HOLLY HUNT
11 Published Stories
HOLLY HUNT's Books and Stories
He Chose The Nanny, I Chose Revenge
Billionaires Clara came home from a fourteen-hour board meeting to the sound of a piercing scream in the playroom.
When she rushed in, she found her husband, Chadwick, kneeling on the floor in a panic.
But he wasn't looking at their five-year-old son, Leo, who had a massive bleeding welt on his forehead.
Instead, Chadwick was trembling as he held the nanny's daughter, Autumn, who barely had a microscopic scratch.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick snapped, carrying the nanny's daughter away and leaving his bleeding son behind.
From that moment, the nightmare only escalated.
Chadwick ordered Clara to cook a three-hour meal for the nanny's kid, threw away Leo's favorite toys because Autumn sneezed, and even secretly took the nanny and her daughter on Leo's promised Disney trip.
The final humiliation came at the Met Gala.
Right before their sponsor speech, Chadwick received a frantic call from the nanny claiming Autumn was having a panic attack.
He abandoned Clara in front of hundreds of flashing cameras, sprinting out of the ballroom.
Clara stood completely alone, the humiliation eating through her veins like acid.
She couldn't understand how a father could call the nanny's kid his "little princess" while watching his own son cry.
Why was he treating his own flesh and blood like garbage just to play savior to another woman's child?
Suddenly, the blinding camera flashes were blocked by a massive shadow.
Erasmo Chase, the heir to New York's largest financial dynasty, stepped out of the darkness and shielded her.
"A man like that is unworthy of your grief, Ms. Best," he whispered, pressing a silk handkerchief into her trembling hand.
Looking at the sharp profile of the powerful man beside her, Clara's shock hardened into a lethal, cold fury.
She was going to dump her family's shares, crash the board, and make Chadwick lose absolutely everything. Billionaire's Placeholder: Now Watch Me Shine
Billionaires For two years, I was the perfect shadow of another woman. I wore the silk robes Brittain Austin bought, styled my hair exactly how he liked, and spoke in a voice pitched half an octave higher than my own. I was a placeholder, a living statue in a minimalist Manhattan penthouse, waiting for a man who looked at me but never actually saw me.
Everything shattered when a news alert flashed on my phone: "Caryn Newman Spotted at JFK." The original was back. The woman I was hired to mimic had returned to claim her throne, and my secret two-year contract as her stand-in was set to expire in three days.
Brittain didn't even give me the courtesy of a phone call. While he was supposed to be on a business trip, photos surfaced of him shielding Caryn from the paparazzi, his hand on her waist with a tenderness he never showed me. When I walked into his office to return his keys, he didn't look guilty; he just looked annoyed. He pulled out a checkbook and asked, "How much for the hurt feelings?" When I refused his money, he coldly ordered his assistant to freeze every one of my accounts before I even reached the elevator.
I stood on the sidewalk with zero dollars, realizing that to him, I wasn't a partner—I was just an expired lease. I had spent two years erasing my soul to fit into his world, only to be tossed out like trash the moment the real thing came home.
But Brittain forgot one thing: before I was his doll, I was an actress. I pulled my secret weapon from under the bed—a notebook and a raw film cut he never knew existed. I called my agent and launched a high-profile "showmance" with my co-star that set the internet on fire.
As I blocked Brittain's number and moved into a dusty apartment in Queens, I realized the show wasn't over. For the first time, I was the leading lady. His Secret Wife, Her Public Shame
Romance Tomorrow was our fifth anniversary, and I wanted to surprise my husband, Cleve, with a special ring. But at the jewelry store, my marriage certificate was rejected. The system said it was invalid.
Confused, I went to city hall, only to be told my marriage to Cleve Drake was dissolved a year ago. And worse, he had remarried the day after the divorce was finalized, to Ivanna Mccarty, the shy orphan girl our family charity had sponsored.
My world shattered. I found Cleve in his office, kissing Ivanna, who was dressed and styled exactly like me. I overheard them. Ivanna, feigning vulnerability, asked what if I found out. Cleve chuckled, saying I was becoming too independent, forgetting my place. He then gave Ivanna the exact "Five-Year Vow" ring I had tried to buy.
The next day, Cleve acted as if nothing happened, even giving me an identical ring. But the lies were poison. I learned Ivanna had undergone plastic surgery to look like me, a chilling strategy to replace me.
Then, the ultimate betrayal. My brother, battling a chronic illness, died from a sudden allergic reaction. An anonymous message revealed Ivanna had switched his medication. At his funeral, Ivanna deliberately shattered the urn containing his ashes, whispering, "He's with the dirt now. Just like you will be soon."
I was framed for malpractice, my career destroyed, and beaten in jail on Cleve's orders. I overheard Ivanna confessing to Cleve that the car accident that fractured my wrist was planned, and that Cleve himself suggested pushing me into the table corner.
