smile. Every girl wants him.

And I can’t stand him.

But he’s always around-because he’s Jackson’s best friend. The boy who stole my brother from me.

I roll out of bed and tug on my armor: jeans, tank top, oversized button-up. The layers hide the body I’ve been told to be ashamed of.

Time to sneak out before Jackson sees me. Before Noah’s voice finds me.

Another day. Another battle.

Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 2

Jessa

I tiptoe down the hallway, holding my breath. If Jackson’s awake, he’ll have some comment locked and loaded about my clothes, my hair, or just… me. I’d rather start the day without it.

Too late. His bedroom door creaks open, and there he is-my twin, my other half, my betrayer-all six feet of cocky quarterback standing in my way.

“Morning, Jess,” he says, eyes flicking over my shirt. “Nice… tent.”

I don’t even answer. I just shoulder past him, my cheeks heating.

“Aw, come on, don’t be so sensitive,” he calls after me.

Sensitive. That’s what he calls me when his words cut deep, like it’s my fault for feeling anything.

By the time I make it to the kitchen, Mom’s already gone. She leaves early most mornings, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or jealous. Grateful that she doesn’t see me like this, jealous that she never has time for us.

Jackson grabs a protein shake from the fridge and downs it like he’s in some athlete commercial. I butter a piece of toast, trying to look invisible.

And then, of course, the devil himself arrives.

Noah Carter.

He strolls right into our kitchen like he owns it, helmet tucked under his arm, hair still damp from his shower, all six-foot-two of golden-boy arrogance. He’s wearing his jersey, number 14, stretched across broad shoulders like it was custom made for him.

And because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, my stupid brain notices the curve of his jaw, the way his damp hair curls at the edges, the clean soap-and-sweat smell that clings to him. I hate myself for noticing.

“Morning, sunshine,” he smirks at me.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Thought you’d like a nickname.” His grin widens, like he knows exactly how to get under my skin.

Jackson laughs and bumps fists with him. “Ignore her, bro. Ready for practice?”

“Always,” Noah says. He glances at my toast, eyebrows lifting. “Extra butter again?”

I slam the knife down. “Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”

Jackson snorts. “Don’t mind him, Jess.”

But I mind. God, I mind so much.

The two of them head out to the truck, leaving me with a cold piece of toast and the familiar ache in my chest. It’s the same ache I’ve had since I was ten years old.

The ache of realizing my twin-my best friend-chose someone else.

At school, it doesn’t get better. It never does.

The minute I step into the hallway, eyes flick my way. Whispers. Snickers. The same crap I’ve been hearing since middle school.

“Damn, she’s bigger than the linebackers.”

“Bet she eats more than the team.”

I keep walking, head down, pretending the words don’t stab me. But they do. Every single one leaves another scar I can’t cover with oversized clothes.

Jackson doesn’t notice, or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He’s too busy soaking in the glory of being the starting quarterback. Too busy laughing with Noah and the rest of the team.

Noah. Always Noah.

The worst part is that when he laughs, it’s this deep, warm sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When he smiles, girls melt into puddles. And when his hazel eyes catch the light, they almost glow.

I hate that I’ve noticed all of that.

I hate that part of me gets why the entire female population of Crestwood High would kill for a chance with him.

I hate that part of me, some twisted little part buried deep down, remembers what it felt like to have a crush on him before he turned into my tormentor.

Mariah finds me by my locker. Thank God for her. She’s the one good thing that came out of all this-the girl who saw me breaking at the movies three years ago and decided not to let me stand alone.

“You look like you’re ready to murder someone,” she says, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

“Noah,” I mutter. “As usual.”

She makes a face. “Ugh. You’d think after all these years he’d get bored.”

“He doesn’t. It’s like tormenting me is his favorite sport, right after football.”

Mariah sighs. “Well, senior year, right? Almost done.”

Almost. But almost feels like forever.

Lunch is the worst. Always has been.

I sit with Mariah at the edge of the cafeteria, away from the football table. But no matter how far away I am, Noah still finds me with his eyes. I feel them, sharp as daggers, hot as a spotlight.

Today’s no different. I’m halfway through my sandwich when I hear him across the room.

