Duwu Qingyang
13 Published Stories
Duwu Qingyang's Books and Stories
The Jilted Ex-Wife's Undercover Billionaire Assistant
Billionaires Carlee signed the divorce papers without a second of hesitation, ending a three-year marriage to a billionaire husband she had never even met.
She walked away with nothing, publicly cutting ties with both the Vaughan empire and her toxic family to launch her own jewelry design studio.
Her family immediately retaliated. They mocked her as a useless, abandoned trophy wife and ruthlessly blacklisted her new company from every major supplier in the city, intent on forcing her to crawl back.
Exhausted but defiant, she hired a handsome, seemingly broke valet she bumped into outside a hotel to be her personal assistant.
She even bought him a tailored suit, pitying his maxed-out credit cards and his desperate need for a paycheck.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
Why did this humble assistant possess such lethal combat skills, effortlessly snapping a two-hundred-pound bodyguard's wrist to protect her?
And why did top-tier luxury store managers bow to him in absolute, trembling terror?
"Whatever is happening, I will handle it."
Carlee found a foolish comfort in her poor assistant's reassuring voice.
She had absolutely no idea that the man sitting at the wobbly desk in her cramped office was Braden Vaughan—her legally divorced ex-husband. And the ruthless billionaire was currently orchestrating a global financial massacre from the shadows, entirely obsessed with clearing her path to the top. The Placeholder Wife: A Twin's Deceit
Modern My fiancé, Jameson Blair, married my twin sister today. For five years, I was a placeholder, a substitute for the woman he truly wanted, and I pretended not to know.
Today, she came back with a story of terminal cancer and a dying wish to marry him. It was a perfect lie, and he chose to believe it, shattering my world with three simple words: "She's Haleigh."
They left me on the sidewalk, an outcast from my own blood. My brothers, who once promised to protect me, celebrated the woman who broke me. They moved my things to a guest room, making space for their prodigal sister. That night, Haleigh gave me a "welcome home" gift—a box with a brown recluse spider inside.
As the venom coursed through me, my family rushed to her side, calling my agony "a little spider bite." They left me convulsing on the floor. Later, they whipped me for a crime I didn't commit, hung me off a cliff, and left me for dead.
My body is a roadmap of their love. Each scar, each broken bone, is a testament to their betrayal. They believed her lies, but their real crime was never truly seeing me.
As I clung to that cliff, bleeding and broken, a single thought consumed me: Isabella Douglas died here tonight. Now, Isabella Hale would be born from the ashes. Too Late For Regret: The Assistant's Revenge
Modern For three years, Christina was Jackson Booker’s flawless executive assistant by day and his secret lover by night.
That was until she overheard him planning his high-profile marriage to heiress Carson Wall, casually telling his partners that Christina would be easily disposed of.
"Once the merger is finalized, I'll cut her a severance check. It's a non-issue."
When she tried to resign, Jackson tore up her letter, forcefully assaulted her in his private elevator, and declared she was his property.
The nightmare only escalated. At a corporate gala, Jackson literally handed her over to a sleazy, violent client just to secure a logistics contract.
"Mr. Boggs is a VIP guest, Christina. Don't disappoint him."
While Jackson walked away, the client dragged her into a hotel room and attempted to assault her. She barely escaped with her life, saved only by Jackson's powerful rival, Gaston Carter.
But the ultimate humiliation came the next morning. Jackson's new fiancée, Carson, cornered Christina in the office. Carson knew everything. She deliberately pressed her manicured fingers into the fresh, dark bruises on Christina's shoulder, smiling sweetly.
"You are a stress-relief toy, Christina. A dirty little secret he keeps on the payroll. And now that I am here, your playtime is over."
Christina couldn't understand how the man she loved could treat her like a disposable animal, allowing his bride to torture her for sport.
As she sat on the cold floor, her phone buzzed with a text from Gaston.
"Let me know when you are ready to stop being a victim."
The crushing despair in her chest ignited into a hot, burning fury. She picked up her phone and typed back.
