rabbi
12 Published Stories
rabbi's Books and Stories
The Priceless Wife He Threw Away
Billionaires For two years, I hid my lethal past as a top-tier Delta Force operator to play the perfect, submissive wife to Kason.
But on the eve of the absolute deadline to claim my parents' ashes, he forced me out of our car into a freezing rainstorm.
He had received a frantic call from his mistress crying over her missing dog.
"Are you seriously using dead people to compete for my attention?" Kason sneered.
He slapped my phone away, hurled my bag with my classified military ID into a muddy ditch, and left me stranded on the highway.
I knelt in the freezing mud as his luxury car sped away. I had swallowed his mother's insults and secretly saved his company from bankruptcy three times. Yet, to him, my parents' remains were just a box of dust compared to his mistress's pet.
The suffocating pain in my chest suddenly evaporated, replaced by a terrifying, absolute zero coldness.
The pathetic, submissive wife he thought he owned died on that highway.
I walked to a dingy motel, washed the gritty mud from my face, and traced the jagged scar on my collarbone.
I picked up the landline and dialed a twelve-digit encrypted number to the Pentagon.
It was time to wake up the ghost operator and burn Kason's world to the ground. My True North After Their Deceit
Modern I spent four years and my life savings funding my boyfriend's law degree across the country.
I thought we were building a future.
But when I flew to California to surprise him with a proposal at his graduation, I found him on one knee.
Not for me, but for Janessa-my best friend since childhood.
I collapsed on the spot.
When I woke up in the hospital, the nightmare only got worse.
The nurse innocently crushed me:
"It' s good you' re awake. Eric was so worried, just like when their dog got sick. They' ve been such a sweet couple living together these past two years."
My blood ran cold.
Then his mother called his phone, asking if he had finally dumped his "ATM machine" to marry the girl the family actually approved of.
Every bill I paid, every "emergency" transfer, had funded their secret life.
Janessa was even wearing the dress I bought her while accepting the ring I paid for.
They walked into my hospital room, ready to gaslight me one last time.
But I wasn't the naive girl anymore.
I wiped my tears, unlocked the evidence on his phone, and prepared to burn their perfect little world to the ground. The Hero Husband's Cruel Betrayal
Modern My husband, Greyson, is a celebrated war hero. When the community center caught fire, he saved a child. But it wasn't our son. He walked right past Karter to rescue another boy, publicly claiming the child as his own.
That betrayal was nothing. When Karter later collapsed, his rare heart condition triggering a life-threatening crisis, I ran for his life-saving medication. The safe was empty.
Greyson had taken it. He' d given our son' s only dose to the other boy to make him "feel strong."
While Karter fought for breath, the news hailed my husband as a selfless hero for his "noble sacrifice."
For years, I excused his coldness and blatant favoritism, hoping the man I married would return. But watching him smile on TV as he condemned our son to death, I finally understood.
He called my desperate pleas "drama" and hung up. He's convinced I'm too weak to leave, that I'll come crawling back like I always do.
He has no idea I've already filed for divorce, severed our mate bond, and am driving our son far away, leaving him to the ruin he so richly deserves. The Termination Plot
Modern At eight months pregnant, I believed my life was a fairy tale. I had a perfect home, a miracle son on the way, and Derek—the husband who worshipped the ground I walked on.
Or so I thought.
One piece of paper turned my fairy tale into a horror story. A vasectomy certificate, hidden in the back of a drawer in his office. It was dated a year ago—six months before our child was conceived.
Panic drove me to his corporate office, desperate for an explanation, praying for a misunderstanding. But the truth waiting for me behind his closed door was sharper than any knife.
"I can't believe she still hasn't figured it out," his best friend, Edison, laughed. "She walks around glowing like a saint."
"Patience," my husband’s voice replied, cold and unrecognizable. "The bigger she gets, the harder she falls. And the bigger my payout. It’s all for Else."
They weren't just lying. They were betting. They were gambling on my humiliation, treating my life and my unborn child as props in a sick game to avenge his sister.
Standing in that hallway, clutching my belly, the woman I used to be shattered. But from the shards, something new was born. Something cold, calculating, and merciless.
I didn't flee. I didn't scream. I wiped my face and composed a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
If they wanted a game, I would play. But they had no idea that the rules had just changed.
I wasn't the prize anymore. I was the punishment. Beyond His Lies: Her True Legacy
Modern Five years I poured into Legacy AI, a tribute to my late father, David Miller, and his last research notes. The final pitch, my moment of truth with lead investor Mr. Hayes, was here in the boardroom.
Then, a press release from Johnson Dynamics, my ex-fiancé Mark Johnson's company, slammed me: an intellectual property lawsuit, claiming his newly secured patents covered my life' s work. His company had conveniently acquired my father's old firm, where we all began.