“Hey, Jackson! Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”

Laughter erupts from the table. Jackson doesn’t defend me. He never does.

I keep my head down, cheeks burning, praying no one else joins in. But of course they do.

“She could be the team mascot,” someone says. “Put her in pads, she’ll bulldoze the defense!”

The guys howl with laughter.

Mariah leans across the table, her eyes flashing. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.”

But ignoring doesn’t make it stop.

I grip my sandwich so tightly my knuckles turn white. In my head, I imagine standing up, marching over there, and telling Noah exactly what he is-a bully. A coward. A pathetic jerk who gets off on tearing me down.

But I don’t move.

Because I know what would happen if I did. He’d smirk. He’d say something sharper. And Jackson would laugh right alongside him.

Just like always.

That night, lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling.

This is my last year. One more year of Noah Carter. One more year of Jackson pretending I don’t exist except when it’s convenient. One more year of being “the fat twin,” the joke, the nobody.

After graduation, I’ll be free. College will be my reset button. Nobody will know me as Jackson’s sister or Noah’s favorite target. Nobody will remember the locker full of trash bags or the jokes about butter.

It’ll just be me.

But even as I tell myself that, my brain betrays me. Because it’s not Noah’s insults that replay behind my eyes. It’s his face. His stupidly perfect, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered, movie-star face.

And I hate myself for it.

The next morning, the cycle repeats. Jackson teasing, Mom absent, me shrinking into myself.

But when Noah shows up, there’s a shift. Not big, not obvious-just a flicker.

He catches me staring.

I don’t mean to. Honest. I’m just zoning out, and my gaze lands on him, on the way his T-shirt stretches across his chest, on the strong line of his throat as he tilts his head back to laugh at something Jackson says.

And then his hazel eyes lock on mine.

For a second, I can’t breathe.

There’s no smirk, no insult, no sharp edge. Just Noah looking at me like… like he sees me.

Then he blinks, and it’s gone. Replaced by the same cocky grin I know too well.

“Like what you see, Sunshine?”

My face burns. “In your dreams.”

But that flicker stays with me all day.

And it terrifies me more than all his insults combined.

Because what if-just what if-the boy who’s made my life hell for years is the one I can’t stop noticing?

What if the one I hate most is the one I’m secretly drawn to?

And what if he knows it?

Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 3

Noah

Most people think I’ve got it easy.

They see the jersey, the captain’s armband, the girls who slide notes into my locker, the teachers who cut me slack because I’m “leading the team this season.” They see the highlight reels, the touchdowns, the swagger.

And yeah, I play into it. Why wouldn’t I? That image has kept me on top since freshman year.

But what they don’t see-the part I’d never admit out loud-is that the best part of my day isn’t the touchdowns. It’s not the cheers, or even the wins.

It’s Jessa Lombardi’s face when I get under her skin.

I shouldn’t find it that entertaining. She’s Jackson’s twin, for one. Which means technically, she’s off-limits. But God, she makes it too easy. The way her cheeks flush, the way she slams things down or throws out these sharp little comebacks-Jessa’s like one giant exposed nerve. Sensitive as hell.

And I like testing how far I can push before she snaps.

Take this morning, for example.

Jackson and I were heading to practice, but I swung by his place first. Walking into their kitchen always feels… weird. I don’t know why. Maybe because I can practically feel how much Jessa doesn’t want me there.

She was standing at the counter, spreading butter on toast like it had personally offended her. Oversized T-shirt, messy hair, bare feet curling against the tile. For a second, I almost didn’t say anything.

Almost.

“Morning, sunshine,” I tossed out, leaning in the doorway.

The way her shoulders stiffened-it was instant gratification. Like watching a fire catch.

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered, eyes on her plate.

“What? Thought you’d like a nickname.”

She rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard them click.

Jackson laughed, completely oblivious. “Ignore her, bro.”

I didn’t ignore her, of course. Couldn’t. I never do. Instead, I spotted the toast and couldn’t resist. “Extra butter again?”

She slammed the knife down like she wanted to stab me with it.

“Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”

And just like that, my day was made. That flare of anger in her eyes, the way her voice cracked on ever. She didn’t realize it, but she was giving me exactly what I wanted.

