Leo Fairchild
18 Published Stories
Leo Fairchild's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Fifty Dollar Runaway Bride
Romance To save my dying grandmother, my stepfamily forced me to marry the Blackburn heir, a man rumored to be a crippled, twisted monster.
Desperate to escape the pre-marital medical exam, I climbed out a bathroom window and stumbled into an adjacent hotel suite.
I begged the powerful stranger inside to help me, unbuttoning his shirt and snapping fake photos to trick my pursuing guards into thinking we were having an affair.
But the stranger didn't just play along.
He turned my lie against me, taking my innocence as the brutal price for his "services."
Humiliated and broken, I left a single fifty-dollar bill on his nightstand as a final insult before fleeing.
But my brief freedom was crushed when my stepsister caught me and dragged me straight to the Blackburn estate for the wedding.
The ceremony happened without a groom. My crippled husband was supposedly confined to his sickbed in the East Wing.
I thought I was finally safe, hiding in my solitary gilded cage, praying the monster I married would just rot away in his room.
But that night, the shadows in my heavily guarded bedroom shifted.
The stranger from the hotel stood over my bed, his eyes burning with a cold, possessive fury over that fifty-dollar bill.
"You think your invalid husband is going to protect you?"
As he pinned me down and my vision went black from the struggle, a terrifying realization hit me.
I hadn't escaped the monster at all. I had just paid the real devil fifty dollars to own me. Terminal Diagnosis: The Obedient Wife's Rebellion
Modern For two years, Constance Mcfarland played the perfect, invisible wife.
She woke up at 5:00 AM every day, surviving on half a cup of plain oats just to maintain the exact dress size her billionaire husband, Arch, demanded.
Then, the doctor handed her a medical report with bold black letters: Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer. Six months to live.
In a fraction of a second, memories of her pathetic existence flooded her mind.
She remembered swallowing her bile when Arch walked past her without a single glance.
She remembered biting her cheek until it bled while her mother-in-law publicly mocked her cheap upbringing.
She remembered constantly bailing out her parasitic brother, only for her own family to treat her like a disposable ATM.
She had starved and silenced herself to build a flawless facade for people who wouldn't even care if she dropped dead tomorrow.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Why had she spent her only life locked in a gilded cage, shrinking herself to please a man made of ice?
The diagnosis wasn't a death sentence. It was a starting pistol.
Constance didn't shed a single tear. Instead, she went straight to the bank and liquidated every penny she owned.
She went home, threw her entire conservative wardrobe onto the floor, and fried a dripping bacon and cheese sandwich in front of her horrified husband.
"No, this is freedom."
Putting on a blood-red silk gown and five-inch stilettos, Constance smiled. She was going to spend her last six months burning the Ferguson empire to the ground. The Alpha Who Rejected His True Mate
Werewolf For eight years, I loved Alpha Ryker Blackwood. The moment the mate bond snapped into place, my whole world became about him. That night, I brought him his favorite cinnamon rolls, my heart pounding with the hope that he was finally ready to accept me.
As I reached his study, his thoughts slammed into me through our bond, a cruel, accidental broadcast. "Cassia Thorne will be my Chosen Mate. We'll announce she is carrying my pup to make Elara accept the Rejection. I cannot be shackled by a bond I never wanted."
The silver tray slipped from my numb fingers and crashed to the floor. Ryker ripped the door open, his eyes blazing with fury. He didn't see my shattered heart; he only saw the mess on his expensive rug.
"Useless," he snarled, his voice a low growl that vibrated through my soul. He slammed the door in my face, leaving me alone with the ruins of my life.
A moment later, my phone buzzed. It was a pack-wide invitation to a celebration. My public execution. The pain in my chest was a physical thing, the bond tearing itself apart as I realized the man fated to be mine had planned my ultimate humiliation down to the last detail.
He thought he was orchestrating my public ruin. He had no idea his chosen mate was a lie. And her secret was about to burn his entire world to the ground. My Ex-Husband's Fatal Ignorance
Modern Five years ago, I was a world-renowned concert pianist. Now, I'm an auto mechanic with a mangled right hand, hiding from a past my ex-husband, Carter, dismisses as a "tantrum."
He drags me to a charity gala where his mistress, Alexandrea, puts me on the spot, demanding I play for the city's elite-a cruel, public humiliation she knows I can't perform.
When I refuse, Carter shoves me to the ground in a rage. He still thinks our daughter, Lily, is alive, and he uses her as a weapon.
"Behave," he hisses, "and maybe we can bring Lily back home."
Bring her home? The sheer ignorance is staggering. He has no idea our daughter froze to death in the same car crash that destroyed my hand.
