Ai Huo
13 Published Stories
Ai Huo's Books and Stories
Unexpected Comeback Of The Discarded Orphan
Billionaires I was taken from a filthy Nevada orphanage by the wealthy Tillman family and treated like a stray dog for ten years.
When their company faced bankruptcy, my adoptive parents demanded I marry a known degenerate to pay off their debts, just so their precious biological daughter wouldn't have to.
When I refused, my adoptive mother cut off all my bank accounts and kicked me out into a freezing thunderstorm.
"Walk out that door and you will starve in the gutter where you belong!" she screamed.
My fake sister mocked my lack of a background, and later, the family even posted photos online to frame me as a disgusting sugar baby to ruin my life.
They thought I was just a helpless, worthless orphan who owed them everything.
They didn't know the only reason I endured their abuse was to investigate the orphanage fire that burned ten of my friends alive, a tragedy their elite circles helped cover up.
I didn't beg for their mercy or cry in the rain.
Instead, I got into a bulletproof black SUV waiting in the storm.
It was time to shed the pathetic orphan disguise, cure the paralyzed king of the underworld, and burn the Tillman family's perfect facade to the ground. The Day My Love Shattered
Modern My fiancé, Keith, was supposed to pick me up from the airport after my two-week solo trip. Instead, I was stranded alone in the rain, abandoned for his "fragile" protégé, Kandice.
He claimed car trouble, but a single phone call revealed the truth: he was at a party, celebrating with her.
Then came the text from Kandice-a selfie of her on his lap, captioned: "Don't worry, Dr. Blackburn is all mine tonight! "
Moments later, a text from Keith: "Sorry, sweetheart. Car trouble. Had to drop Kandice off first. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't wait up."
The blatant contradiction, the years of his gaslighting and emotional abuse, finally shattered something inside me. He had spent three years making me feel small, insecure, and crazy, always prioritizing Kandice's manufactured drama over my well-being.
I used to think love meant enduring his cruelty, but standing there, soaked and betrayed, I realized my love had its limits.
So, I made a call. "Mr. Davies," I said, my voice steady. "About that five-year overseas assignment in London. I'd like to accept." A Healer's Second Chance At Life
Modern My husband told me his true love, Francesca, was dying. As a master healer, I was the only one who could save her. For months, he drained my life force in daily rituals, leaving me a hollow shell of myself.
Then he demanded the ultimate sacrifice: a forbidden ceremony that would transfer my entire life force to her. It was a death sentence.
"It means Francesca lives," he said, his eyes empty of the love he once had for me.
He shattered the wooden bird he carved for our anniversary, forced me to sign divorce papers, and promised to remarry me after I died for his fantasy.
Finally, he tied me to an altar and set it on fire.
As I burned, my four-year-old daughter screamed the truth-that Francesca was faking her illness. But Kane pushed her away, choosing his lie over our lives. He watched me die.
But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day he first told me Francesca was sick. This time, the only life I'll be saving is my own. Love's Fierce, Patient Embrace
Werewolf On our third mating anniversary, I prepared a feast. For three years, my Alpha husband, Mark, had treated me like I was made of glass, using my "fragile" constitution as an excuse for his coldness. Still, I hoped tonight he would finally see me.
But he came home smelling of another she-wolf, took one look at the anniversary dinner I'd poured my soul into, lied about an urgent pack meeting, and walked out.
Days later, he demanded I attend the annual Gala to present a "united front." On the way, he took a call from her, his voice dripping with a tenderness he never gave me.
"Don't worry, Sarah, I'm on my way," he said. "Your ovulation cycle is paramount. I love you."
The three words he'd never said to me. He slammed on the brakes, shifted into his massive wolf form, and abandoned me on a dark, rain-swept road to run to her.
I stumbled out into the storm, my heart finally shattered. I wasn't his mate. I was a placeholder, a prop to be discarded when his true love called.
Just as I wished the rain would wash me away, headlights cut through the darkness. A car screeched to a halt inches from me. Out stepped an Alpha whose raw power made my husband seem like a child. His piercing silver eyes locked on mine as a possessive growl rumbled deep in his chest.
He looked at me as if he'd found the center of his universe and uttered a single, life-altering word.
"Mine." My Heart, His Cruelty
Romance The phone buzzed frantically during my board meeting. It was my mother, her voice a shredded mess, whispering, "He's here. At the university. He's making us..." before the line went dead.
"He" was Gustav Bradford, the man I loved, the man who was destroying me.
I raced to Westwood University to find my parents on their knees, humiliated, with Gustav standing over them, beautiful and terrifying, beside his therapist, Estelle Strong.
Estelle, his new everything, whispered lies about my parents disrespecting them, while my father, a man who debated world leaders, bowed his head in shame. My mother sobled silently as a drone live-streamed their humiliation.
