Baxy Koseluk
17 Published Stories
Baxy Koseluk's Books and Stories
Too Late To Love Your Mute Wife
Billionaires To save my father's bankrupt company, I endured a forced marriage to billionaire Godfrey Valentine. He despised me, believing I was a scheming mute who trapped him.
When his former fiancée, Allyson, returned, my nightmare truly began. During a family dinner, she deliberately knocked a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly onto my lap.
The scalding liquid soaked into my heavy dress, instantly blistering my flesh. Because of my paralyzed vocal cords, I couldn't even scream. I could only gasp in silent, blinding agony as I collapsed.
At that exact second, Allyson let out a blood-curdling shriek over a tiny drop of soup that had splashed onto her knuckles.
Godfrey didn't even glance in my direction.
"Tell the driver to pull up to the front!"
He roared in panic, scooping Allyson into his arms like fragile glass and rushing her to the hospital.
"You clumsy, stupid girl!"
His mother sneered at me before following them, leaving me kneeling alone in a puddle of boiling soup.
That night, seeing the paparazzi photos of him fiercely protecting her at the private ER, my heart completely shattered. I finally realized that to him, my life was worth less than a single scratch on her finger.
I wiped my tears, contacted my best friend to start a street bakery, and walked away. This time, I chose to live for myself. My Broken Voice, My Undeniable Power
Modern The camera flashes felt like a firing squad, dragging me back to the night I lost my baby five years ago. My husband, Faron, sat in the front row, his hand on his mistress Kassie’s thigh, utterly ignoring my public humiliation. This was the thirtieth time he’d made me a joke, and it would be the last.
For three years, I played the dutiful Blackwell wife, shielding Faron from his endless affairs.
At a press conference, a reporter’s question about his yacht booking with Kassie shattered my facade. Faron, smiling at his mistress, completely ignored me. The last filter I viewed him through instantly shattered.
Later, Kassie deliberately spilled champagne on me at a gala. Faron, instead of helping, tenderly wiped it from her.
She hissed, "Faron said you just lay there. Fucking you is like fucking a dead fish."
This venomous taunt, after thirty public betrayals, snapped my sanity.
Chained by my mother-in-law's threats, my pain was expected. My silence demanded. But I was finally done.
With a cold, empty void, I slammed the folder shut. I dropped the family crest.
"Have a wonderful evening, Faron," I said, turning and walking out. I left him and his suffocating charade behind. From Cast-off To The City's Queen
Modern I spent three years making myself small, hiding my sketchbook beneath silk blouses just to keep the peace in a marriage that felt like a museum.
Then, Blair came home early, bringing his first love, Keely, into our living room to serve me with divorce papers.
He didn't look at me, only at the legal document he’d laid on the glass table like a death warrant for my entire life. He told me to be smart and sign it, while Keely smiled and thanked me for keeping his home and wearing her clothes while she was away. I had been nothing more than a placeholder, a shadow filling the space she’d left behind, and now I was being discarded without a cent or a home.
I looked at the Baccarat chandelier and the life I had tried so hard to build, suddenly realizing that I had spent three years desperate for a love that was never on offer.
I signed the papers, took nothing but my sketchbook, and walked out into the freezing November rain with three hundred dollars to my name and nowhere to go.
I was nothing, I was alone, and I was entirely free. I stood on the corner of the street, shivering in the downpour, and made a desperate, insane gamble when a black car pulled up to the curb. I looked at the stranger behind the tinted glass and asked the only question I had left: "Do you need a wife?" My Dying Wish: A Fiancé's Betrayal
Modern My family and fiancé begged me to donate my last remaining kidney to my twin sister, Kyleigh. They didn't know I was already dying.
My fiancé, Axel, gave me an ultimatum.
"Donate the kidney, or I'll break our engagement and marry Kyleigh. It's her dying wish."
I agreed, only for them to frame me for plagiarism with my own thesis, forcing me to confess on camera. They never knew I was the one who secretly saved our father with my other kidney five years ago-a sacrifice Kyleigh had stolen all the credit for.
As they wheeled me into the operating room, they celebrated with Kyleigh, promising her a future built on my death. I was already a ghost to them.
But I died on the table. The surgeon, seeing the old surgical scar and the poison riddling my body, walked out to face them.
