Xiao Zhaoling
14 Published Stories
Xiao Zhaoling's Books and Stories
The Captive Heiress: Trapped By Him
Billionaires I finally stepped onto American soil after four years of exile, clutching my suitcase with white-knuckled desperation. My plan was simple: get to Manhattan, start my job, and stay as far away from the Newton family as possible.
But the moment I turned on my phone, Sterling Newton’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He had already sent a car; he didn't care about my plans, my apartment, or my freedom. He wanted me back in that suffocating mansion, and he expected me to obey.
When I arrived, the house felt like a mausoleum. My adoptive mother smothered me in a desperate, suffocating embrace, while my father and sister acted as if my departure had never happened. Then, the heavy front door thudded shut. Barron Newton had arrived.
He didn't greet me with warmth; he looked at me like a piece of furniture that had been moved out of place. He spent the entire dinner dismantling my resolve, using my deepest guilt as a weapon to force me to stay, making it clear that I was merely a prisoner in his gilded cage.
I felt like I was suffocating. How could he have so much power over my life? Why was he so determined to keep me trapped in this house, and what was he truly waiting for in the shadows of the night?
I retreated to my room, feeling the invisible chains tightening around my throat. Just as I thought I had found a way to fight back, a message from Fernando flashed on my screen, warning me that our original plan was in ruins. I realized then that I wasn't just fighting the Newtons—I was fighting a war on two fronts, and the countdown to my destruction had already begun. The Hidden Mate Of The Alpha King
Werewolf I am just a low-ranking administrative drone in the Thorne Dominion, firmly at the bottom of the pack.
But during the full moon's Pack Run, I was unexpectedly claimed by a colossal, terrifyingly powerful black wolf.
He gave me the key to a luxurious private den, sealing our fated mate bond.
The next day, at the Pack Assembly, my world completely shattered.
The mysterious wolf standing on the dais, draped in royal regalia, was Alaric—our new, ruthless Alpha King.
The power gap between us wasn't just a gap; it was an ocean.
If anyone found out an Omega like me was secretly bonded to the supreme ruler, I would instantly have a target on my back.
Ambitious high-born she-wolves were already watching my every move with calculating, jealous eyes.
Why would the Moon Goddess pair a king who rules over thousands with a nobody whose family is drowning in shame?
A lifetime of being invisible made me terrified of this bond.
I desperately wanted to hide, to keep my distance so I wouldn't undermine his reign or get myself killed.
But as I tried to shrink into the background of the Great Hall, his possessive voice echoed directly in my mind.
"I know everything that is mine. Tonight. Our den. Wait for me."
The Alpha King had no intention of letting me hide, and our dangerous double life had just begun. The Billionaire's Captive Golden Blood Bride
Billionaires Karley thought marrying billionaire architect Kevon Mcconnell was a fairy tale come true.
But at their wedding reception, a heavy crystal chandelier collapsed. Kevon abandoned her in the falling glass to shield his sister, Devora.
At the hospital, he dropped to his knees, begging Karley to save Devora's life with a direct blood transfusion.
That was when Karley discovered the horrifying truth.
Kevon hadn't married her for love. He had meticulously selected her because she possessed the exact same rare Rh-null golden blood as his chronically ill sister.
Drained and feverish from the massive transfusion, Karley was locked inside his remote, high-tech mansion.
Kevon's mother slapped her and forced foul medicine down her throat to replenish her blood supply.
Even Devora called to mock her.
"You're just a temporary solution. A medical resource until something better comes along."
Karley lay bruised and infected on the floor of her gilded cage.
The realization crushed her: the whirlwind romance, the pre-marital medical checks, even the secret GPS tracker he used to stop her from running away—it was all a calculated trap.
She had lost her job, her friends, and her freedom to a man who only saw her as a walking blood bank.
When Kevon finally returned, he cut off her contact with the outside world and locked the bedroom door with a cold, perfect smile.
"Don't try to leave. You're my wife, and I always know where you are."