Attention.

Here’s the thing: Jessa doesn’t understand me. She thinks I pick on her just to be a jerk, or because I’ve got nothing better to do. But the truth? It’s not that simple.

I notice her.

More than I should.

And noticing her-really noticing her-is dangerous.

Because Jessa’s not like the other girls who throw themselves at me. She doesn’t giggle when I walk by or bat her lashes hoping I’ll toss her a grin. She doesn’t want anything from me.

Except maybe for me to disappear.

And that makes me want to poke, prod, irritate. It makes me want her to look at me, even if it’s with fire in her eyes. Because when she’s angry at me, at least she’s seeing me.

At school, it’s even better.

In the cafeteria, Jackson and I had the whole team cracking up over stupid inside jokes when I spotted her sitting with Mariah. Always the far table, always head down, like she’s hoping to disappear.

But I don’t let her disappear.

“Hey, Jackson!” I yelled across the room. “Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”

The table erupted. Perfect.

I caught the way her shoulders hunched, the way her hand froze halfway to her mouth. She didn’t look up, but I knew she heard me. Knew she felt the sting.

And yeah, maybe that makes me an asshole. But there’s something about her silence that gets to me. Like she’s holding all this emotion inside, and I’m the only one who knows how to drag it out of her.

Jackson doesn’t get it. To him, Jessa’s just… Jessa. His twin, his shadow, the sister he doesn’t think twice about. He doesn’t notice the way she winces when people whisper, or the way she pulls her hoodie tighter like armor.

But I do.

I see it.

And sometimes I wonder if that’s why I keep poking-because if I don’t, maybe no one would notice her at all.

Practice that afternoon should’ve wiped Jessa from my brain. It usually does. Once I’m on the field, nothing else matters. The snap of the ball, the crunch of pads, the roar of the guys-it drowns everything out.

But not today.

Today, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was the way she glared at me over her toast, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing.

And then-God help me-the way her gaze flickered over me. She thought she was subtle, but I caught it. The way her eyes lingered on my shoulders, my chest.

She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

And that thought sticks with me longer than I’d like.

That night, lying in bed, I try to tell myself it’s nothing. Jessa’s sensitive, that’s all. She reacts to me because I push her buttons. If she didn’t, I’d probably lose interest.

Except… I’m not losing interest.

If anything, I’m hooked.

I want to know how far I can push before she finally snaps. Before she lets me see the fire I know she’s hiding.

I want to know if that fire burns as hot when it’s not anger.

The next morning, I catch her staring again.

She doesn’t realize it-I’m laughing at something Jackson said, tilting my head back, and when I glance over, her eyes are on me. Not in hate. Not in anger. Just… watching.

And for one insane second, it feels like she sees me. Not the quarterback. Not Jackson’s best friend. Not the jerk who won’t leave her alone.

Just me.

Our eyes lock, and the air shifts. She looks caught, like a deer in headlights.

For once, I don’t smirk. For once, I just look back.

But then panic kicks in, and I cover it with a grin. “Like what you see, Sunshine?”

Her face flames. “In your dreams.”

But I heard the hitch in her breath. I saw the way she couldn’t look away fast enough.

And that’s when I know I’m in trouble.

Because tormenting Jessa Lombardi isn’t just a game anymore.

It’s an addiction.

And sooner or later, it’s going to blow up in my face.

👉 CONTINUE READING

August 3, 2026
The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King by Krystal

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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.

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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

August 2, 2026
Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 1

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

Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 2

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

Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 3

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

👉 CONTINUE READING

August 2, 2026
The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game by Xiu Luo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 1

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

The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 2

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

The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 3

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

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August 2, 2026
Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate by Ghostly Mode

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Fear follows Alpha Samson wherever he goes. As the ruthless leader of the Blackthorn pack, he and his beast, Savage, bow to no one. But when a haunting scent leads him to a neighboring pack’s dungeon, he finds his fated mate-bloody, broken, and chained to the wall.

Alora is a half-wolf, half-witch hybrid falsely accused and left to die. But her abusers made one fatal mistake: they touched the mate of a monster.

