Cosme Seidel
16 Published Stories
Cosme Seidel's Books and Stories
Craving for My Tyrant Husband
Billionaires I was cheated on by my scumbag boyfriend.
On the night I got blackout drunk, I married a stranger, and when I woke up, I only found a marriage certificate and a black card.
He took care of my scumbag ex for me, gave me a canary diamond ring, but refused to show his face-he only called me baby on video calls.
I ran to my best friend's house to hide, only to find that the billionaire next door, who made my heart skip a beat, had the exact same scent as him.
My best friend cried and begged me: "He's Augustus, a tyrant who eats people alive!"
But only I knew that the man who pressed me against the terrace railing, leaned down to kiss me, and whispered "I'll protect you" softly.
Fifty thousand dollars to sneak photos of his private office? I'll go.
Not for the money, but to ask him to his face-
Gus, how many secrets are you hiding? And how long have you been craving me? The Lycan King's Exiled True Mate
Werewolf I was the daughter of a defeated Alpha, kneeling as a broken war spoil before the ruthless Lycan King, Kaelen Varg.
Through a twisted misunderstanding with a spiked drink, the tyrant lost control. But when he attacked me, an impossible spark ignited between us. His inner wolf roared in triumph, recognizing me as his fated Mate, and he claimed me in the heat of the night.
But the next morning, he woke up with another woman's name on his lips. Realizing he had surrendered to a lowly tribute, his eyes filled with absolute, violent loathing. To erase the humiliation of our bond, he shoved me to the floor like garbage.
"Take her to the Barrens. Leave her there. Make sure she never comes back."
His Beta dragged me to a sealed, sun-baked wasteland crawling with mutated beasts. They clamped silver cuffs onto my wrists, searing my flesh and suppressing my wolf, leaving me to die a slow, agonizing death.
I lay in the scorching dirt, the silver burning into my bones. I couldn't understand how a fated Mate could be so merciless. Why was my life worth less than his twisted pride? Why did I have to be fed to monsters just so he could keep his throne spotless?
The cold rage in my core solidified into a diamond-hard resolve. I forced my bleeding body to stand in the desolate wasteland. I will not die here. I will survive, and I will live to see his kingdom burn. He Forgot Me, I Married His Brother
Modern After three agonizing months, I finally found my fiancé, Barnett Spencer, at a gala at The Plaza. He had vanished without a trace, and I was on the verge of losing my mind.
But when I saw him on stage, my blood turned to ice. He had a strange woman tucked into his arm, and a lawyer announced that a recent accident had erased the last six years of his memory-our entire relationship.
In front of a sea of reporters, Barnett looked right through me with freezing hostility.
"Miss, you have the wrong person."
He then declared that the woman beside him, Joslyn, was not only the person who saved his life but also his new, legal wife. The news hit me like a physical blow, and the camera flashes swallowed me whole as reporters shoved microphones in my face, asking how it felt to be publicly dumped.
The man I had loved for six years had turned me into a national joke, a delusional stranger trying to cling to his wealth.
That night, as I was drowning my humiliation in a martini, his ruthless younger brother, Dixon, found me. He slid a marriage contract across the bar.
"Marry me," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I want his shares. You want his pain. We both get what we want."
Fueled by alcohol and a burning need for revenge, I grabbed his pen and signed my name. I was no longer the abandoned fiancée. I was about to become my ex's worst nightmare: his new sister-in-law. The Ghost Heiress: My Dangerous Double Life
Modern I spent ten years living in a rusted trailer in Upstate New York, enduring the stench of stale cigarettes and the Millers' constant abuse. They called me a useless leech and a parasite, never realizing I was simply a top-tier operative known as "Ghost" waiting for the signal to return to my real life.
The breaking point came when the Millers threw my muddy duffel bag into the dirt and shrieked at me to get out. As I walked away, a massive explosion leveled their home behind me, and a black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the curb. A man in white gloves opened the door and addressed me as "Miss Vance," announcing that my billionaire parents were finally waiting for me.