But as the smart home dimmed the lights to keep her docile, Karley closed her eyes in the dark and began to plan her escape. The CEO's Pregnant Genius: No Escape
Modern I spent six years as a "shadow asset" for the Holmes family, a brilliant scholar living in a cramped Queens apartment on a secret scholarship. I was their silent investment, a ghost in their machine, until the day a fluorescent orange eviction notice appeared on my door.
The legal documents from Holmes Holdings were brutal. They were terminating my sponsorship and demanding immediate repayment of every cent of my tuition. The reason was buried in the fine print: a moral turpitude clause. I was pregnant with a Holmes heir, and in their world, that made me a liability that needed to be erased.
Ingram Holmes, the family’s cold-blooded CEO, didn't see a woman; he saw a line item on a balance sheet. He offered me a million dollars to disappear, abort the child, and sign away my existence. He had me escorted to a private clinic like a criminal, ready to finalize my erasure. But the plan shattered when his grandmother, the matriarch of the family, collapsed in a sudden cardiac arrest.
As the doctors failed, I stepped out of the shadows. I diagnosed the toxicity they couldn't see and brought her back from the brink of death. I wasn't the helpless charity case they expected. I was a genius who knew their medical secrets better than their own surgeons.
"Who are you?" Ingram growled, pinning me against a desk in his frozen office.
I didn't blink. I had just secured the family's ancient signet ring and a seat at their table. Now, I’m living in his manor, sharing his bed, and holding the keys to the vault that contains their darkest sins.
"I'm the problem you can't afford to solve," I whispered.
The game has changed. I’m no longer the asset—I’m the hunter. The Rejected Luna's Secret: Awakening the White Wolf
Werewolf For three years, my Alpha husband forced me to take inhibitors, claiming my bloodline was too "weak" to bear his heir without dying.
I believed him, swallowing the pills and the lies to be his perfect, submissive Luna.
But during the rogue attack at the Victory Gala, the truth finally shattered me.
A feral wolf lunged for my throat. I screamed Bennett's name, frozen in fear without my wolf to protect me.
He looked at me. Then he looked at his mistress, Aria, who was cowering behind a table with her wolf fully accessible.
He turned his back on me.
He tackled the rogue attacking her, leaving me exposed to be torn apart.
If his Beta hadn't stepped in at the last second, I would have died right there on the ballroom floor.
When the fighting stopped, Bennett didn't even look my way. He was too busy cooing over Aria’s minor scratch, ignoring his wife who had nearly been slaughtered.
I realized then that the pills weren't for my safety. He was keeping me sterile and docile until he could replace me with her.
I walked upstairs, past the wreckage of my marriage, and flushed the inhibitors down the toilet.
Then, I took out a piece of pack stationery and wrote the words that would destroy his world.
"I, Kelsey Jensen, reject you, Bennett Randolph, as my mate."
I left the note on the nightstand, packed my passport, and walked out into the night, never looking back. The Architect of His Own Downfall
Romance I was a celebrated architect engaged to Carter Hart, the city' s golden boy politician. I designed our perfect life, and he was on the verge of becoming mayor.
Then I found a video on a shared cloud drive. It was of him marrying his pregnant campaign manager three months ago.
I was just a prop for his image, a "fake girlfriend" he planned to discard after the election. To keep me compliant, he secretly drugged my daily smoothies, making me feel foggy and unstable. He staged a fire at my award-winning building to ruin my reputation, then tried to have me locked away in a mental institution, claiming I' d had a breakdown.
But the final blow came from my godfather. He discovered Carter' s manipulation began seven years ago, when he paid someone to sabotage my college thesis, shattering my confidence just so he could swoop in and be my savior.
My entire relationship wasn't just a lie; it was a cage he had designed from the very beginning.
So I flew to London and spent six months with my godfather' s production team. We created a ninety-minute documentary to expose every crime, every lie. And we planned to air it live, hijacking the broadcast of his final election night rally.
We called it "The Architect of Lies." The Mermaid He Sold Away
Fantasy I was Lot 734. A living, breathing mermaid, displayed in a massive tank, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.
In the front row, watching it all, was Dr. Aris Thorne, the man who had promised me forever on a hidden beach, the man I had loved with my whole being.
His colleagues had surrounded my secret cove with nets the day after he discovered my tail; he stood by, silently allowing my capture.