When I confronted him, Gustav, with a chilling smile, ordered his guard to break my father's leg.
A sickening crack echoed, followed by my father's agonizing scream. Then, my mother's. They both lay broken. The love I had for Gustav shattered, replaced by a cold, vast emptiness.
"I will kill you," I whispered, the words tasting like poison. He just smiled, kissed my cheek, and left, telling me he'd be home for dinner.
That night, my parents, in a desperate act to free me, took their own lives.
My scream was soundless. I called Amit, my friend, for the drug that would make me look dead.
I had to die to live, and I had to live to see Gustav Bradford burn. Love's Deception, A Fortune's Rebirth
Modern The plan was simple: two weeks of quiet solitude at my apartment, a much-needed break from the relentless grind of my architecture career.
But the moment I unlocked the door, a cloying, unfamiliar perfume assaulted my senses, followed by the sight of a stranger lounging on my custom velvet sofa, nonchalantly filing her nails.
"Can I help you?" she drawled, dripping with disdain, as I stood dumbfounded in the doorway of my own home, apartment 3B.
This woman, Tiffany Stone, introduced herself as my brother Liam' s new girlfriend, claiming this was "Liam's place," scoffing at my very career and dismissing my deeply personal space as a mere "graduation present" for a girl who "drew buildings."
The audacity escalated swiftly. Tiffany and her mother, Mrs. Stone-a woman cloaked in fur and radiating venom-informed me they were "redecorating" my apartment and expected me to find a hotel. My cherished minimalist decor and art prints had vanished, replaced by gaudy, tasteless clutter.
When I tried to reach my bedroom, where my personal safe contained the deed to the apartment, they physically blocked my path, declaring, "It's not your room anymore. It's our guest room." My own family, my own brother, seemed to be orchestrating this hostile takeover.
The situation spiraled into a nightmare; a physical altercation broke out, leaving me bruised and bleeding, yet they accused me of assault.
The building manager, Mr. Davis, shockingly sided with them, presenting falsified records to claim the apartment belonged to Liam.
Then Liam himself arrived, not as a rescuer, but as the architect of my downfall, embracing Tiffany, feigning concern, and publicly humiliating me. He flatly stated he had transferred the deed to his name and then, with a chilling smile, proposed to essentially sell me off to a business associate.
Every accusation, every betrayal, shattered my reality. He even revealed I was adopted, not truly a Reed, trying to strip away my entire identity. But in that moment, as I lay on the floor, a cold clarity crystallized. He had given me a weapon.
I seized my T-square, shattered a mirror in a defiant act, and ran, finally breaking free to call for help.
From the depths of betrayal, armed with undeniable evidence from a hidden camera and a desperate revelation that Liam, not I, was the adopted one, I watched as Liam, Tiffany, her mother, and the building manager were arrested, their carefully constructed lies crumbling on national television.
This was not just about reclaiming an apartment. It was about rebuilding a legacy, reshaping my family's future, and redefining my own purpose. From Gold-Digger to Queen
Romance My wedding day. The most beautiful day of my life, or so I thought. I stood at the altar, beaming in my white dress, ready to marry Liam Maxwell, the man I loved.
Then, the whispers began. Not of happiness, but of scandal. My fiancé, the love of my life, had rushed off to a rooftop, not to save me, but his "childhood friend," Olivia Chen, who was threatening to jump.
He returned with her, fragile and apologetic, yet she wore a white dress eerily similar to mine. I was humiliated, sidelined in my own fairytale, as Liam asked me to postpone our wedding for her sake, for his reputation.
But this wasn't the first time. In a nightmarish vision, I witnessed our future: a gilded cage, a forced miscarriage after his careless shove, and my agonizing death, alone and abandoned. He had orchestrated my public downfall, framing me as a gold-digger and a villain, while he and Olivia cemented their twisted bond.
The pain of that future, the betrayal and the loss, was too real to ignore. It wasn't a dream; it was a warning.
Now, as Liam stood before me, expecting my compliant understanding, I knew I had a second chance. The naive fiancée was gone. This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would make him pay. One-Cut Queen
Young Adult My name is Eli Vance, and in my world, everything has a price.
I lived in a small, sagging house that perpetually smelled of stale beer and disappointment, a stark contrast to the academic potential I desperately cultivated.
Every cent I secretly earned from doing other kids' homework was a deliberate step away from a future my parents had already planned for me: a grueling factory job.
My younger brother, Cody, was their sole focus, their "lottery ticket," and his mediocre athletic career consumed every last ounce of their hope and meager funds.
Then, one evening, they finally showed me attention-enough to deliver their verdict.
"You're sixteen now," my father grunted, avoiding my gaze.
