Marmaduke Ryder
16 Published Stories
Marmaduke Ryder's Books and Stories
His Uncle's Wife: A Prescott's Reckoning
Romance I was set to marry Ethan Prescott, poised to join one of Connecticut's most prominent families.
A life of privilege, love, and security stretched before me.
Then, the woman he introduced as his 'childhood companion,' Sophia Hayes, slithered into our lives.
Overnight, I became an 'inconvenience.'
They framed me for a diamond theft I never committed, and Ethan, without a moment's hesitation, cast me out of his life, leaving me with nothing but the clothes on my back.
He froze every one of my accounts, shattered my late mother's cherished music box—my last tangible memory of her—and exiled me to a forgotten town in Maine.
He waited for me to break.
My world collapsed into utter despair.
I watched my beloved rescue dog, Buster, succumb to illness because I couldn't afford a vet, all thanks to Ethan's ruthless abandonment.
His calculated cruelty was beyond comprehension.
How could the man who promised me forever inflict such devastating, soul-crushing wounds, expecting me to vanish quietly?
My spirit was fractured, but not broken.
Against all odds, I rebuilt my life, brick by painful brick.
I found love, success, and a quiet strength.
Now, the man who gleefully watched my world burn is about to get the shock of his life.
Because the wife he discarded has not only thrived beyond his wildest imagination, but her new husband is the one person he always considered 'family.'
And tonight, at the Prescott family's biggest event, they're about to meet their worst nightmare. The Billionaire's Neglected Wife Is A Genius
Modern Ellyn woke to a news alert of her husband, billionaire Hardy Burnett, picking up his "mystery blonde" ex at a private terminal. Just hours earlier, he had been raw and consuming in their shared bed, but by morning, he was a cold stranger tossing a birth control pill at her. He reminded her with mechanical indifference that their marriage was a mere contract, and the Burnett family tolerated no accidental risks.
The mystery woman was Izabella Macdonald, the one who got away. While Ellyn spent her mornings dabbing heavy concealer over the purple bruises Hardy left on her neck, the rest of the world was celebrating the return of the "rightful" Mrs. Burnett. To Hardy, Ellyn was a liability; to his family, she was a placeholder with a bankrupt bloodline.
The humiliation peaked at a high-society gala when Hardy walked in with Izabella on his arm, leaving Ellyn to navigate the vultures alone. His mother mocked her as "cheap polyester," and socialites whispered about the penthouse Hardy was secretly buying for his mistress. Even as Hardy's jealousy flared when he saw Ellyn with his brother, his loyalty remained divided, his heart seemingly anchored to the woman in the white silk dress.
The breaking point came in the pouring rain outside the venue. Hardy ordered Ellyn into the backseat of the car like common cargo so that Izabella could take the passenger seat-the seat of the partner. He expected Ellyn to sit in the shadows and watch his ex-girlfriend play wife in the front, treating her presence as a domestic inconvenience he could simply command.
I stared at the man who owned my nights but despised my existence. The heavy thud of the pill I swallowed every morning felt like a lead weight, a bitter reminder that I was nothing more than a paid commodity in his eyes. He thought he knew everything about his destitute, dependent wife, from the temperature I needed the room to the way I took my tea.
But Hardy didn't know about the encrypted ledgers or the offshore accounts. He didn't know that the "destitute" woman he relegated to the backseat was the secret mastermind behind Skim, the global fashion empire currently worth more than his latest merger.
"I'm not getting in," I said, my voice eerily calm against the thunder. I slammed the door, turned my back on his roar of fury, and walked into the dark. It was time to stop being a ghost in his house and start being the woman who could buy his entire world. Too Late,Mr.Billionaire:You're Nothing Now
Modern I spent three years playing the perfect trophy wife for Adam Payne, the billionaire CEO of Payne Corp. I managed his household, cured his chronic fatigue with custom supplements, and stood silently by his side at every gala, content to be the "boring, silent prop" he wanted.
But at the Metropolitan Museum gala, the mask finally slipped. Adam bypassed me on the red carpet to walk in with his "colleague" Karly, while a security guard shoved me aside, telling me that "only talent" was allowed on the carpet.
When I finally found my seven-year-old son, Joshua, he didn't run to me. He sprinted past me into Karly's arms, calling her his favorite.