He called me a "scientific anomaly," a "new species," transforming me from his beloved Lyra into a specimen for his research facility, where I was poked, prodded, and drained.
His fiancée, Isabelle, delighted in tormenting me, kicking away my food, tapping on my tank, her laughter echoing his betrayal as he stood by, silent and complicit.
I tried to tell him that she had sabotaged my tank, almost suffocating me, but he simply believed her tears over my frantic gasps.
When he ripped my precious scales from my bleeding palm, claiming it was to "prevent contamination," I knew the man I loved was truly gone.
My pain was just data points on his tablet as he watched Isabelle douse me in burning sterilization agents.
He then sedated me, turning me into a docile object for auction, a car ready to be sold.
I tried to fight back, unleashing a burst of raw power, shattering Isabelle's glass.
He reacted by electrocuting me, then draining my tank, letting me suffocate on the dry concrete.
Loathing in his eyes, he hissed, "If you try anything like that again, I will make sure you arrive at your new owner's home in pieces."
Then, through my pain, a sharp voice cut through the haze: "Let's see the merchandise."
The buyer's representative dismissed my "damaged" scales, demanding one more spectacle: "He wants to see her cry pearls. Make it happen."
My last flicker of hope died when Aris, his voice flat, agreed. From Oil Heiress To Mountain Ghost
Romance My life as Jocelyn Fuller, the oil heiress, ended the day my father went to prison and my sister Molly fell gravely ill, leaving me desperate.
My ex-fiancé, Ethan Scott, a DC power player, promised Molly the best medical care money could buy if I agreed to a "deal."
That deal turned into a nightmare: I was sold to Caleb Duncan, a ruthless West Texas rancher, becoming his captive and plaything, suffering unimaginable abuse and even a miscarriage.
After three years, Ethan reappeared, claiming Molly was alive and well, offering me freedom and a new life.
But I knew his game. I was done being a pawn in their brutal power struggles.
So, I jumped off a cliff, faked my death, and became Stella, a ghost hidden away in a small Colorado mountain town, vowing to live free.
Then, one by one, they showed up; first Caleb, then Ethan, both determined to drag me back into their twisted worlds.
But I wasn't Jocelyn anymore. I was Stella, and this time, I was fighting back. The Heiress They Stole
Modern The Thanksgiving call from my adoptive mother was laced with a forced cheerfulness that immediately put me on guard. Maria and Anthony never just wanted me home; it was always a preamble to a demand, a lecture, or a guilt trip. This time, it was worse.
I arrived to find our small, worn-out house packed with church members, their eyes filled with pious expectation. My adoptive parents, Maria and Anthony, proudly presented a newborn baby, Caleb, demanding I shoulder his entire upbringing and hand over my paramedic salary as my "Christian duty."
My refusal unleashed a nightmare. They disowned me, threw out my belongings, and publicly shamed me at my workplace, jeopardizing my hard-earned career. But the lowest blow came when they tried to marry me off to my violent cousin, Rufus, hoping to gain legal control over my life and income.
When Rufus used a spare key to break into my apartment, trying to force himself on me, my boyfriend Ethan saved me. Yet, at the police station, my adoptive parents' theatrics and lies allowed them to walk free, while I was left reeling from their venomous threat: a civil lawsuit for "elder abandonment" and demanding every penny I had.
How could these people, who claimed to be my family, relentlessly try to destroy me, all in the name of God? Was there no end to their depravity, no escape from their manipulative grasp? But as their twisted words echoed in my mind, a forgotten memory-a snatch of a phrase about a "fire"-ignited a terrifying new question. Too Late, Mr. Golden Boy
Billionaires Six years, four rounds of IVF, and a mountain of debt were the price for two pink lines, a baby Andrew proudly proclaimed was our heir.
He even bought out an entire floor of Manhattan's most exclusive maternity hospital to celebrate, cementing his image as the perfect #HusbandGoals.
But a knot of dread formed as anonymous emails arrived, hinting at "designer babies" and asking, "Is it really your baby, Molly?"
A secret prenatal test confirmed the worst: the baby I carried wasn't biologically mine.
My body, a battlefield of hormones and needles for six years, had been reduced to a mere vessel for a child conceived with another woman.