"The plant is hiring full-time," my mother chimed in, her voice sharp, "You can quit school. We need the money for Cody's gear and his camp fees."
My heart turned into a cold, hard stone in my chest as their words extinguished my last flickering hope for a different life.
"What do you have? Books?" my mother sneered, dismissing my intelligence, my ambition, everything I was.
My father sealed it with a flat gaze: "You'll do what you're told," effectively erasing my future to fund a pair of football cleats.
The suffocating injustice burned a hole within me-this town, this school, my own family; it was all the same oppressive system.
They saw me as a burden, a cost, a ready-made sacrifice, but I refused to accept that.
How could they demand I relinquish my education, my only path to escape, for a futile dream that wasn't even mine?
I couldn't fight my parents head-on, not yet, but watching the cafeteria manager's blatant favoritism, I knew exactly how to break a smaller, visible cog in this unfair machine.
The battle for my freedom, and my future, had just begun-a ruthless, calculated game where I would stop at nothing to change the rules. His Cruelest Sunny
Romance To save my family's vineyard and my sister, I, Ava Hayes, agreed to marry Ethan Reed, my childhood friend turned enemy.
I hid a terminal illness silently consuming me.
It wasn't a marriage; it was a public humiliation.
At a lavish gala, Ethan announced his engagement to another, introducing me as his "desperate offering," a mocking "trophy."
Trapped, I became his property, enduring relentless physical and emotional abuse, worsened by my secret illness and his fiancée Chloe's sadistic torments.
Yet, I heard Ethan's inner thoughts-conflicted, sometimes tender, a secret lifeline that broke when his accidental blow severed our connection.
Then came the crushing truth: my own family had conspired in my mother's murder and abandoned me to die by withholding funds for my treatment.
Critically ill and with my last hope gone, Chloe abducted me.
She revealed her family's involvement in my mother's death, then cruelly forced an abortion, ending my life and our unborn child's.
My body vanished, my memory erased.
But what will Ethan do when the horrifying truth of my death and the child lost, finally surfaces? A Brewing Betrayal
Modern Daisy' s memorial service was a haze, the thick lily scent a painful echo of my little girl, gone.
I stood a hollow shell, while my wife, Casey, seemed eerily calm, almost serene.
Then I overheard her chilling confession: she' d authorized an "unproven" treatment that "hastened" our daughter' s death.
My blood ran cold.
She dismissed Daisy' s complex care as "draining," before reconnecting with her old flame, Ethan Holloway.
Days later, she callously planned to convert Daisy's vibrant room into her new home office.
I found Ethan lounging in my living room, Casey laughing with him, more animated than I' d seen her in years.
"It's my parents' house, Alex!" she snapped when I confronted her, mocking my award-winning brewery as a "hobby."
Her family had already frozen our accounts, accusing me of financial mismanagement.
Now, Ethan and Casey were trying to steal my revolutionary brewing process-my life's invention, meant for our family's legacy.
The betrayal was absolute, desecrating Daisy's memory and everything we built.
How could the woman I loved not only hasten our daughter' s end but then brutally disrespect her memory, seemingly conspiring to ruin me?
My marriage was shattered, but my spirit was not.
I vowed that day to leave the wreckage, launching "Daisy Chain Brews" with my secret patents.
This wasn't just for me; it was for Daisy. When Love Erased Me!
Romance I stood outside our bedroom door, the cool wood pressed to my forehead. My wife, Victoria, was inside, her voice low and urgent. "Liam, stop it. He could be home any minute." Liam. My paralegal. I froze when I heard his next words: "He needs to know you're not some broodmare, Vicky. That pregnancy scare? You told me you almost panicked." Pregnancy scare? She told me she miscarried months ago, blaming my stress. My heart turned to stone.
The betrayal deepened with every new piece of evidence. My phone buzzed with anonymous photos: Victoria, laughing, Liam' s arm around her. Then came a video: Victoria, in lingerie I' d never seen, playfully fanning Liam with my inscribed first-edition Gatsby. "He' ll never know," Liam' s voice sneered. "He' s too wrapped up in his dusty old books to notice anything." Victoria giggled, "He's sweet, but so predictable." Then the ultimate blow: Liam proposing "a little Walker," and Victoria' s chilling, calculating smile as she agreed to fake illness to conceal it.
I felt nothing but a vast, cold emptiness. The woman I married, the one I truly loved, was a complete stranger. She was a manipulative stranger, plotting a future behind my back, mocking me with my own heartfelt gifts. How could she be so utterly cruel? How could I have been so blindly naive?
A small, cool chime sounded in my mind, a sensation only I could perceive: The Legacy. My mother' s deathbed words echoed: "One time, Ethan. A clean break. If you ever need it." I needed it now, more than anything. I watched as my hands began to flicker, growing faintly transparent. The erasure had begun. I was ready to disappear. Eight Years To Forever
Romance I, Ava Miller, an architect, spent eight years with Ethan Hayes, though our shared life felt built on shifting sand. He constantly chipped at my confidence, yet I clung to the hope of 'us'.