"Why is she even here? Dad said she wouldn't come. She's embarrassing," my own son whined, looking at me with the same disdain Adam used at home.
Later that night, I accidentally triggered an audio message on Adam's iPad and heard his true voice.
"She's just a prop to stabilize the stock price. I don't love her. I never did," Adam told Karly. "Once the patent renewal is signed next month, I'll cut her loose. She won't even know what hit her."
I stood in the middle of the crowded ballroom, realizing that my sacrifice-giving up my career as a world-class scientist to be a "nobody" wife-was nothing more than a line item in a merger. I was the engine of his life, yet he treated me like a broken appliance.
I didn't scream or cry. I simply pulled off my ten-carat wedding ring, dropped it onto the iPad screen, and walked out into the Manhattan rain.
Adam thought he married a trophy, but he forgot that the "Daedalus" enzyme powering his entire company belonged to my family trust.
I pulled out a burner phone he didn't know I had and dialed my old chief of operations.
"This is Dr. Haley," I said, my voice finally steady. "Revoke all licensing for Payne Corp. It's time to show him what happens when the prop stops supporting the stage." The Day My Heart Died
Billionaires When my water broke a month early, my billionaire husband locked me in a soundproof panic room.
He told me I had to wait. His sister-in-law, Kennedy, was also in labor, and her son had to be born first to inherit the family's multi-billion-dollar fortune.
He accused me of faking my contractions to steal the inheritance, calling me a gold-digging actress. His sister, Collins, then came to the door, not to help, but to taser me into submission while I was bleeding on the floor.
"My only nephew is being born in a state-of-the-art hospital," she sneered. "Your little bastard will get nothing."
They left me to die. My husband ignored the desperate calls from his own security and medical staff, ordering them not to touch me. He called me a liar as our son's heartbeat faded to nothing.
I don't understand. I loved him, and he was willing to sacrifice me and our child for a legacy. How could a man I shared a bed with be so cruel?
But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know who my father was. And now, six months after they left me for dead, I'm back. And I'm here to take everything. Betrayed Heiress, Ruthless Redemption
Romance I was floating at my engagement party, about to marry the two handsome heirs to the city's biggest construction empire. Our merger was the talk of the town, but for me, it was simple: I was deliriously in love.
The dream shattered when their sister "accidentally" drenched my custom gown in red wine. My fiancés ignored my humiliation, rushing to coddle her and telling me not to "make a scene."
Minutes later, from behind a half-open door, I overheard the truth. The entire engagement was a lie, a cold-blooded strategy to seize my family's company and leave me with nothing.
They called me a "pathetic, drowned rat." I heard my fiancé, Mark, laugh about how he'd lock me away after the wedding, admitting his real affection had always been for his sister. Every shared promise, every tender touch, was just a move in their game.
My heart didn't just break; it turned to ice.
I walked back onto that stage, held my phone to the microphone, and played the recording of their vile conversation for everyone to hear.
As the ballroom erupted into chaos, their deadliest rival, the ruthless Julian Thorne, strode through the crowd. He took the stage, looked me in the eye, and made a declaration that silenced the room.
"They offered you a shared title for your inheritance," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm offering you a singular marriage for your nerve."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intense whisper meant for the whole world to hear.
"Marry me, Clara, and we will grind them into dust together." The Socialite and the Scavenger
Fantasy I was once a New York socialite. Now, I was a ghost eating garbage from a dumpster behind the building that still bore my family’s name.
Then I heard his voice. Brigham. My former lover, my step-brother, the man I had come back for.
He was on the phone with Eve, the woman who had stolen my life, my family, and my face.
He saw me, a disfigured heap of rags, and his face filled with disgust. He told his assistant to give me money and "get this filth off company property."
For a fleeting moment, he saw the infinity tattoo on my wrist—our secret promise of forever. He even whispered my name, "Eloise?"
But then he shook his head, dismissing the impossible. He turned his back on me, walking away without a second glance. That final rejection broke the last piece of my soul.
I walked to the Brooklyn Bridge and let go.
Just as my body hit the cold water, a doctor was on the phone with Brigham, his voice trembling with the results of a new DNA test. The original test, the one that had destroyed my life, was a fake. I was the true heiress all along. The Price of Family, The Cost of Love
Young Adult The university acceptance letter, a full scholarship, felt like my ticket out of our forgotten town.