The final blow came with an audio file of Andrew's voice, clear and cold: "She's just the vessel. Our perfect heir. Her genes are a dead end. Yours, Sabrina... they' re perfect."
My world didn't just shatter; it revealed itself to be a meticulously crafted lie where I was nothing more than an incubator for my husband's twisted legacy and his mistress's genes.
I gave birth to a child that wasn't mine, then watched my husband publicly dedicate his life and career to his true "partner" in a humiliating display.
With a fierce, cold resolve, I walked out of that gilded cage, leaving my old life behind and determined to reclaim my own identity and future. His Secret Shame
Romance My ten-year relationship with Liam, born in a UT Austin dorm, was slowly dying in our Zilker apartment.
He' d been distant, but the real alarm rang when he slapped a privacy screen on his phone.
Then I saw the text, shining briefly on his kitchen counter: "Thinking of you" from a woman named Chloe.
My heart hammered, a bitter sense of betrayal rising until I discovered a chilling Venmo payment to her: "$200 for your acting skills 😉".
It wasn't paranoia; it was a setup, orchestrated to make me look insane while he planned his exit.
As I scrolled through months of their flirty DMs, I realized he hadn' t just cheated; he had stolen our future, even swapping Chloe's name onto the ACL festival tickets I' d bought him.
The man I loved weaponized my deepest pain against me, twisting my infertility – a consequence of the accident that took my parents – into his excuse to leave, claiming I was "selfish" and only caring about my "tragedy."
Lying heartbroken on the living room floor next to his passed-out form, something inside me ignited.
I was not a victim, not anymore.
My old life disappeared piece by piece: I cut my hair, quit my dead-end job, and moved into a new apartment.
Now, the only question was how publicly I would dismantle the calculating man who had pretended to be my anchor while plotting my demise. Obsessed: A Second Chance Thriller
Romance June 14th.
The date burned into my mind like a brand.
I woke in my bed, David still asleep beside me, and saw the familiar sunlight pouring through the window.
This was the day.
The day everything began to unravel in my last life.
In that life, my sorority sister, my supposed best friend Brittany, systematically destroyed me.
She poisoned David's mind against me, tried to steal him, and when he rejected her, she drove us straight into a deadly accident.
I died.
My life, my love, extinguished by her venomous jealousy.
The betrayal was a cold, constant ache.
To be eliminated by the person you confided in, the one you loved like a sister, simply because she couldn't have what was yours.
It wasn't just a car crash; it was an assassination engineered by a twisted mind.
I died feeling utterly helpless, unjustly robbed of my future.
But this time, I wouldn't be a victim.
This time, I had a second chance, a do-over.
I sat bolt upright, heart thumping not with fear, but with fierce determination.
"David," I whispered, shaking him awake.
"We need to get married.
Today.
Right now."
I was back, and this time, I would rewrite my fate, starting by securing my future. The ATM Husband's Reckoning
Romance The key turning in the lock was a sound I hadn't heard in two years, not since my wife Chloe left for her "research fellowship."
Suddenly, she was in our kitchen, not alone, but holding two baby carriers.
"Ethan," she said, her voice cool, "Meet our children."
My jaw dropped, the half-made sandwich forgotten – children? We explicitly agreed to be child-free due to her crippling anxiety about pregnancy.
Then she announced, with chilling casualness, "They're biologically mine and Liam's."
Liam, her high school sweetheart, the one she told me was dying of a rare cancer, the reason she needed the "fellowship" to be near him – or so she claimed.
A sickening dread coiled in my stomach as her demand to become a stay-at-home dad solidified the nightmare.
Later, hidden men's designer underwear and used condoms in her suitcase screamed "no physical intimacy," while a tax bill proved our co-owned cabin was now solely Liam's.
Eight years of sacrificing my dreams for her anxieties, now revealed as a meticulously planned deception, a cruel, bitter joke.
The final blow came when I found Chloe laughing, openly intimate with a perfectly healthy Liam, mocking me, the "chump" and "ATM," at a local restaurant.
My world shattered, filled with a cold fury I' d never known.