Rescued by the fierce Alpha, Alora begins a journey of healing that uncovers a lifetime of lies. She isn’t just a survivor; she’s a weapon. Together, Samson and Alora will unleash hell on those who wronged her, unearthing dark family secrets and claiming the crown that was stolen from her birth.

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Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate Chapter 1

ALORA

(16 years old)

I struggle against the guards, and they force me further into the cells.

The smell alone makes my stomach churn. Between the dead bodies and blood, it is hard to work out, which is worse.

As we approached the end cell gate, there stood my father and his chosen mistress of the month. My father’s stare was blank, but that was how he had ever since that night. I hated him after what he did to my mother. The way he treated her and me and everything was all because she couldn’t give him a son.

The guards guided me to the gate and launched me into the cell, like I was nothing. I landed with a hard thud on the ground and rolled until I hit the wall. I groan as my back it the wall hard.

The worst part is that it reopened some old wounds that my father’s mistress gave me a few hours ago.

Blood sank through the old top I had on.

There was a thud, which only made my father growl as I heard footsteps coming toward the cell. “What the hell, alpha?” he boomed as he got nearer. He stopped and looked inside as I looked up. His eyes narrowed in on me but softened when he saw me.

“She’s just a child,” he shouted, only for my father to grip him by the neck. “Enough, gamma,” he gritted out. “She stole from Madaline. She needs to pay.”

My eyes shot to his mistress, who had a sinister smirk. She knew how to wrap my father around her finger. She was his favourite, but that soon could change.

My father was a ruthless alpha and worse father. I was born into a werewolf pack, only to have half of wolf abilities, but no wolf. But I was also part of something else. This part was meant to be told to me by my mother, but that never came as my father and the woman, who stood before me, had killed her when I was ten.

I saw everything and was forced to live in the basement of the pack house. I was never tyo leave unless I had someone with me at all times. So, me stealing something from my father’s whore was outstretched at best. He locked me away like I was nothing.

Over the years since I was born, my mother and I were placed into a section of the house away from the pack members. With only the Gamma family to rely on, as that was their job, it was just us. We had a small apartment that had very little to do, but we managed.

Moving up slightly and leaning on the wall to ease the pain in my back, I stare at the pair.

Gamma Ryan has been loyal to my mother and me since birth, and I know I can rely on him. He was the only one who bought me new clothes and books to read. I had nothing to my name, and I mean nothing.

My father’s face turned and glared at me. “You will stay in here till I see fit,” he growled.

“But alpha, she couldn’t have done anything,” Gamma Ryan pleaded. “She was locked up in the basement. I heard from one of the guards that they had to kick down the door to get her.”

My father turned his attention to Gamma Ryan and launched at him, pinning him to the wall behind him. My eyes widened as he growled. “Enough,” he gritted out. “She may not have stolen anything but deserves to live in this place.”

I felt my heart sink. How could my father be so cruel?

Madaline looked over at me, giving me an evil look. “I think we should tell them, babe,” she whispered, making my father look at her in awe.

I felt sick.

My father let go of Gamma Ryan and turned around to face me. His eyes switched from his wolf to his again, as always. “Madaline is pregnant,” he said, keeping his eyes on me.

My stomach tightened. Pregnant? No, that means…

Madaline’s smile grew as she knew it sunk in what that meant. “It means I will have an heir for the alpha,” she said cheerfully. “Unlike your mother, I will give him a son. Not a pathetic daughter, wolfless too.”

Madaline giggled, placing her hand on her stomach. “This will be the son of the alpha,” she said.

I snigger.

“Do you think your child would be accepted as an heir?” I blurt out. “What if you have another girl? We both know how he treats them when he has them.”

Madaline’s face goes white as she looks at my father. But he ignores her as he glares back at me. “You ungrateful bitch,” he grits out. “I gave you a home. I never hurt a child.”

“No, you let your guards do it,” I muttered.

My father takes a few steps inside the cell. My eyes stay focused on him, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Gamma Ryan pleading with me to stop.

My father crouches and places his finger under my chin to make me see him. “You ever talk back to me again,” he grits out. “Now, this will be your own little room. You will never leave here ever. I have control over you, and no one, and I mean no one, will save you. You have no one.”

I felt my heart sink deep in my chest as a lone tear escaped.