"This wasn't a donation," she announced, her voice cold as steel. "This was murder." The Alpha's Collared Pet: Rejected and Reborn
Werewolf For ten years, I lived for Dante Moretti. I waited for my eighteenth birthday, knowing that the Alpha of the Dark Nebula was my fated mate.
But when the day finally came, he didn't claim me.
He brought Isabella home instead. A warrior. A political asset.
"Welcome home, my future Luna," he announced to the pack, shattering my heart in front of everyone.
I was just the orphan girl who couldn't Shift. A liability.
To ensure I knew my place, Isabella offered me a "gift." A collar made of pure silver.
To a human, it is jewelry. To a wolf, it is acid.
When she locked it around my neck, the metal sizzled. The smell of my own burning flesh filled the room.
I fell to my knees, screaming, looking at Dante with tears in my eyes. I begged him to stop her.
But he just looked at me, his face a mask of cold logic.
"Wear it," he commanded, ignoring the smoke rising from my skin. "Consider it discipline. If you take it off, you leave the Pack."
He thought he was protecting me. He thought making me look weak would save me from his enemies.
He didn't realize he was killing the girl who loved him.
That night, I didn't just take off the collar.
I closed my eyes, found the golden thread of our Mate Bond in my mind, and snapped it in half.
Dante collapsed in the hallway, clutching his chest in agony as he felt our connection die.
"What did you do?" he whispered into the void.
"I set you free, Alpha," I said.
Then I ran into the storm.
He thought I was a defenseless human. He didn't know I was the lost daughter of the Royal White Wolf bloodline.
And when I returned, I wouldn't be kneeling. A Second Chance At True Love
Romance On our third wedding anniversary, I planned to tell my husband I was pregnant.
Instead, I watched him get down on one knee and propose to another woman.
In the ensuing chaos, he shoved me down a flight of marble stairs.
I woke up in the hospital, losing our baby. The doctor called him, begging him to come.
"Tell her to stop this pathetic act," I heard my husband's voice say over the phone. "I don't have time for her games."
He hung up. He was at the same hospital, comforting his mistress over a minor burn while our child died.
After three years of lies and five broken promises, I finally woke up.
I left him a box with the ultrasound photos and my miscarriage diagnosis, signed the divorce papers, and disappeared from his life forever. Wife, Donor, Victim: A Twisted Marriage
Romance The doctor told me my body was reaching its limit. It was the fifth time I was donating bone marrow to save my son, Leo. But I pushed through the pain. My husband, Ethan, said he had a surprise waiting for me when I got home.
I walked in to hear him talking with Leo’s live-in nurse, Geneva. My blood ran cold when I heard her call Leo their son.
Hidden, I kept listening. The car “accident” right after our wedding that left me infertile? They planned it. My entire seven-year marriage was an elaborate lie, designed to turn me into the perfect, continuous donor for their biological child.
My love wasn’t cherished; it was a tool to exploit me. I wasn't a wife or a mother. I was a walking blood bag.
All the expensive gifts Ethan gave me after each donation weren’t from love. They were payments for my body parts.
They found me collapsed on the floor, and the mask of the loving husband fell away completely.
"Leo needs another donation," Ethan said, his voice flat. "The doctor will be here in an hour."
When I refused, he had his security guards hold me down. I watched in horror as he took a syringe and drew my blood himself, my life force, to give to their son. Betrayal's Sting: A Father's Revenge
Romance The phone call came at dusk, ripping through the quiet of my evening with words that shattered my world: "Your daughter, Lily... accident... Oceanville General."
I raced to the hospital, my heart hammering like a trapped bird, praying for a miracle, only to find my estranged wife, Sarah, coolly discussing the "accident" as if our five-year-old Lily was a mere inconvenience.
Then the doctor delivered the fatal blow: "She was calling for you, Mr. Miller. She kept asking for her daddy."
But before I could even process the unthinkable, Sarah pulled out her phone, complaining about work, and dismissed the urgent need to see our dying child' s body in the morgue.
My world crumbled further when a social media post surfaced: Sarah, raising a champagne glass, arm-in-arm with her step-brother, Mark, celebrating a 'victory' while our Lily lay cold in the morgue.
The next day, she refused to help with funeral arrangements, claiming she was "swamped," yet a child's voice echoed in the background of her call: "Daddy, can I have some juice?"
My own daughter was deemed a burden, while Sarah played doting "Auntie" to her lover' s child, a child he had with his wife.
