Meng Fanhua
14 Published Stories
Meng Fanhua's Books and Stories
The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Comeback
Billionaires For three years, Corinna swallowed her pride and lived as the obedient, invisible wife of billionaire Holland Warner.
But at a high-society gala, someone shoved a phone in her face. The headline screamed that her husband had just bought a $50 million penthouse for his mistress.
At that exact moment, her private phone rang. Her brother had collapsed in the ICU. The hospital needed five hundred thousand dollars by midnight, or they would pull the plug.
She desperately called her trust fund manager, only to be told her allowance was frozen. When she called Holland, his mistress answered, laughing at her pathetic begging while the shower ran in the background.
Fifty million for a love nest, but not a single dime to save Corinna's dying brother.
When she finally woke up, signed the divorce papers, and left to rebuild her life as a jewelry designer, Holland didn't let her go. He used his Wall Street empire to evict her, cut off her suppliers, and blacklist her brand overnight.
Corinna didn't understand why he was so determined to crush her. He never loved her, so why did he think his money gave him the absolute right to control her soul and watch her drown?
Instead of breaking down, she put on a cheap thrift-store suit and walked straight into the Warner Group headquarters.
She slammed a stack of his family's illegal financial records right onto his mahogany desk.
"Sign the divorce papers,"
Corinna told him coldly.
"Or I will show the world what kind of monster runs this empire." The Price Of Their Cruel Deceit
Billionaires Three years after my fiancé, Kaden, left me at the altar, he crashed back into my life. He found me pregnant, living in the grand mansion he still believed was his birthright.
He wasn't alone. My ex-best friend, Chelsey, stood beside him, her eyes scanning the home with pure greed. They cornered me, their faces twisted with rage, demanding to know who the father of my "bastard" child was.
When I refused to answer their insane accusations, their questions turned to violence. They slapped me, shoved shards of broken glass into my mouth, and pinned me to the floor.
Chelsey smiled as she drove her stiletto heel into my stomach. Then Kaden delivered a final, brutal kick.
In that horrifying instant, I felt the tiny, fluttering life inside me go still. They had murdered my son.
They laughed when I sobbed that the baby belonged to Kaden's older brother, Angus. "Everyone knows he's sterile," Kaden sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "The car accident ten years ago made sure of that." They were so blinded by a decade-old rumor they refused to believe the impossible truth.
But just as they threw my broken body into the pool to drown, a car smashed through the estate gates. It was Angus. And they were about to learn the devastating truth: he wasn't just the baby's father. He was my husband. His Wife, Her Lover, Their Daughter
Romance The first time I knew my marriage was over was when I saw my wife Angela and our daughter Chaney laughing with Giovanni Brown at the private airfield. For ten years, I had been the perfect political husband, sacrificing my music career to be a stay-at-home dad and Angela' s smiling prop.
Then, this morning, I found the hotel receipts. Dozens of them, stretching back a decade, always two rooms booked but only one used, always on nights she was supposedly at a "political retreat" with her campaign manager, Giovanni. My world shattered.
At the airfield, Angela adjusted Giovanni' s tie, her smile warm and intimate, a smile I hadn' t seen in years. Chaney held Giovanni' s hand, looking up at him with adoration. I was the intruder. When I confronted them, Angela' s face paled, then flushed with anger, not shame. Chaney scowled, screaming, "Daddy, you' re embarrassing us!" She then delivered the final, killing strike, clinging to Giovanni and yelling, "You' re just a useless stay-at-home dad! Uncle Gio helps Mommy with important things!"
The humiliation was a physical thing, hot and suffocating. Angela didn' t defend me; she agreed. I realized I was just a service provider, a convenient accessory they no longer needed.
They thought I was nothing without them. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. Beyond the Fire: A Wife's Ultimatum
Billionaires They said our story was for the ages. Olivia and Ethan, childhood sweethearts who built an empire, Miller-Reed Tech, from nothing. Our marriage was supposed to be the final, perfect brick in our carefully constructed life.
Then, a week before our wedding, Ethan confessed to an affair with an intern, Chloe, dismissing it as a "mistake." I buried the pain, believing our love was strong enough to mend any crack.