My father moves up and walks back until he exits the cell. He turns around, pins Gamma Ryan against the wall, and releases his alpha aura. I watched as my father used a command that even broke my heart.

“You will never serve her,” my father commanded. “You will do your gamma duties, and that is it. You will never see or speak to her again. Is that understood?”

Gamma Ryan tries to fight the command, but he can’t and agrees.

My father let go of him and stared. “Now, go and train the pack members,” he said.

I watched as Gamma Ryan left without looking back at me.

My eyes moved to the two people who were left.

Madaline grinned as my father wrapped his arm around her waist. “We will have a son,” he said, leaning into her neck and looking at me. “Beck will be the one who will give you some food. As for punishments, they will be dealt with by me and whoever I have with me. You are never leaving this place, daughter.”

I watched as my father and Madeline left.

My heart breaks. I was alone once again.

No one will save. How could they? No one knew I existed. My father made sure of that.

When my mother had me, he announced that I had died at birth and that Luna was recovering. It never stopped him from trying to conceive another child with her, but when my mother could only have girls. When she did have a boy, he died after twenty weeks. My father called her everything.

Whenever he came to see her, I had to hide.

Another tear escaped as I looked around the small cage to be my home from now on.

I would be living in hell, even though I was already there.

The only hope I had left was my mate finding me, and now even that was a stretch. Who would want someone like me?

Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate Chapter 2

ALORA

(5 years later)

My eyes stay on the ceiling as the breeze from the gap in the window whistles, rippling over me, making me cold.

Moving the thin fabric over me, even though it doesn’t keep me warm. I shudder slightly when it hits my arm’s recent new whip mark, making it sting. I grip the sheet tighter as I move my legs up and wrap my arms around my legs to try and keep warm.

Five long years have passed since I was placed in this damn cell, and five years I have been tortured more than my fair share. I don’t think any rogues have been through the same fate as me. To be honest, I think they have better treatment than I do. They would kill them as soon as they put them in a cell, or they would make them suffer.

The screams some made, made my ears bleed. Many gave in after the first few attempts and died. Whoever came in here, they never leave. I always wondered about my fate, but it has been five years. Something told me that I wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Madaline, my father’s chosen mate now instead of his mistress, gave birth to a son. I haven’t met him, and I don’t want to. It would probably be evil if the baby were like my father or her.

I heard a noise outside the window, but it was hard to tell what was happening. It has been very noisy here lately. Guards who watch over me, Beck mainly, but they don’t talk to me. They stay quiet and even participate in the torture that Madaline puts on me.

No one cares for me; they don’t know who I am. My father made sure of it. He told the guards that I was a stupid human who wandered onto the pack grounds, and he didn’t know what to do with me. It should shatter me with the way he speaks about me, but why should I now? He didn’t want me in the first place.

Beck was left to guard me for the last five years. He never speaks to me, but I have grown on him over the last five years. Whenever Madaline tortures me, she makes him step outside, but afterward, he comes in and cleans my wounds the best he can. Beck was the one who gave me this fabric sheet to cover myself with when it gets cold here.

Another bang came from outside, making me flinch as my eyes stayed on the window.

What the hell was that? I tried to listen to what was happening, but hearing anything with the wind was hard.

I may have no wolf, but I do have some characteristics of one, such as heightened senses and hearing. I don’t know if I have anything else, but they are the only two I know I have.

Another noise comes from outside the window, and a meow comes through as a little black fur head sticks through the window’s opening, and its eyes look at me.

Moving slightly, I smiled as the little four-legged fur creature came toward me and climbed into the little opening between my legs and stomach.

This little black ball of fur has kept me company for the last few months. Who would have thought a cat would wander into a wolf pack and survive? I sure as hell didn’t think so, not when my father was in charge. He would have had it for supper.

The cat snuggled into me, letting her heat sink into me as she tried to warm me up.

“Thank you,” I whispered, placing my hand on her head and giving her a gentle smooth. “You shouldn’t be in here, you know that.”

I sigh as the cat moves and sticks its head under my chin, rubbing along my jaw as it starts to purr. I smooth over its smooth fur till it settles down to sleep. My eyes go to the cat, who looks back at me with its bright green eyes. “What do I call you?” I whispered as I stroked its head.

