Marigold
13 Published Stories
Marigold's Books and Stories
My Cruel Choice, His Silent Death
Modern My husband, Cole, collapsed on our kitchen floor, gasping that he was in agony.
But I told him to stop being so dramatic. My toxic ex, Bryant, was drunk and whining about a sprained arm, and I chose to rush him to a private clinic instead.
I left Cole to die alone on the cold tiles. He had to call 911 himself.
When I finally saw him in the hospital, the adoration he'd held for me for five years was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness.
"You left me to die, Emily," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You chose him. Again."
I had taken the kindest, most devoted man I'd ever known for granted, treating him as a placeholder for the man who constantly broke my heart.
In one single, cruel moment, I had finally killed his love for me.
Now, the divorce papers are on my desk. He's in Paris, thriving with a new restaurant and a new love who appreciates him.
And I am left with nothing but the ashes of my mistakes, beginning a life of lonely, agonizing penance. Poisoned Love, Bitter Justice
Romance My mother, a nurse who spent forty years caring for others, was poisoned and left for dead after a charity gala. The woman responsible, Keyla Dixon, stood in court, a mask of tearful innocence, claiming self-defense.
The real horror? My husband, Garrison Gardner, the city's top lawyer, was defending Keyla. He tore my mother's reputation apart, twisting the truth until the jury believed Keyla was the victim.
The verdict came swiftly: "Not guilty." Keyla hugged Garrison, a triumphant smirk flashing across her face. That night, in our cold mansion, I confronted him. "How could you?" I choked out. He calmly replied, "It was my job. Keyla is a very important client."
When I screamed that she tried to kill my mother, he threatened to use my mother's sealed medical records, her history of depression, to paint her as unstable and suicidal. He was willing to destroy her memory to protect his client and his career.
I was trapped, humiliated, and heartbroken. He had sacrificed my mother for his ambition, and now he was trying to erase me. But as I signed the divorce papers he had prepared, a wild, desperate plan began to form. If they wanted me gone, I would disappear. And then, I would make them pay. The Wife He Never Touched
Billionaires For five years, I, Chloe Davis, was the woman every other woman wanted to be, married to a man whose wealth was matched only by his handsome face, living in a gilded cage. But in three years of marriage, he had never touched me, our bedroom cold and empty.
On my ninety-ninth attempt to seduce my husband, Ethan, he finally pulled me close. But as pleasure washed over me, he whispered, "Ashley, you know I love you. Marrying Chloe was something I had to do. How could you let her do this? How could you let her seduce me?"
His confession shattered me. He wasn't incapable; he just didn't love me. His heart belonged to Ashley Thompson, his niece and my best friend, and I was just a shield. Ashley, the one who had encouraged me to pursue him, was the real object of his affection. Later, as I lay dizzy and confused in a hospital bed from donating my kidney to Ashley, Ethan offered me anything I wanted, even a child, if I saved her, revealing his plan to use me as a surrogate for him and Ashley.
The truth sliced through my seven years of devotion like a knife. After all I'd given, all I' d sacrificed, I was just a tool in their twisted game, a cover for their sordid affair. Even my wedding ring was a duplicate of Ashley' s.
I secretly signed our divorce papers on the operating table, and in the dead of night, I walked out of that mansion, leaving behind the shattered pieces of my naive heart and a final message: "Happy divorce! Never see you again!" My Heart, Their Secret
Horror The family trip to the coast was supposed to be a relaxing end to summer.
But the moment I stepped back on campus, a cold dread washed over me: my dorm room lock was changed.
My roommates-Emily, Ashley, Megan-they were just… gone.
Their numbers disconnected, their social media wiped clean.
It was like they' d vanished into thin air, leaving only silence and a terrifying void where my life used to be.
Then, things got worse.
My best friend Jessica' s new roommates started screaming at the sight of me, fleeing in terror.
The university counselor looked at me with a mix of pity and fear, everyone whispering about "personal safety concerns" and "extreme reactions."
They all thought I was the monster.
I had no idea why.
I knew I hadn' t done anything, but an unbearable sense of confusion and injustice gnawed at me.
How could my friends abandon me without a word?
Why was everyone suddenly so afraid of me?
A chilling discovery would soon reveal that my friends hadn't abandoned me at all; they were closer than I could ever imagine, trying to tell me something unspeakable. Dowry Denied, Destiny Redefined
Romance My fiancé, Liam, fidgeted, his parents stone-faced across the coffee shop table.
Just weeks after celebrating our pregnancy, his mother, Susan, dropped a bombshell: our $380,000 dowry was slashed to $52,000, and our lavish hotel wedding was downgraded to a backyard BBQ.
They thought I was trapped, a pregnant woman with no choice but to accept this humiliation.
As I escaped to the restroom, I overheard their cruel laughter, confirming my deepest fears: my baby was a bargaining chip, and I was "damaged goods" they had to "take in."
Liam, my fiancé, stood by, silent and complicit, solidifying the cold realization that the man I loved was gone.
My heartbreak was immense, but beneath it, a simmering rage began to build.
No, I would not be their pawn.