But my homecoming was far from a fairytale. My biological mother was dying of heart failure, and my cousin Victoria publicly humiliated me, calling me "trailer trash" and mocking my lack of education. To make matters worse, I was forced into an engagement with Julian Sterling, a ruthless CEO who despised the idea of marrying a "charity case" like me.
No one knew that the "meek" girl they pitied was leading a double life. While Victoria tried to shame me at dinner parties, I was busy infiltrating elite clubs in tactical bodysuits and stealing encrypted drives from Russian arms dealers. I had to play the role of the helpless, boring daughter while my own fiancé hunted the mysterious thief who had pinned him against a wall and kissed him breathless in the shadows.
I thought my cover was perfect until Julian's grandmother collapsed on Fifth Avenue in full cardiac arrest. While the crowd stood paralyzed, I broke protocol and used a forbidden "Ghost Needle" technique to bring her back from the dead before vanishing into the crowd.
That evening, Julian watched the viral footage of the miracle rescue, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the "uneducated" girl he was forced to marry. He realized the boring woman sitting across from him at dinner was the same dangerous operative who had outsmarted him at the club, and the hunt for the truth had finally hit home. Reborn To Reject: The White Wolf's Second Chance
Werewolf In my previous life, while I was screaming in labor, my Alpha husband was too busy comforting his mistress to answer his phone.
My son died gasping for air.
But Graves didn't grieve. Instead, he dragged me out of my recovery bed because his mistress, Alex, claimed to have "silver poisoning."
He commanded the doctors to cut me open right there.
He watched them harvest my kidney and spinal fluid without anesthesia, just to use my essence as a beauty treatment for the woman who poisoned me.
"It is your duty, Luna," he sneered as I bled out on the table.
I died looking at his cold, hateful eyes, realizing my love had been a death sentence.
But the Moon Goddess has a twisted sense of humor.
I opened my eyes, and the calendar on the wall showed the date from three years ago.
The day he brought Alex home.
I didn't cry. I didn't beg.
I walked straight to the dark clinic with a cooler box in my hand.
"Perform the Bloodline Severing," I told the terrified doctor.
"Extract the fetus and freeze it in magical stasis. I'd rather stop my baby's heart myself than let that monster call him 'son'." His Wedding, Her Goodbye
Romance My adopted brother, Noah Vance, was my whole world. He protected me, cherished me, and always put me first. I secretly loved him, a forbidden love I dared not speak.
Then, my best friend, Chloe, betrayed me. She told Noah everything, and he exploded, tearing my diary to shreds and calling me "disgusting." A week later, he announced his engagement to her.
He became cold, a stranger. I watched him dote on Chloe, saw him kiss her with a passion he never showed me. My heart shattered. When a family tracing agency found my biological parents, I saw it as a sign-a chance to escape the Vance family and my broken dreams. I made plans to leave the country forever.
But before I left, things got worse. Noah forced me to help Chloe plan their wedding, dismissing my lifetime of dedication to dance. Then, in a horrific car crash, he chose to save Chloe, leaving me bleeding and trapped, destroying my leg and my ability to dance.
Even on the night of my final performance, using the choreography I poured my soul into, he stood by Chloe as she took all the credit. He kissed her on stage, and I was left to watch my life' s dream become someone else' s triumph. How could he betray me so completely?
I packed my life away, the gifts he once gave me now symbols of betrayal. I walked out on his wedding day, leaving him behind forever. I thought I was free. But a diplomat's daughter doesn't just disappear. The Wife He Destroyed, Reborn
Romance On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband Liam handed me a beautifully wrapped gift.
It wasn't jewelry; it was a leather-bound notebook, a "playbook" detailing years of his affairs, each encounter meticulously logged.
My world shattered as he casually demanded I "disperse" his harem, paying them off so we could "start over."
