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Tag: Revenge

  • Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes by Xiao Wang

    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes by Xiao Wang

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    I have a deadly peanut allergy, but my fiancé Jason’s childhood best friend Kelly thinks I’m just making a big deal out of nothing.
    Under the guise of “treatment,” she deliberately poured peanut oil into my soup, sending me straight to the ICU in anaphylactic shock.
    And Jason didn’t defend me at all — instead, he emotionally manipulated me, saying she “meant well.”
    While I was fighting for my life, they secretly moved away and stole my multi-million-dollar matcha café brand, putting Kelly in charge.
    When I went to confront them, Jason’s family surrounded me and threatened me — I couldn’t leave unless I ate a bowl of noodles with peanut oil.
    I was forced to eat that bowl of noodles, which resulted in a stomach perforation, and I nearly died again.
    I couldn’t understand how the man who once supported my dreams could watch me struggle in agony and still call me “hard to please.”
    In his eyes, my love and my life were worthless — nothing compared to his sick loyalty to her.
    After the surgery, I didn’t shed another tear.
    I called my lawyer. Let the full-scale legal battle begin!

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    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes Chapter 1

    Arielle Fischer’s POV
    My throat felt like it was closing up, my lungs burning, the world around me blurring into flickering gray shadows.
    The doctor’s words echoed in my ears: peanut oil. This wasn’t an accident — it was deliberate. I knew who did it. And what hurt even more, I knew Jason would defend her.
    Jason is my fiancé, yet our lives were built on fundamentally different foundations, especially when it came to food. I have a severe peanut allergy.
    I carry an EpiPen with me everywhere, my diet is carefully curated, every ingredient meticulously checked. Jason, on the other hand, grew up in a family where food was meant to be explored.
    He always treated my caution like some kind of quirk, which caused constant friction between us.
    His mother, Mrs. Davenport, always tried to be thoughtful when I visited their home. She once prepared a separate dish just for me at a family gathering. She never seemed to fully grasp how serious my allergy was. She’d say things like, “Just a little bit, it won’t hurt, right?” but back then, I still gave her the benefit of the doubt.
    Kelly Cruz, Jason’s best friend since childhood, often came over to our place. At one family dinner, as I carefully picked at the steamed chicken on my plate, Kelly leaned forward, her gaze sharp and judgmental.
    “Still on that strict diet plan, Arielle?” Her voice was sickly sweet. “Don’t you think life is just… too limited that way?”
    I forced a smile. “It’s not a diet plan, Kelly. It’s a medical necessity.”
    She snorted. “Oh right, the peanut allergy. Jason told me you used to eat peanuts as a kid. Are you sure you’re not just overreacting?”
    My stomach twisted, but I chose not to respond. Jason, sitting beside me, cleared his throat — and said nothing. He always hated conflict, especially with Kelly.
    Kelly clearly wasn’t done with me. She took a loud bite of her stir-fried peanuts. “Honestly, I don’t know how you two make it work. Food is such a huge part of life, especially around here. What if you have kids someday? They can never try a good bowl of peanut butter?”
    There was something pointed about her words, as if my dietary restrictions were an obstacle between Jason and me.
    That night, Jason’s father hosted a barbecue in the backyard. The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat and rich spices. Trying to be “accommodating,” Jason handed me a drink.
    “Try this, honey,” he said, a little too eagerly. “It’s my dad’s signature bourbon. Everyone loves it.”
    I hesitated. “Is it… safe? You know how sensitive I am to allergens.”
    He waved impatiently. “It’s just bourbon, Arielle. There’s no peanuts in alcohol. Stop being so paranoid. It’s a special batch, really smooth.” Kelly and his parents were all watching. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I took a small sip.
    It was spicy at first, then a strange sweetness spread across my tongue. Before I could process it, my throat started itching. My vision began to swim.
    Terror washed over me. I clutched my throat, eyes wide with fear, trying to gasp — but I couldn’t draw a single breath.
    The world tilted. I stumbled, knocking over a tray of drinks. Jason rushed over, confusion on his face.
    “Arielle? What’s wrong?” he asked urgently, a sudden edge of panic in his voice.
    I couldn’t speak. I just grabbed at my throat, fighting to breathe. My EpiPen, my bag — where was it?
    Everything blurred. Only the suffocating fear consumed me. Jason finally realized how serious it was and frantically rummaged through my bag.
    He found the pen and administered the shot. Adrenaline surged into my bloodstream, a sharp sting that gradually restored my breathing. I gasped for air, each breath a small victory. The ambulance arrived, its siren shattering what should have been a pleasant evening.
    At the hospital, after the emergency passed, Jason sat beside my bed, looking genuinely shaken. He held my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle.
    “Arielle, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I really had no idea. I thought it was just bourbon. My dad sometimes adds his own spices… maybe he used a batch with some peanut residue.”
    “I promise it’ll never happen again. From now on, I’ll personally prepare all your food.” He squeezed my hand, his eyes filled with a fleeting look of remorse.

    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes Chapter 2

    Arielle Fischer’s POV
    Hospital food was bland and tasteless, like a bowl of unappetizing mush. After weeks of it, weakness and exhaustion had pushed me to the brink.
    That day, Jason walked in carrying a picnic basket. The aroma hit me, and my empty stomach growled.
    “Look what I brought!” he announced cheerfully, setting the basket on my nightstand. “Your favorite! Kelly helped me make it.”
    Despite my hunger, my stomach immediately rebelled. Kelly. Always Kelly. The moment her name left his lips, the enticing aroma turned nauseating. I felt sick — not from hunger, but from disgust.
    “Kelly? The Kelly who doesn’t take my peanut allergy seriously?”
    Jason’s smile froze. “Oh, Arielle, don’t be like that. She feels terrible. She just wanted to do something nice for you.”
    The scent drifted over — roasted chicken, aromatic herbs. It did smell good, but beneath it all, I could smell betrayal.
    “No, thanks,” I said, pushing my hospital tray aside. “I’m not hungry.”
    Jason looked genuinely hurt. “But it’s your favorite roast chicken! The one you taught me to make, remember? That special marinade.”
    I gave a bitter laugh. “Of course I remember. I taught you every step. From picking the freshest herbs to balancing the spices so the skin comes out crispy and fragrant. I spent hours teaching you how to debone it properly, how to truss it.”
    “Are you trying to tell me Kelly somehow mastered my unique techniques out of nowhere?”
    Jason shifted uncomfortably. He avoided my gaze. “Well, she tried, really tried. She watched me do it, chopped some things. But… I did most of it in the end. She almost cut herself during the deboning.” He gave a dry laugh. “But it’s the thought that counts, right? She really wanted to make you happy.”
    “So you’re saying Kelly, who can barely be bothered to open a jam jar, genuinely wanted to learn how to replicate my signature dish?” I pressed.
    He sighed, his patience wearing thin. “Arielle, what does it matter? It’s just a chicken. Why do you have to be so difficult?” His tone was dismissive, completely indifferent to what I was going through.
    Anger and exhaustion left me too weak to argue. Tentatively, I picked up my fork. The chicken was still warm, wrapped in foil, and it smelled wonderful.
    As I ate, Jason rambled on about Kelly’s kitchen disasters. “You should’ve seen her, Arielle! She almost set the kitchen on fire trying to sauté the herbs. And she kept complaining the chicken was ‘too raw’ when I’d barely seared it. It was hilarious.” He laughed — that easy, carefree laugh I hadn’t heard in weeks. The way he described Kelly’s clumsiness with such fondness made my chest ache.
    He seemed genuinely amused by her mistakes, but he’d never laughed like that when I messed up. I felt more and more like an outsider.
    Every bite of perfectly cooked chicken — the dish I’d taught him myself — became a symbol of his betrayal. Food that was meant to comfort me was now impossible to swallow.
    Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number — a video. I opened it and trembled with rage.
    The video was shot in Jason’s kitchen. Kelly, her hair casually tied up, was holding a camera, filming Jason wrestling with the chicken. Her voice came through, dripping with sarcasm.
    “Aww, look at Jason, playing chef for his ‘sickly’ fiancée. How domestic! You know, she’s always saying no to this and no to that with food — so high-maintenance, it’s unbearable. Can’t she just eat normal food like the rest of us?” She laughed shrilly, and on camera, she poured some peanut oil onto the plate, then winked at the lens.
    My spoon clattered against the plate. My hands were shaking, and I nearly dropped my phone.
    “Jason!” My voice was hoarse and trembling, full of anger and disbelief. “What is this?” I held the phone up to him. The video was still playing, Kelly’s smug, vicious face filling the screen.
    He watched the video, and the color drained from his face. “That… that can’t be… Kelly wouldn’t…” he stammered. Then his expression shifted, a flash of anger crossing his features. “Who sent you this? This is an invasion of privacy! It’s slander!” He tried to grab my phone — clearly more concerned about Kelly’s image than my safety.
    “Slander?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Isn’t what she did obvious enough?” I pushed the plate away. The thought of taking another bite made me sick.
    Jason slammed his fist on the nightstand. “God, Arielle! You always blow everything out of proportion, it’s exhausting! Can’t you just let it go? Kelly made a mistake! She apologized! Why do you always have to make everything so complicated? You’re impossible to please!”
    Those words hurt more than any physical blow. I was the victim, yet somehow I was the one who was always in the wrong.

    Gaslit By Him, Reborn From Ashes Chapter 3

    Arielle Fischer’s POV
    A heavy feeling settled over me. Jason’s words echoed in my mind: “so picky it’s unbearable.” It wasn’t just criticism — it was a weapon. It negated my fear, my pain, even my right to exist safely.
    I remembered when Jason was different. Back then, he was my staunchest supporter. When my “Refined Matcha Wellness Café” was just getting started in the city, when investors questioned the concept, Jason stood by my side, his hand steady on my shoulder, advocating for my business.
    He helped me draft proposals, stayed up late tasting new matcha blends, and celebrated every small win like it was his own victory. My parents were initially skeptical about my choice to start a business, but it was because of his unwavering support for me and my dreams that they gradually accepted him.
    But that Jason was gone. In his place was a man blinded by a twisted childhood bond. He couldn’t see Kelly’s malice. His judgment had vanished, leaving only a near-pathological need to protect his “old friend.”
    I stared at him, saying nothing. My silence wasn’t weakness — it was a deliberate choice. There was no point arguing with someone who refused to listen.
    His mind was made up. In his eyes, Kelly was the innocent friend, and I was the problem.
    That night, lying in my hospital bed, I posted a brief message on my private social media: “The taste of betrayal is more bitter than losing your sense of taste.”
    Minutes later, Kelly’s name appeared on my screen. She messaged me directly:
    “What’s that supposed to mean, Arielle?” Her tone was feigned innocence. “Are you still blaming me? I apologized. I made a mistake. You’re being so dramatic. You should apologize to Jason — you’re the one stressing him out.”
    Furious, I replied: “Kelly, you’ve tried to set me up more than once!”
    She shot back immediately: “C’mon, you’re fine. Stop being so sensitive. Listen, I’m having a barbecue at Jason’s parents’ place tomorrow night. Everyone’s coming. Why don’t you come? We can hash it out face to face. You can tell everyone what a ‘monster’ I am, and I can tell them how hard I tried to help you. Let’s see who they believe.” She added: “Unless you’re too scared to face me, right?”
    She knew I was weak, yet she provoked me anyway. I didn’t have the strength to deal with Jason and his parents’ stares.
    But then a sense of shame — of being labeled “cowardly” — washed over me. The thought of Kelly “winning,” of her painting me as the villain, was unbearable. I wouldn’t let her get away with it anymore. I had to face her.
    “I’ll be there,” I typed, my resolve hardening.
    Minutes later, Jason called. His tone was impatient: “Arielle, Kelly said you’re coming to the barbecue. Why? You just got out of the ICU. Why are you causing trouble?” He sighed, exasperation in his voice. “It’s just a small gathering. Why do you have to make everything so complicated? Your… picky eating is already going to be an issue. Don’t make it worse.”
    His words hit me like a sledgehammer. He didn’t care about my health — he cared about his friends’ “vibe.” He’d reduced my life-threatening allergy to “picky eating,” nothing more than an inconvenience that would “ruin everyone’s mood.” His friends’ opinions mattered more than my safety, my health, even my existence.
    I was done.

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  • The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge by Star Cruiser

    The Penthouse Wife's Ultimate Revenge by Star Cruiser

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    One week before my wedding, I walked into the master bedroom of my fully-paid penthouse apartment and caught my fiancé cheating with my best friend.
    They were laughing about his fake “insomnia”—the lie he’d used to trick me into sleeping in the guest room so they could have the master bedroom to themselves.
    Gage was a top surgeon, and I’d sacrificed almost everything to care for his supposedly fragile health. I’d even brewed essential oils from my late mother’s precious collection to steady his hands.
    But behind my back, they were planning to pretend to marry me, then slowly push me out and take over my home.
    When I confronted them, they didn’t show a single ounce of guilt.
    Gage deliberately destroyed the essential oil my late mother had left me, then violently shoved me against the wall and locked me in the room to suffer the pain and bleeding alone.
    I had poured everything into building a safe harbor for this man, and in his eyes, I was nothing but a convenient stepping stone.
    I didn’t even bother shedding a single tear.
    I took out my phone, canceled our honeymoon trip, and listed the penthouse on the market—cash sale, 24 hours.
    Time to take out the trash.

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    The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 1