At a New York charity auction, Ethan bought my grandmother's unique sapphire pendant. My stomach plummeted as he publicly presented "my" heirloom to his young intern, Chloe Vance, then whispered, I'd get "something new."
His words were a gut punch. A video soon showed him boasting he'd propose to Chloe. He did, at a party, using my sapphire, crudely reset, branding me "strong" while asserting Chloe "needed him." Post-confrontation, he replaced the damaged stone with a worthless glass replica, convinced I wouldn't notice. His manipulations peaked when he dragged me into Chloe's staged suicide attempt at the ER, ditching me bleeding to chase her drama while caught with her lipstick on his face.
Eight years of my life, systematically cheapened and discarded for his brazen, theatrical lies. The audacity, the disgusting manipulation, his absolute lack of remorse – it was suffocating. How had I been so blind?
But the script truly flipped. Abandoned again at the ER, one name cut through the noise: Julian Thorne. The man who, years ago, unexpectedly offered, "Ditch the zero. Marry me." My shaking hand steadied as I called. "Is that offer still on the table?" I whispered. A liberating breath. "Okay. Yes." San Francisco was my final destination. I was coming. You might like
The Jilted Heiress's Ruthless Billionaire Revenge
Gray Matter For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett.
Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid.
When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives.
"Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself."
I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together.
Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company.
He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life.
He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire.
I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer.
"Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant." The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback
Zhi Yao For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties.
But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom.
Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot.
Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years.
"You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic."
My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support.
They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets.
I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life.
But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree.
Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate.
When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block. The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
Zi Ya The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting.
"Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes."
Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind.
I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba.
How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow?
When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE.
"Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me." Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
"Call her Aunt." Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
TESS WHITE I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground. The Unwanted Wife Walks Away Free
Dong Lier For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire.
But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters.
For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions.
He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage?
He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk.
"Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn." Shattered Vows: The Secret Heiress's Dazzling Return
Nap Regazzini For two years, Clementine played the perfectly obedient wife to billionaire Donovan Bray, wearing his heavy diamonds and enduring his cold indifference.
Until she accidentally saw his tablet and discovered she was just a "collateral asset"—a cheap lookalike prop hired to make his ex-girlfriend, Gisela, jealous.
When Gisela returned to New York, Donovan's mask completely slipped.
During a vicious argument where he mocked Clementine as a pathetic shadow, he grabbed her, causing her to fall down a flight of marble stairs.
Waking up in the hospital, Clementine learned she had miscarried a six-week-old baby she didn't even know she had.
But what truly shattered her was hearing Donovan's voice through the cracked hospital door.
"It changes nothing."
He coldly lied to his friend that the fall had caused permanent infertility.
"It was probably for the best."
He had killed her unborn child and casually dismissed her worth, truly believing she was a penniless nobody who would suffer his abuse in silence.
He thought he held all the power, leaving her broken and discarded for his true love.
What Donovan didn't know was that his fragile, dependent wife was secretly "C.", the billionaire genius behind Aurelian, the world's most exclusive luxury jewelry empire.
Lying in the sterile room, Clementine dried her tears, filed for a ruthless divorce, and permanently froze his supplementary black card.
It was time to show him who really held the strings. The Trophy Wife's Ruthless Revenge
Little Pink Lace Keely returned to her Manhattan penthouse a day early, expecting the loving billionaire husband who had just told her how much he missed her.
Instead, the scent of cheap vanilla perfume led her to the guest room, where she found Haden tangled in the sheets with his timid, soft-spoken secretary.
To the world, Haden was the flawless, devoted partner. He would even beat a man to a bloody pulp at a high-society gala just for insulting her, violently claiming he was protecting his wife.
But behind his golden-retriever facade lay a narcissistic monster. While begging for her affection and making her breakfast, he was secretly draining their marital assets into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Keely had to swallow her disgust, forcing a perfect smile as she played the clueless, dependent trophy wife he wanted her to be.
It made her physically sick. She couldn't understand how the man who looked into the camera with eyes full of love just last night could be the same thief plotting to leave her with nothing. Was his violent, suffocating obsession with her just a sick cover for his betrayal?
But Haden didn't know his "helpless" wife was actually the ruthless CTO of a tech empire. She had already hacked the home surveillance and traced the missing funds, ready to make him bleed. Then, her private investigator called with a medical report that pushed her revenge to the edge.
"Mrs. Jones, Darlene Sutton is six weeks pregnant." I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he's not letting me go. One Night With The Possessive CEO
Fritz Heaney Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web. 
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