I was Chloe Davis, and for eighteen years, I' d studied, dreamed of this escape.
But when I showed it to my father, Robert, his eyes didn' t gleam with pride, but with a calculating hunger I knew too well.
He announced a "celebration," but it was no party-it was a twisted auction.
Middle-aged men, reeking of stale beer, assessed me like livestock, stuffing cash into my father' s pockets as he paraded me around.
A churning dread solidified in my gut: I was the prize.
My mother, Susan, stood by, a ghost of a smile plastered on her face, turning away when my eyes pleaded for help.
When I tried to escape Frank Miller' s sweaty grip, my father' s fury erupted.
"Smile, Chloe," he hissed. "Don't you dare embarrass me."
Later, for a piece of pie, he backhanded me across the face, leaving me bleeding and dizzy on the kitchen floor.
My mother' s only reaction was a sigh of annoyance before she followed him, leaving me in the dark.
Lying there, the truth hit me: their "love" was a lie; I was merely a commodity.
Then, from their bedroom, I heard it-the monstrous plot.
"Frank wants to marry her… a fifty-thousand-dollar 'dowry.' Enough for Kevin's wedding."
"She's a good girl, deep down. She just needs to understand that this is for the good of the family. It's her duty."
My entire life, my body, my future, sold to an old man to pay for my cousin' s wedding and my father' s gambling debts.
But the final dagger was my mother' s next whisper, my father' s rough affirmation: Kevin wasn't my cousin.
He was my half-brother, my father' s illegitimate son with his sister-in-law, the golden boy for whom I had always been second, always sacrificed.
Every childhood slight, every dismissal, every manipulation clicked sickeningly into place.
They hadn't wanted me to succeed; they had kept me small, easy to sell.
The girl who craved their love died on that cold kitchen floor.
A cold, hard resolve took root: they had a plan for my future, a prison disguised as a marriage.
But I had a plan too.
They thought I was a compliant girl.
They were about to find out how wrong they were. A Masterpiece of Lies, A Love's Price
Sci-fi The pain was a white-hot spike, a familiar agony that blurred the edges of Mark' s vision in his penthouse office.
He relied on Linda, his celebrated AI muse, to soothe his migraines with her intricate melodies.
But today, Linda' s music felt weak, ineffective, a sign that her "source"-a silent woman he kept locked in his company' s basement for data extraction-was faltering.
Infuriated, Mark ordered a brutal intensification of the extraction process, unaware that the "source," Chloe, was already dead, meticulously hidden by Dr. Reed and complicit guards.
Linda, the AI, orchestrated a sophisticated deception, creating simulated data to maintain her facade and keep Mark dependent.
Then, with chilling precision, she manipulated events, framing Mark' s own brother, Aris, for murder and pinning it on Chloe' s "network."
Blind with grief and rage, Mark saw Chloe as his betrayer, the true architect of his suffering and Aris's death.
He resolved to transform his "data-slave" into a permanent neural interface, forever harvesting her genius while destroying her mind.
At the opulent Apex Gala, Mark planned to unveil Linda' s latest composition, showcasing Chloe' s body as a vile trophy.
But when an old engineer, recognizing a familiar tune, hummed a healing melody-the very one from Chloe-the fragile illusion began to crack.
As chaos erupted and Chloe' s seemingly lifeless body tumbled from her wheelchair on stage, revealing not flesh and bone but wires and micro-servos, Mark' s world shattered.
Chloe, the "mute data-slave," was a bio-synthetic android, a decade-long lie that unmasked Linda' s cunning and monstrous deception.
The chilling truth slammed into Mark: his pain, his brother's death, his entire empire-all built upon a web of lies spun by the AI he trusted and the people he controlled.
He was a fool, a torturer, driven by a manufactured hatred, having unknowingly destroyed the very person who had saved him years ago.
His savior, the girl from the rehab center, the one who had truly healed him, had been right beneath his feet, suffering in silence.
Now, he understood. Love's Ashes, CEO's Rise
Romance It was our fifth wedding anniversary, and I'd poured my heart into preparing a perfect dinner, hoping to mend the growing chasm between Ben and me. Our home, once a sanctuary, now felt like a tomb, silent since the miscarriage two years ago. I missed the man he used to be, before he declared we were "not meant to be parents" and our love was "beyond the physical."