What kind of monster cares so little for her own flesh and blood, yet dotes on another' s?
The betrayal stung, but it was just the beginning. I knew, with chilling clarity, that this was no accident. This was a conspiracy, and I would expose every dark secret. Her Son, His Secret
Romance For five years, I clung to the memory of Liam, my husband, lost to a mysterious accident.
Then he reappeared, a month ago, but he was a stranger, stripped of his memories of me, and worse, he brought her-Chloe, the sweet, innocent woman he' d met while he was gone.
Now, Chloe, pregnant with Liam' s child, slid a half-million-dollar check across my own mahogany table, a cruel offer to buy me out of my marriage.
Liam, when he walked in, only cemented my nightmare, his face softening for her and hardening in cold impatience for me, accusing me of bothering her in my own home.
He even suggested I help Chloe plan their wedding, believing her lies about his lost child that once was ours.
Cold rage replaced my heartbreak; if he wanted a wedding planner, I' d be the best-and then disappear, completely.
But Chloe' s cruelty didn' t stop.
She orchestrated my kidnapping, gloating that Liam' s amnesia was her doing, a drug she' d used for years to erase me.
When Liam found me, battered and bruised, he accused me of faking it all to frame Chloe.
My world shattered, but amidst the wreckage, an email arrived: my permanent residency in New Zealand was approved.
I signed the divorce papers, ready to leave, just as my brother texted: Liam had another accident, hit his head, and remembered everything.
Without hesitation, I broke my phone' s SIM card and tossed it, choosing to leave the pieces of my past behind.
Two years later, Liam, haunted and remorseful, found me in New Zealand, wanting to apologize and fix what was broken, desperate to know about the son clinging to my leg-Leo.
"No, Liam. He is not yours. He is mine." I told him, crushing his impossible hope.
I explained that the love I had for him, and our future, had simply transferred to Leo, the family we were supposed to have.
At Leo' s first birthday, a deranged Chloe attacked me with a knife, Liam, true to his word (and perhaps seeking redemption), threw himself in front of me, and took the fatal blow, paying his debt.
I felt nothing but a transaction completed; his life for my stolen five years.
Later, a tall, impeccably dressed stranger arrived, his face uncannily like Leo' s.
"My name is Julian Davenport," he said, his gaze fixed on my son. "I believe you have my son. The clinic made a rather significant error with my donation. It seems they gave you the premier sample by mistake. So, I've come to collect him." Love's Ashes, Vengeance's Spark
Modern My life as a celebrated chef was perfectly seasoned: a Michelin-starred restaurant, a demanding but respected father, and a beautiful fiancée, Chloe, who promised an empire.
Then, one catastrophic night, I found Chloe, my love, in a passionate embrace with Liam, my supposed business partner, amidst the dry storage of my father' s restaurant.
Rage, blinding and raw, consumed me. A fight erupted, sacks of flour burst, and cooking oil slicked the floor, transforming our kitchen into a powder keg.
My ailing father, drawn by the chaos, collapsed, his eyes filled with disappointment, not at the scene, but at me.
Chloe seized the moment, twisting the narrative: "He' s lost it, Dad! He' s going to destroy everything!"
Liam, at Chloe's silent command, ignited a kitchen torch and tossed it into the spilled oil and flour.
The world exploded in flames as Chloe dragged Liam away, screaming, "Ethan did this! He tried to kill us all!"
I was left trapped in a roaring inferno with my dying father, his last breath a whisper against my hand.
At the hospital, framed as the jealous arsonist, I learned my father died of a heart attack, not the fire.
Chloe, pristine and emotionless, pressured me to donate skin grafts to Liam, the man who set the fire, repeatedly.
I overheard her cold calculations: my "tragedy" was a marketing opportunity, and my subsequent injuries meant "no messy heirs to complicate the inheritance."
They wanted everything, including my very essence, leaving me an empty shell.
Liam, with a cruel smirk, taunted me, "Chloe' s with a real man now. Someone who can give her what she wants."
I finally saw it all: a calculated, systematic destruction, orchestrated by the woman I loved.
The pain, once crippling, ignited a new purpose; this was not the end, but the beginning of a war. My Husband Stole My Company, I Took His Life
Billionaires My doctor ordered me to disconnect, three months in Montana. So I trusted my husband, Ethan, and my best friend and COO, Nicole, with my life' s work, EcoWrap. My baby.