They wanted me destroyed. But I wouldn't be their victim. I would disappear. The Betrayal of a Dying Heart
Modern When I stopped my wife’s assistant, Duard, from torturing a cat, a viral video turned me into a hero overnight. The public outcry was so intense that our company, which my wife and I co-owned, had to fire him.
My wife, Jesse, seemed grateful, thanking me for opening her eyes. To celebrate, she cooked a romantic dinner and proposed a toast to our new beginning. The next thing I knew, I woke up on a cold concrete floor, my hands bound tightly behind my back.
Jesse and Duard stood on a catwalk above me, livestreaming to the world. Below, surrounding me in a massive, deserted warehouse, were a dozen starving pit bulls, their ribs showing through their skin.
"This is justice, Kai," she said, her voice stripped of all warmth. "For what you did to Duard."
While the live chat called me a psycho, she told the world that I was the real animal here. She called Duard a kind soul and watched as the world turned against me. My loving wife was justifying my murder to a global audience.
Then she gave me a choice: get on my knees, live on camera, and beg Duard for forgiveness.
"Do that," she said, "and maybe I'll call them off."
I looked from her cold eyes to Duard’s sadistic grin, and then at the hungry dogs. A surge of defiance cut through my fear.
"Wrong answer," she hissed. "Duard, open the gates." The Price of a Son's Greed
Billionaires My son, Caleb, announced his engagement at a fancy dinner, and I expected joy.
Instead, he presented a detailed list of financial demands from his fiancée, Jocelyn, and her family.
They wanted chunks of our family fortune, my antique investment portfolio, and even our prime SoHo commercial property.
My husband was stunned, but I remained quiet, the shock hardening into a cold resolve.
Then, at the prenuptial agreement meeting, they escalated, demanding my priceless Andy Warhol, a penthouse in my building, and even a Supreme Court clerkship for Jocelyn' s brother.
My lawyer stormed out, calling it a "goddamn shakedown."
But the real war began when Jocelyn launched a viral smear campaign on social media, painting me as a cruel, controlling matriarch.
Caleb joined in, publicly lying and betraying me, and the tabloids ate it up.
Even a senator from Jocelyn's extended family tried to blackmail me, threatening a federal inquiry into our business if I didn't give in.
The public attacks, the political pressure, and my own son's betrayal cut deeper than any dagger.
How could my only child, whom I raised with love, fall for such a transparent and predatory scheme?
My heart ached with profound disappointment, but that pain fueled a dangerous fire within me.
I knew I had to end this.
Not just to protect our legacy, but to show them exactly who they were truly dealing with.
I made a decision no parent should ever have to make.
I began the process of disinheriting Caleb.
And then, I laid my trap. From ATM to Avalanche: Sarah's Sweet Revenge
Billionaires I was Sarah, the Silicon Valley project manager, the "walking ATM" for my family for twenty years. When I won the $150 million Powerball, all I wanted was to finally quit, go home, and find some peace. I craved my family' s warmth and believed Omaha was my escape-my real home.
But the moment I told my mom I was coming home permanently, her first concern wasn' t my well-being, but "what about the money?"
When I arrived for my nephew' s graduation, the house I had paid for no longer felt like mine. My father carved me the burnt brisket ends I hated, while my brother-in-law snorted that their house was "full."
My nephew demanded an F-150, oblivious to my struggle. And my mother admitted they' d sold my childhood belongings for "a couple hundred bucks."
Then came the true horror.
They had turned my childhood room into a "man cave" and rented out the condo I' d bought as an investment, claiming the money went to "living expenses."
When I questioned how they could spend that much beyond the six figures I already sent annually, my father roared, called me an "ungrateful spinster," and then slapped me across the face, ordering me out of the house I had bought.
How could the family I had sacrificed everything for, the people I had supported for two decades, betray me with such calculating greed and cruelty?
How could they claim ownership of a life I had so painstakingly built and funded, only to cast me aside the moment my perceived utility waned?
Were they truly this heartless, or was there some twisted logic I was missing?
As I drove away, my face stinging, a text from my cousin confirmed the final, sickening lie: my nephew' s entire scholarship and university story was a sham, a desperate ploy for more money.
The sadness evaporated, replaced by a cold fire. They wanted my money?
Fine. But they would pay a far steeper price for their deception. My revenge was just beginning. The Names He Forgot
Romance Seven years ago, I entered a marriage of convenience, sacrificing my life for my beloved sister Lily.
I was Sarah Hayes, bound by an agreement to the powerful, wealthy Hayes family, even foolishly hoping for love with my charming husband, Ethan.
But that hope died a slow, painful death through years of his endless infidelities, culminating when his mistress, driving his car, crashed violently into me, nine months pregnant.
As pain consumed me and I bled on the pavement, Ethan appeared, only to coldly dismiss my cries as "drama," abandoning me for his frantic mistress.
His callous neglect led directly to the loss of my baby, Hope.
The subsequent devastating shock destroyed my fragile sister, Lily.
How could one man's indifference cost me every single person I cared for, leaving me utterly alone after I sacrificed everything?
The man I had protected for so long turned out to be the architect of my complete devastation.