Mark, once my father's star mentee and my own mentor, then fiancé, painted my father as erratic and my work obsolete. He fed the media a narrative of my instability, isolating me before I could even speak. "It' s unfortunate that Ms. Miller, a talented engineer I once mentored, chose this path. We believe she was misled by her late father' s incomplete and often erratic research."
He had reduced our shared dreams, our bond, to nothing more than a calculated business move, a strategic step in his relentless climb to power. He saw my father's legacy, our legacy, not as something to build upon, but as a distraction, a tool for his ambition.
The betrayal was public, humiliating. Mr. Hayes' warmth vanished, investors whispered, and the opportunity vanished. Mark had destroyed everything.
But the cold dread morphed into a steel resolution. He thought he' d won, that I' d crumble. He had underestimated me, and, more importantly, he had underestimated my father. The fight wasn't over; it had just begun, and the answer lay hidden in my father's last, unsorted box of research. Marrying The Man Who Saved Me
Romance My engagement party was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. The ballroom glittered, my custom silk gown flowed, and my fiancé, Liam Thompson, smiled charmingly beside me. Everything was perfect, almost suffocatingly so.
Then, Liam leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, and whispered, "I can' t do this, Olivia. I don' t love you. I never have." The world crumbled. My champagne glass trembled, the room' s buzz faded as shock and heartbreak seized me.
As I reeled, my mother collapsed, clutching her chest, her panicked cries echoing through the suddenly silent ballroom. Liam, still smiling for the crowd, held me back saying, "Let the paramedics handle it. You' ll only get in the way." The whispers grew, laced with judgment, not for him, but for me, the frozen woman watching her mother suffer. My parents, desperate for the merger to save our struggling business, pleaded with me to reconsider.
How could he be so cold? Was our entire relationship a calculated lie for a business deal? Was I so blind to his cruelty, to the manipulative whispers of the struggling musician he was "mentoring"?
In that moment, the naive girl who loved him died. I wrenched free from his grasp, declaring, "We' re done, Liam! The engagement is off!" Just as chaos erupted, a calm, steady voice cut through the noise, "I' ll marry her." It was Ethan Thompson, Liam' s older, enigmatic brother, stepping out of the shadows, offering a lifeline I never expected. My future, uncertain yet again, hung in the balance. His Betrayal, Her Freedom
Romance The ripping sound was louder than any wedding bell, tearing not just my custom gown, but the perfect façade of my wedding day.
My fiancé, Liam, rushed past my ruined dress to console his childhood friend, Brittany, who lay sprawled at my feet, feigning shock.
"It' s just a little tear, Chloe. Don' t make a scene," Liam dismissed, waving away the wreckage of my dreams, while Brittany hid behind him, a smug triumph in her eyes.
A hundred betrayals flashed through my mind: canceled anniversaries, shared secrets, Liam always taking her side.
I had believed his lies, "She's like a sister to me, Chloe. You' re the one I love," but his actions screamed a louder truth.
A cold calm washed over me, replacing the humiliation with stark clarity.
I slowly removed my veil, letting it fall, then twisted my diamond engagement ring off my finger.
I walked to the guest book table, placed the ring precisely in the center, and faced them.
"Liam," my voice was quiet but resolute. "The wedding is off."
I didn't wait for his response, focusing solely on my own liberation after three years of being second best.
The garden venue grew heavy with silence as Brittany broke the spell with a theatrical sob, clutching Liam's arm.
Liam, as if on cue, wrapped his arm around her, publicly comforting the woman who had just humiliated me.
"It' s the stress of the day," he explained to the guests, while his aunt chimed in, defending Brittany' s supposed innocence.
The clean, deliberate rip in my dress screamed aggression, not clumsiness.
"Really, Brittany?" I asked, my gaze fixed on her. "Or did you just want to make sure everyone knows who really comes first?"
Brittany flinched, real frustration flaring in her eyes, as Liam turned on me, his voice low and angry.
"What is wrong with you, Chloe? She' s my best friend! Can' t you just let it go?"
He gaslighted me, painting my anger as overreaction, her malice as a childish mistake, as Brittany played the wounded victim.
Liam's eyes, filled with pure disappointment, showed his concern was entirely for her, my feelings completely dismissed.
My last flicker of hope died; this was the culmination of a thousand betrayals, a profound exhaustion settling in my bones.
I was done fighting, done being angry; I just wanted it all to be over. When Family Sells Your Soul
Modern The first thing I remembered from my last life was the end: the chloroform, the burlap, and my mother' s voice selling me off for twenty grand. Then, the tearing, the brutal silence.
I woke up, reborn, to the sterile smell of antiseptic. My mother, Brenda, lay frail in a hospital bed, diagnosed with end-stage kidney disease. Her eyes, expertly filled with tears, found mine as she wailed, "I'll just... let nature take its course. Save the money for the kids." This was the moment I shattered in my first life, begging to save her.