For ten years, I' d been the obedient wife, the replacement bride after my twin sister Chloe supposedly died.
Swallowing the humiliation, I worked my way through the list, until only one name remained: Chloe, still alive, and heavily pregnant with Liam's child.
He hadn' t wanted me back; he wanted me gone, to bring her home.
The cruel, elaborate lie of my marriage finally unraveled.
When I confronted him, Liam' s facade dropped, his hands around my throat, whispering I was just a "pathetic replacement."
Then, Chloe appeared, feigning innocence and twisting our past, painting me as obsessed, while Liam demoted me from wife to servant, ordering me to care for his pregnant mistress.
Driven to despair, I called my mother, who immediately came to my rescue.
But just as she arrived, Chloe, in Liam' s car, brutally ran her down, killing her before my eyes.
Liam then presented me with a waiver, demanding I absolve Chloe of responsibility to protect his mistress and "his son," offering me money for my mother' s death.
The callous contempt in his eyes, the utter disrespect for my grief, ignited a cold, hard fury I had never known.
I tore his waiver to shreds, the act a blazing declaration of war.
At my mother' s funeral, Chloe brazenly confessed the murder, gloating over her "plan" to get rid of my mother, then deliberately provoked me.
Liam, in his rage, viciously kicked me in the stomach, causing the miscarriage of our child-a child he didn' t even know existed.
The final betrayal came when I needed him most; in the hospital, writhing in pain, he dismissed my pleas for help, choosing Chloe, leading to another devastating miscarriage.
I was losing everything, suffocating in a nightmare orchestrated by the very people who were supposed to be my family.
But then, my uncle arrived, a beacon of unwavering support, pulling me from the abyss.
Two years passed.
Reborn as Ava Sterling, a successful design mogul, I returned, ready to make Liam pay.
At a charity gala, I humiliated him publicly, then gave him a choice: send Chloe, the woman he' d loved, to prison for murder, or lose me forever.
He chose to sacrifice Chloe, but his act of penance was merely the opening gambit in my game of revenge.
Chloe was arrested, her frantic cries exposing Liam's complicity, destroying his reputation.
His calls became desperate, demanding his "reward."
He had no idea his punishment had just begun. My Sacred Reckoning
Romance For years, I was Gabrielle Johns: a dedicated librarian in our sleepy Utah town, and the devout wife of Matthew Scott, a man cherished by our church.
My deepest prayer was for children, and after embracing IVF and discovering I was having quadruplets, I truly believed God had answered my prayers fourfold.
My brutal pregnancy was a testament to my faith, and Matthew, my "devoted" husband, orchestrated prayer circles, praising my suffering as a mother's beautiful love.
Then, six months in, at a church potluck, my world shattered.
Hiding in the garden, I overheard Matthew and two elders.
Matthew, the man I loved, calmly explained how I was merely a "vessel," a "righteous sacrifice" carrying children for his mistress, his sister, his old friend, and his deceased fiancée's parents.
He chuckled, deeming me "so trusting," "so naive," for believing these impossible pregnancies were ours.
My casserole dish crashed, mirroring the implosion within me. Each kick from inside became a violation, a chilling reminder of his cold deception.
I stumbled home, the truth a gaping wound, forced to play the loving wife while a cold rage hardened my core.
He' d not only used my infertility, he' d caused it, poisoning me for years with "supplements" to destroy my eggs.
My love incinerated, replaced by a singular, burning desire.
The devout, forgiving Gabrielle died that night.
The woman who remained knew one thing with absolute certainty: She wanted revenge. She would make Matthew pay, not with quick death, but with a living hell far worse. More Than a Hillbilly Girl
Fantasy My name is Gabrielle Johns, and I have a "knack" -a gut feeling that always comes true-and a secret curse: anyone who hurts me gets their comeuppance, disastrously proportional. My prediction of a 100-to-1 long shot winning the Kentucky Derby made me famous, and when Wesley Fowler, owner of a failing bourbon empire, offered life-changing money to save his family, I agreed.