    Eliza Anderson’s POV:
    One week before my wedding, I noticed the master bedroom door was slightly ajar.
    Then I heard their voices—my fiancé Gage and my best friend Caroline. They were laughing about their secret relationship, how they’d been together behind my back!
    Gage Morrison was a top cardiovascular surgeon. In public, he was quiet, brilliant, compassionate.
    The media praised his steady hands and calm demeanor on the operating table. He spoke softly, always looking at you with that focused, concerned gaze. He cultivated an aura of sensitivity and thoughtfulness, and everyone around us fell for it.
    Gage claimed he suffered from severe insomnia. He said even the slightest sound or light would disturb his sleep. To deal with it, he needed to lock himself in the master bedroom every night.
    He needed absolute darkness and silence, no distractions whatsoever. And I believed him. I made sure the house stayed quiet. After nine o’clock at night, I always tiptoed around, terrified of disturbing him.
    I made so many sacrifices for Gage. His health became my top priority. I moved into the guest room, sharing it with Caroline. A few months earlier, she’d needed a place to stay after a bad breakup, and I’d taken her in without hesitation.
    I bought a special white noise machine for his room, installed blackout curtains, and prepared soothing herbal tea for him every night. I thought I was supporting the man I loved, helping him through a difficult condition.
    Seven days before the wedding, I was in the living room adjusting the wedding guest list when I heard a faint sound coming from the master bedroom.
    Gage always kept the master bedroom door locked tight, but now it was cracked open. I quietly approached the door and heard soft laughter, followed by Gage’s deep chuckle.
    My mind went blank. I pushed the door open a little more and peered through the crack.
    Caroline was sitting on the bed, wearing one of Gage’s oversized shirts, her hands casually draped over his shoulders. They looked far too intimate.
    Caroline spoke first, her voice teasing. “So, my dear heart doctor, how long do you plan to keep up this ‘insomnia’ act after the wedding? Eliza will get suspicious sooner or later.”
    Gage laughed. “Not too long. Just until she’s used to you living here. Once we’re married, my ‘insomnia’ will miraculously clear up. Then we can slowly talk her into moving out on her own. She’s so used to accommodating me, she’ll never suspect a thing.”
    Caroline leaned in closer. “And then? Just the two of us? In our penthouse?” She emphasized “our” with a possessive, triumphant tone.
    I held my breath. The penthouse was mine. I’d bought it with my own money.
    Gage leaned in and kissed her hair. “That’s right. Once she’s gone, we can really enjoy our lives. No more sneaking around, no more sharing the guest room with your fake best friend.”
    The world tilted. My vision blurred. My body went rigid. Their sweet words and cruel laughter filled my ears.
    His “insomnia” was a lie. His “insomnia” was an elaborate ruse. It had all been just to cover up their affair.
    I walked back to my room, and the first thing I did was take out my phone. I canceled the honeymoon trip—the Bora Bora vacation we’d always dreamed of.
    Then I opened the real estate app on my phone. The penthouse—I’d bought it outright, all cash. I listed it as “For Sale by Owner,” looking for a buyer who could close fast.
    I wanted them out. I wanted everything cleaned out. A notification popped up on the screen: “Listing successful. Expect high interest.” A cold satisfaction rose in my chest.
    I picked up the carefully blended essential oil from my nightstand. It was a soothing oil I’d specially formulated for Gage, using a precious plant essence my late mother had left me. I’d poured my heart into that tiny bottle with love, thinking it would ease his stress and steady his surgeon’s hands.
    It was a symbol of my care, my love, my devotion. I walked to the trash can and dropped it in. The small bottle hitting the plastic made a soft sound, but it felt like a gunshot.
    Just then, my phone vibrated. A message from the real estate agent: “Cash offer accepted. Closing in 48 hours.”
    I heard Gage and Caroline coming out of the master bedroom, their laughter still echoing. Caroline, as innocent as ever, walked into the kitchen and ran straight into me.
    She gave me a bright, fake smile. “Good morning, Eliza! Sleep well?”
    Gage followed behind, looking refreshed. The moment he saw me, he flashed his signature gentle, charming smile. “Good morning, Eliza. Sorry I’m up so early—another emergency. How did you sleep last night?”
    He walked toward me, reaching out to put his hand on my shoulder, and I felt a surge of revulsion. His touch used to comfort me, but now it sickened me like poison.
    I caught a faint, unfamiliar scent on him—sweet and cloying, Caroline’s cheap perfume, barely masked by Gage’s cologne.
    “Fine, Gage,” I answered calmly, betraying no emotion. Caroline was busy making coffee in the kitchen, humming a little tune.
    Then she turned around, looking at me with feigned innocence and concern. “Eliza, you look a little tired. Everything okay? Gage got a call last night, and we were just talking about his surgery.”
    Gage nodded, meeting my eyes. His gaze held that usual sincerity, like he’d practiced it a thousand times. “Yeah, honey, just a quick briefing. Caroline really understands my work. You know, I have to be ready for surgery.”
    He added a little apologetic shrug. His charm was still intact, a weapon he wielded at will. A flicker of unease crossed his eyes, but it was quickly masked by his usual calm. He was so good at pretending, it was terrifying.
    “It’s fine,” I said again, forcing myself to smile, not a single emotion showing on my face.
    Gage leaned in closer, his voice low and soft. “You know, this job… it’s really exhausting. But knowing you’re waiting for me—that’s what keeps me going.” He finished with a gentle squeeze of my hand and a smile.
    “I understand. Your work is important,” I replied perfunctorily.
    Gage smiled, satisfied. He picked a fresh rose from the vase on the counter and tucked it behind my ear. “Thank you for being so patient, my love. You’re the best.”
    There was a sparkle in his eyes. He was still so handsome, so perfect—but it felt like a cruel mockery, laughing at the trust I’d once had.
    Caroline stepped forward and took my arm. “Eliza, you know, sometimes you need to relax. Gage needs you to stay strong and happy. Maybe you should take a little trip, clear your head before the big day.” She patted my arm, smiling like a harmless little bunny.
    Gage looked at me with adoration in his eyes. “Yes, darling. You work so hard, you deserve a good rest. Your presence helps me so much—you’re my rock.”
    And then I saw it. A tiny, almost invisible fleck of glitter on the left lapel of Gage’s suit. It was Caroline’s.
    The last thread of my self-deception snapped completely. The so-called perfect life had all been a lie.
    My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, trying to look casual.
    It was an email from a private investigator I’d quietly hired a few days ago, out of desperation as Gage’s behavior grew stranger.
    The subject line read: “Caroline Stafford Pregnancy Confirmation Report.” My hands trembled slightly as I opened it.
    Attached was an ultrasound image and a doctor’s diagnostic report confirming Caroline was twelve weeks pregnant. At the bottom of the report, the doctor’s signature read: “Dr. Gage Morrison.” My world crumbled.

    The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 2

    Eliza Anderson’s POV:
    My phone vibrated again, and I clenched it tighter. Gage glanced at my trembling hand, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face.
    He met my gaze, and his smile faltered for a split second, almost freezing.
    “Eliza, is everything all right?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of concern—or was it wariness? He picked up his phone from the kitchen counter and swiped through notifications with practiced ease.
    “Just work emails,” I lied, my voice flat and emotionless, my face immediately shifting into an apologetic, charming smile.
    “Ah, these late-night emails. I’m so sorry, darling, for disturbing our morning.” He walked over, slipped an arm around my waist, pulled me close, and his lips brushed lightly against my forehead.
    “Actually,” he whispered in my ear, “I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you.” He pulled out his phone again and showed me the screen. It was a booking confirmation.
    “Bora Bora, first class, for two. Just us.” His eyes sparkled with feigned delight. “I know you’ve always wanted to go there. A little pre-wedding trip, just the two of us—my way of making up for being so busy with work.”
    He shook his head and laughed self-deprecatingly. “My job is absolutely crazy, but I carved out this time. Just you and me, away from everything.”
    He held the phone out to me, waiting for my reaction. I stared at the booking information, the text blurring. Bora Bora. The honeymoon I’d just canceled.
    The honeymoon he’d planned with Caroline. My stomach churned. The taste of irony was bitter in my mouth. “That’s wonderful, Gage.”
    I forced the words out, my voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “I’m so looking forward to it.” This was the game I had to play, and I’d play it well. I wouldn’t let them see me break.
    The next morning, the penthouse was filled with the aroma of coffee and freshly baked croissants.
    Surprisingly, Gage was in the kitchen, wearing a crisp white apron over his perfectly pressed shirt. He hummed a cheerful tune as he flipped pancakes.
    Caroline sat at the breakfast bar, drinking orange juice, glowing. “Good morning, Eliza!” she greeted cheerfully, looking up from her phone screen. “Gage made us a feast!”
    Gage turned around with a gentle smile. “Good morning, darling. Caroline specifically requested her favorite French toast. And you, my love—your usual berry smoothie.”
    He set the smoothie in front of me, then turned to Caroline and gently pushed a plate of French toast toward her. “Eat up, baby. You need your strength.”
    He came over to me and kissed my forehead. “Eliza, I’ll be working late at the hospital tonight. Big surgery, complex case. Don’t wait up for me.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
    “Of course, Gage,” I said softly. I reached up and smoothed his hair—a gesture I’d practiced a thousand times. “Be careful. Try to rest when you can.”
    I watched him leave, his handsome figure disappearing down the hallway. Caroline followed him to the door, waving goodbye. Then she turned around, a smug expression on her face, and walked back into the kitchen.
    Once they were both gone, I headed straight for Gage’s master bedroom. I pulled a small metal key from the bottom of my jewelry box. The lock clicked softly and swung open with a dull thud.
    I pushed the door open. The room was spotless, a perfect reflection of his obsession with tidiness. It smelled of Gage’s cologne, mixed with a hint of Caroline’s cheap perfume.
    I walked straight to the bed—the luxurious king-sized bed where they’d carried out their betrayal. I lifted the heavy mattress. Beneath it, a small velvet pouch was hidden. I found it. Caroline’s diary. Filled with her elegant handwriting, documenting every sordid detail.
    I started reading. Her words leaped off the page, each one a stab to my heart.
    “Gage’s ‘insomnia’ is such a brilliant excuse. Eliza is so naive! She actually believes it. She even buys him special tea! Haha! While she’s sleeping peacefully in the guest room, I’m in her master bedroom, in her bed, with her fiancé.” My hand tightened around the diary, fury rising.
    “Poor thing, always trying to be the perfect girlfriend, the supportive partner. Doesn’t she know Gage needs excitement, not some tame little perfumer? I’m what he really wants.”
    “He says I’m lively, fun. He says Eliza is… comfortable. Boring. He can’t wait for the wedding so he can finally be rid of her. Then this penthouse, his career, our baby… it’ll all be mine. All mine!”
    The more I read, the colder I felt. I recalled countless conversations with Caroline—her subtle barbs, her fake compliments.
    “Eliza, you’re so lucky to have a man like Gage. He’s so handsome and successful. But you know, men sometimes need a little passion. You’re just so calm, so grounded.”
    At the time, I’d brushed it off, thinking it was her own insecurity talking. Now I saw the truth behind her words. She wasn’t envious of me—she was studying me, waiting for her chance to take everything. She wanted to take everything from me.
    I was about to tear the diary to shreds when something else caught my eye. Hidden beneath the diary was a snow-white envelope with my name scrawled across it in hurried handwriting.
    I opened it. Despite my resolve, my fingers still trembled. Inside was a medical report.
    And an ultrasound photo. “Patient: Caroline Stafford.” Date: two weeks ago. “Estimated gestational age: 12 weeks.”
    My vision blurred. On the signature line, clearly visible: “Attending Physician: Gage Morrison.”

    The Penthouse Wife’s Ultimate Revenge Chapter 3

    Eliza Anderson’s POV:
    I stumbled out of the master bedroom, clutching the diary and the ultrasound photo tightly in my hands.
    I needed to be alone. I retreated to my own room, closed the door, and the lock clicked shut, as if sealing off the entire world.
    My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, my back against the cold wall. I bit down hard on my lower lip—the taste of blood was the only thing that made me feel real.
    I slowly stood up and walked to the mirror. I tried to smile, to give myself some comfort, but my lips wouldn’t obey. The corners of my mouth trembled, then fell. I closed my eyes.
    In that moment, I knew—the Eliza I used to be was gone forever.
    A few hours later, I heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. Gage and Caroline were back. Their voices drifted down the hallway, light and cheerful.
    Gage walked in first, carrying a large insulated bag. “Darling Eliza, I’m home. I hope you ate something. I brought your favorite Thai curry, to make up for my recent absences.” He gave me that deliberately practiced apologetic smile.
    He opened the bag, and the rich aroma of coconut milk and spices filled the room.
    “I know there’s always something pulling me away lately,” he continued, arranging the containers on the dining table, “but I really want you to know how much I care.”
    “I’m not hungry, Gage. I don’t feel well.”
    “Oh, Eliza, you really should eat something,” Caroline chimed in, her voice laced with concern. She gestured toward the food on the table. “Gage went all the way out there just for you.”
    I ignored her. I pressed “send” on my phone, and a notification popped up on the screen: “Penthouse sale confirmed. Cash buyer, closing within 24 hours.”
    Gage’s smile froze. Caroline’s eyes widened. They both stared at my phone, then at me. Their usual composure was cracked with shock and confusion.
    “What… what is this, Eliza?” Gage’s voice was tight, with obvious anger.
    “I sold the penthouse,” I said calmly and clearly. “Cash buyer, closing tomorrow morning.” I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.
    I walked past their stunned faces and back to my room. As I passed the living room sofa, I saw it—my engagement ring, sparkling in the light.
    I remembered the day Gage proposed. He knelt before me, his eyes full of what I’d thought was love. “This ring,” he’d said, holding up the dazzling diamond, “is a symbol of my endless loyalty, my promise to spend my life with you, Eliza.” Those vows I’d once cherished now sounded like hollow lies.
    The next morning, I woke up early. My phone vibrated. A notification from Caroline’s social media. A photo. Her hand intertwined with Gage’s, my engagement ring glittering on her finger. The caption read: “Finally got the ring that’s mine! And a little one on the way! Can’t wait for our future, my love @GageMorrison.”
    I felt that familiar rage rise up again, but then my phone rang. It was Gage.
    “Eliza, what is the meaning of this?” His voice was tight with anger.
    “What meaning, Gage?” I asked calmly.
    “Caroline’s post! And the ring! Why is she wearing your ring?” he demanded.
    “She’s carrying your child, Gage,” I stated the obvious. “Maybe she feels entitled to it. Or maybe you gave it to her.”
    He stammered for a moment, then forced himself to sound composed. “Eliza, don’t be ridiculous. She… she’s just emotional. I let her try it on to calm her down. You know how sensitive women get when they’re pregnant.” His tone was condescending, dismissive. “It’s nothing. I’ll buy you a bigger one, a better one.”
    “That’s fine, Gage,” I said in a voice so cold it could freeze. “You two keep it. I don’t need it.” I hung up before he could say anything else.
    I looked at the email on my laptop. The penthouse closing documents. “Transaction complete.” A cold, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. His promises of bigger rings, better lives—they all meant nothing. I’d cut everything off. He could keep those material possessions; I didn’t need them.
    I crumpled the engagement ring receipt into a ball and tossed it in the recycling bin. Then I called a taxi.
    Time to take back what’s mine.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Claimed by My Father’s Rival by 4Rose

    Claimed by My Father's Rival by 4Rose

    👉 READ NOW

    Five years ago, I shattered my father’s skull and vanished into the shadows. To the world, I was a ghost. To the medical school, just a quiet student. To the most ruthless mafia Don in New York? I was the ultimate prize.
    Killian O’Connor is a monster in a bespoke suit. Cold. Lethal. Dominant. He took over the city with blood on his hands and an iron rule: No drugs, no mercy, and no loose ends. My father murdered his little sister. Now, Killian has come to collect his debt.
    He didn’t just break into my clinic on a rainy midnight-he pinned me to the exam table, stripped away my forged identity, and dangled my family’s lives on a string.
    “You are my hostage now, little Moretti,” his dark voice purred against my ear, his large hand ripping through my clothes without an ounce of pity. “Your freedom, your safety, and your body… all belong to me.”
    I promised myself I would do anything to survive. I gave him my father’s secret list of political puppets. I let him lock me in his golden cage. I even let him press his cold steel knife-and his scalding lips-against my skin.
    In his subterranean hell, I was supposed to be his enemy. So why does his cruel possession feel like the only safe haven I’ve ever known?
    “Claimed by My Father’s Rival” is a dark, angsty mafia romance with explicit steam, a possessive hero who’ll burn the world for his woman, and a strong heroine with a dark secret. Guaranteed HEA.

    👉 READ NOW

    Claimed by My Father’s Rival Chapter 1 Found at Last

    Flashback, age fifteen
    “…When morning breaks, I’ll keep you safe beside me…”
    I sat on the carpet with my eyes closed, listening to the song through my earbuds, my brown hair still damp and fragrant with lemon-scented shampoo, spread loose over my shoulders.
    This was the one brief, precious stretch of the day when I didn’t have to hold myself together.
    Even turning a page sent a spike of pain through my wrist. Courtesy of my father – the buckle-shaped bruise from last week hadn’t healed yet, and last night had added a fresh one. I glanced up at the mirror. A bruise the color of a storm cloud bloomed across my forehead. I dabbed on a thin layer of iodine, and the second it grazed the swollen skin, I hissed and sucked in a breath.
    “Bang!”
    A crash exploded from downstairs – the sound of a door slamming so hard it hit the wall.
    The man they called my father – Carmine Moretti – was home.
    I could gauge exactly how much he’d had to drink just from the sound of that door. And there was no mistaking it: this was the worst he’d been in six months.
    My father had ruled this city’s underworld for a decade. Lately, word was he’d run into a bit of “trouble” – some hot-headed upstart, avenging a dead sister, was chewing through his territory.
    I’d overheard that much from behind the staircase railing. Not that they ever bothered to lower their voices around me. Why would an elephant bother hiding anything from an ant?
    I scrambled to shove the book and earbuds out of sight. Anything that made it look like I was enjoying myself became kindling for his temper. I hated how practiced I’d become at hiding it.
    Please, I begged the empty air. Let tonight pass quietly.
    Tears were already gathering.
    Downstairs, my mother’s voice rang out, falsely bright: “Carmine, you’re home-”
    The words never finished. A sharp crack of a slap cut her off.
    “Shut your mouth, you useless bitch.”
    “No!” My mother’s cry was short, cut off almost as soon as it started.
    Then came the thudding – dull, heavy, one after another, tangled with the slur of my father’s curses.
    Bile rose in my throat. Cold sweat slid down my forehead, and my hands went numb and icy.
    For one unbearable second, I wanted to crawl under the desk and disappear.
    No. I couldn’t. He’d kill her.
    Fifteen years old, and was I still that child who only knew how to hide? I bolted out of my room, ducking first into my sister Mia’s. Six-year-old Mia was fast asleep, clutching her stuffed animal. I slipped a pair of noise-canceling earmuffs over her ears, then ran downstairs.
    I smelled the blood before I even reached the living room.
    My father’s knee was pinning my mother’s spine to the floor. One hand fisted in her hair, slamming her head against the tile again and again, blood already spreading across the grout lines. As if that weren’t enough to satisfy him, his other fist came down on her back – one dull, heavy blow after another.
    At first my mother screamed. Before long, all that was left was a broken, breathless rasp from somewhere deep in her throat.
    “Dad… please stop… Mom’s going to die…” My lips trembled as I clung to the table for support.
    He didn’t even look at me. I was invisible to him right now – I’d only become his next target once he’d finished with her.
    My fingers moved without thought across the tabletop and closed around something heavy and cold – a brass ashtray.
    My heart lurched.
    Maybe. Maybe this could be the night this nightmare ended.
    I closed my eyes, took one step forward, and swung the ashtray as hard as I could into the back of his skull-