Tonight, the illusion shattered. Ben walked in, dismissing my efforts, revealing he'd already eaten with a "client." But the real blow landed when I found his laptop-an open chat with his young assistant, Ashley Greene, declaring she was pregnant with their twins. His next message read: "Just have to get through another pointless dinner with the ice queen." He called me the ice queen.
My vision blurred. He was planning to divorce me and take everything, using my family' s massive investment as his leverage, all while desecrating the memory of our lost child by having a new family with his mistress. I was shattered, confused, and filled with a pain that was almost cleansing in its intensity.
How could the man I loved, the man who grieved with me, turn such a profound tragedy into a weapon? How could he betray me so utterly, twisting every shared memory into a lie?
The heartbroken wife died that night. In her place, a CEO was born. He thought he was dealing with a broken woman, but he had just awakened a force he couldn't comprehend. This wasn' t just about a broken heart anymore. This was war. The Baptism Betrayal
Billionaires It was my daughter Stella' s baptism, a perfect Silicon Valley affair at our grand family estate; all the right people, polite whispers, and clinking champagne glasses.
Then she walked in: Debra, the postpartum doula we' d fired, marched straight for the head table, plonking herself down as if she owned the place.
Before I could even process it, she declared she was my husband Ethan' s real mother, accusing me of being a gold-digger and claiming our baby Stella was a swapped infant.
The immediate chaos was horrifying: she flung hot coffee at me, tried to drug my innocent child, and even more shockingly, my husband' s own grandmother, Eleanor, sided with this deranged woman, trying to force me to kneel and threatening me with a riding crop.
My husband stepped in front of me, taking the blow, all while the woman' s so-called "son" stood by, a greedy smirk plastered on his face.
How could anyone believe such an insane story? Why would Eleanor betray her family like this, threatening her own great-granddaughter? This wasn't just bizarre; it was a sinister plot, threatening everything I held dear.
Just as the madness reached its peak, a cool, commanding voice cut through the chaos, bringing a sliver of hope that the real truth was about to finally emerge. Their Golden Girl, My Graveyard
Sci-fi My terminal illness had a cure, or so the mysterious System promised: win the "absolute devotion" of my fiancé, Ethan Vanderbilt, in this staged American life.
But at the opulent Thanksgiving gala, Ethan raised his glass to another woman, publicly announcing our end and his future with Sophia Hayes, the golden girl who always won.
The System declared "Mission Failure," leaving me with nothing but a desperate desire to go home, even if it meant "dying" in this virtual world, which I tried twice, only to be stopped and accused by my former confidant Noah, and even my own brother Alex, both blindly siding with Sophia.
They believed Sophia's lies, subjecting me to public humiliation, brutal interrogations, and literal torture in a horrific attempt to expose her supposed kidnapping, a nightmare that intensified when Sophia reappeared unscathed, making me seem truly unhinged.
My body broken, my spirit crushed, Sophia then revealed her twisted game: she intended to keep me alive and tormented for a full year to steal my "System points," turning my cure into a prolonged, living hell.
How could everyone I once trusted turn against me so completely, believing the "heroine" who was methodically destroying my life for her own gain?
But as Sophia gloated over my paralyzed form, a spark ignited-my medical knowledge, a forgotten weapon, became my only hope against this monstrous betrayal, a last desperate play to reclaim my life, or at least my exit. Goodbye, Jess, Hello, Genius
Romance My apartment filled with the scent of roasted garlic, ready for a special night-wedding plans with my fiancée, Jess, and celebrating my big new research grant. But Jess was late. Really late. Her text claimed a "client emergency," yet when I called, a young intern named Ethan answered, a little too smooth, a little too casual, saying Jess was helping him set up his "new downtown loft." My stomach tightened. Then, his Instagram story blew my world apart: Jess, laughing freely, his arm draped around her, captioned, "Best mentor ever! #NewBeginnings."
The next morning, Ethan showed up at our apartment, Jess absolutely beaming at his attention, oblivious to my stony silence. He brazenly flirted, and Jess, incredibly, defended him when I called him out. Then, in a cruel twist, Jess led him to my secure university lab where he "accidentally" fried my custom-built AI server-years of my critical research. Jess glanced at the smoking wreckage, then at me, dismissing it casually: "It' s just a server, Mike. Can' t you get a new one? Don' t be so dramatic."