But the moment I stepped onto his opulent Lexington estate, his vicious daughter, Madisyn, stormed in. Mistaking me for a "homewrecker" secretly meeting her fiancé, Anthony, her eyes seared with rage.
She and her friends dragged me out, throwing me onto the sharp gravel. They kicked me repeatedly, mocking my accent and clothes, until Madisyn screamed, "You think you can take what' s mine?!" and slammed my face into the stones. The final blow came when her boot shattered my mother's locket, the last thing I had of her.
A silent, freezing fury consumed me. Through the pain, a cold certainty settled: the curse was awake.
I looked Madisyn dead in the eye, my voice low and steady, "You' re about to lose what' s most important to you." Madisyn scoffed, but then stumbled, falling face-first onto a sharp ironwork, gashing her perfect face. Her friends watched in horror. "You witch!" she shrieked, then grabbed an antique hatpin, pinning me to the ground. "This is for my face!" she hissed, plunging it into my throat.
As darkness consumed me, I heard Wesley Fowler' s voice, but it wasn't compassion. He looked at my bleeding throat, at his ruined investment, roaring at Madisyn, "You' ve destroyed our last chance!" He chose his influential but disfigured daughter' s "modern plan" over me, leaving me for dead in favor of a PR stunt. My father, with his own gut feeling, arrived just in time, scooping me up and promising a hell the Fowlers couldn' t imagine.
My vocal cords were shredded, the doctors said I might never speak again. But a tiny, stubborn whisper grew inside me: I will speak again. What happened to the Fowlers after their desperate choice? Did their "modern plan" save them, or did my curse truly deliver its retribution? Find out how a hillbilly girl with a secret knack brought down an empire. Disinherited, Not Defeated
Modern Thanksgiving. My favorite, and most dreaded, day of the year.
For decades, I, Sarah, a CNA in my early forties, had been the invisible backbone of my family, paying for meals, offering endless support, always putting them first.
My small home, filled with the aroma of the turkey I' d basted since dawn, should have been a sanctuary.
But then Brenda, my manipulative mother, gathered us for dinner, her smile unnaturally sweet.
Instead of giving thanks, she announced her estate plans.
My brothers – John and Michael, perpetual freeloaders – each received significant inheritances, while my hands lay empty.
Then, with a chillingly fake smile, she turned to me: "Sarah, dear, since you' re so good at caring for people, I' ve decided I' ll be moving in with you after the New Year."
Not a thank you for decades of sacrifice, just a shameless demand.
All the quiet resentment, the financial strain, the forgotten birthdays, the endless emotional and monetary drain – it all crashed down.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" I screamed, pulling the tablecloth, sending the entire feast flying.
My mother shrieked, then slapped me.
My brothers, John and Michael, attacked, twisting my arm, shoving my head against the wall.
How could a family be so cruel, so entitled?
Bruised and furious, I knew one thing: this was the end of being their martyr, and the beginning of fighting for myself, my husband David, and my son Ben. A Soul Reclaimed: My Vengeance Begins Now
Fantasy My life as Sarah was idyllic, a tapestry woven with threads of deep affection for my husband, Mark. On our anniversary, he brought home an adorable rescue Greyhound, Lucky, a seemingly innocent gesture of enduring love that I cherished.
Yet, a simple locket and a familiar silver bracelet plunged me into an unimaginable horror. One moment, I was me; the next, I awoke in Lucky' s lean, furry body. From that terrifying dog' s perspective, I overheard my husband, Mark, confessing his monstrous conspiracy with his sister, Chloe: they engineered a soul swap, placing his dead ex-fiancée, Olivia, into my body, to eventually bear her long-lost son, Ethan.