    ***
    Present, age twenty
    A crack of thunder yanked me out of that five-year-old abyss.
    I looked up. Rain hammered the window like it had gone mad, and it had been coming down for hours now. Every storm dragged me back to that blood-soaked night. I shook my head and slotted the hemostat back into the sterilizer tray.
    I was studying pre-nursing at community college – straight A’s. My professor had tried more than once to talk me into transferring to a four-year state program, had even lined up a scholarship for me. I turned her down every time.
    I wanted a better school. But only a place this overcrowded, this forgettable, was safe enough. The Morettis could scour the whole East Coast and never think to look here.
    To me, safety mattered more than anything. All I wanted was for Mom and Mia to stay alive, and to stay together.
    Classes in the day, the clinic in the afternoon, home with them in the evening. Tight on money, but steady. A resident once or twice had asked me out for coffee. I always turned them down. I didn’t dare. Someone like me – someone the past could swallow whole at any moment – didn’t get to fall in love.
    Mia had asked me once why I never went on dates. I’d lied and told her I was saving up to buy her headphones. She believed me.
    The new mint-green pair sat in my canvas bag right now, bought with this month’s paycheck. If it weren’t for this storm, she’d already be wearing them.
    Just picturing her smile put a little life back into my legs after a full day on my feet.
    A car pulled up outside, its headlights sweeping the window and setting off every alarm bell in my body. Five years of running had taught me to bristle at anything that disturbed the stillness. Most of the time, it turned out to be nothing but my own paranoia.
    Mia always told me, Sis, you’re too jumpy.
    She’d been too young to remember how terrifying our father really was. Besides – what was the harm in being careful?
    I slipped behind the curtain and fixed my eyes on the car.
    No one got out. A few minutes later, it pulled away, leaving nothing but rain under the streetlight. I let out a breath. Just some poor soul who’d gotten the wrong address. Nobody ran a clinic out here at midnight – not unless they had a doctor’s private number.
    I turned back to the exam room and went on packing up the instruments.
    Crash-
    The glass in the clinic door shattered in an instant, and the door was kicked open, letting in a gust of cold, rain-soaked air.
    That same car sat outside, its high beams blazing straight through the doorway, blinding me. Silhouetted against the light stood a tall figure.
    I raised a hand to shield my eyes, still unable to make out his face – only that two eyes had fixed on me and refused to look away.
    He stepped inside, boots crunching over broken glass with every stride, and with each step closer, the thick copper smell of blood filled the clinic.
    He stopped a yard away. Every hair on my body stood on end.
    Damn it.
    I snatched a scalpel from the tray and backed against the wall – an instinct hard-wired into me after five years on the run. I studied him: too tall, a black suit stretched taut over a powerful frame, collar loosened, a bead of water tracing the line of his jaw.
    He stood there, a yard away, and his eyes – dark, unreadable – swept over me the way a predator looks over something it already owns.
    “The Moretti heiress,” a cold curve tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been a hell of a lot of trouble to find.”
    -So. Found at last.

    Claimed by My Father’s Rival Chapter 2 Hostage

    Sloane’s POV
    Was he one of my father’s men?
    I studied him more closely – a handsome, unfamiliar face. His suit, soaked as it was, was clearly expensive, tailored. The watch on his wrist was a limited edition.
    I knew my father. He never spent that kind of money on anyone who worked for him.
    “Who are you?” I gritted out, and the moment his attention flickered, I struck – the scalpel aimed at the side of his throat.
    I wasn’t trying to kill him. Just to buy myself a window to run.
    Everything blurred. His hand closed around my wrist before I even saw it move. I drove a knee toward his ribs; he caught it against his thigh and shoved it back, and my knee buckled under the force, nearly folding.
    Every technique I’d ever prided myself on meant nothing against him.
    He held my wrist and, almost lazily, guided the blade closer to his own throat – close enough to graze his collar.
    “You-” My eyes went wide.
    “Not really a girl’s toy,” he said, twisting my wrist until the scalpel clattered to the floor, “especially not in front of me.”
    “Who the hell are you?” I demanded, and in the next breath my arm was wrenched behind my back and I was pinned face-down over the desk, the edge biting into my hip hard enough to knock a groan out of me.
    He leaned down, his body large over mine, his breath hot against my ear, and gooseflesh rose along my neck. I braced my forearms and tried to push up; he pressed me flat again. This time harder – my shoulder slammed into a file folder, and I gasped.
    “Care to try a different move?” he murmured, looking down at me like I was some minor entertainment. “Let’s see what the Morettis actually taught you.”
    Inwardly, I scoffed. This wasn’t one of my father’s men. My father would have killed me outright – he wouldn’t have the patience for this cat-and-mouse routine.
    “Killian O’Connor.” He spared me the trouble of guessing. “Perhaps you’ve heard the name.”
    Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. Of course I’d heard it. Heir to the O’Connor family. Five years ago, his sister had died at my father’s hands, and from that day on, the blood feud between our families had been carved in stone – nothing left to bridge it.
    “I’m not a Moretti anymore. Let go of me.” I struggled against the desk. “Taking me does nothing to them.”
    “Sure it doesn’t,” Killian said with a cold laugh. “Though that old bastard would probably rather carve you up himself – considering five years ago, thanks to you, he spent a week in the hospital before he crawled back from the edge of dead.”
    “Then why me?” I was still struggling.
    The weight on my back pressed down harder, his patience visibly thinning. “Keep moving, and I can’t promise they’ll keep smiling like this.”
    A Polaroid dropped in front of my face.
    I looked down, and my mind went white with static.
    My mother, at the stove. Mia beside her, grinning ear to ear. The photograph had gone soft and wrinkled from the rain, the edges blurred – but I recognized the apartment instantly. Ours.
    I stopped fighting.
    He could have pressed that scalpel to my throat right then, and I wouldn’t have dared resist.
    …
    The blindfold was torn off without ceremony. The light was blinding.
    I raised a hand against the glare, and it took a few seconds before the room came into focus. Small. Bulletproof glass sealed every wall, reflecting nothing back at me but my own blurred outline – no trace of what lay beyond.
    Killian had changed out of his soaked suit and now sat across from me on the sofa, a glass of whiskey turning slowly in his hand. His shirtsleeves were rolled up carelessly, veins standing out along his forearm.
    I glanced down at the iron shackles around my ankles. Pointless, really. Even without them, there was nowhere for me to run.
    He took a sip. “Welcome,” he said, “to being my guest.”
    I bit my lip and said nothing, my mind racing through everything I knew about this man.
    Five years ago, my father had dismissed him as some “reckless kid,” even as he’d already begun gnawing away at Moretti territory. Three years ago, at twenty-four, he’d made his name in a single night – dropping his own traitor uncle, along with a few hundred of the man’s men, straight into the ocean. After that, no one inside the O’Connor family dared to challenge him again. Seven ports along the southeast coast, and every ounce of the black-market trade that ran through them, belonged to him alone.
    Four of those seven ports had once flown Moretti colors.
    The one thing he never touched was drugs. Any man under him caught so much as sampling it lost a hand, or a foot. In this world, that rule made him something close to an anomaly. Rumor had it, it had something to do with his dead sister.
    I understood the blood feud between him and my family – his sister had died by my father’s hand. But if he wanted vengeance, my father was the one to bleed for it. Why me? I was the daughter who’d fled the family. My own father would be thrilled to hear I’d died out here.
    “You’re useful to me,” he said, as if he’d read the question straight off my face.
    “Useful how?”
    “I don’t like wasting time,” he said, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass. “The Morettis have connections buried in the government, in every other family in this business. I imagine you know quite a few names.”
    I drew a slow breath, forcing myself to think past the fear. He wasn’t wrong. Those names – I’d grown up hearing them, knew them better than I knew my own.
    “Give me the list.” He raised his glass toward me, almost a toast. “You managed to disappear from your father’s manhunt for five years. You clearly know what serves you best.”
    I thought of a headline from last month’s Financial Times – federal regulators freezing three of O’Connor’s offshore accounts, launching a full audit. That kind of investigation could drag on for as long as the government wanted it to, and it was more than enough to choke his cash flow dry.
    I’d suspected it the moment I read it: my father’s fingerprints, all over it. He couldn’t take back his territory, so he’d make sure his enemy couldn’t enjoy the spoils either.
    “You understand now, why I came for you.”
    His gaze slid from my face down to the shackles at my ankles.
    “And frankly, I’m curious. If Carmine found out the daughter he beat half to death five years ago wasn’t just alive, but had sold out every card he was holding to the man who wants him dead – I wonder what his face would look like.”
    I forced my voice level, already calculating what this bargaining chip might be worth.
    “If I hand you a network the Morettis spent half a lifetime building – what do I get in return?”
    He set the glass down, and his eyes cut into me like a blade. “Sweetheart, do you honestly think you’re in a position to negotiate?”
    “I do.” I clenched my fists and laid out my terms. “I’ll give you the list – more than you asked for, even. But I have conditions. Conditions that cost you nothing.”
    He tipped his chin up slightly, a signal to continue.
    “You guarantee my mother’s and my sister’s safety. Don’t drag them into any of this.” I held out one hand, palm up. “And give me a phone. I need to tell them I’m alive.”
    Killian rose, crossed the room, and tipped my chin up with two fingers, forcing my head back.
    He was too tall, too close. My neck strained to its limit.
    Our eyes locked. A faint smile touched his mouth, and his thumb brushed over my bottom lip. “Direct. I like that. But the O’Connor family doesn’t deal in verbal agreements. As of now, you’re my hostage. Your freedom – your body – all of it belongs to me.”
    He let go, pulled a phone from his pocket, and dropped it in my lap. “Speaker.”
    I grabbed it and dialed home.
    “Hello?” My mother’s voice, and behind it, Mia’s chatter.
    “It’s me, Mom.” My eyes stung. I forced the tremor out of my throat.
    “Sloane? Why aren’t you home yet?” A pause. “Whose number is this?”
    “My phone died. I borrowed a coworker’s. Mom, the clinic’s sending me to a conference last-minute – I’m leaving tonight, might be gone a few days.” It was a lie I’d used twice before this year; convincing enough.
    “So sudden?” A pause on the other end. “Sweetheart, is this about your father-”
    “No, of course not.” I cut her off, softening my voice. “He can’t find us. Anyway – Mia’s headphones, I’ll bring them home with me. The color she wanted.”
    A muffled cheer came through the line.
    That was when Killian leaned in without warning. His hand slid beneath my shirt, and with a sharp snap, my bra clasp gave way. I went rigid, breath catching in my throat, my fingers tightening around the phone as I forced the gasp back down.
    I looked down and watched his hands – two hot, coiling things – slide from my back to the front, closing over my breasts, kneading without rhythm or mercy. Every inch of my skin broke out in a shiver.
    His mouth found my ear. “Don’t move,” he murmured. “Or your mother will hear.”
    On the other end, my mother kept talking – some last piece of advice. My ears burned, my mind went blank, and I bit down hard on my tongue, using the pain to hold on to whatever control I had left.
    “Mom, I have to pack.”
    “Sis-!” Mia’s voice cut in, like she had something to say.
    Right as her voice came through the speaker, Killian’s fingers pinched the peak of my breast, deliberate, precise.
    I sucked in a breath and forced the words out fast: “Mia… mm… I’ll see you when I’m home, okay – bye!”
    I nearly slammed my thumb down on the call-end button – one more second and I had no idea what sound would have come out of me instead.
    That devil leaned in close again, his voice thick with amusement. “I told you. Your body belongs to me too. And this – this is only the beginning.”

    Claimed by My Father’s Rival Chapter 3 Boxes

    Sloane’s POV
    “Don’t drag them into this.” I pressed my hand over his, stilling it where it still moved beneath my shirt, and forced a breath into my lungs. “I thought you meant to keep your word.”
    “That depends on how well you behave.” Killian didn’t stop.
    Two knocks broke the moment. I nearly sagged with relief.
    “Come in.” Killian withdrew his hand from beneath my shirt, lingering a moment longer at my waist, thumb and forefinger giving one last, deliberate pinch.
    Only once his warmth had fully left my skin did I dare breathe again.
    A woman in a dark uniform entered, head bowed, shoulders drawn in on themselves. “Don, the room’s ready. I’ll take Miss Sloane there now.”
    “Go.” Killian walked back to the sofa and sat.
    The maid knelt and unlocked the shackles at my ankles, then gestured toward the door.
    I forced myself upright and reached to straighten my soaked shirt – the bra clasp was beyond repair, the fabric bunched uselessly against my chest, impossible to smooth into any kind of dignity. I made myself walk to the door anyway. I would not let him see anything more than what he’d already taken.
    The moment I stepped through the doorway, I understood exactly where I was.
    An alloy corridor stretched out ahead, no end in sight, sterile as an operating room. Along both sides ran a row of one-way glass cells. I glanced back once – Killian was still seated where I’d left him, glass in hand, lost in some thought of his own.
    The maid led the way, her pace unhurried enough that I couldn’t help but see everything on either side of me.
    In the cell to my left, a man in port-worker’s overalls hung suspended by chains, his toes barely grazing the floor, his face swollen a deep, bruised purple.
    Across from him, another man – reduced to nothing but skin over bone – huddled in a corner, staring at the floor with hollow, unseeing eyes.
    Further on, a cell that had just finished its work: blood sprayed across the inside of the glass, a body slumped over a steel stool, flayed raw. A guard hosed the floor down, rinsing the blood away in thin red streams.
    Nearly every room staged its own horror.
    “You’re the first one to walk out of a ‘Box’ without a mark on you,” the maid said, a quick glance flicking toward me before dropping away again.
    “Box?” I repeated the word. “You call these – these chambers of hell – boxes?”
    “Yes, miss.” Her voice dropped even lower. “It’s the Don’s word for them.”
    I walked on in silence.
    I’d seen how my father punished his enemies and his traitors – pure savagery, violence with no shape to it, nothing but rage looking for a place to land. This was different. The clean corridor, the deliberate order of it all – this felt less like punishment and more like specimens laid out behind glass. That kind of clean, methodical cruelty chilled me far more than anything my father had ever done.
    My steps faltered.
    “How could she-” My hand flew to my mouth before I even registered the thought.
    Through the glass, I recognized the woman inside – a federal prosecutor I’d seen countless times on the evening news, always composed, always sharp, carrying an authority that brooked no argument.
    Yet here she was inside the interrogation room, her tailored suit cast aside, wearing nothing but a torn white shirt with lace panties hanging from one ankle. Several naked men were gang-raping her. One forced her head down, thrusting himself fully into her mouth as her saliva spilled onto the floor. Another held her by the waist, sneering as he drove brutally into her lower body. The others crowded around her, hands roaming freely, relentlessly tearing through her sensitive spots.
    Multiple cameras and studio lights were set up nearby, recording every angle of the nightmare in agonizing clarity.
    What unsettled me most wasn’t the violence itself. It was her eyes. There was no fight left in them – only a kind of hollowed-out compliance, as if whatever had made her her had already been methodically taken apart.
    I’d watched her on television just two days ago, delivering a verdict with absolute conviction.
    The maid saw me stop and offered a quiet explanation. “Anyone who crosses the Don – death is the mercy. The Don says stripping someone like her of her pride is worth a thousand times more than simply killing her.”
    “He’s insane.” My stomach lurched violently. “An absolute monster.”
    I didn’t look toward either side again. I kept my head down and followed the maid until we reached a door at the top floor.
    It was a cage – an obscenely beautiful one. A massive, antique four-poster bed dominated the center of the room. Electric flames flickered in a fireplace nearby. Deep crimson drapes hung from the canopy all the way to the carpet. Four narrow, Gothic-arched windows had been sealed shut with steel plating – no sunlight would ever reach this room. Not even a breath of wind.
    I turned to the maid. “I’m nobody. Why would he need a cage this reinforced just to hold me? Not even special forces could get out of a room like this.”
    She hesitated, her gaze sweeping the dim, opulent room before finally landing on my soaked shirt. She didn’t answer my question – only said, quietly, “Miss Sloane, the door won’t be locked. But I wouldn’t recommend stepping outside it. This place is dangerous.”
    There was something like pity in her eyes. It was the only warmth I’d felt since walking into this hell.
    Instinct made the decision for me before I could think it through.
    I dropped to my knees on the heavy carpet and seized her hand. “Please. Help me.”
    “My mother is sick. My sister has no one else. I can’t die here.” I clung to her, begging.
    Fear and something like anguish crossed her face. She tried to pull away; I held on tighter.
    “Please. I’m only twenty. I’ve never hurt anyone.”
    Her eyes darted around the room, as if the walls themselves might be watching. Then she leaned in close and murmured, so quietly I almost missed it: “Tonight, three a.m. Wait here.”
    The instant the words left her mouth, she shoved me away, her voice rising sharply: “You’d best behave and give up on that idea.”
    She turned and walked out. The heavy wooden door swung shut behind her.
    I sank to the carpet, the strength that had held me upright all night finally giving out. The electric fire cast a trembling orange light across the drapes – flickering, flickering.
    If I could get out of here, I would take my mother and Mia and run to the ends of the earth.
    If I could just get out.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal by CHRISTINE ROBINSON

    Guest User: My Marriage's Betrayal by CHRISTINE ROBINSON

    👉 READ NOW

    I sacrificed my career and endured agonizing IVF treatments, all just to give my husband’s wealthy family an heir.