But just before the gala, my best friend uncovered the final, devastating truth. It wasn't an accident. They sabotaged my car and left us for dead.
Tonight, I'm not just attending a party. I'm orchestrating a funeral. Theirs. The Surgeon's Debt: Bound To The Beast
Romance I was a surgeon on the most luxurious ship in the world, scrubbing my hands until they were raw to forget the name Ye Jiuting and the past I’d left behind.
But at 2:15 AM, Room 404 became my graveyard when a federal agent flatlined on my table, and the world I’d built turned into a nightmare.
The nurse handed me a syringe she swore was a standard antibiotic, but the ship’s medical files had been scrubbed to hide a fatal allergy. Before the body was even cold, the widow was screaming murder, and the ship’s foreman, Huston Lyons, was at my throat with a predatory grin.
"You killed him, Doctor," Huston sneered, "and on this ship, people like you tend to disappear overboard."
When I tried to prove the syringe was clean, Huston’s brutal grip forced the needle into my own arm, injecting me with a lethal stimulant that sent my heart into a violent, scorching frenzy.
I fled into the bowels of the ship, my vision warping and my lungs burning, while a ship-wide announcement declared a five-million-dollar bounty on my head. Every desperate gambler and debt-ridden crew member was now hunting me like an animal for a chance at a clean slate.
I didn't understand how the digital records could lie or why a routine dose had been replaced with poison. Was I a target, or just a convenient scapegoat for a conspiracy much larger than a single death?
Just as the mercenaries were about to drag me to a black site, Clinton Collier, the terrifying "King of the Leviathan," stepped out of the shadows and claimed my life as his own.
"She is my Caretaker now," he declared, wrapping a black silk ribbon around my neck to mark me as his exclusive property.
I had escaped the gallows only to be collared by a monster, but as I felt his madness recede under my touch, I realized that being his only cure was the most dangerous weapon I possessed. His Unwanted Trash, The Rival's Treasured Queen
Mafia Four years ago, I melted my skin into the asphalt to pull Julian Moretti from a burning wreckage. I spent years in the shadows, nursing him back to health, hiding my scars while he reclaimed his title as the Underboss of New York.
But on the way to our wedding, everything shattered.
Estelle Russo, the woman who caused the crash that ruined me, complained of a stomach ache in the limousine. Julian didn't hesitate.
He ordered the driver to stop on the shoulder of the highway.
"Get out," he barked at me, his eyes cold.
He forced me out of the car in my wedding gown, leaving me stranded in the dust and exhaust fumes just so Estelle could lie down on the seat.
"Take a cab to the church," he sneered before speeding away.
He didn't just leave me on the road; he abandoned me at the altar to hold the hand of the woman who had once tried to kill him. He called our relationship a "debt" he was tired of paying.
I stood there, the lace of my dress heavy with humiliation, realizing I was never his Queen—I was just his collateral damage.
I didn't call a taxi. Instead, I pulled a burner phone from my bodice and dialed the one number that would end his reign.
"The deal is live," I whispered. "He chose her."
I stripped off the wedding dress, climbed over the guardrail, and stepped into the black sedan waiting to take me to his greatest enemy. They Stole Everything: Now I Take
Modern For seven years, I was a prisoner in a wheelchair, and my husband, Carter, was my devoted savior. After the accident that stole my legs, he fed me, bathed me, and carried me. He was my entire world.
Then I discovered his secret: he was having an affair with Jade, the daughter of the man who crippled me. My "recovery" smoothies weren't for healing; they were laced with sedatives to keep me weak and dependent.
When I confronted them, Jade pushed me down the stairs. As I lay bleeding on the cold marble floor, I felt a sharp, agonizing pain. I was losing our baby.
Carter looked down at me with disgust.
"You're pathetic, Alayna. Stay here and rot."
He walked out, leaving me to die.
But I didn't die. My family found me. And as I slowly, miraculously, learned to walk again, the broken wife he knew was gone.
They took my legs, my child, and my trust. Now, I would take everything from them. Crown of Wrath
Mafia Amelia Hopewell was found by her biological father and brought home. That same day, she discovered a bodyguard, Edmund Nash, barely clinging to life after being tormented by the false heiress. She used half her blood to save him.
Later, when Amelia's father fell gravely ill, all the family's assets were secretly frozen by a notorious crime lord.
In desperation, Amelia sought Edmund's help. Instead, she witnessed the crime lord's second-in-command standing respectfully before him.
"Mr. Nash, if Miss Hopewell's father doesn't get surgery within three hours, he won't survive," the man said.