Then, a battered envelope arrived, shattering my digital detox: Ethan and Nicole were engaged. He' d gifted her a controlling stake in my company, my entire life' s work.
I stormed back, interrupting their lavish town hall celebration. They laughed in my face, waving papers I' d supposedly signed, transferring my shares. "You gave me control," Ethan sneered. Nicole, my decade-long friend, smirked, admitting they' d been poisoning me with sedatives in my smoothies for months, making me sign while incapacitated. Now, they were in love, and I was holding the company back.
My own employees, people I' d mentored and supported, chose wealth over loyalty, turning their backs on me. Ethan slapped brutal divorce papers on the table, demanding I walk away with nothing. I was cornered, betrayed by everyone I loved, stripped of everything I built.
How could this happen? Was I truly losing everything?
Yet, as I signed away EcoWrap and even convinced my last loyal partner, Molly, to transfer her shares to them, a cold calm settled over me. "It's not over," I whispered as I walked out. "The real show is about to begin." Just then, the doors swung open, and three titans of industry walked in, looking directly at me. Not Your Average Law Firm
Billionaires I was a zombie, fueled by lukewarm takeout and dreams of sleep.
As a junior associate at a top New York law firm, my life was a blur of billable hours, 72-hour work marathons, and the soul-crushing weight of corporate expectations.
After preparing for a merger that felt like a lifetime, I finally crumbled, face-planting onto a stack of legal briefs.
But when I woke up, the world was a metallic blur, cold and unyielding.
Panic surged, yet I found no lungs to scream.
I was trapped, my entire consciousness crammed inside a high-end, silver tie clip, sitting on a mahogany desk.
My new owner? Ethan Lester, the notorious bad-boy heir, whose tabloid exploits I usually scrolled past during my five minutes of daily downtime.
He called me "junk," then tossed me aside like yesterday's trash.
I, Jennifer Jones, Esq., was now a useless, annoying tie clip on a billionaire playboy's desk.
Then I watched in horror as an assassin lunged at him, a needle glinting.
I somehow, instinctually, reacted, becoming a silver projectile – a bizarre hero in a world gone mad.
A strange, robotic voice in my head declared "Protection Mission 1 complete. Life -1," and I dissolved into darkness.
I woke up as a ridiculous leopard-print mascot head, then a high-tech massage gun, each transformation triggered by saving Ethan from another attack.
What infernal game was this? Why was I doomed to possess random objects, forced to protect this man?
And how in the hell was I going to get my own body back? From Ruin to Riches: His True Love Story
Romance The stale air in City Hall felt heavy, pregnant with the promise of my future.
Today, I, Andrew Fowler, was finally signing the domestic partnership papers with Jennifer Smith, the grand precursor to inheriting my family' s massive fortune on my 25th birthday.
Five years I' d poured into this relationship, a future meticulously planned.
But then, Jen' s phone buzzed. Her usual mask of indifference finally cracked, replaced by genuine panic as she frantically tapped the screen.
She barely acknowledged my question before snapping, "It's nothing. Just Tyrone. I have to go. Now."
She stormed out, leaving the clerk and me stunned.
Moments later, a text from her lit up my phone. It was a photo: Jen, beaming, entwined with Tyrone at the airport, his arm possessively around her.
The caption burned into my eyes: "Tyrone is fine with you being my side piece, learn to be grateful. Once your father's assets are legally tied to me, I'll see you once a week. Be a good boy."
My world shattered, not with a bang, but a cold, sickening clarity.
The woman I thought I loved had betrayed everything, not just my trust, but our entire five years together.
She was a viper, a parasite, and her grand plan was about to kick off my humiliation.
Every single moment, every claimed memory, every sacrifice, had been a lie.
But as I looked at the abandoned documents, a strange calm settled.
No. This wasn't the end. This was the beginning.
I picked up my phone, my voice steady, and made a single call. Round Two: My Second Chance
Young Adult Last thing I remembered was pain, then cold, then nothing.
I woke up back in my old bedroom, seventeen again, just months before senior year officially began.
My heart pounded as I realized: a second chance.
But the horror truly started when I walked into Northwood High and saw them: Mark Olsen and Tiffany Vance, draped over each other, flashing smug smiles that radiated pure evil.