Trapped and voiceless as Lucky, I helplessly endured my own planned "euthanasia" at the vet, then returned home to relentless, malicious torment by Olivia, who reveled in shredding my cherished possessions and defiling our home. Mark, meanwhile, dismissed my every desperate whimper, while Chloe masterfully gaslit my growing terror, blind to the true evil brewing beneath their smiles.
The man I adored, my best friend, their insidious plot to use me, not just for Olivia's reincarnation, but as a breeding vessel for a child that wasn't even his, all while coveting my family's immense fortune. The profound, unimaginable betrayal morphed my terror into a chilling, unbreakable resolve.
But then, a flash of searing light. I bolted upright in my own bed, in my own body, gasping for breath. The scent of home filled my lungs, and beside me, Mark stood, a leash in hand, with Lucky at his side. I was back. On the very cursed day it all began. This time, I wouldn't just be a victim; I would dismantle their world, piece by agonizing piece. The Decade She Reclaimed
Romance The last thing I remembered was the screech of tires, followed by a blinding flash that swallowed the world.
Ethan was at the wheel, his voice sharp with accusations about some film festival rejection he insisted was my fault.
Then, an inexplicable void.
I awoke to the familiar, comforting scent of cheap coffee and aged textbooks in my old college dorm room.
My head throbbed, but it was the calendar on the wall that delivered the true shock: it was ten years ago.
A full decade of my life, a lifetime of ambition, had been erased, yet the bitter aftermath lingered.
I remembered postponing my prestigious architecture scholarship for him, endlessly pouring my youth into his perpetually failing film career.
I recalled working two menial jobs, typing his screenplays, networking tirelessly on his behalf, all while my own dreams gathered dust.
He consumed my time, my energy, my money, only to resent me when his "art" didn't instantly launch him to stardom.
"You held me back," he'd always complained, "your practicality smothered my genius."
The sheer unfairness of it all, the memory of a wasted decade, ignited a cold fury in my gut.
How could I have been so utterly blind, so utterly foolish?
But this time, the narrative would be mine.
This time, there would be no sacrifices, no compromises, especially not for him.
I packed a small bag with my architecture notes and left a single, decisive message on his cluttered desk: "Ethan, I'm done. Don't look for me."
No explanation, no argument-just a quiet, resolute walk into my real future. Too Old? Watch Me Build An Empire
Romance On our twelfth anniversary, I spent hours preparing a perfect dinner for Mark, Apex Digital CEO. I' d given up my tech career, believing we were building our grand future together.
He arrived three hours late, reeking of expensive perfume. He dismissed my efforts, glued to his phone. Next morning, his assistant, Brittany, flaunted a designer watch-a gift from him-in a "candid" Instagram post. Then, her email: an ultrasound, CC' d to me, taunting me about Mark' s excitement for "a real family" and calling me "too old."
"You' re getting on a bit for a family now, aren' t you?" Mark sneered, openly confirming his affair. He gaslit me, claiming I let my career go, while his multi-million dollar Apex empire was secretly founded on my stolen intellectual property from our original startup.
"Too old." "Real family." The words burned. He' d betrayed me, built his success on my forgotten genius, then casually cast me aside. The injustice was profound: how could the man I loved claim my life' s work and discard me so callously?
As despair threatened, my grandmother Eleanor' s wisdom echoed: "Always have your own nest egg. And keep copies." She' d meticulously preserved my original patent filings. Mark' s "buyout" was a sham; Apex was my brainchild. A powerful spark ignited. It was time not just for divorce, but to reclaim what was mine and dismantle his fraudulent empire. Marrying The Masked Billionaire
Romance My king-sized bed felt impossibly wide between my long-term boyfriend, Ethan, and me.
I' d poured years into him, supporting his struggling architecture dreams, always his loyal rock.
I believed in our future, a quiet, stable life together.
But then I heard his confession.
"Sarah' s great, you know? She' s comfortable. Safe. But the passion… it' s not there. Not like with Jessica."
His manipulative ex, who' d once abandoned him, was back.
He was preparing to win a public auction to spend a day with her.