"The company's success owes much to the money Miss Hopewell gave you. Are you sure you won't reveal your true identity to her?" he asked.
Edmund toyed with an expensive sapphire necklace, his eyes cold and detached.
"For the next three hours, ensure Amelia Hopewell doesn't borrow a single penny," he ordered.
"Rosalyn said if Amelia's father gets the surgery, she won't let me step foot in her room again. What a vengeful little girl."
Amelia realized the crime lord who had been crushing her family's business for three years was none other than her beloved fiancé, Edmund Nash.
Upon learning the truth, Amelia dialed the number of her former subordinate, "I want Edmund ruined in three days!" The Man She Threw Away
Romance "I'll do it," I told my father, agreeing to an arranged marriage to save our failing family business. It was a lifeline.
But then my mother mentioned Chloe, and the truth, raw and ugly, began to unravel: my five-year relationship, the company we built together, everything was a lie.
I had given up my dream career, poured my savings and energy into "O'Connell & Davis Design" for a love I thought was real. But Chloe had always seen me as a stand-in, a "successful and stable" version of her childhood crush, Noah Vance. I discovered their secret chats, their intimate moments, and the chilling realization that my entire existence in her life had been a performance.
Even my grandmother's redesigned engagement ring, a symbol of my intent, was just another prop in her twisted game. She brazenly claimed it as hers, desperate to maintain her illusion.
The depth of her betrayal, the calculated deceit, left me hollow. My love, my sacrifices, our shared future-all reduced to a cruel joke.
In the face of her desperate attempts to reel me back in-her feigned distress for Noah, her oblivious claims of love-I cut all ties, walked away from our shared life, and embraced a future with the formidable Isabella Rossi, a woman who had seen my worth all along. Her Second Chance at Vengeance
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold, my body broken, kneeling in the snow at Chloe Davis' s memorial. I was Olivia Reynolds, a tech heiress who gave everything for Julian Thorne, only for him to shatter my soul.
He built a digital shrine to his "dead" ex-girlfriend in our home, forcing me to chant repentance for sins I didn' t commit, mourning a woman whose supposed death catalyzed his public transformation into a guru. This relentless torment led to my miscarriage, the loss of our unborn child, and ultimately, my own lonely death.
Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the bridal suite of the Grand Astoria Hotel, on my wedding day, the scent of gardenias filling the air. The day it all began, again.
Julian walked in, his charming smile now turning my stomach. "Olivia, my love," he said, "I need to talk to you about Chloe." He spun the same manipulative tale from my past life, claiming Chloe was leaving the country forever and he needed to see her "one last time" for "our future."
He called it a sacrifice we had to make, together. The same sacrifice that had made me the lamb on his altar before.
I remembered his cruelty, my empty crib, my parents' grief, Ethan' s vacant eyes after Julian destroyed his life. He had been reborn too, and knew.
But this time, I wouldn't be so foolish. I wouldn't cry or beg. I would give Julian exactly what he thought he wanted: my blessing to go. Poisoned Love, Calculated Death
Billionaires The yacht' s engine faded, leaving me stranded on a desolate island.
My fiancé, Liam, and my adoptive sister, Brittany, had promised a celebratory pre-wedding adventure, but they left me there to die.
For ten agonizing days, the emergency beacon on the smartwatch Liam gave me, supposedly a symbol of his protection, blinked unseen.
He ignored my desperate signal, the battery dying, my hope dwindling with each passing hour.
My leg was shattered, twisted at an unnatural angle from a wild boar attack, leaving me crippled and starving, death a patient shadow.
Then, a man emerged from the jungle, a rugged survivalist named Jax, who became my savior, tending my wounds and feeding me.
I fell for him, hard and fast, believing fate had replaced a false love with a real one.
One night, the pulsing light of a satellite phone deep in the jungle shattered that illusion.
I crawled to his hidden bunker, and heard Jax–whose real name was Jason Cole–reporting to Brittany, confirming my worst fears.
"I need to stay here to ensure she doesn' t escape and challenge the heiress for her inheritance," he said, his voice cold and professional.
Brittany' s chilling reply echoed through the night: "Just make sure it' s clean. No traces. The island will take care of the rest."
My savior was my jailer, every kind gesture a calculated lie, every moment a performance.
He was poisoning my wound, making sure the island would be blamed for my slow, agonizing death.
But I wasn't just a victim; I was an architect, and I could build a storm.
Sneaking into his high-tech bunker, I manipulated satellite weather data, designing a phantom hurricane aimed directly at the island.