I wiped my tears, smoothed my dress, and returned to the table with a new plan.
They wanted to play a game?
Fine.
But I would write the rules.
The cage door was open.
But they were the ones about to be trapped inside with me. A Price on Freedom
Modern "Just drink it, Emily, it\'ll help you relax." David Clark\'s voice was smooth, but his grip on my arm was tight, pushing a dark, sweet-smelling liquid toward me.
I looked at him, his face a charming mask, and knew he wanted me drugged for a photographer he\'d hired. He aimed to frame me, his fiancée, in a scandal to boost his political campaign.
My refusal turned his charm into an ugly snarl, his hand grabbing for me as he threatened to ruin me. Just then, our hotel room door exploded inward. Two grim men in sharp military uniforms stood in the doorway, led by Captain Alex Stone.
I, Chloe Miller, a tech inventor from the 21st century, had woken up in Emily Hayes\'s nineteen-year-old body, trapped in the 1980s. Emily\'s pre-arranged marriage to David, her family\'s desperate bid for security, was about to become my public nightmare. This was not my life.
I stumbled forward, feigning fear, accusing David of trying to drug me, seizing the unexpected opportunity. Captain Stone, suspicious yet bound by duty, took me under his wing, dragging me into the heart of his powerful, tangled family.
My engagement to Alex became my shield, but it also painted me as a gold-digger, an enemy to his vindictive aunt Clara, her resentful son Mark, and his jilted almost-fiancée Anna Lewis. Then, on my wedding night, Clara orchestrated the ultimate humiliation, bringing my poverty-stricken, opportunistic family to the mansion to stake their claim.
I knew then that I had to fight, not just for survival, but for autonomy. Meeting Alex in secret, he revealed his true motive for our marriage: I was to be his "unassuming" tool, a corporate spy to secure his family\'s legacy. I accepted. This was my chance not just to survive, but to truly live and rebuild, turning what was meant to be my ruin into my ultimate rise. My Husband's Lie
Romance On our eighth anniversary, my husband, Ryan Lester, confessed to a "one-night stand."
I forgave him, burying the deceit, clinging to the life we' d built, believing it was a drunken mistake.
Two years later, his intern, Molly, walked into my favorite café, dropped a folder filled with photos – Ryan and Molly vacationing, celebrating milestones, and finally, a baby, his baby.
"He never loved you," she whispered, his words echoing in my ears, "you were just a business arrangement."
The man I' d loved, the life I' d fought for, was a meticulously crafted lie, a calculated betrayal, and still, he wouldn' t let me go, demanding I raise his secret son.
That' s when I called my brother, a former Delta Force operator, and told him: "I need an exit. Make me a ghost." Unmasked: The Affair and the Fraud
Modern My morning took a chilling turn when a grainy video popped up: my eight-year-old son, Ethan, pleading, "Mommy, save me." A distorted voice demanded $50,000 ransom by tonight.
My husband, Mark, panicked, but I remained unnerved. Our $50,000 emergency fund was gone.
Mark stammered about "business expenses," but I already knew.
Bank statements confirmed a transfer to "M. Morningstar." He confessed: the money went to his mistress, Tiffany, for her son Leo' s "life-saving" cancer treatment.
As Mark crumbled, "kidnappers" called, Ethan's cries audible. I calmly told them we had no funds, hanging up despite Mark's horror. Then Tiffany brazenly arrived, demanding more money for Leo, shattering Mark's parents with the lie that Leo was Mark's biological son from their affair.
Through it all, I maintained confusing composure.
My family stared, bewildered by my steely calm, my defiance. Why wasn't I in hysterics? Was I insane or was a deeper game at play?
I picked up a burner phone: "Time for Act Two. Bring her son into play."
I forced Mark to choose between Ethan and Leo. He chose Leo.
Moments later, a perfectly unharmed Ethan walked in.
The kidnapping? A staged trap.
I' d meticulously orchestrated this to expose Mark's profound betrayal and Tiffany' s elaborate fraud.
The fallout had only just begun. Game Over, My Love
Romance I spent two years as "Sparrow" in "Chronicles of Eldoria," a quiet, analytical Loremaster, meticulously perfecting my skills and hiding my striking real-life beauty behind a plain avatar. My loyalty to Lex "Lionheart" Miller' s guild, The Crimson Vanguard, was absolute. But when a major server-wide tournament was announced, Lex, obsessed with "visibility," brought in Starfire, a flashy streamer known for her perfected looks.
I was publicly demoted, my spot given to her. Then, for daring to question it, I was falsely accused of stealing guild resources and slandered across the server, with Lex himself endorsing a bounty on my head. He didn't even recognize me when I served him coffee in real life, his dismissal in-game mirroring his utterly indifferent gaze. My safe haven, the one place where my talent truly mattered, became a public arena for my humiliation.
Two years of silent dedication, every strategic insight, every hard-earned contribution-all discarded because I wasn't "flashy" enough. How could he, who once relied on my genius, betray me so completely, and then act as if I was "never important"?