"I'm ready. Where do we meet?" The Silent Bride's Forced Tech Marriage
Modern I was the "broken" daughter of the Winters family, a mute girl hidden away in a conservatory while our legacy rotted. To my parents, I wasn't a person—I was a liability they couldn't wait to liquidate.
The betrayal came in a cold study. My grandfather sold me to Florian Mercado, the most ruthless shark in Silicon Valley, as collateral for a secret ledger. I wasn't a bride; I was a business acquisition.
The humiliation started at the courthouse. My mother smeared bloody red lipstick on my face like a brand, and Florian signed our marriage license with enough force to tear the paper. He looked at me with pure disgust, seeing a "defective product" he’d been tricked into buying.
He threw me into his high-tech penthouse, a smart-home prison where everything was voice-activated. Because I couldn't speak, I couldn't even open the fridge. I was left starving in the dark for days while he ignored my existence.
At a high-society gala, he finally cornered me. In front of a swarm of paparazzi, he forced me to sign a legal declaration of my own mental instability. He didn't just want my family's secrets; he wanted to own my very sanity, publicly branding me a "fragile" bride to strip me of my rights.
I sat in that glass cage, burning with a rage they never saw coming. They thought my silence was a weakness, a blank space they could fill with their own cruelty. They forgot that a vault is silent for a reason—it’s protecting the only thing that matters.
I shoved my tablet into Florian’s chest, revealing the truth: I had every illegal account number and encryption key from the secret ledger memorized since I was twelve. I gave him a choice: sign my new terms, or watch me leak the data and turn his billion-dollar empire into a federal prison sentence.
"Deal," he whispered, finally seeing the predator behind my quiet eyes. The war had just begun. My Husband's Deadly Double Life
Modern I was the top financial analyst on the network, my predictions legendary. But one morning, my husband, Augustus, and his intern mistress, Baylee, orchestrated a live-on-air sabotage that vaporized my career.
I was forced onto a leave of absence, only to be called back to prep Baylee-the very woman replacing me.
That night, an anonymous text arrived. It was an audio file from years ago: Baylee' s panicked voice confessing to a hit-and-run, and Augustus' s calm voice promising to cover it up.
The victim was my mother. The accident that left her crippled wasn't an accident at all. My husband, the man who comforted me, had protected her attacker all along.
He thought he had broken me. But as I listened to their lies, I knew my old life was over. I picked up the phone and called my old mentor.
"Eliot," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "I'm ready to sue. I'm taking everything from them." Cast Out, Then Called Back
Modern The day my world fell apart was my 21st birthday, meant for joy and family warmth. Instead, it brought the stinging heat of a slap across my cheek.
My older brothers, Ethan and Liam, surprised our family by bringing home Lily, a seven-year-old orphan, daughter of a student who died alongside our revered parents in an accident that orphaned us as well. They saw her as a duty, showering her with the affection that had once been mine.
On my birthday, the day I was supposed to feel special, Lily had a little "accident"-a glass of milk spilled on my laptop, destroying years of my medical research. Lily cried, claiming I had pushed her. Ethan' s cold voice, "Anna, what is wrong with you?" was followed by his hand cracking across my face. Liam, usually gentle, pointed a shaking finger at the door: "Get out. Don't ever come back."
They believed Lily, condemning me without a second thought. I was cast out, a stranger in my own home, dismissed as dramatic. Their blind devotion to her twisted everything between us, turning love into an unbearable weight of betrayal.
While they took Lily on the Northern Lights trip they had promised me, I signed away the next ten years of my life. Days later, they would receive a formal letter: Anna Miller had been accepted into a confidential, ten-year medical research program, in complete isolation. She could no longer come home. The Wife He Forgot, The Fury She Unleashed
Horror The sterile white ceiling of the hospital room was the first thing I saw when I woke up, a dull ache throbbing at the back of my head.
The kind nurse told me I' d fainted at the clinic, and that my son, Leo, was in the pediatric ICU.