I watched him publicly fawn over Jessica, outbidding everyone, his eyes only for her.
Days later, after a life-threatening car accident, I called him from the hospital.
He dismissed me, again, through Jessica.
At the formal proxy wedding I' d agreed to for my best friend, Jessica orchestrated a physical attack on me.
And still, Ethan chose to save his ex, leaving me behind.
"Comfortable. Safe."
Each word was a physical blow.
How could the man I loved see me as so inconsequential?
The betrayal ran bone deep.
Was this all I was meant to be?
My friend' s plea echoed: "Marry the reclusive billionaire in my place."
It was insane.
But what was left to lose?
I wouldn't be comfortable or safe again.
I would choose my own escape.
My own fight. The Cradle of Imposters
Horror My life revolved around little Samuel, my two-month-old son, in the grand Winston estate. One quiet afternoon, a faint wheeze from the nursery monitor pierced the silence, and my world shattered. I found Samuel struggling for breath, turning blue, his emergency inhaler intentionally placed just out of his tiny reach. My fourteen-year-old stepdaughter, Chloe, stood by his crib, a chilling, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.
As I lunged for my dying son, Chloe shrieked, "Daddy, Emily's gone crazy!" My husband, James, burst in, his face a mask of annoyance, not panic, as he rushed to comfort Chloe's theatrical tears. His mother, Margaret, a formidable matriarch, surveyed the scene and coldly declared, "Some children are not meant for this world. The Winston name doesn’t need weakness." They blamed me, coddled Chloe, and ignored the truth.
My heart didn't just break; it calcified into a diamond of pure rage. How could my family dismiss Samuel’s life so callously, side with the person who allowed him to die, and blame *me* for their indifference? The injustice burned.
But in that abyss of betrayal, something primal awakened within me. A chilling, intuitive certainty bloomed: I could make them pay. I met James’s cold gaze, my voice steady amidst their chaos. "I can give you sons, James. Healthy sons. Sons to carry the Winston name." You might like
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." Pampered By The Ruthless Tycoon Guardian
Julian Reid Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box.
She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her.
The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death.
"This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm.
Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer.
How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her.
Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind.
"Poison! She's trying to kill me!"
Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist. 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. From Prison Cell To Billionaire's Target
Jv Lingxian The freezing rain lashed against my face as I clung to the iron gates of the Hendrix estate, begging for a chance to prove I didn't kill my best friend.
I had come here for mercy, but the man I had secretly loved for years had a different plan. He didn't want to hear my truth; he wanted to see me broken.
As the sun rose, the estate manager delivered the final blow. He shoved Emery’s phone into my face, showing a forged text message that framed me for her death, then turned his back as the gates slammed shut.
My own family didn't offer a lifeline, either. When the police came for me, my parents didn't fight for my innocence; they chose to disown me to save their bank accounts from Alfredo’s wrath.
I was thrown into Rikers Island, stripped of my dignity, and subjected to years of calculated, brutal torture paid for by the man who once held my heart.
How could the person I loved turn my life into a private slaughterhouse based on a lie?
After three years of hell, I walked out of those prison gates with nothing but a scarred body and a hollow soul. The woman who loved Alfredo Hendrix died in that cell. Now, I’m back in the city where it all began, and I’m done hiding. You Can't Afford Your Genius Ex-Wife Now
Xin Miaomiao For two years, Kailey lived as the invisible wife of billionaire Jack Velasquez, treated like a ghost in a mansion that felt like a beautiful cage.
When Jack finally grew tired of her, he didn't even show up to say goodbye. He sent his cold-faced butler to hand her the divorce papers, kicking her out like trash.
The entire East Coast high society mocked her, laughing at the "gold digger" who got dumped. Jack expected her to cling to his wealth, assuming she would eagerly take the fifty million dollar alimony. But shortly after the divorce, Jack's precious ward was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Desperate, Jack ordered his men to turn over every rock in the world to find "The Surgeon"—a legendary, untraceable medical genius.