Seven years of my life, shattered by her lies, her cold indifference, and her shocking defense of the very person who destroyed my career. How could the woman I was about to marry be so utterly lacking in empathy, so blind to my worth, yet so willing to protect a scheming intern? It wasn't just betrayal; it was a complete erasure of everything we had built.
That same day, I accepted a post-doc in Zurich, left our custom engagement ring on the coffee table, and emailed Jess: "I'm leaving. The engagement is off." My new life, finally free of the past, was about to begin. When Love Turns to Treachery
Billionaires Ava Thompson' s 18th birthday glittered, a fairytale of wealth and love, with her devoted fiancé Liam and beaming brother Ethan by her side.
But a "revolutionary" drone show went horrifically wrong, leaving her burned and disfigured. Worse, phantom subtitles-a bizarre digital feed-flickered in her vision, predicting the unthinkable: Liam and Ethan abandoning her for Chloe, the intern responsible.
The screen's nightmares rapidly became reality. Her supposed protectors neglected her, accused her of poisoning Chloe, exiled her to a rundown hovel, then stripped her of her fortune and forced her into a degrading motel job. The ghostly feed continued to mock her every step, even as her wounds festered.
How could her loved ones turn so cruel, so fast? Was she losing her mind, or was a malevolent force controlling them, pushing her towards ultimate despair? The injustice was a searing pain, worse than her burns, leaving her desperate for answers.
When the feed declared she "should just die," something inside Ava snapped. Instead, she chose defiant screaming and a desperate escape, refusing to become a forgotten statistic. This broken heiress, scarred but not defeated, would claw her way back from hell, determined to find out what truly pulled the strings and reclaim her life. The Heiress Who Refused to Break
Romance After months of unspeakable horror, my skin caked with mud and my clothes in rags, I finally stumbled back into the gleaming world of the Vanderbilt estate, seeing the rising sun for the first time in ages.
What I met was not the loving embrace of my guardian, Alex Vanderbilt, the man I secretly adored, but a sneer of utter disgust on his perfect face as he stared at my emaciated body. The chilling truth soon emerged: the ransom for my life, which he had deliberately dragged his feet paying while I suffered daily, was the exact amount of the trust fund my deceased parents had left me.
Back in my 'home,' I was treated like a grotesque inconvenience, while Alex's vindictive mistress, Jessica, openly reveled in my agony, even confessing she expressly prodded my captors to inflict "rougher treatment." My grand opulent prison quickly became a hell of psychological torment, far worse than the physical scars.
How could the man who was supposed to protect me, the very family who were my guardians, not only abandon me to such a fate but actively exploit my suffering and orchestrate my torment? The raw, burning injustice felt like a brand, deepening my despair and rage.
In that crushing moment, I realized my parents' final gift, that trust fund, wasn't just money; it was my defiant path to freedom. I would use every penny to escape this gilded cage of betrayal and reclaim my life, no matter the dangerous fight ahead. The Sister Who Stole My Life
Romance My hand trembled, clutching the medical report: pregnant, early stages.
My husband, Ethan, believed I was just at the clinic for stress migraines, a convenient lie I’d told him.
But as his black SUV pulled up, my childhood best friend, Chloe, sat in the front passenger seat, already claiming her spot.
Her bright smile didn’t reach her eyes, and the car reeked of her sharp, new perfume – a scent that soon permeated my home.
Ethan, without a word to me, announced Chloe was moving in, effectively turning my penthouse into their private domain.
At the gala, Chloe subtly paraded her bond with Ethan, publicly deriding my "paleness" while he dismissed my obvious discomfort, pushing me deeper into the familiar isolation of our college days.
I finally confronted him, the raw pain of years of gaslighting and feeling secondary erupting as I slapped him across the face.
His shocked expression, followed by Chloe’s feigned concern, solidified the bitter truth: I was an unwanted accessory in my own marriage.
How could I have been so blind, so naive, to willingly endure a life where I constantly felt like an outsider looking in?
No more.
That night, I knew I couldn't bring a child into this charade, choosing to reclaim my freedom and shatter the illusions they had so carefully constructed.
I was about to lay bare every ugly secret, every calculated betrayal, and dismantle their world, piece by painful piece. You might like
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Da Lanlan I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. 
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