Three years later, during a fire at our company, I saved Ethan from a falling beam, only to be crushed myself. He, however, ran past me, bleeding and pinned, to comfort Chloe who had only twisted her ankle. Later, in the hospital, he didn' t know I was near death, while diverting top medical teams for Chloe' s minor injury.
The betrayal escalated when Chloe brazenly visited my hospital bed. She flaunted Ethan' s devotion, admitted to setting the fire herself to make him a "hero," and then dropped the bombshell: she was pregnant with Ethan's child. She mocked my "cold bed," stating I was merely a "business partner," not a wife.
When Ethan finally confronted me, he saw my horrific injuries. But instead of remorse, he rationalized his neglect, claiming I was "too strong" to need him, unlike "fragile" Chloe. He begged for forgiveness, but when Chloe re-entered, attacking me, he shielded her, blaming me for "upsetting" her.
The ultimate choice was clear. With cold resolve, I gave Ethan an ultimatum: sign an uncontested divorce for half the company, or face an arson investigation against Chloe and a complicity charge against him. The clock was ticking. When Home Becomes A Nightmare
Modern My daughter, Lily, was just one month old when I hired Ms. Jenkins, a live-in nanny.
As CEO of my own tech startup, I needed help, and she came highly recommended.
But from the moment she arrived, she started subtly undermining me.
She criticized my career, told me "a mother's place is with her child," and openly suggested her daughter would be a better wife for my husband, Mark.
I tried to set boundaries, but her manipulative behavior escalated, culminating in her attempting to "ward off evil spirits" by shaking my baby with a pair of sharp scissors.
I immediately fired her.
But then, Ms. Jenkins put on a masterful show of emotional blackmail, pleading with Mark that she had nowhere to go.
Mark, ever the soft touch, sided with her, portraying me as heartless for wanting rid of a woman who had just endangered our child.
He guilttripped me, leveraging my privileged background against his own humble roots, twisting my compassion into a weakness.
Trapped, and to my eternal regret, I gave her one more week.
I hadn't solved a problem; I had merely delayed a disaster.
Two weeks later, returning home from a postpartum recovery center, I found the locks changed.
My house was in chaos, occupied by Ms. Jenkins, her "perfect homemaker" daughter Tiffany, Tiffany's destructive son, and Mark' s abrasive mother.
They had trashed my home, stolen my valuables, and were arrogantly claiming it was their house, that Mark owned everything.
Then, Brenda, Mark' s mother, handed me divorce papers signed by Mark, declaring he wanted me out with nothing.
My home invaded, my property plundered, my daughter threatened, and my marriage betrayed-I was stripped of everything.
How could the man I loved, the father of my child, conspire to leave me completely destitute?
Fueled by a cold, protective rage for my daughter, I activated the hidden cameras, sending an emergency text to my father.
I signed the divorce papers, a silent promise of the battle to come.
This wasn't over; it was just beginning. When Revenge Kills, Love Prevails
Billionaires My crystal glass felt cold, a stark contrast to the stifling ballroom where hundreds of people laughed around me.
Then I saw her, Scarlett Hayes, the city' s richest heiress, moving directly towards me, her cruel smile widening.
She publicly humiliated me, reminding everyone how her family funded my mother' s medical bills and my education. She' d always made it clear what I was: her servant, her puppet.
I was nothing more than a stand-in, a substitute for Liam, her obsessed-over step-brother. The constant abuse, the public shaming – it was all her game.
But then my phone rang. It was the hospital.
"Mr. Miller?" a nurse' s voice said, urgent. "It' s your mother."
A cold dread washed over me. I raced to the hospital, but it was too late.
My mother was gone. The payment for her emergency medication had been canceled, that very afternoon. By Scarlett.
She had done this. Her petty revenge had cost my mother her life.
The grief was a physical blow, but beneath it, something else simmered. The deal was broken. I had nothing left to lose.
I walked back to her mansion, left her key and her credit card on the table.
"My mother is dead," I said, my voice flat.
"Well, that' s not my problem," she retorted.
"No," I said, looking her directly in the eye for the first time without fear. "It' s not. Not anymore."
I turned and walked out, leaving my life as her puppet behind. For the first time in a year, I felt like I could breathe.
I was free. Or so I thought. My Family, My Betrayal
Modern The heavy iron gate groaned shut, a sound I knew too well after five years inside.