    But when I checked the smart ring app his company had launched, I discovered my personal profile was labeled as a “Temporary User”—all data automatically wiped every 90 days.

    And positioned right above me, the name of his junior employee, Katerina, was glaringly listed as the “Primary User,” complete with a detailed log tracking her 24-week pregnancy.

    When I confronted him, Calvin didn’t apologize. Instead, he brought his pregnant mistress home.

    He actually demanded that I act as her caretaker, while his mother sneered, calling me a disposable ornament and ordering me to leave the marriage with nothing.

    My husband had merely used my painful fertility struggles to beta-test his algorithms, while secretly using our marital assets to fund his new family.

    In this marriage, I was nothing but a temporary data point.

    They thought I would silently accept being treated as a disposable “guest.”

    But I handed over the evidence of his severe data privacy violations to a shrewd, ruthless lawyer, and then decisively exposed the truth to the world.

    👉 READ NOW

    Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal Chapter 1

    Allison Benson’s POV

    The doctor’s appointment was scheduled for ten in the morning. I needed to download my three-month health report from the smart ring app. Dr. Chen specifically requested a detailed data report covering my menstrual cycle regularity, sleep patterns, and stress levels.

    Calvin, my husband, had insisted I wear his company’s prototype product—the “Aura” smart ring—claiming it was to “support my IVF journey.” He said my data was crucial for optimizing their women’s health algorithms.

    I opened the Aura app on my tablet. The company’s logo flashed on the screen, a glowing, stylized feminine symbol. My finger hovered over the “Download Report” button. Right at that moment, an unexpected window popped up on the screen—”User Selection.” It listed two names: my name, Allison Benson, and right below it, another name: Katerina Copeland.

    Katerina Copeland. The name struck me like a bolt of lightning. She was a junior product manager at Calvin’s company, AuraTech.

    I had seen her at a few company events. Young, smart, and always impeccably dressed. But why was her name on my app? This was my ring, my data. An icy wave of unease washed over me.

    Almost involuntarily, my finger tapped Katerina’s name. A brand-new page loaded. It was her personal profile, detailed and comprehensive.

    My eyes scanned the data: cycle records, sleep scores, activity levels. Her data logs stretched back for months, continuous and complete, far exceeding what I saw in my own account.

    I kept scrolling, past various charts. The final entry was highlighted in a glaring green. It wasn’t a standard cycle log, but a status update, clear and piercing—”Pregnancy Log: Week 24.” My vision began to blur. Week 24, six months, a baby. Her baby, Calvin’s baby.

    My hands shook violently. I quickly navigated back to my own profile page. My data was there, but sparse and fragmented. A few weeks here, a few days there, leaving massive blank gaps.

    My cycle logs, my desperate attempts and efforts to get pregnant, had been reduced to these incomplete fragments. I noticed a nearly invisible little tag under my name: “Temporary User. Data auto-clears every 90 days.”

    A Temporary User, a temporary placeholder.

    My mind was in utter chaos. He gave me the ring, saying it was for us, for our shared dream of a family. But in reality, he was just treating me as a temporary data tester, a disposable account that could be tossed aside at any moment.

    And Katerina was the “Primary User.” All the way to delivery. His system had clearly defined our roles. I was the temporary guest, and she was the permanent resident.

    It was absolutely sickening!

    Calvin’s late nights at work, his sudden “business trips,” the absent-minded look in his eyes whenever I talked about IVF treatments.

    They had planned it all along, how they were going to replace me.

    The doctor’s appointment now felt like a sick joke. I grabbed my phone, found the appointment, and deleted it without hesitation.

    An intense urge to flee surged within me; I wanted to escape this life.

    I looked around the luxurious living room. Every piece of furniture, every decoration felt tainted; I stood up, walked into the bedroom, pulled a small duffel bag from the closet, and haphazardly stuffed a few clothes inside. I had to leave. I needed air.

    The sound of the front door opening echoed through the silent house. Calvin was back, earlier than usual. My heart raced, like a drum pounding wildly against my ribcage. He never came home this early unless he thought I wasn’t here.

    “Allison?” His voice sounded light, tinged with surprise. “You’re home?”

    He walked into the living room, briefcase in hand, and stopped. His eyes swept the room and finally landed on me and the half-open bag. He frowned slightly. “What’s going on? Did you miss your appointment?”

    “No.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I canceled it.”

    He took off his coat and casually draped it over a chair. “Why? Is everything okay? Weren’t you really anxious about this checkup?” He didn’t wait for my answer, walking straight into the kitchen and tossing his keys onto the marble counter with a sharp clink. “I’m starving. I’ve been busy all day, didn’t even get to eat lunch.”
    He opened the fridge, looking down to rummage for food, and hastily took a few bites; I watched him. This man was actually sleeping around with another woman!

    He returned to the living room holding a bottle of water. “I need a shower, today’s meetings were exhausting.”

    A few minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, drying his hair as he walked. He looked refreshed and completely oblivious. “So,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair, “ready to go get some dinner? I was thinking we could try that new Italian place.”

    “Calvin,” I started, my voice perfectly calm, without a single ripple of emotion, “are you going to come with me to my next IVF checkup?”

    He paused, the towel still in his hands. His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Another checkup? Allison, we just did one last week. You know how swamped I am right now; the Series C funding is urgent.” His voice was gentle, but I could hear the underlying impatience. “This is a critical time for AuraTech, you understand that, right?”

    “This is critical for us too.” I raised my voice slightly. “This is for our baby, Calvin. This is our last cycle, and if it fails, we have to re-evaluate everything. You promised you’d be there for me.”

    He walked over and placed a hand on my arm. “Of course, honey. I’ll try to make time. I’ll see if I can rearrange my schedule, it’s just… work is absolutely crazy right now. You understand, right?”

    “No, Calvin. I don’t understand why Katerina Copeland is listed as the ‘Primary User’ on the Aura app, and why her profile says ‘Pregnancy Log: Week 24,’ while I am just a ‘Temporary User’ whose data gets wiped every 90 days.”

    Calvin froze. A flash of panic crossed his usually confident eyes. He took a step back.

    “What are you talking about, Allison? What app? Are you snooping through my things again? That is company property, you have no right to look at internal data.”
    My heart was beating frantically, but a strange calmness settled over me. This was his playbook. Manipulate, deflect.

    He had always done this, but today was different. I recalled the countless times he accused me of being paranoid or overreacting whenever I questioned his overly intimate texts with Katerina, or the necessity of him “mentoring” her late at night. He always brushed me off like this.

    “She’s new, Allison. She needs extra guidance.”

    “She’s smart, Allison. I need her on this project.” That was his explanation when I found Katerina’s name repeatedly popping up on his personal phone.

    And I, like a fool, always apologized for my “insecurities,” thinking it was my problem.

    “No, Calvin, I was just checking my own health report—the data report on the ring you gave me specifically for the IVF. And I found Katerina’s profile, a ‘Primary User’ account, logging 24 weeks of pregnancy.”

    His eyes narrowed as he tried to find any sign of wavering on my face. “Allison, that… that’s a system glitch. I can explain it to you.”

    I let out a cold laugh, heavy with sarcasm. “A glitch? A ‘glitch’ that turns a wife who has poured everything into realizing our dream of a family into a ‘Temporary User,’ while making your subordinate the ‘Primary User’?”

    He ran a hand through his hair. “Allison, stop talking nonsense. You are my wife. This is just… a technical error. It has nothing to do with us.”

    “Does it really have nothing to do with us?” A wave of nausea hit me. “Does your ‘technical error’ also include bringing Katerina home? Into our house?”

    His eyes darted around the room, as if looking for hidden cameras. “She… she wasn’t feeling well, she got dizzy suddenly. I just brought her back to rest for a bit before taking her home.” He stammered.

    “And are the ‘special notes’ in her pregnancy log about ‘high risk, continuous monitoring required’ and ‘prenatal care expenses paid from shared account’ also technical glitches, Calvin?”

    He exploded. “Allison, you’re crazy! This is internal company business! You are clearly unstable and making things up!” He pointed at me, his face flushing red. “I have a board meeting tomorrow, I don’t have time to listen to your baseless accusations!”

    He turned to leave, fleeing to his usual safe haven—”work.” “We’ll talk when you calm down. Maybe you need to go see Dr. Evans again and get your stress levels adjusted.”

    I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “There won’t be a ‘later,’ Calvin. And I won’t ‘calm down.’ I am leaving you!”

    He tried to push past me. “Allison, move! You are being utterly unreasonable!”

    I stood my ground, unmoving, but inside, I had completely woken up!

    Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal Chapter 2

    Allison Benson’s POV

    The next morning, Calvin left, slamming the door hard. He didn’t even look at me.

    His usual routine of a hurried morning kiss on the cheek and a mumbled “love you, honey” was gone. He just walked straight out, leaving behind an empty silence and the lingering scent of his cologne.

    Right before walking out, he had paused, turned around, and put on a forced smile. “Listen, Allison, about Katerina. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’ve been too invested. I’ll keep my distance. It really is just work-related, you know how crucial the company is right now.”

    He made a placating gesture with his hands. “Let’s just stop obsessing over the past, okay? Focus on our next steps. That’s what really matters.”

    “Our next steps? Is that the plan where you expect me to keep trying to get pregnant? While in the meantime, you’ve already gotten her pregnant?”

    I took a step forward, staring right at him. “Tell me, Calvin, who is the father of Katerina’s baby?”

    His eyes widened, then narrowed again, and he shifted his stance uneasily. “What does that matter, Allison? She is an adult, her private life is her own business.”

    “Then why would you list her pregnancy logs as a ‘Primary User,’ and why are her prenatal checkup fees listed under our ‘marital assets’ expense reports? Are you really standing there telling me you don’t know who the father is?”

    He was visibly annoyed now. “Allison, you’re being irrational. This isn’t how we communicate.” He was trying to regain control of the narrative, trying to make me doubt myself. “You’re losing control of your emotions. You need to calm down.”

    I laughed again. “Irrational? Losing control of my emotions?” I slowly shook my head. “Tell me, Calvin, what role did you want me to play in this meticulously woven farce? The loyal, understanding wife? Or the ‘barren woman’ who silently accepts her husband’s illegitimate child? What exactly do you want from me?”

    He didn’t answer. He just stood there, jaw clenched, avoiding my gaze. The silence was like a massive boulder, heavy and suffocating.

    “Allison, you’re just too stressed out, it’s the hormones from the IVF. You aren’t yourself right now.”

    I wanted to scream, wanted to smash something, but I held back, continuing to stare at him, never looking away for a second. He couldn’t face my anger; he just wanted me to go back to being the quiet, submissive wife.

    He sighed. “I have to go. We’ll talk later.” Saying that, he turned and left, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.

    Talk later? There would be no “later.”

    The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, as if narrating a broken story.

    I walked back to the tablet. The “Aura” app was still open. I clicked on Katerina’s profile again. Her diet, moods, and doctor’s appointments were all meticulously detailed, clearly having taken up a lot of time.

    I recalled the day he first brought the ring home. “This is state-of-the-art tech, Allison. My team did a fantastic job. It tracks everything—sleep, heart rate, ovulation. It’s going to revolutionize women’s health. And it will help us too, honey. For our baby.” He had slipped the ring onto my finger with such ceremony.

    But it was just a prototype, a data collection device. And I was just a convenient, temporary test subject. I was the “Guest User” whose data would “automatically clear every 90 days.”

    The doorbell suddenly rang, interrupting my thoughts. I jumped, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. Calvin’s mother, Bobbie Brooks, stood on the porch, her designer bag looped over her arm, a dark expression on her face.

    I slowly opened the door. Without even a greeting, she pushed her way in, her eyes scanning the living room. “Allison, what is this mess? Why is the house so quiet? Where is Calvin?”

    “Calvin went to work.” I replied calmly, my tone flat.

    She turned around, her eyes boring into me. “And you? Why didn’t you go to the doctor? Dr. Chen called me and said you canceled your appointment. What’s going on, Allison? Are you giving up? I told Calvin ages ago that this IVF nonsense wasn’t reliable, you need to give the Brooks family an heir.”

    I looked at her, this woman who had tormented me for years over my fertility issues, who constantly humiliated me for “failing” to give her a grandson. This woman who secretly enabled her son’s affairs and supported his plan to replace me.

    “I canceled it,” I said in a low but firm voice. “I have stopped the IVF treatments. There is no longer a need.”

    Her eyebrows shot up, her face twisting into a mix of shock and anger. “Stopped? What do you mean, Allison? You can’t just give up! You have a duty to this family! What about our heir?”

    “You already have an heir, Bobbie.” I looked her straight in the eye, my voice calm but sharp. “Katerina Copeland is twenty-four weeks pregnant, and Calvin is the father.”

    The color instantly drained from her face, her jaw dropping slightly. In that split second, I saw pure panic in her eyes, which confirmed my absolute worst suspicions.

    She knew everything all along.

    Quickly, she regained her composure, the mask of anger slipping back into place. “Allison, what kind of nonsense are you spouting? Are you crazy? Katerina is a bright young thing, yes, but there is absolutely nothing between her and Calvin. They are just colleagues.”

    “Really?” I asked with a cold smirk. “Then why were you so desperate to ensure the ‘Brooks name’ was carried on? Why were you so obsessed with making me have a baby when you already knew Calvin had a child with Katerina?”

    “You cannot cause a scandal, Allison.” Bobbie’s voice held a threat, her eyes ice-cold. “It would ruin Calvin and destroy the Brooks reputation. That child will be a Brooks. You must accept it and remain silent.”

    My blood ran cold. “Accept it? Remain silent?” I slowly shook my head, my movements resolute. “What am I in this house, Bobbie? A breeding tool that gets tossed aside because she can’t conceive? An insignificant guest in my own home?”

    She stared at me, confusion written all over her face. “What are you talking about? A guest? Allison, what nonsense are you babbling?”

    I picked up the tablet. The screen still displayed Katerina’s profile. I pointed at the “Primary User” label, then to my “Guest User” status. “This is how Calvin’s system defines me, Bobbie. Temporary, disposable. While Katerina is permanent. The mother of the heir.”

    Bobbie looked at the screen, then back at me, her eyes filled with disgust. “You’ve lost your mind. You are completely crazy. I will not tolerate this. You will not ruin my son’s career because of your hysteria. You have until Calvin gets home to pack your things. You will leave quietly. Otherwise, you will regret it!”

    She marched toward the door, her heels clicking furiously against the hardwood floor. Without waiting for a reply, she threw the door open and stormed out, leaving me alone once more.

    I stood in the middle of the living room, gripping the trembling tablet with both hands. My knees gave out, and I slumped onto the floor. Tears finally cascaded down my face. All these years of sacrifice, and I was nothing but a temporary stand-in.

    My parents had warned me about the arrogance and prejudice of the Brooks family, the hubris born from generations of wealth. But I loved Calvin then, and I believed him.