"No, Chloe," I stated, the first time in years I' d defied her, as she demanded I rescue her family yet again.
I handed her the divorce papers; the Berlin job offer, long-deferred, was calling my name, and this time, I would answer.
She slapped me, screamed accusations, her mother joined in, but their venom had no power over my newfound resolve.
I called Professor Albright, securing my escape: "Is that job offer in Berlin still a possibility?"
"Soon," I promised, booking a one-way ticket, ready to leave the toxic wasteland behind forever. 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.” 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. Craving for My Tyrant Husband
Cosme Seidel I was cheated on by my scumbag boyfriend.
On the night I got blackout drunk, I married a stranger, and when I woke up, I only found a marriage certificate and a black card.
He took care of my scumbag ex for me, gave me a canary diamond ring, but refused to show his face-he only called me baby on video calls.
I ran to my best friend's house to hide, only to find that the billionaire next door, who made my heart skip a beat, had the exact same scent as him.
My best friend cried and begged me: "He's Augustus, a tyrant who eats people alive!"
But only I knew that the man who pressed me against the terrace railing, leaned down to kiss me, and whispered "I'll protect you" softly.
Fifty thousand dollars to sneak photos of his private office? I'll go.
Not for the money, but to ask him to his face-
Gus, how many secrets are you hiding? And how long have you been craving me? 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."
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." The Discarded Heiress: Marrying My Lethal Husband
Xiao Wang The rain in Detroit was slick with grime when my family finally came to fetch me. They didn't want a reunion; they wanted a sacrificial lamb to marry into the Kaufman empire to save their failing business.
I thought I was just being sold off, but the limo ride ended under a dark overpass where six hired thugs were waiting with chains. My own sister had ordered them to "break my spirit" so I’d be a shaking, pathetic mess by the time I reached the altar.
They called me "Detroit trash" and sprayed air freshener when I sat on their leather seats. My stepmother wanted a video of me begging for my life, and my father was ready to trade me like a used car to a man everyone called a "vegetable." They expected a submissive country girl, unaware that I was a high-level "cleaner" who could snap a radius bone before they could even scream.
When I finally reached the Kaufman estate, I found my fiancé, Barron, slumped in a wheelchair, drooling and silent. But as soon as the doors closed, the "invalid" grabbed my wrist with a grip of iron and whispered a command that changed everything.
I didn't understand why my own blood was so desperate to see me destroyed. What had I ever done to deserve a hit squad and a forced marriage to a man they thought was a corpse?
But Barron isn't a vegetable, and I'm not a victim. We just touched down at the Moon family gala in a matte-black helicopter, and as the doors slide open, the "broken" bride is about to show them exactly what happens when you throw away the wrong daughter.
"If we're going to crash a party," Barron whispered, his eyes burning with lethal clarity, "we should make an entrance." Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon’s Unplanned Wife
JESSICA KIRK My family arranged my marriage to Silas Thorne, a Wall Street titan. There was just one problem: everyone, including my powerful new husband, believed I was a crippled, helpless girl from the countryside.
On the day of my physical therapy, my father called, not to ask how I was, but to demand I give up the marriage for his illegitimate daughter, Chloe.
"You can barely walk without a limp," he sneered. "You are going to embarrass the Vance family."
My new husband treated me with cold duty, carrying me like a fragile doll but refusing to share a bed, citing my ‘soft tissue injury’ as a pathetic excuse. The rejection was humiliating. To make matters worse, Chloe tracked me down while I was shopping, eager to mock me in public.
"Silas doesn't value you," she said, flashing a cheap ring from my father. "You’re just a crippled placeholder."
They all saw a weak girl they could push around, completely blind to the fact that my limp was a carefully crafted lie.
So I took the unlimited black card Silas gave me and bought a fifty-seven-million-dollar pink diamond, crushing her in front of New York’s elite. When I returned to our penthouse, Silas was waiting for me, a dangerous smirk on his face.
"I heard," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that you bought a star with my money today?" Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father
Temple Madison I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires.
Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world.
My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets.
I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her.
The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money.
I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table.
"Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead." Sexy Behind The Mask
Ellie Wynters She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith-the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room-Manhattan's most exclusive masked club-she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you." 
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