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  • The Jilted Heiress And Her Spectacular Comeback novel by Bian

    The Jilted Heiress And Her Spectacular Comeback novel by Bian featuring

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    I was double-checking the final payments for our upcoming wedding when I saw it.

    A $50,000 transfer from our joint account to a woman named Alyssia Stuart, labeled “living expenses and Connor’s tuition.”

    My fiancé, Jairo, the tech mogul I had spent ten years building from the ground up using my family’s hidden resources, was secretly sponsoring another family.

    I hacked into his laptop and found a hidden social media archive filled with photos of him, Alyssia, and a little boy with his exact eyes.

    “J says he’s going to give me a real home soon, make me his one and only wife.”

    Alyssia’s caption glared at me, posted the same week Jairo claimed to be on a business trip.

    He had even used the anonymous Ivy League scholarship fund I had secretly established for him to pay for his mistress’s degree.

    For a decade, I gave up my name and my powerful family to be his quiet, supportive partner, designing the very tech that made him a Wall Street wunderkind.

    And to this woman, I was just a “complication” to be handled.

    Instead of crying, I calmly took photos of every single screenshot and packed my bags.

    I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years.

    “Mom, we’re finished. Is that marriage arrangement with Culver Collins still on the table?”

    It was time to reclaim my identity as the Montgomery heiress and watch the empire I built for him burn to the ground.

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    The Jilted Heiress And Her Spectacular Comeback Chapter 1

    Denice’s fingers froze over the keyboard. She had been finalizing the pitch deck for Jairo’s roadshow, the logo for Slater Dynamics—her design.
    Suddenly, a notification silently popped up in the lower right corner of the screen, like a silent bomb exploding in the stillness of the study.
    A bank transfer.
    Fifty million dollars.
    She told herself it was a business expense. A corporate acquisition.
    But the recipient was a personal account: Alyssia Stuart.
    Alyssia. The woman who was the subject of so much gossip in the company, the one entangled with Jairo.
    Her heart skipped a beat, a painful, jarring thud in her chest. Her fingertips went cold. She clicked on the transaction details, her breath held tight in her lungs.
    The memo field contained a single word.
    “Gift.”
    Just then, the laptop screen lit up with an instant message. The sender ID was “Alyssia S.”
    “Darling, the money came through. You’re too good to me. Connor is asking when Daddy is coming home to see him.By the way… Connor asked when you’re coming home to see him. Come over as soon as you get a chance, and forget about that stupid woman of yours.”
    The air rushed out of Denice’s lungs.
    Connor?
    Daddy?
    It felt like all the blood in her body was flowing backward, a cold, sickening tide rising to her throat.
    Her hand trembled as she moved the mouse, clicking open the chat window that Jairo had carelessly left running in the background. It wasn’t just one message. It was years of them.
    Years of explicit flirtations, intimate promises, a secret life laid bare on the screen.
    She saw Jairo complaining that his engagement to her was a “business necessity.” He promised Alyssia that as soon as the company went public, he would break things off with Denice and marry her.
    Denice’s vision blurred. She bit down hard on her lip, the taste of blood a sharp counterpoint to the nausea churning in her stomach. The man she had loved for eight years, the man she had abandoned her family and birthright for, the man she had helped build from nothing… he had been using her as a tool.