My son. Leo. The name alone brought back a flood of terrifying memories: his pale, sweaty face, his eyes wide with a terror that seemed to swallow the light.
And Jake' s voice, cold and hard: "My son shouldn' t be weak and afraid of the dark! His bad habits need to be cured."
I, no, Ava Miller, as I had been for the last five years, had clawed at the locked therapy room door.
"Leo is terrified of the dark, and extreme fright can be fatal. If you need to punish someone, punish me…"
Jake just laughed, his arm around Chloe Davis, the woman he claimed was the "real" Ava Miller, the one who needed a kidney.
A news report on a private island wedding flashed on the hospital TV: "Billionaire heir Jake Hayes is celebrating his wedding to Chloe Davis."
Chloe Davis. My name. The name I hadn't heard in five years.
Memories crashed down, violent and agonizing: a rainy night, a car accident, my mother' s terrified face, and then Jake, whispering "You' re Ava Miller. You were in an accident. You need a kidney. You feel so guilty, don't you?"
He had twisted everything. He wanted my kidney for the real Ava Miller.
He stole my identity, my health, my memories. And now, he had stolen my son.
Leo.
"Mom… if I overcome my fear… will Dad love me?"
His voice message, garbled and frantic, echoed in my mind.
Rage pulsed through me. I was Chloe Davis. The woman on that island, wearing my name, had my kidney. And they were trying to steal my son.
I ripped the IV from my arm. I had to get to Leo.
When I found him, his chest wasn't moving. His eyes were wide open, fixed in terror.
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, who had once pitied me, was sobbing.
"Mom," I said, my voice flat, holding back tears. "I remember everything. I am Chloe Davis. It' s time for me to leave."
His eyes finally, slowly, drifted shut as I whispered, "Mommy's here, Leo. Mommy will take you away from here. We'll go somewhere far away, and we'll be together forever."
The nurse in the hallway sighed, envying Jake Hayes's "love."
If only they knew that his real wife and son, lying dead in a hospital bed, couldn' t earn a fraction of that look.
Not even in death.
Later, in the house I had shared with Jake, I held Leo's urn tightly.
Jake and Ava Miller were on the sofa.
"Did you leave Leo with my mom again?" he asked, a condescending edge to his voice. "Bring him back to apologize to his aunt immediately."
I turned to him, my eyes direct.
I articulated each word with chilling clarity.
"Leo is dead." The Malice of the Almost-In-Laws
Modern A romantic getaway, a beautiful Texas hotel, my fiancé Kevin by my side—it should have been perfect.
I thought our future was set.
Then searing pain hit.
A ruptured ovarian cyst, internal bleeding.
I was dying.
Kevin?
He ignored my pleas, focused on a non-refundable hotel, dismissing my agony as 'period cramps' before I ended our engagement and called an Uber to the ER.
But his cruelty didn't end there.
From my hospital bed, I learned he'd slandered me online as a 'drama queen.'
Then, his mother stormed my office, scattering AI-generated fake intimate photos, trying to shame me publicly.
My life was falling apart, not from my illness, but from their calculated malice.
How could the man I almost married, and his family, be so vindictive, so determined to destroy me, the actual victim?
They thought I was broken.
But I was just getting started.
I exposed their lies, saw his mom arrested.
And when Kevin, desperate and armed with a knife, tried to manipulate me in front of everyone, threatening self-harm to escape consequences, I didn't just stand there.
I gave him a taste of his own drama.
I faked a surgical emergency, turning the crowd, and the cops, squarely on him.
This wasn't just about survival; it was about turning the tables completely. Chem 101: Blind Justice
Modern I was Ethan, a PhD candidate, proctoring the Chem 101 final, my future in chemistry looking bright.
Then, without warning, the exam sheet blurred, students' faces dissolved, and my vision vanished into impenetrable darkness.
My world went black, doctors found no cause, and my promising academic career evaporated into years of navigating a sightless existence, a struggle that culminated in my murder at a community fair, just moments after I shockingly overheard an arrogant student, Mark Jensen, boast that my inexplicable blindness was the best thing that ever happened to him.