The cat let out a little meow, which only made me sigh.

“I can’t keep calling you cat or pussy,” I muttered. “It’s silly. How about I say a name, and you nudge my hand when you like a name.”

The cat bored its eyes at me. Damn, I felt stupid talking to it.

“Let’s see…” I said and started to roll off names. “Angel, Lucky, Poppy, Aero…” The cat doesn’t move as I groan. “What about…” I said, but stopped when a film I watched as a kid with my mum flooded my mind—The Lion King. I remember when Gamma Ryan brought it one day. I must have watched it so many times over the years, but it was the best thing I had from anyone.

“What about Simba, Nala—” I said, but the cat nudges its head as I say Nala.

I smile.

“Nala,” I murmured. “Perfect for a gorgeous cat like yourself.”

Nala purred as it settled back against me.

The door to the cells opens, which doesn’t make her move as we hear the footsteps come closer. I place the thin fabric over her little head as I look to the gate when Beck comes into view. He stares at me but looks toward the way he came from. He moves closer and kneels. I watch as he moves something from his pocket and puts his arm through the barrier till he places an apple on the ground.

I stare at it momentarily, thinking I was dreaming as the last time I had food was two days ago. Beck only brings what he can, but it’s never enough.

I look up at him, and he nods as he moves up from the ground and turns around. I watched as he got into the position of guarding me.

Moving slightly and trying not to disturb Nala, I grabbed it and bit into it. The taste of apple was sweet, something I missed every day when I was with my mother. She used to make an apple pie every Sunday in our little kitchen, and it was when the Gamma family came to see us. They would bring what we needed that week and leave after an hour. It was unconventional to say, but they were the only family I had besides my mother.

I ate the apple quietly, and once I finished it, I placed it in the next cell so it looked like it was from whoever it was in there last.

Madaline doesn’t want me to feed. She stated that was my father’s rule, but Beck had broken it several times. The only thing I am allowed on a daily basis, which Beck does every morning and evening, is fresh water. It has to be used for drinking and even washing. I hate washing in it as it is freezing, and Beck has to watch me, which is unnerving.

I bet servants get treated better than I do, and that says a lot about this pack. Many omegas are mistreated; I used to watch through the basement keyhole or the window. Omegas would be pushed around and beaten if they stepped out of line.

Gamma Ryan never laid a finger on them, but it was mainly my father or his Beta.

Beta Logan and my father have been friends since high school. He follows his every word, including mistreating me. I know what my father told him, and many pack members all believed him. Who wouldn’t? He was the Alpha. After all, he doesn’t tell lies about anything except when it comes to me.

There was silence around the cell until I heard the door open again.

Nala sticks her head up and looks over the sheet, but I push her back inside and flip it off, keeping her covered as I move it under the bed. I knew who was coming, and it was inevitable that she would be here, like clockwork.

“Wake up!” she screeches as I stumble from the bed and lean against the wall. My eyes move to her as she steps into view.

Madaline, ever since the first day I saw her, hasn’t changed one bit. Only the wrinkles by her eyes give away her age now, and she also looks like she has added pounds to her weight. Whereas I am so skinny, if anyone saw me now and picked me up, I would be nothing in weight.

Madaline stares at me as a sinister smile appears on her lips. “Good, you awake,” she said as she stood by the gate. “I have some news for you. Later this evening, we are being visited by alphas from all packs close to us,” she said as I stood still and froze slightly as the cold air swiped into the cell. As much as I want to put the sheet over me, I know I can’t, or Madaline would take it away. She knows it’s there, but she hasn’t done anything about it. I didn’t want to add anything to the fuel of what she did to me.

Madaline looked at me and smiled. “Tonight, your father is declaring that our son, Michael, will be the next in line to the alpha position,” she said, making my stomach churn. I know that role was meant to be mine, but after everything I have been through within this pack, I would rather die than be anything to them. “Do you know what that means?”

I shook my head as Madaline’s smile grew. “Oh, let me tell you,” she said. “That means after tomorrow, when everyone has left to return to their packs, your father and I will get to kill you.”

My heart sank.

My eyes darted to Beck, who seemed to stand straighter than normal.