    A new message from Alyssia appeared in the chat log. It was a photo. Alyssia, smiling softly against the backdrop of the Hamptons shoreline.
    That was where Jairo had been last week for his “business trip.”
    Denice’s fingers, stiff and numb, moved to the browser history. She found Alyssia’s social media profile. It was private, but the profile picture was a silhouette of a blonde woman holding a young boy.
    She logged in using Jairo’s saved credentials. His account followed Alyssia’s.
    Instantly, a flood of images and videos filled the screen.
    There was Alyssia wearing the limited-edition couture gown Jairo had supposedly bought as an investment. There she was, wearing the watch Denice had picked out for Jairo’s thirtieth birthday. Posing in restaurants Denice had booked for them. Vacationing in resorts Denice had researched.
    Each photo was a knife, twisting in her heart.
    She clicked on a pinned video. The location was unmistakable. It was this very apartment. This very study.
    In the video, Alyssia was perched on the edge of Jairo’s desk, wearing nothing but his white dress shirt, her legs swinging playfully. She smiled at the camera, a sweet, provocative smile.
    The camera panned down to a small boy playing with blocks on the floor. He looked to be about four or five years old.
    “Connor, do you miss Daddy?” Alyssia’s voice was syrupy sweet.
    The boy looked up, his face a blur as the camera shook, but his happy cry was perfectly clear. “Daddy! When is Daddy bringing me and Mommy home?”
    “Soon, baby,” Alyssia cooed, her voice filled with the certainty of a winner. “Soon, we’ll be a family.”
    Denice slammed the laptop shut.
    The loud crack echoed in the cavernous room.
    She scrambled from the chair, stumbling into the master bathroom. She fell to her knees on the cold marble floor, dry heaving. Nothing came up but the bitter taste of bile.
    She looked up, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, streaked with tears she hadn’t realized she was crying. The last trace of love in her eyes was extinguished, replaced by an absolute, chilling cold.
    In a world she never knew existed, she was the villain standing in the way of their “true love.”
    Her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. A text from Jairo.
    “Still working, baby? Get some rest. Love you.”
    The words “Love you” were so obscene, so disgusting, she felt another wave of nausea.
    She took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping the tears from her face. Her eyes were unnervingly calm now.
    She stood up, straightened her clothes, and walked back into the study.
    She didn’t delete a single file. She simply returned the laptop to its sleep state, as if nothing had happened.
    She reopened her laptop, her movements becoming precise and detached. She returned to Alyssia’s social media page, digging deeper, past the public facade. Inside a private photo album labeled “Family” — the password, absurdly, was Jairo’s birthday — she found it.
    A photo of Jairo holding the boy. Connor’s face was clearly visible. He was smiling, his eyes a deep, soulful brown, perfectly mirroring Jairo’s eyes.
    She found another scanned PDF file, from NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. A DNA paternity test. She zoomed in on the results. Probability of paternity: 99.99%. Father: Jairo Slater. Child: Connor Stuart.
    She stared at the black text until it blurred. Her lungs finally expanded as she drew in a long, ragged breath. She closed her laptop.
    Jairo hadn’t just stolen her money. He had stolen her life. And now, she was going to destroy his.