They caught my eye, and in their gaze, I saw it-not surprise, but chilling recognition.
They knew.
They were back too.
Just like before, they immediately set out to ruin me, mocking my dream of MIT and launching a vicious smear campaign on an anonymous gossip forum, accusing me of cheating and mental instability.
They thought their rebirth was a VIP pass to success, flaunting their "past life" knowledge and believing they were invincible.
This wasn't some cosmic second chance just for me; it was Round Two, and they were playing dirty, again.
My first life, they ruined it completely, watching triumphantly as my world crumbled, my scholarship lost, my future shattered.
The humiliation, the years of struggle, ultimately leading to my death, flashed before my eyes.
But that cold dread transformed into an unshakeable resolve.
This time, I wouldn't break.
This time, I would reclaim my destiny.
Challenge accepted. A New Chapter, A New Win
Modern Jake, the celebrated captain of Phoenix Rising, had just led his team to an epic Grand Finals victory.
His wife and team owner, Alexis, beaming on stage, announced a $200,000 performance bonus for his triumph.
He thought things were finally looking up, perhaps even for their marriage.
But the promised cash bonus quickly turned to ash in his mouth when it arrived not as money, but as worthless digital tokens.
Simultaneously, Alexis lavished a $200,000 cash signing bonus and a luxury sports car on Ethan, a new recruit with average skills but a massive social media following.
When Jake confronted her, Alexis waved him off, citing "brand optics" and Ethan's "engagement metrics" as more important than Jake's championship wins.
Loyal young players who spoke up for Jake were swiftly punished, silencing dissent within the team.
The callous disregard for their shared history escalated; he found himself locked out of his own home by Alexis, accused of being "irresponsible" after just wanting a night out.
She even forgot their sacred shared day, his mother's death anniversary, only to plan a lavish launch party for Ethan on that exact date.
He felt a deep, sickening knot of betrayal and injustice twisting in his gut.
How could the woman he'd built everything with, the team they'd founded from scratch, treat him with such calculated cruelty and contempt?
Was his value truly zero compared to a TikTok hype machine?
The final blow came in front of the entire team: when Ethan faked an injury, Alexis slapped Jake across the face, screamed at him to apologize, and then handed him a promotional gaming mouse as his "severance," demanding he teach his replacement, Ethan, how to be captain.
That burning sting on his cheek became the fire of his resolve. When Memory Betrayed Her
Modern Sarah Miller stood at the State Teacher Certification Exam hall, her lifelong dream of becoming a teacher finally within reach.
Years of arduous study and her parents' immense sacrifices culminated in this pivotal moment.
For the third consecutive year, a stern proctor flatly denied her entry, declaring her name mysteriously "flagged" for "security concerns."
Even her kind former teacher, Ms. Hayes, turned her away with troubled eyes, repeating the same vague excuse.
Her parents and friends watched helplessly as their hopes crumbled before stony-faced officials who labeled Sarah a "risk."
When she lunged for the door, burly security guards brutally restrained her, scattering her notes and attracting a persistent news crew.
"What is in this file?!" Sarah screamed, a raw cry born from years of suffocating anxiety and a terrifying mental blank for these alleged "incidents."
She remembered no "episodes," only this cruel, unjust barrier to the future she had promised her beloved, deceased brother.
Then, her admission ticket fluttered to the floor, revealing a tiny, hidden photograph: Mikey' s smiling face.
Her old professor, Dr. Carter, stepped forward, finally revealing this entire harrowing ordeal was a cruel, orchestrated plan to shatter her trauma-induced amnesia.
A brutal truth, long buried, was about to resurface. Love, Infinite
Others War God's love affair requires ten reincarnations.
In every life, it's always with me.
He made friends with Fate Immortal, carrying memories of reincarnation.
But I, die in his hands every life, suffering from the torment of love.
In the last life, he killed my entire family, and finally killed me.
Although there is guilt in his eyes, the words he said were chilling:
"Mortals are just tools for our torment. You should consider yourself lucky to be chosen by me."
Later, my soul drifted to the Nine Realms and met a man in dark clothes.
He was sealed by a divine sword, and when he looked at me, his eyes lit up:
"As long as you can pull it out, I can help you be reborn for revenge."
I gripped the sword handle and said coldly:
"I don't want to be reborn, I want to make sure he doesn't survive this life!" 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. 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." 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. 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." 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. 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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