“You will die,” she said, sounding happy. “But I must admit, I will miss these little chats and the punishments.”

I said nothing.

Punishments are what she called the torture she inflicted on me. I never knew why she came down here until one day last week when she screamed out in pain. I watched it happen as she gripped her chest, like my mother. My father was doing what he did to my mother to her; he was with another. I used to watch my mother suffer every damn day when he was with her, and now she was getting the same treatment. I don’t know whether it was karma, but when she witnessed her in pain, the torture she inflicted on me was unreal. I couldn’t get up for days with the marks I had all over my body. Some are scars today, which are hideous.

“Saying that…” she said, pulling me from my thoughts and looking at her wide-eyed, but she laughed. “Na, I will wait till later. I have to get the pack ready before all the alpha’s come,” she said. “I am Luna, after all.”

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. The role was my mother’s, not hers. After Madaline gave my father the heir he wanted, he marked her and made her his Luna.

Being away from all the gossip around the pack has left me wondering what he has told them about my mother, but it may have something to do with me.

“I will see you tomorrow for your death,” she hissed as she turned and looked at Beck. “You can leave now. You don’t need to be down here at all.”

Beck looked at me but moved away. There was nothing but a blank expression on his face as he walked away.

My heart sinks again as they both leave. I can hear the excitement in Madaline’s voice as she tells Beck that she will be the one to kill me like she did her mother.

What the hell was I going to do now?

There was no denying it now, and I had to accept my fate. I would die tomorrow in the same hands as the ones who killed my mother.

I closed my eyes as a lone tear escaped. I prayed over the years to the moon goddess, the same moon goddess that was supposed to watch over me, but ever since my mother died, I was made to live in isolation away from everyone. Why would I put all my trust in her now?

I was done for.

There was no one to save me now. I had to accept that I was going to die.

Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate Chapter 3

ALPHA SAMSON

The car goes over the bump, which makes me bang my head on the roof. I let out a low growl. “Careful,” I grunt as I glare at my driver through the rear view mirror. His eyes widen and looks back at the road ahead of him.

“Calm down,” Jenson, my beta said. “He is trying to get us there sooner like you wanted. You’re the one who wanted to get there and leave early.”

I huff as I look out the window and watch the forest pass us.

As an alpha to the largest pack in the state, I had to attend alpha ceremonies for young alpha’s who would be taking the reins after their fathers handed them over to them. But this was all new to me. The alpha in question was staking a claim that he had a son and would be the one who would take over from him, whatever age.

“I still think it’s strange that they are doing this,” Jenson mumbles, making me look at him. “The child is barely five. Why would he announce this now? The child won’t even have his wolf yet, let alone know how to fight anyone.”

I said nothing as Savage, my wolf, grunted. He hated any form of celebration, even if it meant that he would find our mate one day, but that has been scarce over the years. I’m now twenty-eight and what you call our kind old, but we are not. If we were any other alpha, some elder would come to the pack and force the rule of picking a chosen mate, but they are scared of me; we are not your average wolf. We are bigger than all wolves, bigger than you can imagine.

Our pack is the biggest and most feared due to Savage and me. No wolf will dare to go up against savage, whereas no human will go against me. I stand at six foot nine and weigh over three hundred and fifty pounds.

Shaking my thoughts away, I looked at him. “Well, Alpha Karl hasn’t had much luck with his family,” I muttered. “He lost his mate and unborn child. He had to choose someone, and now they have one. They are not taking no chances.”

“There is taking a chance,” Jenson muttered. “Then there is taking it all too far. Five years old tho, what did you do at five?”

“Not the same,” I grunted as I pulled the sleeve of my jacket into place. I was wearing a suit for this damn ceremony, and I hated it. Nothing fits me due to my size. “My parents had me at a young age, and not the same for Alpha Karl.”

Jenson stared at me, but his eyes softened. I knew why he did that—my parents. I felt my heart sink at the mere thought of them. My mother died in a rogue attack, and my father died shortly after from heart failure. Some pack members believe that he died of a broken heart. He didn’t take my mother’s death well and locked himself away. It was hard to watch. Sometimes I wish I never met my mate as I don’t want to have the same fate.