I stood there, a single duffel bag holding all that was left of my old life, traded my prison gray for ill-fitting civilian clothes.
Then a sleek black car pulled up, and Maestro Chen, the man who saw something in my prison-yard music, told me we were going home-my old home.
But "home" had already moved on, without me.
Liam Carter, a man with my face, had stolen everything: my fiancée Olivia, my family' s love, even my dog Apollo.
My family-my parents, Robert and Sarah, and my sister Emily-they didn' t just embrace him, they erased me, the painful reminder of a tragedy they preferred to forget.
They even cheered as Liam, the imposter who now wore my own sweater, feigned a heart attack to steal their sympathy, completely overshadowing my unwelcome return.
The word "family" turned to ash on my tongue as I realized I was nothing more than a ghost in my own house, a forgotten inconvenience.
I was a punchline to a cruel joke, a fugitive framed for arson by the very imposter my family rallied to protect.
They chose the lie, leaving me to burn, and then branded me a violent, unstable criminal to the world.
Completely alone, disowned, and hunted, I was staring into an abyss of betrayal I hadn't imagined possible.
But as I looked at the embers of my destroyed past, a cold certainty ignited: I wouldn't just disappear; I would rise.
I became Lloyd, severing every last tie, not merely to escape, but to orchestrate a crescendo of truth-a final, devastating performance to reclaim my name and expose the monsters they truly were. His Recipe, Their Ruin
Romance The roar of the crowd was deafening, chanting the name of our brewery, "Chadwick Ales!" We' d just won the biggest award in the country for my beer, a recipe I' d perfected, a dream my wife Nicole and I built from the ground up. I was about to go on stage to accept our gold medal.
But Nicole, my wife and CEO, stepped directly in front of me, blocking my path, and pulled her brand manager, Wesley, into the spotlight instead. He, the smooth-talking influencer who knew more about hashtags than hops, wrapped an intimate, possessive arm around her waist as cameras flashed, capturing them accepting my award.
Afterward, Nicole flatly announced I was being forced into a "sabbatical" due to "rumors" about her and Wesley, claiming it was for my own good. Wesley, smirking, handed me a box containing my personal effects, including my precious recipe notebooks - the soul of our brewery.
My heart didn' t just ache; it was a heavy, cold stone in my gut. The betrayal was so complete, so cold, I was left with only a quiet, resolute clarity. Then I went home to find Nicole and Wesley throwing a party in our house, celebrating their victory.
It was all a game, she whispered, trying to placate me. But I was done playing. I reached into my jacket and pulled out the divorce papers I' d had drawn up weeks ago. I just needed a reason to sign them. And she had given it to me, cold and clear. Celestial Heart, Mortal Betrayal
Fantasy I was Jocelyn Chavez, a celestial being on Earth for a sacred trial of love, fated to marry Pastor Ethan Lester in our quiet Pacific Northwest town.
Just hours before our wedding, Ethan came to me, his face cold, demanding I become a daily blood donor for my adoptive sister, Tara.
Tara had spun a malicious lie, claiming she saved him from a car crash when in truth, my forbidden celestial powers healed him, nearly destroying me.
He accused me of selfishness and drama, echoing Tara's cruel accusations that I had drugged him, then watched as my adoptive parents forced me to bleed myself daily, my life force draining away for their lies and greed.
I was dying, betrayed by the man I loved and the family who raised me, unable to reveal the truth of my divine nature due to ancient celestial law.
As my mortal body faded, I chose to sever my ties to this cruel world and return to the Celestial Realm, even if it meant facing a punishing penance, rather than enduring this slow, unjust demise. The Art of Un-Making: A Star's Vicious Comeback
Romance Eight years.
That' s how long I poured my soul into my music, my career, and the woman who molded me, Cassidy Vance.
We were a Nashville power couple, or so I thought.
My latest album, months in the making, sat unlistened on her desk while she flirted with some record label suit, her back always turned to me.
Then, a text. A grainy photo of Cassidy boarding a private jet with Cal Rivers, the new country-pop sensation, her "new project." She dismissed me with an ice-cold phone call about an "emergency meeting," then hung up.