    And now, I saw the truth. I had never truly been accepted by them.

    However, the tears dried quickly, replaced by a cold determination. I absolutely refused to be a “Guest User” in my own life.

    They wanted me to leave quietly? They wanted me to accept the betrayal? Never! I wouldn’t cover for them anymore. I was going to fight for myself!

    Guest User: My Marriage’s Betrayal Chapter 3

    Allison Benson’s POV

    Calvin didn’t come home that night. Around midnight, I received a text: “Very busy today. Staying overnight at the office, don’t wait up.”

    I thought about all those other similar nights. The nights I lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind doing backflips guessing where he was and why he had grown so distant. Now, it all made sense.

    “Allison, you just don’t understand my stress. This company is everything to me. It’s all for our future.” And I had always believed him, always trying to play the supportive wife, suppressing my own anxiety. I had learned to bury the loneliness deep inside, carrying the weight of our supposedly shared dreams all by myself.

    But it was different now. His absence actually felt like a release.

    I went into the bedroom, pulled out my largest suitcase, and started packing. Not just clothes, but documents, financial statements, my old work laptop… everything that proved my independence outside of “us.”

    Just as I zipped up the suitcase, I heard a key slide into the lock.

    My heart jumped, and for a fleeting moment, I actually felt something akin to hope. Had he come back for me? Had he realized his mistake? My brain had momentarily reverted to the past, to the “old Allison” who longed for his affection and desperately wanted to believe in his love.

    The front door opened. Calvin stood there, his clothes rumpled, but he didn’t look exhausted. He looked anxious. A second later, Katerina Copeland stepped out from behind him.

    Her hand rested lightly on his arm. She was pale, her eyes slightly red, and she was wearing one of Calvin’s oversized dress shirts, draped loosely over her pregnant belly.

    My breath caught in my throat, the air suddenly turning thin. The image of them standing there shattered whatever lingering doubts and hopes I had into a million pieces.

    Calvin’s eyes landed on my packed suitcase. He grew even paler. His gaze darted back and forth between the suitcase, me, and Katerina.

    “Allison, I… I can explain. Katerina… she fainted again. The doctor said she needs complete bed rest. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. I just brought her here to stay for a few days until we figure something out.”

    Katerina took a small step forward, her lips trembling. She looked up at Calvin, unshed tears welling in her eyes, looking like a frightened fawn, totally helpless.

    Calvin turned to me, his tone pleading. “Allison, please. She needs help. And you… you’ve always been understanding and compassionate. Can you just… take care of her for a few days? Just a few days, until I figure things out.”

    “You expect me, in my own home, to take care of your pregnant mistress, and look at the belly carrying your child?” This was so far beyond my imagination.

    “Allison, don’t say that!” he snapped suddenly, a sharp edge to his voice. “She isn’t my mistress. She is a colleague who needs help. Yes, she is pregnant with my child. But she’s in a dangerous condition right now, she needs a stable environment, a home.”

    Katerina let out a soft sob, leaning her face slightly against Calvin’s shoulder as if seeking comfort, sneaking a glance at me with feigned vulnerability.

    “You actually expect me to take care of the woman who stole my husband and my future?” My voice rose, filled with incredulous fury. “Do you think I’m crazy, Calvin?”

    “Allison, calm down.” He stepped closer, trying to grab my arm. “You don’t have a job right now, you have plenty of time. It’s just temporary, for the health of the baby.”

    I forcefully shook off his hand, my movement full of disgust and anger. “No,” I said, my voice shaking, speaking through gritted teeth. “Absolutely not. I will not be your pregnant mistress’s nanny. Get her out of my house, Calvin. Right now!”

    Katerina let out a soft whimper and pulled away from Calvin slightly. “Maybe I should just go,” she said in a weak, frail voice, taking a step back, pretending she was going to leave.

    “No, Katerina, you are staying!” Calvin’s voice suddenly boomed. He pulled her back to his side, shielding her protectively. He turned to me, absolutely furious. “This is my house, Allison! My family! I decide who gets to stay!” He pointed at my suitcase. “If you can’t handle it, then you can leave!”

    Those words hit my heart like a massive boulder, heavy and final. “My house, my family, my decision.” His words were a knife twisting deep into my chest. The pain was excruciating, as if I had been hollowed out.

    Katerina looked up, a smug smile barely playing at the corners of her lips. “Allison, I am so sorry. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

    Calvin let out a cold laugh, mocking. “She never meant for it to turn out this way? Allison, this is all your fault! You’re the one being unreasonable! Now, are you leaving or not?”

    I sneered. “Oh, I’ll leave, Calvin. And when I do, I am taking every single thing that belongs to me. Don’t think you’ll get to keep a dime. Sooner or later, you will pay for what you’ve done!”

    I walked right past him toward the bedroom and grabbed my packed suitcase.

    He didn’t try to stop me. He just stood there, Katerina clinging tightly to him, a hint of fear in her eyes.

    As I headed for the front door, Bobbie Brooks suddenly stepped out from the shadows of the hallway.

    She shot a glance at my suitcase, a gleam of satisfaction flashing in her eyes, before quickly looking away and walking straight toward Calvin and Katerina.

    “Oh, sweet Katerina, are you feeling better, darling? Don’t worry. You are safe here now. This is your home.”

    She put an arm around Katerina’s waist, pulling her closer. “Katerina, you are carrying our heir. You are part of our family now. I will protect you, we will all protect this child.”

    I stopped at the threshold, her words echoing in my ears. “You are part of our family now.”

    That phrase, which I had so desperately craved, now sounded like the death knell of my old life.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • My Heartless Ex-Husband Volunteers To Be My Baby Daddy by honey keyboard

    My Heartless Ex-Husband Volunteers To Be My Baby Daddy by honey keyboard
    👉 READ NOW

    For three years, Georgia devoted herself to being the perfect housewife, only for her husband to hand her divorce papers the moment his first love returned.

    She erased every trace of herself and vanished from his life completely. By the time she reappeared, powerful men were competing for her attention, and her countless hidden identities had left everyone stunned.

    Her usually composed ex finally lost control after noticing her baby bump.

    “Whose child is it?” he demanded.

    Georgia scoffed. “Some jerk’s.”

    Desperate to keep her close, he replied, “Then let me volunteer to be the baby’s daddy.”

    👉 READ NOW

    My Heartless Ex-Husband Volunteers To Be My Baby Daddy Chapter 1 Love Only Makes Fools Out Of People

    “Do you truly want to end our marriage?” Georgia Campbell stared at the divorce agreement lying before her. Every trace of happiness disappeared as the truth sank in and turned her blood cold.

    “I do. Isabel’s back,” Cayden Marshall, her husband, said without warmth.

    Today was their third wedding anniversary. Georgia had visited the market, chosen fresh ingredients, and spent hours preparing a special dinner. In return, Cayden had placed a divorce agreement in front of her.

    What a surprise, she thought bitterly.

    “If any part of the settlement troubles you, let me know,” Cayden added. He regarded the quiet, obedient woman before him with the same distant calm he used during business negotiations.

    Georgia dropped her gaze and read through the document as quickly as she could. Cayden had offered her generous compensation, including a valuable shop facing a busy street, a villa downtown, and fifty million dollars in cash. The entire settlement was worth no less than a billion dollars. She could spend the rest of her life in comfort without ever worrying about money.

    One billion dollars would repay her for enduring a marriage of three years without love or sex. Anyone looking at the arrangement would say she had received more than enough.

    Georgia knew the sensible choice was to accept the offer without objecting. But she had not married Cayden for his money in the first place.

    Silence dragged on until Cayden placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He inhaled slowly before looking at her through narrowed eyes. “Tell me if you want anything changed in the agreement.”

    Georgia raised her head and held his distant gaze. “Cayden, did you ever care about me at all during our three years together?”

    “Not once.”

    The answer came at once, firm and merciless, and crushed the final hope she had kept alive. Pain spread heavily through her chest.

    “Now I understand,” she murmured as her lashes lowered to conceal the hurt in her eyes.

    The weakness passed quickly, and her familiar gentle smile returned. “I cooked your favorite dishes. Could you stay and share one final dinner with me?”

    Cayden only frowned and offered no reply.

    Georgia swallowed her tears before carrying the dishes from the kitchen and arranging each plate in front of him.

    At that moment, Cayden’s phone began ringing.

    “Cayden, I’m in so much pain. Will you please come to the hospital and stay with me?” a woman asked softly through the phone.

    Georgia stood near enough to hear every word. Her hands closed into tight fists.

    “All right. Try to be good until I arrive,” Cayden replied. “I’ll be there shortly. Tell me what you’d like to eat, and I’ll bring it with me.”

    Georgia had never heard him speak to her with that kind of tenderness. The light faded from her face as she realized that love could make someone treat two people in completely different ways.

    When Cayden moved to leave, she hurried forward and caught the hem of his shirt. Her plea carried the same quiet obedience she had always shown him. “Cayden, will you stay until we finish dinner? Please, just this once.”

    “Georgia, don’t turn this into a scene.” Cayden removed her hand without care and walked away without looking at her again.

    Georgia pressed a hand against the pain in her chest. Her control finally broke, and warm tears streamed down her cheeks.

    Three years ago, Cayden had approached her and proposed marriage. She had loved him quietly for years, so accepting his proposal had required no thought at all.

    After marriage, they had treated each other with courtesy and kept their distance. She had given up her own life to become a housewife and devoted herself to caring for his every need. Cayden had never shared her bed as a true husband, yet even that empty marriage had once been enough to make her happy.

    Cayden’s grandfather had died two weeks earlier. Georgia had stood beside Cayden and handled the funeral arrangements. Once the funeral ended, Cayden began returning home less often. Tonight, he even asked for a divorce because Isabel Brooks, the woman he had always loved, had come back to the country.

    Georgia remained alone in the living room and let grief swallow the passing hours. By the time she forced herself to stand, stiffness had spread through her entire body. She gathered the untouched food and dumped it into the trash. The abandoned meal felt too much like her broken marriage.

    The shower didn’t help her relax. When she lay in bed, Cayden’s familiar scent surrounded her, making it impossible to sleep.

    A sudden chime from her phone broke the silence.

    For one hopeful second, Georgia believed Cayden had sent her a message. Instead, she opened a series of photographs delivered by an unfamiliar number.

    Every picture showed Cayden resting comfortably against Isabel’s shoulder with his eyes closed.

    A message appeared beneath the photographs. “Cayden is in love with me. Holding on to him will change nothing, so stop embarrassing yourself, Georgia.”

    Georgia tightened her grip on the phone and saw how close they were. The ache inside her chest soon grew too painful to bear.

    She stayed on the bed until morning arrived. Ian Dale, Cayden’s assistant, later entered the room carrying the divorce agreement.

    Sympathy crossed his face when he noticed how pale and exhausted Georgia looked. Still, he forced himself to deliver the message.

    “Ma’am, Mr. Marshall asked you to sign this. He’ll accept any terms you wish to add.”

    Georgia said nothing for a long while. Then she picked up the pen and placed her signature on the document. She did not want any compensation from Cayden and chose to leave with nothing. His wealth was never the reason she had married him, after all.

    Ian stared at her in surprise. “Ma’am, are you certain you don’t want any of the settlement?”

    She answered with a quiet hum.

    Georgia left soon afterward. A few changes of clothes were all she packed before leaving the home she had shared with Cayden for three years.

    All the happiness she had carried into the marriage was gone. Nothing remained for her to take when she walked away.

    Beyond the front door, a hollow feeling settled inside her. She no longer knew where she belonged. Even so, she understood that her life had to go on.

    Cayden had never loved her, and she refused to keep chasing someone who didn’t want her.

    Georgia pulled out her phone and called her closest friend, Jake Mitchell. “Jake, my marriage is over. I’m divorcing Cayden.”

    Jake arrived without keeping her waiting. His car stopped beside her and sent a cloud of dust across the road.

    “Love only makes fools out of people. Leaving that marriage might be the smartest decision you’ve ever made,” he remarked.

    “Enough with the nonsense. Start driving.” Georgia took out her phone, entered the surveillance network, and deleted every record that could reveal her whereabouts.

    She gave the house one final look, then faced forward and left without a moment of doubt.

    My Heartless Ex-Husband Volunteers To Be My Baby Daddy Chapter 2 Now This Is Interesting

    In the CEO’s office on the top floor of Marshall Group, Cayden looked at Ian and asked, “Did Georgia put her signature on the divorce agreement?”

    “Yes, but she refused the entire settlement,” Ian replied as he passed Cayden the signed agreement.

    Brief surprise showed on Cayden’s handsome face when he learned that Georgia had walked away without asking for anything.

    He hadn’t realized she possessed that much pride. In fact, he had expected her to make the divorce difficult. Instead, she had accepted it without making a fuss, which left him with an uneasy feeling he couldn’t explain.

    For three years, she had done nothing except manage their home. She had no career or friends to rely on. He couldn’t help wondering how she planned to support herself after leaving the marriage empty-handed.

    The concern made him frown. Once he recognized that he was worrying about her future, he immediately drove the thought from his mind.

    Their divorce would soon be final, and he reminded himself that her life would no longer concern him.

    He dropped the agreement into a desk drawer without care. Then he raised his head and asked, “Have you located Kendra Leigh?”

    “We still haven’t found her,” Ian responded. “She knows how to disappear completely, and none of the places she’s visited have given us a trail to follow.”

    “Offer a reward through the Dark Web,” Cayden instructed. “Anyone who gives us reliable information about her location will receive 100 million dollars.”

    Three years ago, Isabel had been poisoned by an extremely rare toxin. Cayden had visited every respected doctor in the country, but no one could treat her. She’d been staying overseas for treatment these years, but her condition had only deteriorated.

    He later heard that there was a legendary doctor named Kendra Leigh. Stories about her remarkable medical skills claimed that she could rescue patients whom everyone else had given up on.

    Finding Kendra seemed like Isabel’s last chance for a cure.

    “I’ll handle the bounty immediately,” Ian responded.

    Meanwhile, Jake drove Georgia to a private villa.

    “This will be your home from now on,” he muttered. “Have you decided what you’ll do next?”

    “Not yet,” Georgia answered.

    Jake set his phone down in front of her. “Someone has posted a reward of 100 million dollars for your location. Does that offer interest you?”

    Georgia barely glanced at the screen. “Not at all.”

    “Fine. Take some time to rest,” Jake replied lightly. “There’s still the Douglas family assignment you accepted earlier. They’ve contacted us several times. When do you think you’ll be ready to visit them?”

    “I’ll go on Saturday,” she answered briefly.

    “Understood. I’ll send them your decision.”

    Georgia arranged the few belongings she had brought before shopping for everything she needed. She also replaced her phone number and cut the final thread connecting her to her former life.

    Saturday arrived sooner than expected.

    Jake drove Georgia to the Douglas residence, where she treated Laura Douglas, an elderly member of the family.

    As they departed, their car passed a black Bentley. Georgia looked through the window at the passing vehicle and briefly saw a man with sharply defined features sitting inside.

    Cayden? She couldn’t imagine what had brought him here.

    Thirty minutes ago, Cayden had received word that Kendra planned to treat Laura at the Douglas residence. He had rushed over with Ian.

    Kendra left no trail and avoided appearing before strangers. Since there was no other way to approach her, Cayden decided to wait at the residence himself.

    By the time he arrived, the Douglas family informed him that the doctor had already gone. The failed meeting darkened his face.

    He remembered the car that had just pulled away from the property. He spun around, climbed behind the wheel, and pressed hard on the accelerator to chase it.

    Through the rearview mirror, Jake spotted the black Bentley staying close behind them. “Someone is following us. Is that the husband you’re divorcing?”

    Georgia checked behind them and recognized Cayden’s car. Her heartless husband was the one pursuing them.

    Her face remained calm as she gave Jake a short command. “Lose him.”

    Jake slammed his foot onto the accelerator, and the car surged forward with enough force to press them into their seats as it tore down the road.

    Cayden had no intention of losing them. His Bentley stayed close behind their car while he pursued them with relentless focus.

    Both vehicles sped along the road as each driver fought for the lead.

    Several attempts to pull ahead ended in failure, and frustration began wearing down Jake’s patience. “Damn it, I never thought he’d be this good behind the wheel. He clearly won’t give up until he forces us to stop!”

    Georgia’s eyes opened at once. “Move over. I’m taking the wheel.”