Yet, in my absolute despair, a profound clarity dawned: I was done.
I divorced him, leaving his opulent world behind, but he relentlessly chased me back to my quiet hometown, desperate to reclaim what he believed was his.
He thought he could break me again.
But he was about to learn the devastating truth about the names he forgot and the five-year-old lie that shielded his darkest manipulation. The Divorce That Set Him Free
Modern I' d just told my best friend I was divorcing Ava. My voice was flat, even to my own ears. I, Ethan Miller, a quiet architect, had secretly loved the dazzling heiress Ava Chen since college. When her fiancé Julian abandoned her at the altar, I stepped in, marrying her in a desperate hope for a love that was only real on my side.
For three years, our marriage was a sham, a constant competition against Julian Vance, her manipulative college flame. Every crisis, every whim, every late-night call – Julian always came first. My patience, my silent devotion, slowly eroded. The breaking point came when I finally snapped and struck Julian in his hospital room, after hearing his smug taunts about Ava always belonging to him.
Ava rushed to his side. She didn't ask what happened. She didn't hesitate. Her eyes, filled with a burning hatred I' d never seen directed at me, met mine. "You monster!" she spat, cradling him as he groaned dramatically, abandoning me completely in that sterile hospital room.
In that single, shattering moment, I understood. My quiet love, my patient endurance, my entire place in her life, was nothing. I was a placeholder, easily discarded. The "wife" I loved saw me as a villain for daring to challenge her golden boy. A bitter, cold resignation settled over me; my dream, my stolen happiness, was truly over.
So I packed my life into a single suitcase. I finalized the divorce papers I' d given her a month ago, the ones she' d signed without reading. I quit my job, bought a one-way ticket, and left New York for San Francisco, abandoning everything that tied me to her. But I never expected the woman who' d always ignored me to suddenly fight to get me back. The Family That Framed Me Mad
Romance Ashley’s life is a cycle of hope and heartbreak. Every boyfriend, no matter how sweet, always leaves her after a chilling meeting with her adoptive father, Mike. This “meeting” always takes place in his sinister tool shed, a place that mysteriously changes everyone who enters.
After her latest love, Tom, exits the shed utterly disgusted, Ashley, a successful freelance writer, confronts Mike. This spirals into a terrifying incident with a knife, forcing her to call 911.
But when the police arrive, the horror intensifies. Mike, shockingly calm, convinces them that Ashley is paranoid. The tool shed, to their eyes, is just a shed. Betrayed by the very system meant to protect her, Ashley is painted as mentally unstable and ultimately coerced into a psychiatric facility. Even her adoptive mother, Susan, initially a fleeting source of hope, falls prey to the shed’s influence, turning against her.
Isolated and branded delusional, Ashley is tormented by one burning question: What unspeakable secret does that ordinary shed hold that destroys every relationship and twists every mind, leaving her utterly alone and without recourse?
Just when all hope seems lost in the sterile confines of "Serene Pines," a shocking encounter with a familiar face from her past cracks open the possibility of a truth far darker and more sinister than she could ever imagine. 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. 
/1/114500/coverorgin.jpg?v=bbbed285cba248e27d628e8d2e75e90c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106350/coverorgin.jpg?v=5992102a423871e50efba89a58bd2858&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/94132/coverorgin.jpg?v=621a754818b78bb62df89ffbc3c352e9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/88417/coverorgin.jpg?v=26104264a228d586ac1276ef8f54e836&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/87486/coverorgin.jpg?v=5c3dc6efd2c5d7da574489a4d74718c6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83926/coverorgin.jpg?v=cc58e0bb05a6c6d79166455374276de8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83717/coverorgin.jpg?v=3e3c911d9572354acde716650730a7f2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83208/coverorgin.jpg?v=e98b4134396bb26140f88fc72b37b3a4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82264/coverorgin.jpg?v=cc39eded135348faadc8ac4f393e3aba&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80404/coverorgin.jpg?v=2e5435778654c8731b08d8e62c30a35a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18588/coverorgin.jpg?v=d263574f5a1d23530c18c0e0f2d799fa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114057/coverorgin.jpg?v=e2b7fa942efd52c56ad9e6c662553681&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113767/coverorgin.jpg?v=772336466bbc1cee062e976a97dc39ad&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110451/coverorgin.jpg?v=2820de6fa805c709de688f2d653ccf9e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113158/coverorgin.jpg?v=9925b6190304131331c503a5676236ba&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82937/coverorgin.jpg?v=2907194aa510c647b04f7cba8770d5c5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113338/coverorgin.jpg?v=bca0d3ad477281cababf38dd09f47622&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112771/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cdc8f90c863fd179c7930683f5edc44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112787/coverorgin.jpg?v=bdd683d05c41c30b98bdff89f4642393&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114437/coverorgin.jpg?v=9eb970dfbbd5ac2bc65b946638089ac1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113938/coverorgin.jpg?v=d2c72858d7573862e8a6e92f30d27f7b&imageMogr2/format/webp)