    The Jilted Heiress And Her Spectacular Comeback Chapter 2

    Denice slumped into the leather chair in Jairo’s study.
    Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. No tears. Crying was a physical response to pain, and at this moment, she felt none. Instead, she felt a cold, terrifying clarity.
    She took out her phone and connected it to the laptop.
    She dragged all the chat logs, photos, videos, bank transfer receipts, and the DNA report into her highly encrypted cloud drive. When the progress bar reached one hundred percent, she titled the folder: “Reckoning.” Then she unplugged the USB, cleared the system access logs, and shut the laptop.
    She took a deep breath, the air burning her lungs, and pressed the call button.
    The dial tone echoed in the dead-silent room, each ring a hammer blow solidifying her resolve.
    After three rings, a woman’s voice answered, elegant and imperious, with a sharp edge of impatience. “Denice? Do you have any idea what time it is?”
    It was her mother, Eleanor Montgomery, the true matriarch of the Montgomery family. Since Denice had walked out eight years ago for Jairo, their conversations had been brief and cold.
    Denice ignored the reprimand. “It’s over between Jairo Slater and me.”
    A long silence stretched from the other end of the line. Denice could picture her mother perfectly: one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised, assessing the information.
    Finally, Eleanor’s voice returned, laced with a faint, unmistakable thread of satisfaction. “A wise decision. Albeit eight years too late.”
    Denice didn’t argue. She cut straight to the point. “A few years ago, you mentioned a business arrangement… a marriage alliance with the Collins family. Is that offer still on the table?”
    Another silence, this one weighted with calculation. The Collins family. Kings among New York’s new money, their power was immense, enough to elevate the Montgomery’s old-money empire to new heights.
    “Culver Collins is not an easy man to handle,” Eleanor said slowly. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”
    A cold smile touched Denice’s lips. “I only need his name and his resources, Mother. As for affection, I no longer have a use for that sort of thing.”
    That seemed to please Eleanor. To her, emotion was the most useless commodity in the world of business. “Very well,” she replied briskly. “I’ll make the arrangements. Vincent Hayes, Mr. Collins’s executive assistant, will contact you tomorrow morning at ten.”
    The call ended. Denice lowered the phone, feeling a profound, hollowed-out exhaustion. Her relationship with her family was just another transaction.
    She turned back to Jairo’s computer, scrolling through Alyssia’s social media again.
    She noticed a post where Alyssia thanked an “anonymous Ivy League benefactor” for the scholarship that allowed her to finish her degree, accompanied by a photo of her and Jairo on the Yale campus.
    A flicker of confusion crossed Denice’s mind. She remembered Jairo taking a short course at Yale around the same time. She had even encouraged him to apply for an anonymous grant. A coincidence?
    She didn’t dwell on it, but a gut feeling told her something was wrong with this woman. She took a screenshot and saved it to a new, encrypted folder on her cloud drive. The folder was titled: “Reckoning.”
    She stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
    She twisted the engagement ring off her finger. The diamond Jairo had given her, once her most treasured possession.
    She didn’t throw it. She didn’t smash it.
    She walked to the desk and casually tossed it into the back of a drawer, where it landed with a soft clink among discarded pens and paperclips.
    With that done, an unprecedented calm settled over her. She walked into the bedroom. Jairo was still fast asleep in the guest room.
    She opened her closet, filled with the muted, conservative clothes she’d bought to suit Jairo’s taste for a “low-key” partner.
    Her eyes scanned past them, landing on a garment bag tucked away in the very back. It was the only piece of couture she had brought with her when she left home, the last dress she had worn as a Montgomery heir.
    She unzipped the bag. A cascade of shimmering, dark blue silk, embroidered with crystals was revealed.
    She took out her phone and sent a text to her personal assistant. “Chloe, have all of my clothes and jewelry in storage sent over. Yes, all of it.”
    Then, she walked into the bathroom and began to remove her makeup.
    She turned on the shower, the hot water washing over her skin, as if it could cleanse her of eight years of foolishness and naivety.
    She closed her eyes. The faces of Jairo and Alyssia, and the boy named Connor, were seared into her mind.
    She would not let them have their happiness. She would make them pay the steepest price for what they had done.
    Outside the bathroom door, her phone lit up. A new email notification glowed on the screen.
    Subject: Meeting with Mr. Collins. From: Vincent Hayes.