    After exchanging seats with Jake, she fixed her attention on the road ahead. She pushed the accelerator to its limit and aimed the car toward Devil’s Bend 303, the most famous curve in the city.

    Behind them, Cayden’s black Bentley continued gaining ground and steadily reduced the space between the two cars.

    Georgia brought the car to a sudden stop when they arrived at the base of the mountain. She waited until Cayden almost reached them before hitting the accelerator again.

    Every turn came with a quick sequence of movements. She braked, worked the clutch, changed gears, guided the car through the curve, and accelerated out of it without breaking her rhythm.

    Only a few curves later, Cayden’s Bentley had fallen far into the distance.

    Georgia rolled down the window and extended one hand outside. Then she raised her middle finger toward the car chasing them.

    The rude gesture made her confidence impossible to ignore.

    Cayden’s expression sharpened at the sight. The hand outside the window looked slender and smooth enough to belong to a woman. And something about it seemed strangely familiar to him.

    When Cayden finally crossed the finish line, the other vehicle had already vanished.

    Ian held the grab handle with both hands while his heart hammered against his chest. Never before had he watched Cayden lose a race to a woman. He expected the defeat to send Cayden into a terrible temper, but an unsettling smile appeared on his face instead.

    “Now this is interesting,” Cayden said.

    Ian couldn’t agree with him. The race had left him feeling as though he had narrowly escaped death.

    “I don’t care what it takes—find that woman and bring me every piece of information you can uncover about her,” Cayden demanded.

    His reason for pursuing Kendra remained unchanged. She was the only doctor who might be able to save Isabel.

    My Heartless Ex-Husband Volunteers To Be My Baby Daddy Chapter 3 She Had Cut Him Off

    Once they arrived at the villa, Jake showed Georgia the payment notice on his phone. The Douglas family had already transferred three million dollars for the treatment.

    “I’ll send the full amount to your account,” he said.

    Three million dollars wasn’t a fortune, but it at least made their trip worthwhile.

    He continued, “Are you still turning down that 100 million dollars? People with too much money don’t come along every day, especially ones willing to spend it so carelessly. You paid 40 million dollars for this villa alone.”

    Over the years, Georgia had devoted herself to becoming Cayden’s perfect wife and hadn’t accepted any work. Purchasing the villa had drained almost all of her savings. It was time to begin earning money again and enjoy a more comfortable life.

    “I’ll accept the assignment if it won’t put me in danger,” Georgia said. “Before agreeing to anything for me, investigate every detail and make sure there are no hidden problems.”

    Jake knew what had made her so careful. Three years earlier, Georgia had saved someone’s life during a job, but the rescue had damaged the interests of some dangerous people, who had hired assassins to eliminate her. Without her quick instincts and Jake’s help, she might not have survived that attack.

    “Understood. I’ll meet with them first and find out what they really want,” Jake replied.

    After leaving Isabel at the hospital, Cayden drove to Celeste Estate, the home he had once shared with Georgia.

    The darkness surrounding the villa reminded him that she no longer lived there.

    Cayden remained inside his car and lit a cigarette. He smoked it to the end in silence before stepping out and entering the house.

    As he looked around the living room, he somehow thought of how Georgia used to keep the lights on and wait for him to come home.

    He had taken those quiet, warm moments for granted, but now they were gone. Their absence irritated him more than he wanted to admit. He approached the liquor cabinet, poured himself a drink, and swallowed it all at once.

    He took out his phone and searched for Georgia’s number before calling her. However, the number was no longer in service.

    Cayden checked the number and confirmed that he hadn’t made a mistake. Once he understood what Georgia had done, a short laugh escaped him without any real amusement.

    He was surprised to realize that she had cut him off even more firmly than he had expected.

    Throughout their three years together, she had remained quiet, gentle, and easy to control. Even when he asked for a divorce, the pain on her face had made it obvious that she wasn’t ready to let him go.

    Only a few days had passed, yet she had already canceled the number he knew.

    Cayden called Ian and gave him a firm order. “Find Georgia.”

    …

    The next day, Ian approached Cayden. “Mr. Marshall, I couldn’t locate Ms. Campbell.”

    Back then, Georgia had entered Cayden’s life without warning. He discovered that she was an orphan, and since he needed a wife who could satisfy his family, he chose her.

    She had no powerful background or personal influence, which meant she couldn’t threaten his position. Those qualities had made her the safest choice.

    Cayden never imagined that the woman who accepted nothing from him would disappear so thoroughly after leaving. No one could tell him where she had gone.

    “Continue searching!”

    He refused to believe that Georgia could vanish without leaving a single clue.

    Just then, Cayden received a call from the hospital.

    “Mr. Marshall, the toxin has caused Ms. Brooks to suffer another episode. She’s only partly conscious and keeps asking for you. She refuses to settle down until she sees you, so we had no choice but to call.”

    “Tell her I’m coming now.” Cayden ended the call, rose from his seat, and hurried out.

    Three years ago, Cayden’s enemy had tricked and drugged him. While the drug threatened his life, he had become intimate with a woman he believed was Isabel.

    Since that night had been her first time, guilt and sympathy led him to accept responsibility for her.

    Even so, something had always felt wrong whenever Cayden spent time with Isabel. Instead, he had found himself more relaxed and at ease whenever he was with Georgia.

    Thoughts of Georgia’s sudden disappearance tightened Cayden’s expression.

    Shortly after Cayden entered the hospital, Georgia arrived wearing a baseball cap and a mask.

    She rode the elevator upstairs and made a call after stepping into the hallway. “I’ve arrived. Where should I meet you?”

    The directions led Georgia to the neurosurgery director’s office.

    “Benjamin!” she called out.

    Benjamin Gordon, her former classmate, recognized the voice immediately. He turned around and pulled her into a tight hug. “You finally came back. Where have you been the last three years? You disappeared without giving me a single word.”

    “I got married,” Georgia replied plainly.

    Shock crossed Benjamin’s face. “You got married? Who is your husband?”

    He could hardly believe that someone had convinced a woman like Georgia to become his wife.

    Georgia ignored the question and gave him a different answer. “I’m divorcing him.”

    Benjamin went quiet as uncertainty crossed his face. The congratulations he had nearly offered never left his mouth.

    Georgia showed no concern as she sat down. “What made you reach out to me?”

    “Our mentor has a longtime friend who requires surgery. The family came to me because they wanted my help, but the patient is elderly and the condition is difficult. I don’t trust myself to handle the operation alone, so I hoped you would assist me.”

    Benjamin had contacted her without expecting much. Georgia had vanished for three years without a single message, so reaching her the previous night had come as a complete surprise.

    One of Georgia’s eyebrows rose. “I haven’t entered an operating room in years. What if my skills have become rusty and I end up damaging your reputation?”

    Benjamin refused to entertain the idea. “If a surgeon as skilled as you could fail, then I have no right to attempt the operation by myself.”

    “Alright. Show me the patient’s scans first.”

    After reviewing the scans, Georgia rose from her chair. “Choose a time for the surgery and send me the details.”

    Another thought came to her and she added, “Find out which hospital room Isabel Brooks is in.”

    Benjamin asked without thinking, “Who is Isabel? Is she someone you know?”

    “She’s the love of my husband,” Georgia said casually. “Our marriage is ending because of her.”

    Benjamin stared at her in shock and couldn’t think of anything to say.

    Georgia soon located Isabel’s room and looked through the glass panel in the door. Isabel rested on the bed in striped hospital clothes. Her soft, innocent features were the kind that easily stirred a man’s protective instincts. Still, Georgia found nothing especially beautiful about her. In fact, Isabel was not nearly as beautiful as she was.

    Cayden must’ve been both blind and stupid to choose a woman like that. His taste was truly terrible.

    Beyond the glass, Cayden peeled an orange with his own hands and fed Isabel one piece at a time. He spoke to her gently, and a soft smile occasionally appeared on his face.

    Cayden had always treated Georgia properly throughout their marriage, but an unseen wall had kept them apart. Not once had he shown her the tenderness he now gave Isabel so freely.

    Georgia refused to watch any longer and ruin her own mood, so she turned away.

    Some instinct made Cayden raise his head at that exact moment. He then left his chair and hurried into the hallway, where he caught sight of a familiar figure disappearing around the corner.

    The person looked very much like Georgia.

    Cayden went after her but crossed paths with Ian, who had arrived to take him to the office.

    “Mr. Marshall, is something wrong?” Ian asked.

    Cayden stopped and asked him in a low voice, “Did you pass anyone on your way here?”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress by Abel Dean

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    👉 READ NOW

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 1

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    A secret that was supposed to be mine.

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

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

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

    It all turned to ash.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Don’ t touch me,” I choked out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    He had chosen her.

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 2

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “I had to manage the crisis, Lottie!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The enemy had arrived. And they were moving in.

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

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

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 3

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And then came the final, devastating blow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir by Bae Writes

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

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

    👉 READ NOW

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 1 A Clinical Nightmare

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

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 2 Double Betrayal

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

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 3 The Gold Seal

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

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit by Maui

    The Silent Heiress's Million Dollar Gambit by Maui
    👉 READ NOW

    My stepmother’s bodyguards were seconds away from dragging me back to a life that was essentially a prison cell wrapped in silk. I couldn’t even scream for help because the words always died in my throat—a clinical condition called selective mutism that felt like drowning on dry land.

    I had just discovered the sickening truth: my father was planning to sell me to a sleazy investor named Sterling to cover his company’s bankruptcy. They were going to drug me, ship me off to a private island, and strip away the only thing I had left—my late mother’s multimillion-dollar art trust.

    When I arrived at the manor, my stepmother Lydia handed me a glass of wine laced with bitter sedatives, her smile sharp as a razor.

    “Drink up, darling. It’ll make the transition to Mr. Sterling much easier.”

    My stepsister Harper stood in the corner, wearing a dress bought with my mother’s stolen money, mocking my inability to speak. My father didn’t even look me in the eye as he calculated my price tag, treating his own daughter like a piece of damaged, mute inventory.

    They thought because I didn’t speak, I didn’t hear them laughing about the “accident” that killed my mother or how they planned to burn her final restoration work. They assumed my silence was a sign of surrender, a white flag waved by a broken girl who would never fight back.

    How could the people who were supposed to be my family treat me like a commodity to be traded? Did they really think my silence meant I was weak, or that I didn’t know every dirty secret they were hiding in their ledgers?

    I didn’t drink the wine. Instead, I burst into the VIP suite of Carlisle Pierce, the most cold-blooded billionaire in New York, and slammed a crumpled napkin on his table with a desperate, last-second gambit.

    “MARRY ME. NOW. $1 MILLION.”

    👉 READ NOW

    The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit Chapter 1

    The heavy scent of cheap cologne and severe halitosis filled the air.
    A fifty-something, balding man with a mouth full of yellow teeth and a height that barely reached Emilee’s shoulders was trying to pin her to the bed. He looked incredibly sleazy and weak, a pathetic excuse for a man.
    “You think you’re some high-and-mighty heiress?” the old man, Mr. Henderson, sneered, looking her up and down like a piece of cheap trash. His foul breath made Emilee nauseous. “Take a good look at yourself. You’re nothing but a useless, unwanted mute. A pathetic piece of garbage. You aren’t even fit to shine my shoes! But your stepmother, Lydia, sold you to me for a good price. Your father threw you away like a stray dog. So just lie back, spread your legs, and take what I give you.”
    Emilee did not hesitate. She spun around and delivered a vicious, bone-crushing kick directly to his groin.
    The old man let out a high-pitched squeal, collapsing to the floor and clutching himself in agony, unable to stand. Without a second glance, Emilee bolted out of the room.
    Ripping the door open, Emilee bolted.
    Worn combat boots hit the plush carpet of the Obsidian Club’s VIP corridor without a sound. That was the problem with expensive places—designed to absorb noise, keep secrets, and swallow people whole.
    Lungs burning, Emilee refused to look back. That disgusting old man’s bodyguards and the stepmother’s men would both be coming.
    Rounding the corner, a shoulder slammed hard into the wall. Pain shot down the arm, sharp and grounding. A door was the only salvation. Any door.
    The throat constricted. Selective mutism. That was the clinical term. It felt more like drowning on dry land. Any scream for help would just die in the throat.
    Frantic eyes darted down the dim hallway.
    There. At the very end of the hall, a heavy black door with gold trim stood slightly ajar. It was a sliver of hope in a tunnel of despair.
    She threw her weight against the door and stumbled into the room.
    The air inside was cooler. It smelled of expensive leather, aged whiskey, and something sharp and masculine.
    She turned immediately, her fingers fumbling with the lock. Click. The sound was louder than a gunshot.She pressed her back against the wood, her chest heaving. Heavy footsteps thudded outside. “Check the stairwell,” a deep voice grumbled. “She couldn’t have gone far.” The footsteps faded.
    Emilee let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Then she remembered she wasn’t alone.
    She snapped her eyes open.
    In the shadows, a man was watching her. He was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, an arm draped casually over the backrest. He was terrifyingly still.
    Her blood ran cold. Even with her heavy makeup, she recognized him from financial reports. The third-generation heir to the Pierce media empire.
    An image of her father’s face flashed through her mind. It wasn’t fear she remembered seeing when her father spoke of this man, but a sickening, fanatical desperation to climb the social ladder. She vividly recalled how her father had acted like a fawning, tail-wagging dog, trying desperately to curry favor with the man sitting before her. To get even the slightest connection with Carlisle Pierce, her father would have gladly offered up everything he owned on a silver platter, begging for just a few crumbs from this man’s table.
    And that was perfect. She was cornered, penniless, hunted. It couldn’t get worse than the bald bastard behind her. If she had to gamble, she would gamble on him.
    Emilee pushed herself off the door. Her legs were shaking, but she forced them to move. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a crumpled napkin and a black eyeliner pencil.
    Carlisle watched her approach, his finger tapping rhythmically against the crystal glass. Tap. Tap. Tap. He assumed she was another “gift” from his grandfather.
    She stopped in front of him. Then, with a sudden, fierce motion that surprised even him, she planted both hands on his shoulders and shoved him back onto the velvet sofa. She caged him there, leaning over him, her wild, kohl-rimmed eyes burning into his.
    Carlisle raised an eyebrow, his body tensing under her hands, a dangerous stillness coiling in him.
    She uncapped the pencil with her teeth, scribbled quickly, the tip tearing the paper. Then she slammed the napkin onto his chest.
    Carlisle looked down.
    The handwriting was jagged, rushed. MARRY ME. NOW. $1 MILLION.
    A flicker of genuine novelty crossed his features. “A napkin proposal,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, like gravel wrapped in velvet, with a hint of dark amusement. “That’s a first. Creative.”
    He looked up at her, his expression cooling again. “But I’m not interested in playing charity. Get out.” He reached for the phone to call security.
    Emilee lunged and grabbed his wrist. Her hand was small, her fingers ice cold.
    Carlisle froze. He looked at her hand on his wrist, then up at her face. Her eyes were terrified. Not the fake terror of a bad actress, but the primal fear of a trapped animal.
    Outside the door, the heavy footsteps returned. “Did you check the VIP suites?”
    Emilee’s grip tightened. Her nails dug into his skin. She shook her head frantically. Please. The word wasn’t spoken, but it screamed from her expression.
    Carlisle looked at her, his deep eyes unreadable. He set the phone down. He twisted his wrist, breaking her grip, and then caught her hand in his. He pulled her closer. She stumbled, her hip bumping against the table, her breath catching as his face came inches from hers.
    “Can you afford me, little wildcat?” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, a hint of dark amusement playing on his lips.
    Emilee didn’t hesitate. She nodded vigorously, her eyes as stubborn as a cornered little beast that still wanted to bite. She tapped the IOU with her free hand.
    Seeing her like this, a flicker of surprise crossed Carlisle’s eyes, quickly followed by a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor.
    For years, he had maintained a strict, self-imposed celibacy, completely immune to the allure of any woman. Countless stunning socialites had tried to bridge the distance, yet none had ever managed to stir even a ripple in his stagnant pool of desire. But now, as her unique scent—a delicate trace of vanilla intertwined with the sharp tang of adrenaline—filled his senses, and the ghost of her cold fingers lingered on his skin, a strange, unfamiliar warmth began to thrum in his veins. It wasn’t a crude, overwhelming lust, but a quiet, undeniable awakening of senses he thought were long dead.
    He looked at this chaotic, heavily made-up wildcat, genuinely caught off guard by the sudden, involuntary tightening of his own muscles. The sheer absurdity that she was the one to make his pulse tick faster after years of absolute numbness was intriguing. If her mere proximity could spark a dormant instinct back to life, perhaps keeping her around wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
    A faint, enigmatic smile touched the corners of his lips.
    “Alright,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a low, gravelly weight that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
    He stood up and towered over her. He picked up his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It engulfed her small frame. It smelled like cedar and power.
    “Let’s go,” he said.
    He led her not to the main door, but to a panel in the wall. A hidden exit.
    At the bottom, a black Maybach was waiting in the alley.
    “City Hall,” he said to the driver. Then he pulled out his phone. “Archer. I need a marriage license prepped. Now. Yes, I’m serious. Get a judge on the line and arrange a judicial waiver for the waiting period. I want it done tonight. Meet me there.”
    Emilee sat huddled in his jacket. She watched him. He was efficient. He was commanding.
    She looked at his watch. A Patek Philippe.
    Carlisle caught her staring. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said coldly. “You can’t pawn that.”
    Emilee looked away, her cheeks heating up under the thick white foundation.
    When they arrived at the City Clerk’s office, a man in a sharp suit was waiting with a folder. He looked stressed.
    “Sir,” the man said, eyeing Emilee’s fishnets with horror. “Are you sure about this?”
    “Give me the pen, Archer,” Carlisle said.
    Emilee signed her name. Her hand shook, but the letters were legible. Emilee Oneill.
    Carlisle signed next to her. His signature was aggressive, sharp.
    She felt a wave of relief so strong it made her dizzy. She was married. According to her mother’s trust fund stipulations, she was now an adult in the eyes of the estate. She was free.