Hours later, her Instagram shattered what was left of my world: a cozy cabin, a glass of wine, and a caption announcing Cal as her new "#muse."
My phone exploded. Public humiliation, accusations of being a jilted lover-it was relentless.
She called, not to apologize, but to threaten: "I made you, Liam. Don' t forget I can un-make you." To prove it, she froze my accounts, then revealed she' d sold my childhood home, the place where I wrote my first songs, for scrap. Everything I was, everything I loved, turned to dust.
How could someone I loved so deeply, someone I built my entire life around, betray me so completely?
My career, my home, my identity-all wiped away for a younger, more marketable model. Why did I ever trust her? How could she be so cold, so calculating?
Whispering a silent prayer to the voice in my head, "The Guide," I finally gave in: "Sever my love for her." Four years later, after surgically removing every last trace of the man I was, Noah Stone returns to Nashville. And the leading judge of "Nashville' s Next Legend" is Cassidy Vance. The Phoenix Plan
Sci-fi My phone buzzed on the morning of my SATs.
A text from Liam, my older brother, who vanished three years ago, right after his own SATs.
"Don't take the test. I'll explain. Don't tell Mom."
But the woman fussing over me wasn' t my Mom.
The scar on her neck was on the wrong side.
My 'dad' wore his watch on the wrong wrist.
They were imposters, eerily calm, forcing me towards that exam-the last thing Liam had endured before he disappeared.
Then, Liam's best friend, Ethan, seemed to join their twisted game.
He calmly told me Liam was dead and I was hallucinating.
My phone, once full of my own proof, was wiped clean.
They were systematically gaslighting me, pushing me to question my sanity.
Why were they so obsessed with this test?
What was truly happening?
Was I insane, or was it all a terrifying lie?
Just as I stood on the brink of despair, another text from Liam appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
He used our private "Phoenix Plan" code.
He confirmed my terrifying suspicion: I was trapped.
In a simulation.
And to truly escape, he wrote, "You have to jump. From where you are now."
It was my only hope.
So, I jumped. They Chose Wrong: The Trailblazer's Triumph
Fantasy My eighteenth birthday. Our small living room felt heavy with Mother Brenda' s looming expectations.
On the mahogany table, two lockets gleamed: the silver "Trailblazer Charm" and the dull gold "Wallflower Charm," said to shape destinies.
"Jessica is destined for great things," Brenda announced, pushing the Trailblazer toward my older sister.
In my first life, I meekly chose the Wallflower.
Jessica became a shining tech star, but ambition and betrayal tore her apart, dead before thirty.
My Wallflower life was a quiet whisper-unremarkable, a "manageable" wife in my wealthy husband's shadow.
Then, Jessica' s dying breath whispered a terrible truth about the Wallflower' s hidden power. Her warning painted a target; the same opportunists found me. My quiet life ended with a brutal, sudden stop.
I' d believed the Wallflower offered refuge, an easy existence. Instead, it delivered manipulation and an invisible death. It was a gilded cage.
The injustice burned fiercely. Was this cherished "charm" truly a curse, a deceptive lure for us both?
Suddenly, my eyes snapped open.
The oppressive living room, my eighteenth birthday, the lockets still gleaming.
Brenda's familiar favoritism began. But this time, Jessica' s greedy gaze was fixed on the Wallflower. She remembered too.
This choice wasn't about destiny-it was about survival. This time, I' d rewrite our story. From Neglected Wife to Tech Empress
Modern The spotlight hit Ethan, and the crowd cheered for our AI launch, the culmination of years of *my* groundbreaking work.
But my world shattered the instant his eyes, full of an affection he hadn't shown me in years, flickered to his assistant, Chloe, as he credited *her* with cracking *my* core algorithm.
That public lie, that possessive look mirroring my deceitful father, was a searing betrayal, instantly extinguishing the future of our unborn child.
The applause for *her* stock options felt like a funeral dirge for *my* genius; I walked out, terminating my pregnancy, then served him divorce papers.
His hand meeting my face was the final, brutal confirmation of his blindness and my freedom from everything we built.
How could one careless look unravel a decade, erase my professional identity, and destroy a family?
My unwavering truth compass guided me: I called an old friend, ready to build an ethical AI empire, armed with the intellectual property Ethan thought he owned.