To die senselessly, just as I' d found the answer to why my life was stolen, was an unbearable injustice.
But then, I blinked, and the fluorescent lights of the Chem 101 exam room flashed above me once more, the clock ticking down to the very moment my world first went dark. You Can't Kill What's Already Dead
Fantasy My eyes burned, another all-nighter done, just like the thousand others I'd pulled for my demanding wife, Brittany, and her "successful" friend, Marcus.
Then, darkness.
I woke up floating, looking down at my own wake, my grieving parents, and in a corner, Brittany and Marcus — she wasn't crying, she was relieved, nestled in his arms.
"The Prosperity Bond is a marvelous thing," Marcus murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "It took his earnings, his life force, and multiplied it for me. Tenfold."
My breath caught in my spectral throat, my entire life's work, my very essence, stolen and sold by the two people I trusted most, fueling their lavish lifestyle as it drained me dry.
The betrayal was a jagged blade, twisting in my non-existent gut, leaving behind only the cold, sharp fury of pure, white-hot rage.
Suddenly, blinding sunlight hit my face; I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my own bed, alive, solid, on the very morning of the car crash that killed me, armed with the horrifying truth.
"Ethan! Get up! You're going to be late for that presentation!" Brittany's voice, sharp as ever, cut through the silence, but this time, I wasn't just hearing a nagging wife—I was hearing a co-conspirator plotting my demise, and my patience was gone. The Quiet Girl’s Roar
Modern Sarah Miller had spent three years engaged to Jake Mitchell, her life quietly devoted to their struggling Texas ranch under the shadow of his family’s loan.
Most folks saw her as just a quiet country girl, sweet and a little sheltered, her secret passion for barrel racing hidden from judgmental eyes.
Then, Jake returned from Dallas, not alone, but with Tiffany, a flashy rodeo hanger-on who immediately made her presence known.
He brutally broke off their engagement, dismissing Sarah and her "quiet farm ways," smugly declaring she’d "never understand the adrenaline of the rodeo arena."
Adding insult to injury, he'd given Tiffany Sarah’s most cherished heirloom: her grandmother’s silver dollar bolo tie.
When Sarah dared to ask for it back at a pre-Fair party, Tiffany, with a scornful smirk and Jake’s tacit approval, snapped the tie’s cord, sending the precious silver dollar clattering to the floor, dented and broken.
“It’s just a thing, Sarah,” Jake carelessly remarked, offering to buy a new one, utterly oblivious to the depth of her hurt and the heirloom’s meaning.
The public humiliation and blatant disrespect burned, turning Sarah’s heartbreak into a simmering fury she’d never known.
They thought she was weak, easily managed, a charitable case with no fire.
But Jake's condescending words about "adrenaline" had struck a chord.
She would show them.
She would take back her power and her identity.
Tonight, under the bright lights of the County Fair, Sarah Miller would unleash her secret talent, and with her trusted horse, Dust Devil, prove just how much adrenaline she truly possessed. From Gilded Cage to Silver Medal
Romance Ava Hayes lived a life that glittered like ice, a promising figure skater poised for the U.S. Figure Skating Championships, coached by an ambitious mother and partnered with the charming Ethan Vance.
Then she woke up, not from a dream, but from a terrifying, crystal-clear memory of a future that hadn't happened yet—a future where her partner, her rival, and her own mother combined forces to publicly shatter her career.
She remembered the disastrous flameout, the chilling smiles, the calculated betrayals, seeing herself broken, humiliated, quitting everything she ever loved, vanishing from the sport that defined her.
The ache in her head wasn't from a fall; it was the raw, sickening wound of a betrayal so deep it stole her very identity and left her wondering how the people closest to her could orchestrate such a cruel downfall.
But this time, the disaster was still weeks away. Armed with the painful blueprint of her past self's ruin, Ava Hayes found a new, cold resolve, determined to break free from her gilded cage and reclaim her future, starting now. You might like
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 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." 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." 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." 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. 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. 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. 
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