    The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit Chapter 2

    The wind outside City Hall was biting. It whipped Emilee’s hair across her face, strands of black sticking to her dark lipstick. She stood on the sidewalk, the marriage certificate clutched tightly in her hand. It was just a piece of paper. But it was the heaviest thing she had ever held.
    Carlisle stood next to her. He buttoned his coat, looking unbothered by the cold or the insanity of the last hour. “Archer,” he said, turning to his assistant, who was already holding out a second, more ominous-looking document and a pen. “The addendum.”
    Carlisle took the document and held it out to Emilee. “One last signature. Consider it a condition of our arrangement. A non disclosure agreement. A silent covenant. You don’t speak about me, my business, or this night to anyone. Ever.”
    Emilee looked from the paper to his cold, unyielding eyes. This was the real price. Not the million-dollar IOU, but her silence, legally weaponized and turned against her. It was a cage of a different kind, but one she was choosing. She took the pen and signed, her signature a final act of surrender.
    “Now,” Carlisle said, turning to her with a commanding presence. “We need to have a conversation about a non disclosure agreement.”
    Before he could finish, Emilee’s phone buzzed frantically in her pocket. Startled, she pulled it out. It was a text from Harper, her stepsister. An image loaded on the screen. It was a photo of a silver Zippo lighter, the flame lit, hovering inches above a canvas. It was one of her mother’s paintings. The last one she had restored before she died.
    Emilee’s hand spasmed. Rage and panic flooded her veins. They were threatening the only thing that mattered to her. She didn’t have time for this conversation.
    She turned to face Carlisle. She knew exactly how powerful and wealthy this billionaire was, and a wave of genuine guilt washed over her for using him like a shield. She reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out two crumpled twenty-dollar bills. It was all the cash she had on her. She grabbed Carlisle’s hand, slapping the bills into his warm palm as a token of her sincere apology. The million-dollar IOU she gave him earlier was her genuine promise of compensation, even though she knew he absolutely did not lack money.
    Carlisle looked down at the money. George Washington stared back at him, wrinkled and sad. Forty dollars. He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What is this?”
    Emilee held up her phone. She had quickly typed a note in the Notes app. “Cab fare. I am sorry for using you. The million dollars is my real compensation. I will contact you. Keep your phone on.”
    Carlisle read the screen. His jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek. “You are tipping me?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
    Emilee nodded, giving him a small, awkward thumbs-up. Then, before he could react, she spun around and flagged down a passing yellow taxi. It screeched to a halt, and she dove into the backseat.
    “Hey!” Archer shouted, stepping forward.
    Carlisle raised a hand, stopping him. He stood on the curb, holding the forty dollars and the marriage certificate copy she had left behind in her haste. He watched the taxi merge into traffic. A laugh escaped him. It was short, sharp, and devoid of humor. “She tipped me,” he muttered. He looked at the bills again.
    Carlisle stood on the curb, his expression a complex mix of disbelief and dark amusement. He was a billionaire with a net worth in the hundreds of billions, a man whose hourly asset fluctuations amounted to more than most people earned in a lifetime. And yet, he had just been dismissed with forty dollars by a young girl who looked barely twenty, her face painted with absurdly heavy makeup. He chuckled, genuinely angered by the sheer audacity of it.
    The black Maybach pulled up. Archer opened the back door, looking like he was about to have a stroke. “Sir,” Archer said, his voice trembling. “That was unexpected.”
    Carlisle slid into the car. The warmth of the interior did nothing to thaw the ice in his chest. “Investigate my special new wife,” Carlisle said. He tossed the forty dollars onto the leather seat next to him. “I want to know everything. Who she is. Who sent her. What she wants.”
    Archer tapped on his tablet. “Already on it, sir. I pulled the security footage from the Obsidian Club.” He handed the tablet to Carlisle.
    The video was grainy, black and white. It showed Emilee in the bathroom of the club, moments before she burst into his room. She was leaning over the sink, splashing water on her face. For a brief second, she looked up at the mirror. The camera caught her profile.
    Carlisle paused the video. He zoomed in. The heavy makeup was smeared, revealing the skin beneath. Her bone structure was delicate. Her nose was straight, her jawline soft but defined. But it was her eyes. Even in the grainy footage, they were striking. Large. Expressive. And familiar.
    Carlisle frowned. A memory scratched at the back of his mind, something from a long time ago. Something buried under years of corporate takeovers and family betrayals. He couldn’t place it.
    “She doesn’t look like a spy,” Archer ventured. “She looks scared.”
    “That makes her a good spy,” Carlisle snapped. He handed the tablet back. “Find out where that taxi is going.”
    In the back of the yellow cab, Emilee deliberately left her heavy, grotesque makeup untouched. She delusionally hoped that this bizarre, dark look would scare off the impending danger waiting for her at home. The “useless” daughter. The “mute” girl. The fragile doll.
    She gripped her phone tightly. Words didn’t work on her family. Only leverage worked. And now, she had leverage. She touched her chest, feeling the folded marriage certificate tucked inside her inner pocket.
    The taxi slowed down. They were pulling up to the Oneill Manor. It was a sprawling estate in the Hamptons that seemingly belonged to her and her late mother, but in reality, it had been completely taken over by her father and stepmother. Everything her father owned, every business deal he made, was built on her mother’s fortune. Yet, the moment her mother died, her father immediately married Lydia. He tacitly allowed his new family to humiliate Emilee at every turn. Because of his silent approval, even the servants had begun to insult and mistreat her at will.
    The driveway was lined with cars. Expensive cars. A party. Of course. They were hosting a gala while threatening to burn her mother’s legacy.
    Emilee paid the driver. She didn’t tip. She couldn’t afford to. She stepped out onto the gravel driveway. The cold air hit her face. She felt exposed. Vulnerable. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up.
    The security guard at the gate recognized her. He sneered. “Late again, Princess?” he muttered.
    Emilee didn’t look at him. She walked past him, her boots crunching on the stones. She could hear the music coming from the main house. Laughter. The clinking of glasses. It sounded like a different world.
    She walked around to the side entrance. She wasn’t going to walk in the front door. Not yet. She needed to see the battlefield first.
    She paused at the glass patio doors, looking in. Her father, Gavin Oneill, was standing in the center of the room. He was laughing, holding a glass of champagne. He looked happy. He looked like a man who had just made a very profitable deal.
    Emilee placed her hand on the cold glass. Her reflection stared back at her. Pale. Determined. She wasn’t the scared girl who ran out of here three hours ago. She was a married woman.
    She pushed the door open. The wind rushed in with her, extinguishing a nearby candle. Emilee stepped into the warmth of the lion’s den.

    The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit Chapter 3

    Emilee didn’t enter the main hall immediately. She knew this house better than the people who owned it. She knew which floorboards creaked. She knew which doors didn’t latch properly.
    She slipped through the servants’ corridor, her boots silent on the linoleum. She took the back stairs, taking them two at a time. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the music thumping from below. She reached the second-floor landing.
    She crouched in the shadows of the balcony, peering through the banister. The Great Hall was filled with people. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns that cost more than a car. It was a sea of fake smiles and hidden agendas.
    Her eyes scanned the room. There. Her stepmother, Lydia, was draped in emerald green silk. She was clinging to the arm of a man Emilee recognized with a shudder. Mr. Sterling.
    Mr. Sterling was a notorious investor. He was short, balding, and sweating profusely, rubbing his greasy hands together in an impatient, vulgar manner. Emilee had looked into his private life earlier. It was rumored that Sterling had three previous wives, and none of them survived their wedding night. When their bodies were brought out, they were mutilated beyond recognition. The man had a sick obsession with barely legal girls and was known for his ruthless, perverted methods.
    And yet, her own biological father, along with her stepmother, was actively handing her over to this monster just to save a failing company. Pushed to this despicable corner, Emilee had no choice but to save herself.
    “She will be down any minute,” Gavin was saying, bowing slightly with a pathetic, fawning smile, treating Sterling like a god. “She is just preparing herself. You know how shy she is.”
    Lydia chimed in, her posture equally submissive as she poured Sterling more wine. “Oh yes, Mr. Sterling. We have kept her pure and untouched, just for a distinguished man like you.”
    Sterling licked his lips greedily, his eyes darting around nervously. “Shy is good. I cannot wait to tear that shyness apart.”
    Emilee’s stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat. They were selling her. Not metaphorically. Literally. They were trading her for a capital injection to save the failing company.
    Miles away, in the penthouse office of Pierce Global. Carlisle sat behind his massive mahogany desk. The city lights of Manhattan sprawled out behind him, a glittering grid of power. Archer placed a tablet in front of him.
    “We found her,” Archer said. “Emilee Oneill. Eldest daughter of Gavin Oneill, the struggling CEO of Oneill Corp. Her mother was the renowned artist, Seraphina Vance.”
    Carlisle looked at the screen. A student ID photo stared back at him. The girl in the photo was breathtakingly beautiful. She had delicate, flawless features that radiated a pure, untouched elegance, looking completely different from the goth disaster he had just married. He stared at her pretty face, highly surprised by the contrast.
    “She hasn’t spoken in ten years,” Archer continued. “Selective mutism following the car crash that killed her mother.”
    Carlisle tapped the screen. “Mute?”
    “Yes, sir. The family keeps her out of the public eye. Rumor has it she is mentally unstable.”
    Carlisle leaned back. “Unstable people don’t negotiate million-dollar contracts on napkins.”
    “The Oneill company is on the brink of Chapter 11 bankruptcy,” Archer added. “They need cash. This marriage… she could be looking for a payout.”
    “Or,” Carlisle said, his eyes darkening, “she is looking for protection.” He remembered the terror in her eyes. The way she checked the exits.
    “Should I annul it?” Archer asked. “I can have the judge wake up right now.”
    “No,” Carlisle said. He stood up and walked to the window. “If she is a spy, letting her go is dangerous. If she is a gold digger, I want to know who put her up to it.” He turned back to Archer. “Keep the marriage active. And tap into the Oneill Manor security system. I want to see what my wife is up to.”
    Back at the manor. Emilee pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened an app she had coded herself when she was sixteen. It connected to the house’s Bluetooth sound system. Realizing that a ridiculous disguise would not deter a monster like Sterling, Emilee finally walked into the bathroom and scrubbed her face clean.
    Downstairs, Lydia was tapping a spoon against her glass. Ding. Ding. Ding. The room went quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Lydia announced, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Please welcome the guest of honor. Our beloved daughter, Emilee.”
    All eyes turned to the grand staircase. Emilee stood up. She stepped out of the shadows. She wasn’t wearing a gown. She was wearing a simple black turtleneck and jeans. Her face was scrubbed clean. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She looked stark. Real. She began to descend the stairs. Her steps were slow, deliberate.
    Sterling’s jaw dropped. He dropped his champagne flute. It shattered on the marble floor, but no one looked at it. They were looking at her. Without the heavy makeup, without the hood, she was breathtaking. Her beauty was haunting. It was the kind of beauty that made people uncomfortable because it felt too raw. Harper, standing in the corner, turned a shade of red that clashed with her dress. She gripped her wine glass until her knuckles turned white. Gavin’s eyes lit up. He saw dollar signs.
    Lydia recovered first. She rushed to the bottom of the stairs, her arms outstretched. “Darling!” she cried. “You look unique. Come, say hello to Mr. Sterling.” She reached for Emilee’s hand. Emilee sidestepped. Lydia grabbed empty air. She stumbled, her smile faltering.
    Emilee walked past her. She walked straight up to Sterling. The man smelled of sweat and expensive musk. He leered at her, reaching out a hand to touch her face. “Beautiful,” he wheezed. “Worth every penny.”
    Emilee didn’t flinch. She stared at him. Her eyes were cold, dead. She tapped her phone screen. Suddenly, a high-pitched, ear-splitting screech erupted from every speaker in the room. SCREEEEEEEEECH. Guests covered their ears. Glasses rattled on the tables. Sterling recoiled, clutching his head. “What the hell?” The noise was deafening. It was a sonic weapon. And Emilee stood in the center of it, calm, silent, watching them all writhe.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • One Night With My Billionaire Boss by Nathaniel Stone

    One Night With My Billionaire Boss by Nathaniel Stone
    👉 READ NOW

    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.

    👉 READ NOW

    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

  • The Alpha’s Destined Mate: Similar Book to Alpha Hayley’s Destined Mate novel

    The Alpha's Destined Mate: Similar Book to Alpha Hayley's Destined Mate novel
    👉 READ NOW

    Overnight, Alora went from being the Alpha’s daughter in the Gemini wolf pack to a fugitive with a shattered family. Her uncle, who had seized power, had murdered her father, and her mother had been imprisoned and was being sought by her uncle’s men. She gave it everything she had but couldn’t get away. She was led to the edge of the cliff, but she refused to give in. After jumping off the cliff, she ended up falling to her death.
    On the lakeside, Xavier, who was on his way back to his wolf pack, saw Alora. A quick check of her breathing revealed that she was still alive, so he dashed over.
    “Hey! What are you doing?”
    Alora struggled to open her eyes. Her eyelids reflected a handsome face. She made a painful lip movement.
    Save me, save me, I want my vengeance.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Alora”
    After uttering a few words, she collapsed to the ground.
    Finally, Xavier came to the conclusion that he couldn’t risk getting himself into any more trouble. The voice in his head that had been silent for years returned just as he was about to abandon her and let her die.
    “Her life is in danger! Alora! Your situation is in her hands.”

    👉 READ NOW

    The Alpha’s Destined Mate Chapter 1 One

    Damon stared through the sky, he could picture the rising the of the moon, this was the third full moon that set for the year, there was one thing werewolves enjoys in full moons, the warmth of the full moon which radiates on their body when they change to their wolf form.

    Damon smiled, but that wasn’t the only reason he loves full moons, full moons meant seeing Anna, the woman who had been forcefully taken away from him right from the moment he laid his eyes on her.

    As if knowing he was thinking about her, he felt a slender hands on his shoulders, slowly, he turned to stare at the woman who had captured his heart, her scent alone was able to relax his inner battles.

    “You aren’t asleep yet?”

    Anna asked, staring at Damon, the brother to her mate.

    “A wounded lion can never be found asleep.”

    Damon whispered, touching her face tenderly, he heard a gasp emit from her lips, he smiled, she was so damn beautiful.

    “What Is the issue? you can share your thoughts with me.”

    Anna said, her eyes glistened with unwavering affection for the man who had first captured her heart right from the start.

    “I want you……”

    Damon phrased, he stared at her longingly, slowly tracing her lips with his fingers…..slowly and affectionately

    “….but…. I can’t have you. You aren’t mine, the goddess have always been cruel with me, first taking my birth right, then taking one thing I always desired which is you.”