Now, as his company collapses, he will finally face the agonizing truth of losing everything he never truly saw. You might like
Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
"Call her Aunt." Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire
William Jafferson My mother called me a defective product and insisted I marry Preston Finch, a man who treated our first date like a corporate merger.
During our lunch, Preston demanded I clean his car like a servant, his arrogance snapping the last thread of my patience.
I threw my iced coffee right into his lap, sending the cafe into a stunned silence as he screamed insults about my background and the cost of his designer pants.
My mother didn't care about the abuse; she only cared that I had lost a "catch," calling me an embarrassment and threatening my future while my flower shop faced imminent foreclosure.
Trapped by debt and my family’s relentless cruelty, I felt like a drowning woman with nowhere left to turn.
Just as I hit rock bottom, Connor Powers—my brother's old roommate—stepped in, his icy gaze promising a brutal end to my misery.
"Let's get married," he said, offering a cold, calculated contract that would shield me from my family forever.
I signed the papers, unaware that I had just tethered my life to a man whose world was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined. The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
Zi Ya The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting.
"Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes."
Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind.
I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba.
How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow?
When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE.
"Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me." The Unwanted Wife Walks Away Free
Dong Lier For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire.
But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters.
For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions.
He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage?
He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk.
"Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn." No More Your Scorned Wife: The Medical Empress Returns
Ela Osaretin "Sign it. Save her, and I'll give you anything."
For four years, I was Damian Wright's 'invisible wife'.
While I played the pauper, he poured his soul into his dying first love. Desperate, he blindly signed a stack of papers to buy the 'Gifted Doctor's' time.
He didn't read the fine print. Buried inside was our Divorce Decree.
"Congratulations, Damian," I said, stripping off my surgical mask to reveal the wife he never truly knew. "You're free."
The submissive Amelia is dead.
The legendary 'Ghost Surgeon'? That's me.
The blindfolded racing queen 'Raven'? Also me.
The shadow behind the global intelligence network V-Null? Still me.
I was ready to vanish, but Lucas Sullivan-the titan who makes the Wrights look like peasants-blocked my path.
When Damian tried to reclaim me, Lucas didn't just stop him; he brought an empire to its knees.
"They don't deserve to look at you," Lucas whispered, his touch a lethal mix of protection and obsession. "But if you crave the world, Amelia, I'll burn it down just to hear you say my name."
Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
TESS WHITE I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground. His Accidental Cure: The Runaway Contract Wife
Norrra I was drugged and sent to a hotel room to be compromised, but I ended up in the presidential suite with a stranger.
I didn't know the man I clung to in my hallucinogenic haze was my own husband, Devaughn Winters, a man I hadn't spoken to in a year.
When I woke up the next morning, the terror of what I’d done hit me like a physical blow. I fled, leaving behind nothing but a shredded dress and a lingering sense of dread.
I thought I’d finally escaped the cold, suffocating contract of our marriage when I signed the divorce papers, but I was wrong.
My mother-in-law arrived at my apartment, freezing my sick mother’s medical funds and threatening to ruin me for the "infidelity" she claimed I’d committed.
She dragged my secrets into the light, leaving me with no choice but to fight back with a knife in my hand and a 911 call on speaker.
But just as I thought I was free, the man I’d spent the night with—the man who was supposed to be my stranger—tore up our divorce papers and declared that I was his to keep.
I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, trapped between a ruthless father who wanted to sell me for corporate secrets and a husband who demanded I belong to him in life and in death.
How did he not know who I was that night, and why is he suddenly claiming me as his own?
I’m done being a victim, and if he thinks he can own me, he’s about to find out exactly what happens when a cornered woman decides to burn it all down. I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he's not letting me go. Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle
Haley I was the "perfect" fiancée for Harrison Vincent—regal, silent, and low-maintenance. For two years, I suppressed my career as a forensic accountant to be the "safe" choice that polled well with his family’s shareholders.
But at a high-society gala, I found him in a VIP lounge with a socialite wrapped around him. He told her I was just a "boring art piece display stand" he had to drag around until his trust fund was unlocked.