My fabricated storm was my only ticket off this island, but first, I had to survive the real monster trapped with me. When the Dutiful Wife Unveils Her Trap
Billionaires For years, I played the part of the dutiful, soft-spoken wife, even though my family's wealth could buy and sell my husband's entire town.
I worked a low-paying job, pretending every dollar counted, all to soothe Brian's fragile ego as we saved for our daughter Stella's private school.
Then, a cold notification shattered the illusion: our $150,000 in savings was gone.
Brian flinched, then confessed: he'd given every penny to his mother, not for an emergency, but to buy a house for his deadbeat brother, Ryan, and his pregnant fiancée, Gabrielle.
My daughter's future, sacrificed for their shameless greed.
But instead of the tears and accusations Brian expected, a calm, terrible clarity washed over me.
I smiled, a slow, understanding smile, and pretended it was "just money."
As his family's demands for a lavish wedding escalated-a Tiffany ring, the Four Seasons, a luxury car-I played along, promising my "uncle's" company would handle it.
Then, I unveiled my masterpiece: a "fake divorce" to access a multi-million-dollar trust fund, a lie so tantalizing even Brian's avaricious mother mortgaged her house for the wedding deposits.
They thought they were fleecing a naive fool.
They had no idea they were walking into a meticulously laid trap, designed to utterly ruin them.
Tonight, at the wedding, the truth will come out, and they will pay for every penny. Scarlett's Shadow: A Broken Man's Redemption
Modern The wedding ring was still cold on my finger when Scarlett, my brand new wife, tossed her phone on the bed.
Our Hawaii honeymoon?
Canceled.
A "business opportunity" came up, she said, already pulling out a sleek black dress.
Just a few hours after saying "I do," my world was already shrinking to fit hers.
Then came the real unraveling.
Left behind in a chaotic foreign riot by the very woman I married and her trusted assistant, I survived hell.
I was beaten, starved, and left for dead.
When I finally crawled back home, battered and scarred, Scarlett didn't offer comfort – she threw stale pretzels at me and watched with disgust as I ate them off the floor like an animal.
Later, she even shoved me down a flight of stairs, leaving me with a ruptured spleen.
My life, my love, my very existence was just an inconvenient asset to her.
How could the woman I' d loved my entire life treat me like garbage, or worse, a public relations problem?
Why was I always the one left broken while she walked away clean?
But when her assistant, Dylan, showed up to gloat about orchestrating my near-death experience, confessing every twisted detail of his plan to get rid of me right in front of Scarlett, everything changed.
He thought he had manipulated them both, but he made one fatal mistake.
Scarlett had finally learned, the hard way, who the real villain was.
And now, it was her turn to decide who she was. From Naive to Ruthless
Romance The bell above my clinic door jingled.
I was Dr. Hayes, a woman who' d finally built a life, a stable family.
Pregnant with our planned baby, I believed my husband, Mark, was as excited as I was.
Then Chloe, a seemingly confident student, walked in with a smile that felt sharp, unpleasant.
"I'm Chloe. Mark's student," she stated, then pushed up her sleeve.
There, a fresh tattoo: an infinity symbol intertwined with our anniversary date.
"Mark got one too," she purred, "Matching. Cute, right? He said it symbolized forever. Our forever."
My stomach clenched, the air left my lungs.
That night, Mark played the doting husband, his hand resting on my pregnant belly.
But I smelled her perfume, faintly.
Days later, I watched on our car's security camera as Mark drove to Chloe's apartment, not a "faculty meeting."
I heard him tell her, "Poor Evie. So trusting... Evie' s predictable, a bit naive."
He laughed with her, calling my past, my pain, "clingy."
Then came Chloe' s texts: a photo of Mark in her bed, followed by a box of my childhood cookies.
"He got them for me," she wrote, "Said they reminded him of sweet, innocent things. Guess I' m his new sweet thing."
He saw me as the damaged girl from the group home, easily fooled, not the woman I'd become.
The man I believed saved me from my past used it to mock me with his mistress.
How could I bring our baby into a home built on such casual, callous lies?
The trusting, hopeful Evie was gone.
I called a clinic, then a ruthless lawyer.
This time, I was playing for keeps. Breaking Free From Her Chains
Modern Ethan Miller stared at divorce papers, trapped in a marriage that promised everything but delivered only a polite, desolate void.
For years, his wife, Ava Harrison, remained an untouchable enigma, her dedication to charity work a fortress against intimacy.
Then, a soft sigh from her private "sanctuary" – the music room – shattered the façade.
Ethan found Ava enraptured, whispering Liam's name, clutching a silver toy, surrounded by childhood photos of her adopted brother, exposing a dark, incestuous truth.