    Damon said, watching as she quivered under his touch, he affected her in so many ways but that was where it all end. His touch on her body was to have a little glimmer of hope.

    “Your birth right wasn’t taken by the goddess, it was taken away from you forcefully by the culture, our tradition took you away from your right and me.”

    Anna said, smiling bitterly as a tear fell off from her tender face.

    “Don’t cry my love. I promise to fight and take you away with me to a far away land, there you will get pregnant for me and bear my pups.”

    Damon said, quickly holding her two cheeks, he smashed his lips on hers.

    The full moon covered their entwined body as they savored each others tongue. Damon wasn’t ready to quit tasting every inch of her mouth, she always tasted like vanilla, the flavor that always draws him closer to her.

    Slowly they detached from each others hold, Anna bent low as she stared down at him.

    “But that can’t happen, you are only lucky to be alive, your brother only keeps you alive because he promised your parents to do so.”

    Anna said, quickly hugging him as she cried sorrowfully.

    “Shhhh, you don’t need to cry, I hate hearing you cry.”

    Damon said, each choke that wobbles out from her lips caused his heart to squeeze with anger.

    “But I can’t be with you.”

    Anna said, staring at him.

    “Perhaps that is our fate, but I promise to be with you always. That is a promise.”

    Damon said, slowly detaching her from his body.

    “You brought more twins to the pack?”

    Damon asked.

    His brother Damien, who was the alpha of the pack immediately after their parents had died always came to the barren land which belongs to his pack whenever there was twins to deliver.

    He was in charge of taking care of this twins which have been brought to the barren land.

    That was the price he had to pay to survive until he leaves the barren land.

    “Yes, your brother brought more twins, since you have been kept alive, there wasn’t a need to kill the last twins in the pack. The pack will term it to be partial. I wish this whole tradition will stop.”

    Anna whispered, but something kept raking in her mind, something terrible which she was about to do.

    “I see, my brother is treating you well?”

    Damon said, staring at her.

    Anna stared at him for a while, slowly closing her eyes, all she could see was light blue eyes which stared back at her in pain.

    How could she forget that day, the first day she had been sent to the banished land to cater for the little twins who have been forcefully taken. Then Damon parents ruled the pack of the Gemini, at first when she saw Damon, she had taught him to be the arrogant son of the alpha who had been wooing her before they found out they were true mates. 

    Later on she realized he was the second twin whose story have been constantly discussed within the pack.

    Damon had captured her heart totally at first sight and It was the same for him too, his bare chest which had shun under the sparkling sun had captivated her teenage self and at that moment she decided he was the one for him, but fate had her ways of playing games. They could not be together, her parents been one of the great elders of the werewolf clan cannot allow her be mated to an abominable child. 

    But that never stopped them from seeing each other, every little chance she had, she would use it to visit the barren land which was almost seven hundred miles when she uses a horse.

    “Anna….you seem lost, is my brother treating you well, if he is not treating you well, I won’t waste a single moment to rip him apart, I don’t care about the consequences.”

    Damon said, glaring down at the threshold that lead to where his twin brother might have been laying.

    “I got carried away by the past. Damien is still Damien.”

    Anna whispered, there wasn’t much to say about the other twin, Damien was an arrogant bastard whom she had been forced to marry.

    “That is not an answer, my brother is an arrogant man who doesn’t know how to treat anyone with respect. I can sue him to death if he ever tried harming you……”

    “Shuuuuu, you need to keep your voice low, your voice might be heard and if that happens, we both will be in a big trouble. Damien will have a reason for detaching your body.”

    Anna said, touching his beards slowly, watching as his breathing calmed down a little. There was something peculiar about this two brothers, they are hot blooded fellow.

    “I am sorry for throwing such an outburst.”

    Damon said, circling her within his arms as he placed his forehead on hers.

    He breathed in her scent slowly and deeply, his one wish was to have her but he could not have her.

    “It’s fine, you care so much for me that is why you threw such an outburst.”

    Anna said, hugging him back.

    “When do you leave with the others.”

    Damon asked, they never stayed less than two days when ever they visited the barren lands, watching her leave the barren land was the hardest thing he had learned to endure.

    “We leave by first light tomorrow morning.”

    Anna said, she felt his breath stopped for a while and she felt her heart broke into pieces.

    “There is a problem.”

    Damon said, still hugging her.

    “There Is always a problem.”

    Anna said, laughing lowly.

    Damon chuckled at her words.

    “Well it is true. We always have problems and I wish for that to stop.”

    Damon said, smiling quite sadly.

    “I won’t see you anymore.”

    Damon said, Anna slowly detached her self from his hug.

    “What do you mean I won’t see you anymore. Are you planning on running away, while I remain with your brother.”

    Anna said, watching as Damon shook his head frantically.

    “No I am not running away. My brother must have suspected our closeness. In the meeting he mentioned something about him coming alone to the barren land from now on and if I ever said a word in the discussion, he will question me and perhaps find the truth about us, then he will hurt you at the end of it, which I don’t want it to happen.”

    Damon said, Anna nodded her head in understanding.

    Damien was a bitch, Anna thought.

    Anna breathed in slowly, there wasn’t any other option left, she will have to do the last thing in her mind.

    “Come let’s have some drink in your chambers, who knows when I will meet you again, maybe In two years or ten years or so.”

    Kira said, leading him to his room in the dark night when no eyes was watching.

    Damon followed after her, he needed a drink to clear his mind off.

    When they reached his room, she dragged him to sit on the wooden bed.

    “I came to your room with wine but I couldn’t find you so I decided to check on you.”

    Anna said, handling him a glass as she filled it with wine, she took a glass for her self, filling it with wine.

    “You came prepared already, hmmm I love the taste of this wine.”

    Damon whispered, gulping the wine at once, the wine was insanely sweet and makes one forget themselves for long.

    “Yes it is, take more, sometimes you got to free your mind by drinking.”

    Anna said, she only but tasted a single drop of the wine.

    “Yes I will, you aren’t drinking?”

    Damon asked, watching as her cup still have a huge amount of wine left in it.

    “Of course I take wine but a little, I am a terrible drinker.”

    Anna said, adding more wine to his cup, watching as he drowned it shakily.

    “I feel drunk already but I need more wine.”

    Damon said, stretching his hands towards the cup.

    Anna smiled down at him, filling his cup with more wine, she quickly walked to close the door, her plans had been activated, this was the last moment she might spend with him, so she had no other option than to make him drunk, she will bear her actions alone. He was drunk and it was time to make him hers, she was not going to regret this when she wakes up the next morning, Never!

    The Alpha’s Destined Mate Chapter 2 Two

    The whole pack gathered around, only consisting of men and women within the range of eighteen since it was considered to be a great welcome, but Alora, the daughter of the alpha of the Gemini pack, was seen, standing with the entire pack which consist only of the people within the age of eighteen but Alora was not eighteen yet, she was two years and a month old, she was a little child, but she had every right to attend to a meeting which was only meant for the grown ups.

     They were awaiting for the arrival of someone who they have been told was unknown, someone who they have been told belonged to the Gemini pack, but was never accepted at birth, because it was an abomination to accept a being like him in the pack. 

    The carriage made a stop, slowly two guards stepped down from the carriage, slowly opening the carriage door, a young man within the age of the alpha stepped down from the carriage, his light blue eyes, was enough to capture the whole attention of the entire pack.

    Then there came a gasp, coming from the pack members, they whispered in hushed tone among themselves, their voices got louder at every minutes they spent staring at the strange but familiar man who stood few feet away from them.

    “Who is he?”

    “Why is he familiar and look just like the alpha”

    “Why is he strange”

    “Who is he”

    The little Alora stood amidst them, she was been carried by her mother, Luna Anna, her few years old self could not understand what was going on in the pack. Not knowing what was going on among the pack, sucked unto her fingers.

    But whatever it was, she could not wait to leave the scene, and instead play with her toys and have a good sleep.

    Anna stared at the second twin, Damon, who had been hidden for years, away from the law which had placed him on a death sentence. 

    But he survived through all odds.

    Damon looked around the whole pack, his eyes in search for a light blue eyes, with thick dark hair just like his. 

    Slowly his eyes met his twin, he stoic form standing amidst the crowd, glaring down at him.

    Alpha Damien was not the type who could accept his twin so quickly into the pack, but that was the rule, a rule given by their parents, when his twin brother who had been hidden away from the law, when he have been crowned the alpha of the pack for three years, then he shall be brought back to stay among the people. Among his fellow pack and he shall not be killed.

    The noise in the pack was getting louder and quickly, alpha Damien turned towards the Beta of the pack, giving him a light stare, Beta Zach understood what he meant, slowly turning to stare at the members of the pack, his eyes filled with anger.

    “Be quiet everyone, the alpha stands with you, yet you cause a chaos among your selves. Please behave!”

    Beta Zach said, and quickly, the whole pack became still at his words, no words were whispered, no words was spoken.

    When the pack became silent, alpha Damien cleared his throat, he knew the whole pack was confused about the new member of the pack, who have a striking resemblance with him. 

    “Welcome Damon, my twin, welcome to the Gemini pack, the pack of our late parents.”

    Alpha Damien said, but his smiles were fake, because he was not happy to accept his twin into the pack.

    Another whispers broke through the entire pack.

    Everyone knew the law, the rule which had taken lives, that it was a crime for a second twin to live, when two twins were born, the younger would be killed and the older will remain living among them.

    But it seems the former alpha and Luna had hidden the second twin away from them, they had not killed him as the rule had said, but not just him, other twins.

    “I know everyone of you is confused, why would a younger twin survive, everyone knew the rule, any twin born in the Gemini pack will have its younger one killed in a second, but, I was not in the position to change what had happened, if I was, I wouldn’t have kept him Alive.”

    Alpha Damien said, glaring at his brother, he hated competition and seeing his brother here felt like a competition.

    “And he is back today, to live among us, but first, he will live like a commoner, he will till the soil like each and every one of you and he will pave a way for himself. But one thing for sure, he would not take my crown, I still remain your alpha.”

    Alpha Damien said, glaring at his brother once more, he walked out from the scene. 

    But not without throwing a glance at Anna, who held their child. 

    Damon stared at the his brother as he left the scene, slowly he turned to stare at Anna who gave him a light stare before quickly leaving the scene.

    Waving his head lightly, he turned toward the carriage, still feeling the heavy stare the pack gave him, some were leaving while some remained standing, whispering in hushed tones. 

    They knew not to anger the alpha by speaking behind his backs, so quickly, they walked out, leaving the alpha twin standing to tender to his business.

    Damon looked around, he had returned only with two bags, which contained his clothes and arrows, his sword was carefully kept behind his torso, making him more dangerous and sexy.

    The guards were not there to help him out, because his brother had commanded that he should not be given any help what so ever.

    Slowly he turned, walking towards the pack mansion, where his brother and family resides. 

    He still has some little right, which was, living in the family’s house.

    As he passed through the corridors, he could hear the whispers which came forth from the pack.

    He waved his head, quickly, turning to the other direct, but instead, a figure came, crashing on him so hard, making the bags he held fall on the floor. 

    Quickly he held the figure from falling, the person who had crashed into him was slender woman, her thick dark hairs cascading on his arms. He had rammed into his twin brother’s wife.

    Quickly, she left his hold, bending her head low. 

    He could feel how she trembled under his stare, he looked surprised, marveled at the sight in front of him.

    She haven’t changed for once, she was still beautiful, slender, yet she looked scared, and for a Luna like her, she had no right to be scared, especially of someone like him. Her first love and a mere wolf who had been detached from his birth right.

    “I am sorry Luna Anna.”

    He said, staring at her, as she still kept her gaze on the floor, hiding her face.

    The Alpha’s Destined Mate Chapter 3 Three

    Anna looked down, she knew the alpha was watching her, she could feel his intense gaze on her, he watches her, and if she looks up, the mark on her face would be visible, and that was something she never intend on showing to any one.

    “Are you ok Luna Anna?”

    Damon asked, walking closer to his brother’s mate, his love, but quickly, she backed off from him, taking four paces back.

    “I am fine and sorry for not looking.”

    Anna said bluntly, then quickly, she strode out from his presence.

    He watched her as she left his presence.

    Damon closed his eyes for a moment, he was playing the games of been cool with her, he knew his brother was watching and he knew not to put her in danger. Slowly waving his head, he picked up his items, slowly walking to the room which have been prepared for him.

    Anna stepped into the room, her body shook with fear, she knew she could be in another trouble, for talking with her mate’s brother.

    “You spoke with my brother, why?”

    She heard a hard voice said, it was coming from her back, quickly she turned back, her slender form became stoic with fear.

    “I had mistakenly rammed into him, by mistake. I never spoke to him intentionally. You know I wouldn’t.”

    Anna said, hoping she believed him. But Damien was not someone who you could place your hope on, In the bedroom, he was ruthless, a devil, a beater, but In the eyes of the pack, he was the best alpha with a cheerful face. 

    “Why do you think I would believe you, you both once had a thing, also knowing the fact that you had been forced to marry me, so why would I believe you, why do you think I won’t believe the fact that you both were planning on escaping or maybe…..”

    Damien said, striding towards her like a predator, who was about to capture his prey. 

    “You both are planning on committing treason, taking away my crown and making him your alpha.”

    Damien said, Anna gasped at his words, how would the alpha said such foolish words, such insane words.

    She have been forced to marry Damien, who had done nothing but abuse her on a daily basis.

    “Damien, you know I would never do t….”

    Before she could be finish her words, she felt her body, been slammed on the wall, a low scream escaped from her lips. 

    This was the second time he was hitting her for the day and this was not going to be the last either.

    “How dare you lie to my face. How dare you speak back to me.”

    He said, this time he picked her up, throwing her on the bed, quickly mounting on her.

    Anna stepped back, she knew what he was planning on doing.

    “You spoke back to me, how dare you, I am your mate, your half, not that bastard.”

    Alpha Damien said, quickly dragging her legs back, tearing her clothes into shreds.

    Anna cried In pain, she hated him, she hated his guts.

    “Lay low and spread your legs apart now!”

    Damien said, it was few words, which she was meant to obeyed.

    Anna knew she had no option, she knew what would happen to her If she disobeys his words.

    “Please do not do this.”

    Anna begged, Damien was trying to have sex with her, when she was not ready to do so, and she knew if she disobeys his words, he would not hesitate to maybe, slash her throat.

    “NOW!”

    Damien said, glaring at her as he removed the last remnant of his clothes, leaving him standing stark naked In front of her, with his huge length which had instantly became hard, he was a man of no patience and he could not bear the pathetic plead that escaped from her lips.

    Slowly, Anna parted her legs, slowly but widely.

    But as said, Damien was no man of patience because quickly, he pushed her legs apart, quickly opening her legs wider, to his delight, the sight of her clit sent him wild, making his wolf growl with excitement. 

    Anna whimpered weakly, Damien was always a beast, a wild terrible beast and she hated his guts, and there was no option for her than to allow him do what so ever he planned on doing on her.

    Quickly, she felt him thrust his huge length into her, a heavy cry elicited from her lips, she groaned, feeling the heavy thrust he was giving her.

    Damien was not the type of man to do romance, so his pace on her was fast and rough. 

    Quickly dragging her head, trying to elicit more pain from her, this sure made Anna to scream with more pain and he got delighted at it.

    And with a heavy grunt, he cum in her, filling her with his release, he hated her guts, so damn well, and he do have to inform her to whom she belonged to. 

    He hated the fact that his twin was here and his guts kept informing him that his mate would or might run into the hands of his twin, he gritted his teeth, quickly throwing her off the head board as he walked out from the room to the bath.

    He loved her, but there was a feeling that kept cladding in his mind that his mate would leave him for his brother, so the best option was to make her know whom she belonged to.

    Maybe, he could lower Damon and make him look like a threat in the eyes of the entire pack, sure that would make him leave the pack and then he would not have anything to worry of.

    Slowly Anna stepped out from the bed, her thighs still hurt over what the alpha had done to her. 

    Slowly wearing another clothes since the former one had been thorn into shreds.

    Quickly, she walked out from the room, she needed to be far away from him, normally, Damien would hit her until maybe she passed out, but today, he had not just hit her, instead, he had taken her forcefully. 

    She was so lost in thoughts that she did not see a figure coming from the other direction, she groaned in pains, hissing again, thinking she had made a contact with a wall.

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