He had no idea that the mythical savior he was frantically searching for was the quiet, forgettable ex-wife he had just thrown away. When Jack finally stood before her in the hospital, he didn't apologize. Instead, he threatened to destroy her career if she failed the surgery, arrogantly calling her a greedy opportunist.
"I will take your license, your reputation, and your precious new center, and I will burn them to the ground."
Kailey didn't shed a single tear. She had already signed away his fifty million without taking a cent.
She simply picked up her old surgical tools, put on her pristine white coat, and forced the arrogant billionaire to fund a nine-figure neuroscience center just to get her to the operating table. Healed By The Ruthless Billionaire's Touch
Katie Oettgen I secured the lifeline investment for my fiancé's company and went to his office to surprise him.
Instead, I caught Preston sleeping with his top actress—the woman he publicly claimed as his stepsister.
Through the cracked door, I heard him call me his "scarred, ugly bitch shield" to hide their sickening affair.
I didn't cry. I hacked the live broadcast of the Star Awards and played their sex tape to two thousand people.
But that night, drunk and reeling from the agonizing nerve pain in my facial scar, I stumbled into the wrong hotel penthouse.
I was pinned down by a drugged billionaire, Josephus Hodges.
The next morning, he left me a million-dollar check and a Plan B pill.
When he later tracked me down to offer a cold, calculated fake marriage just to absorb Preston's ruined empire, I threw the contract at his chest and told him to go to hell.
But when I got home and looked in the mirror, the chronic, burning torture in my scar was completely gone.
His touch during that terrifying night had somehow cured the agony that had ruined my life.
I had just declared war on the only man on earth who could heal me.
Just then, my ruined ex-fiancé called, begging me to save him with a PR press conference.
"I'll do it, but I control the venue."
I booked it at Josephus's heavily guarded hotel. I was going to slaughter my ex on live television, and force the apex predator to look at me again. Betrayed By The Billionaire's
SKB Chloe Bishop was the city's golden girl-the "First Lady" of high society. Wealthy, breathtakingly beautiful, and deeply in love, she was the envy of everyone. When Liam was a broken outcast who had lost everything, Chloe was the one who reached out, pulling him from the wreckage of his life. She gave him her heart, her family's status, and six devoted years.
But on the morning of their lavish, multi-million dollar wedding, the dream shatters.
Instead of an "I do," Liam leaves her at the altar, delivering a cold confession that pierces like a knife: "The one I've always loved is Sara Jay."
Overnight, the city's golden girl becomes its biggest laughingstock. Betrayed by her fiancé and haunted by a dark secret involving her father, Charles, Chloe is expected to crumble.
But as the world waits for her to beg for his return, Chloe wipes her tears and offers a chilling smile.
"I know he'll come back crawling eventually," she whispers, stripping off her silk veil. "But this time, I'm done waiting. It's time for the world to see what happens when a 'perfect' woman stops being nice."
He broke her heart. Now, she's going to break his empire. 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. Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire
William Jafferson My mother called me a defective product and insisted I marry Preston Finch, a man who treated our first date like a corporate merger.
During our lunch, Preston demanded I clean his car like a servant, his arrogance snapping the last thread of my patience.
I threw my iced coffee right into his lap, sending the cafe into a stunned silence as he screamed insults about my background and the cost of his designer pants.
My mother didn't care about the abuse; she only cared that I had lost a "catch," calling me an embarrassment and threatening my future while my flower shop faced imminent foreclosure.
Trapped by debt and my family’s relentless cruelty, I felt like a drowning woman with nowhere left to turn.
Just as I hit rock bottom, Connor Powers—my brother's old roommate—stepped in, his icy gaze promising a brutal end to my misery.
"Let's get married," he said, offering a cold, calculated contract that would shield me from my family forever.
I signed the papers, unaware that I had just tethered my life to a man whose world was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined. 
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