This wasn't just bizarre; it explained his unconsummated marriage, his role as a convenient "prop."
Later, Liam, her enabler, attacked Ethan with a broken bottle, then brutally beat him, while Ava prioritized her brother and the family name, dismissing Ethan's agony as "accidents."
Why was he a fool, discarded and abused, while his wife protected a monster?
His love, once a perfect score, had been systematically, ruthlessly chipped away by betrayals, leaving only raw, unbearable emptiness.
With nothing left, Ethan signed the papers, packed his bag, and walked out of the gilded cage, finally free.
He chose a new life in London, leaving behind the chilling memory of Ava' s last, desperate text: "Liam needs you. Come back." You might like
Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle
Ming Yue Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire.
I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper.
I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he'd dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family's land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock.
I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim.
"If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned.
So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months.
Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I've suspended Hugh's executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I'm just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout.
But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back. Flash Marriage to the Tycoon, I'm Spoiled Rotten
Hollow Echo Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town.
They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done."
Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me."
As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world.
When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?" The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Reilly Mcardle For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" Jilted Heiress: Marrying The Untouchable Tycoon
Piao Guo Allison Montgomery was waiting at the airport when an audio alert from her parked Range Rover flashed on her phone.
Assuming it was a break-in, she checked the live dashcam feed, only to see her fiancé, Finn, and her younger sister, Cheyanne, passionately making out in the backseat.
"Tell me I'm better than her," Cheyanne whispered. "Tell me I'm better than Allison."
"You are," Finn gasped. "God, you are."
When Allison confronted her family with the video, she expected justice.
Instead, her uncle and mother fiercely defended the cheaters.
They blamed Allison's "cold and frigid" nature for pushing Finn away, victim-blaming her in front of the entire household staff.
To protect their corporate alliance, her uncle ruthlessly announced that the engagement would be transferred to Cheyanne, and threatened to strip Allison of her inheritance.
Stripped of her fiancé, her family, and her dignity, Allison realized her pristine twenty-year life was a complete lie.
The people who were supposed to love her were actively protecting her abusers, leaving her utterly isolated and burning with a cold, protective rage.
Refusing to be their victim, Allison targeted Finn's ruthless, billionaire uncle, Adam Kensington, proposing a fake marriage to secure the capital needed to crush her family.
But when the notoriously untouchable Wall Street phantom not only accepted her proposal, but demanded she immediately move into his penthouse to raise his secret daughter, Allison realized she had just sold her soul to the devil. The Jilted Ex-Wife Is A Zillionaire
Felix Turner Isabel returned to her penthouse after a grueling seventeen-hour flight, only to be greeted by the cloying scent of another woman's perfume.
Her husband of three years, Darius, sat waiting with divorce papers. He wanted to marry his mistress, Dove, and offered Isabel a measly one million dollars, treating her like a greedy charity case from the Rust Belt who should just take the payout and vanish.
But Isabel didn't want his pity. She demanded the four percent equity stake in his family's company that she rightfully owned—a stake worth 1.5 billion dollars. When she revealed this, the wealthy family turned vicious. They refused to acknowledge that she had secretly saved their empire from bankruptcy years ago. Instead, Darius and Dove orchestrated a brutal public execution. They ambushed her at a top law firm, spreading malicious lies that her investment money was stolen from a Ponzi scheme. They even hired a fake victim to scream at her in the lobby, successfully terrifying Isabel's lawyer into dropping her case on the spot.
She had quietly rescued their entire legacy, yet they were willing to frame her as a criminal and destroy her life just to keep her rightful billions.
As Darius and his mistress gloated over her absolute ruin, the most ruthless and feared lawyer in New York suddenly stepped in front of Isabel, his voice cutting through the dead silence.
"Your case, I'll take it." Bound To The Disabled Apocalyptic Tycoon
Star Cruiser Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie—an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse. Wild Heiress, Tamed Billionaire
Ruby Stone When I called my husband while trapped in a kidnapper's warehouse, he laughed. "Stop faking," he said, "my delicate mistress needs her sleep." He hung up. I signed the divorce papers drenched in my own blood, giving up everything just to escape the monster I married.
His mother threw a broken umbrella at me in the rain. I had nothing-no money, no identity, no hope.
But the moment I turned away, eight black Escalades encircled the street. A man in a tailored suit stepped out of a Rolls-Royce, shielding me with an umbrella. In his hand was a DNA test-and twenty-three years of relentless search.
"Your last name isn't Smith," he said, wiping blood from my wrist with his handkerchief. "It's Wilder. The Wilder family. And the man who left you to die?" He smiled, icy. "He owes us nine billion dollars." Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.