I didn't scream or make a scene. I mentally filed a "bad debt" report, tossed my emerald engagement ring into a glass of stale champagne, and walked out of his life. That same night, I found myself in a dark jazz club bathroom, using a strip of my velvet dress to stop the bleeding of a mysterious man with a gunshot wound and eyes like grey flint.
The fallout was immediate. Harrison blocked my credit cards, assuming I’d crawl back once I couldn't afford rent. His mother called me a "nobody" while simultaneously begging me to handle the family's medical emergencies because they were too panicked to function. They treated me like a tool they could discard and pick up at will, never realizing I had already moved my things into a cramped Brooklyn apartment.
I couldn't understand why they thought I was still their puppet, or why a black Maybach began following me through the city streets. I had saved a stranger's life and ended a toxic engagement, yet the air around me felt heavier and more dangerous than ever.
The truth came out at the hospital when the most feared man in the city stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the bathroom—Collis Vincent, the ruthless head of the family. He didn't just humiliate Harrison; he took my hand in front of everyone and made a chilling declaration.
"Harrison is a fool to have let you go, Helena. Your arrangement with him is terminated. From now on, you'll be working with me." No More Submission: The Heiress Strikes Back
Bing Xialuo I spent five years acting as the perfect, invisible caretaker for my wealthy family, meticulously managing their health and social standing while they treated me like a ghost.
Then, my nightmare became reality when my brother Alon shoved me out of bed, forcing me to apologize to our adopted sister, Fallon, for a jealousy I never felt.
My parents and brother stood over me, their eyes filled with unfiltered disgust, demanding I play the servant to a girl who was actively plotting my social destruction.
They froze my accounts, stripped me of my dignity, and mocked my existence, fully expecting me to crawl back to them in tears like I did in my other, broken life.
I stared at their entitled faces, feeling a cold, sharp clarity wash over me; they were so obsessed with status that they didn't realize they had just handed the keys to their own ruin to a complete amateur.
Why was I still playing the martyr for people who would watch me burn without blinking?
I stood up, walked away from their chaos, and cut the final tie, leaving them to face the ruthless social elite with a liability they couldn't control. 
/1/113324/coverorgin.jpg?v=ff677c7ca661420c3ff4449d65200d63&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/93925/coverorgin.jpg?v=9a15f9d972afd801566c5a3627b9a7e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/89115/coverorgin.jpg?v=3a825ba83ae4bbe009600d903333eab9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86540/coverorgin.jpg?v=385771374af2e2648e9355b2e084c425&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85722/coverorgin.jpg?v=8adf2246b0c4cc59ad6423e1f695641f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85365/coverorgin.jpg?v=2c60b5c786fedfa459ecd795c41764f6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84587/coverorgin.jpg?v=07fde86fba783d113690a08f8ccd2321&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84133/coverorgin.jpg?v=6b674f90bccb440d3f7fc6a3b04fbe9a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83933/coverorgin.jpg?v=b58742f8909246d663d7fae931280afb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83790/coverorgin.jpg?v=ed22af583e7ef229fce3292294572618&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82634/coverorgin.jpg?v=aa6d2f77dd675cd596f73058b9e0bb7b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81303/coverorgin.jpg?v=d70f424cc3d2001675d81577c1ecd1f1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80739/coverorgin.jpg?v=d60e87344365afc144c6c415f506748e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18734/coverorgin.jpg?v=1919c7ff63919c7399bf79cecd0c8297&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110451/coverorgin.jpg?v=2820de6fa805c709de688f2d653ccf9e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113090/coverorgin.jpg?v=022cc07114d8ffc014ac53d2889aeac4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113338/coverorgin.jpg?v=bca0d3ad477281cababf38dd09f47622&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112771/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cdc8f90c863fd179c7930683f5edc44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/95392/coverorgin.jpg?v=168c2636290e5625d64a748cd16703d8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112787/coverorgin.jpg?v=bdd683d05c41c30b98bdff89f4642393&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113085/coverorgin.jpg?v=9db7bbdbf00e6f93f0638c9f348c07af&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82937/coverorgin.jpg?v=2907194aa510c647b04f7cba8770d5c5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107484/coverorgin.jpg?v=82bf8ac16f90870b0698cac2cb499583&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113254/coverorgin.jpg?v=1b2a39259b79fad549fa75c4dca9284b&imageMogr2/format/webp)