    The Jilted Heiress And Her Spectacular Comeback Chapter 3

    Denice sat in the small, temporary office Jairo had set up for her at Slater Dynamics, a place for her to handle his “miscellaneous” tasks. She glanced down at the diamond on her finger—a ring she had fished out of the drawer this morning, not as a symbol of love, but as a weapon for the performance ahead. The employees who walked by cast glances at her, a mixture of pity and poorly concealed schadenfreude.
    They had all heard the rumors about Jairo and some woman named Alyssia. They all thought Denice was the poor, clueless fiancée.
    She ignored their stares. She opened the project management software on her desktop and located the file for a core project codenamed “Phoenix.”
    It was the company’s key to profitability for the next quarter, a plan she had spent countless sleepless nights perfecting. Jairo had staked his reputation on it.
    She moved the mouse. Without a flicker of hesitation, she clicked the “Terminate Project” button.
    In the reason-for-termination field, she typed: “Core design contains irreparable flaws.”
    A system prompt appeared, warning that the action was irreversible.
    She clicked “Confirm.”
    The entire project vanished from everyone’s worklist.
    Almost instantly, her phone began to scream, the screen flashing with Jairo’s name.
    She didn’t answer. She declined the call, switched her phone to silent, and tossed it onto the desk.
    The office was suddenly quiet. Everyone was stunned by what she had just done. Whispers erupted. “Is she crazy? That’s the Phoenix project!”
    Denice stood up, picked up her handbag, and prepared to leave. Her sole purpose for coming here today was complete.
    Just as she reached the main entrance, the elevator doors opened on her floor. Denice looked up and saw a figure step out of the elevator. She immediately recognized the face—Alyssia.
    Alicia also saw Denise, having seen her photo in Jairo’s phone before.Her eyes widening in shock, followed by a flash of ugly, naked jealousy. But she quickly masked it, flashing a sickly sweet, triumphant smile.She wore an ill-fitting, off-season Chanel tweed suit that screamed “nouveau riche trying too hard.” She gripped a gaudy designer handbag. When she saw Denice in her deep-blue silk gown, her eyes widened in shock, followed by a flash of ugly, naked envy. But she quickly masked it, putting on a sickly sweet, triumphant smile.
    She straightened her back and puffed out her chest. She walked straight up to Denice, her voice cloyingly saccharine, laced with feigned innocence and gloating. “Miss Montgomery, are you here for Jairo? He’s probably busy right now. An urgent meeting came up.”
    Denice looked at her coldly, as if observing a pathetic, show-off insect. “I’m just here to take out the trash.” Her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Alyssia. A flicker of irritation crossed Alyssia’s face.
    Then Alyssia strode past Denice, deliberately trying to bump her with her shoulder. At that moment, Denice sidestepped. Alyssia’s footing wavered, and she stumbled backward in her cheap high heels. She lost her balance and landed hard on the hallway carpet, her Chanel bag spilling open, lipstick and receipts scattering everywhere.
    Denice looked down at her, her eyes icy cold. Alyssia’s eyes were bloodshot with anger and humiliation; she struggled to get up but fell back again. She pointed at Denice, her voice sharp enough to pierce the air: “You’re nothing but a stand‑in! Jairo doesn’t love you at all! He gave me fifty million dollars yesterday, and he’s going to marry me next month!”
    Denice looked down at her, who was slumped on the floor. “That Chanel suit is a spring 2019 outdated style,” Denice said, her voice flat and bored. “If you’re going to steal fifty million dollars, at least buy something that fits.”
    Alyssia’s face went pale. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.
    “Remember your place, Miss Stuart.” Denice’s voice was soft but carried an unmistakable authority. “As long as this engagement ring is on my finger, I am Jairo’s legally recognized fiancée. And you,” she paused, letting her gaze sweep contemptuously from head to toe over Alyssia, “are nothing.”
    Without another glance, Denice turned and walked toward the elevator, leaving Alyssia staring after her elegant, resolute back. As the elevator doors slowly closed, Denice saw Alyssia’s face contort with rage.
    The elevator descended smoothly. Only then did the cold mask on Denice’s face crack, revealing a hint of weariness.
    Jairo’s calls and texts kept flooding her phone. Without a single glance, she cleared them all.
    She knew he must be frantic. The Phoenix Project was his biggest promise to his investors. But she also knew that he wouldn’t dare break up with her now. Not now. Because without her, he couldn’t explain the core design of the project to anyone. He needed her. And that was her greatest leverage.
    Stepping out of the office building, the New York sunlight felt harsh. Denice put on her sunglasses, hiding her eyes and every ounce of emotion within them.
    She hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of one of New York’s most exclusive private clubs. She was going to see Culver Collins, heir to the Collins family. She needed a new, more powerful ally.
    The taxi merged into the flow of traffic. Denice leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
    She was going to make Jairo understand that he had lost far more than just a project.

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  • Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle’s Embrace by Miaomiao

    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.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle by Amigo

    The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex's Alpha Uncle by Amigo
    👉 READ NOW

    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.

    👉 READ NOW

    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.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    👉 READ NOW

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 1

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

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 2

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

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 3

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

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