“We won’t,” Savage grunted as he came closer. “Our mate will be special.”

I look back at him with an arched eyebrow. “Special, huh?” I asked. “How would you know that?”

Savage’s dark brown eyes bored back into mine but said nothing. Lately, he hasn’t been himself, but as soon as the invitation came, he was all for going, and I felt pressured into going by him, which is uncalled for. When has a wolf ever wanted to do a human thing? Never.

When I received the invitation, I was shocked to learn that the young alpha was not even old enough to agree to the terms, but underneath Alpha Karl stated that he wanted to know that he had a son who would take over the pack when he was old enough. He wanted all the alpha’s to attend so they could be happy for the pack.

Part of me could understand the scenario and why he was doing it, but there was another part of me that there was something more at play. Alpha Karl had been a constant thorn in my side, asking me to turn up and see his pack. He is one of many allies I have around here, and he was one of them. I was initially unsure what to make of the pack, as there seemed to be more power play than what they could offer me. I want fighters and people I can trust that will be there if I need them someday, even though it is the other way around. Many wanted us to be there for them when they needed us, but Alpah Karl never asked when rogues attacked his pack.

Alpha Karl asked for advice about what he could do to make things better, and I suggested asking for some trainers to come to help from other packs. He asked me to send some, and I did, but the trainers came back with a different outlook. Most of his pack was scared of Alpha Karl, but there were loads of rumors floating around about him. Some were hard to register as true. I wanted to leave early and get there so I could see for myself.

Jenson and I planned to stay longer, leaving my gamma Oliver to keep things running with the pack back home. All I had to do was pretend to help out , while I kept Alpha Karl busy; Jenson would go around and try to find out the truth before I made a decision about sticking with Alpha Karl. I didn’t need him. It was the other way around. I hated alphas who never respected their pack members. Pack members are what holds and makes a pack what it is. I might be ruthless as they come, but I respect every member of my pack, including all omegas. No one is left out.

“Samson,” Jenson called out, making me look at him as he sighed. “The plan will be in motion when we get there. Do you think he will do anything?”

I shook my head and leaned back in my seat. “Hardly,” I muttered. “I think he will be nice, possibly too nice for his good, or maybe have all the single she-wolves ready to pounce, I don’t know.”

Jenson’s lips curled up into a grin at the mere mention of she-wolves, which only made me groan. “Keep your dick in your pants,” I grunted. “We are not here to get laid.”

“Speaking of the one who would rather have blue balls than have a tight cunt wrapped around his cock,” he chuckled.

Savage roars into laughter in my head as I keep my mouth shut for a moment while glaring at my best friend. “At least I won’t get a disease or something,” I muttered, which made him look at me with an arched eyebrow. “You went there, huh?” he muttered.

I said nothing as I looked through the window again.

There was no reason for the lack of women on my part; many threw themselves at me, and I liked it, but being as big as I am, it is hard to find someone who can tame a savage beast like my wolf, who seemed to want to be rough. Many women would endure it until they couldn’t take it anymore.

“We need mate more,” Savage piped up in my head as he listened in on my thoughts, which I hated him doing. “Mate will take us. She will be a perfect fit for us, too.”

I said nothing and shook my thoughts away; I watched as we approached Alpha Karl’s pack.

“I am so not looking forward to this,” Jenson muttered, making me look at him. His eyes were on the opposite window. “I hate all the falseness of these alphas. They show no shame when they want your attention.”

I couldn’t help but agree with him on that. Many alphas have done weird things, remembering one incident in particular where an alpha let their daughter come into my bedroom at night while I stayed, which didn’t help her as Savage was on one, especially being woken up from his sleep. He hates being disturbed. That was a mistake and half; the alpha tried to make me take his daughter as my Luna, which was not for me. If anyone were going to be my Luna, it would be my mate, not a hot-headed bimbo who thinks everything should be pink and sparkle. Others have tried to play games with me and lost. It’s a stupid alpha thing for me to see who is true to their word or who would swipe a rug from underneath me where I stand.

I said nothing to him as I turned my attention to the gates that were being opened for us. This was it. There was no going back now. I came here to do what I had to do, and no one was going to stop me.

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August 2, 2026