But their cruelty ignited an ice-cold fury. I deleted Sparrow, created a new identity, and decided it was time not just for Eldoria, but for Lex, and the entire gaming world, to see what the "plain, mousy" Sparrow truly looked like. The game was on. The Ninth Bride
Horror Eight years, the whispers in Havenwood never stopped.
They called it the "Thorne Curse"-eight women, all Julian Thorne's fiancées, all dead the night before their wedding.
My sister, Emily, was the first, ruled a suicide, but I knew that was a lie.
Today, I announced I'd be the ninth.
My father, Dr. Miller, looked at me, his face like stone, his words cold and sharp: "You are no daughter of mine."
He even offered my mother's inheritance, a severance from my own family, as the town stared, calling me crazy, just like my dead sister.
Walking into Thorne Manor, its black iron gates twisted like angry branches, I met Eleanor Thorne, whose smile didn't reach her eyes, and heard the staff whisper about Emily' s screams.
Julian Thorne, pale as death, just said, "I pray you'll be the one to break this curse."
His rehearsed words, my father's chilling abandonment, and the town's judgment only fueled my resolve.
How could my father accept Emily's "suicide" so easily?
Why did this town cling to such a convenient lie?
I had to know what really happened to Emily.
I had to finally expose the truth behind the Thorne Curse, even if it meant becoming its final victim. The Pregnant Rival and My Impossible Love
Sci-fi My perfect life with Liam felt like a dream – his gentle smile, his warm touch, a love so complete it seemed too good to be true.
Then the system alerts began: Affection Level: Liam +5.
This wasn't real.
My memories screamed of labs and blinding flashes; I was trapped in a cognitive simulation, a prison crafted by NexusMind.
Every loving word, every tender moment was a lie, meticulously programmed to control me.
The torturous truth emerged: Liam wasn't programmed just for me.
He was torn between his directive to bond with me and a hidden "cover narrative" involving Elara, a woman who haunted my simulated reality.
She was Liam's "real" love, his true "Sparrow," whose preferences dictated every detail, down to the almond croissants he brought me.
Days turned into loops, 47 iterations of the same cruel game, always with Elara as the preferred, radiant rival.
The simulation's ultimate torment arrived when Liam reunited with Elara, whose contempt was palpable, especially when she announced she was pregnant – with his child.
His family embraced her, and I, Liam's supposed lover, became a humiliated bystander, collapsing under the weight of this unbearable, endless lie.
Why was I put through this agony?
Was I supposed to break?
To surrender to this manufactured despair?
How could I fight a system that could rewrite reality, controlling minds with lines of code?
Just as I felt utterly defeated, adrift in a sea of emotional torment and physical weakness, something unexpected happened.
Amidst the chaos of Elara's pregnancy announcement, Liam defied his programming.
He knelt before me, heart in hand, and against all odds, asked for my hand in marriage.
The system shrieked: CRITICAL NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE! SYSTEM OVERLOAD IMMINENT!
After 47 cycles of torment, could this be my impossible escape? When Family Becomes A Prison
Billionaires For seven years, I lived a life of gilded gratitude, managing the Ashworths' sprawling estate and their demanding schedules. I was the loyal husband to Jessica, the devoted stay-at-home dad to Sophie, constantly reminded of the "debt" I owed for their rescue. My world revolved around their convenience, their expectations, their rules. On paper, I had everything: a wealthy family, a beautiful home, even a new promotion at their company.
Then, after a rare night out celebrating that promotion, I returned to the house I managed. The security code was rejected. I tried again. Rejected. Through the window, I saw Sophie's shadow. I called her name, desperate, but she vanished. Jessica had changed the codes, and told our daughter not to open the door.
The humiliation was a cold, hard knot in my gut, sharper than any betrayal. I spent that night shivering in my car, staring at the house that was never truly mine. The next morning, facing Jessica and her parents, I declared I wanted a divorce, willing to walk away penniless. Their scoffing, their incredulity, Mrs. Ashworth' s icy question, "Where would you go? What would you do?" rang like a prison sentence.
They saw a man throwing away everything they' d "given" him, unable to comprehend the seven years of silently endured disrespect, the slow suffocation of my spirit. They thought it was about a security code, but it was about every condescending glance, every undermining comment, every minute I' d spent playing their grateful puppet. My gratitude, once a heavy cloak, had finally become an unbearable chain.
So, I left. I walked away from the Ashworths, the mansion, the gilded cage, and the woman who never truly saw me. With nothing but an old pickup and a dilapidated family cabin, I began building something new, brick by painful brick, not for them, but for myself. This wasn't an end; it was finally a beginning. You might like
Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. The Scars She Hid From The World
REGINA MCBRIDE The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab."
My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle.
When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine.
They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber.
I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone.
At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on. The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Huo Wuer Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty.
When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn.
Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance.
Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room.
How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice.
I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for.
I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten. Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance
Lukas Difabio Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman.
As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius.
When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval." Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." 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!" Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback
Huo Wuer Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic.
Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold.
"Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'"
The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip.
Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet.
I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child.
But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame.
"I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done."
I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down. No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire
Rollins Laman The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road.
Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city.
"Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around."
Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding.
They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag.
What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased.
I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York.
"I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down.
"But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister." 
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