But this time, I knew. She wasn' t dying for me; she was dying for an inheritance, for her golden child, my useless brother Kevin. They had always manipulated me, bled me dry, and in the end, literally sold me.
I stood up, approached her bed, and with a calm, placid mask said, "Okay, Mom. If that's what you want, I respect your decision." The game had changed. I was back, and this time, hell for them was just beginning. The CEO's Secret Owner
Billionaires I was Ava Miller, the quiet wife of Ethan Hayes, CEO of Miller & Co. What no one knew was that I was the true owner, the majority shareholder, content to stay in his shadow.
At Chloe' s school Thanksgiving gala, my world shattered. Ethan, feigning a "board emergency," appeared on stage, openly parading his mistress, Sophia Rossi, and her son Leo, as his "model family."
He publicly denied knowing me, his wife, the mother of his child. Sophia smirked, humiliating me, while my daughter, Chloe, sobbed in confusion. Leo cruelly tripped Chloe, and Sophia mocked me, throwing money at my feet. The humiliation burned, but the true agony came when Sophia orchestrated a vile online campaign, leaking Chloe' s school details and flooding forums with hate. Then, Ethan sent a company lawyer to threaten me with a restraining order.
How could he betray us so blatantly? How could she be so monstrous, targeting my innocent child? They thought I was just a scorned wife to be dismissed, gaslighted, and silenced.
But as that young lawyer spoke, a cold fire ignited. I wasn't just Ava Hayes. I was Ava Miller, Madam Chairwoman. And I was about to show them exactly how powerful a quiet wife could be. Ice Queen's Vengeance
Modern I was Elara "Ellie" Vance, America's golden girl of figure skating, with the Olympics just within reach.
My whole life, and my Grandma Rose's dream, was about to come true.
Tonight was the final synchronized skating practice, where the Olympic roster would be finalized.
But my boyfriend, Ethan, and my rival, Tiffany Hayes, had other plans.
First, they conspired to lock me in a storage room, making me miss the team cut.
Then, on a secluded track, Ethan, at Tiffany's cruel urging, brought a heavy discus down on my leg, shattering my Olympic dream forever.
As I lay broken, Tiffany called my beloved Grandma Rose, taunting her with graphic photos of my injury.
The shock of their malicious cruelty caused my grandmother to have a fatal heart attack, leaving me utterly alone.
Ethan then helped Tiffany swiftly cremate her body, eliminating any evidence of their vile act, while the media slandered me, accusing me of my own downfall and even provoking my grandma' s death.
My life, my legacy, my family – all brutally ripped away by the people I thought loved me, twisted by their lies and narcissistic manipulation.
How could the man I loved, my "angel," engineer such a monstrous plot?
I was an athlete, a granddaughter, now a broken shell, framed and publicly shamed.
The injustice was suffocating, leaving me gasping for air.
Yet, just as I stood on the brink of despair, a powerful, unexpected figure burst through the venomous media circus – Marcus Thorne, Ethan' s estranged billionaire uncle, my unlikely savior.
He was the key to unlocking the truth, and he created the first real opening for my relentless pursuit of justice. The Masked Heiress: A Ghost Returns
Billionaires On the glittering night I was set to become CEO of Pearson International and accept Senator Davis’s proposal, my life was a polished diamond.
The Plaza ballroom buzzed with an air of my impending coronation.
It was everything I had carefully built, every dream on the cusp of reality.
Then, a champagne glass from my brother Michael, a whisper of expensive scotch, and a sudden, disorienting haze swept over me.
The last thing I remembered was a camera flash and leering faces before darkness consumed me.
I woke to my face plastered across every tabloid: “Pearson Heiress in Drunken Orgy!”
My world imploded as the Senator’s curt statement ended our engagement, and company stocks plummeted.
Confined to a remote villa, stripped of my phone and dignity, I was forcibly medicated, labeled as having a mental breakdown.
The bitter taste of betrayal lingered—my own brother, Michael, and his venomous accomplice, Olivia, were behind it all.
Their whispers of my “neutralization” and their sickening hints at my father’s “accident” turned my raw shame into a burning, diamond-hard rage.
They thought they had buried me.
But they were profoundly, catastrophically wrong.
Driven by Olivia’s cruel taunts, a desperate, whispered call on an ancient, hidden phone ignited a relentless fire within.
Sarah Pearson died that night, but a formidable ghost, Anya Sharma, was just beginning her ascent from the ashes, ready to unleash a reckoning they’d never forget. You might like
The Jilted Heiress's Ruthless Billionaire Revenge
Gray Matter For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett.
Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid.
When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives.
"Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself."
I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together.
Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company.
He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life.
He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire.
I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer.
"Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant." The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback
Zhi Yao For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties.
But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom.
Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot.
Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years.
"You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic."
My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support.
They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets.
I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life.
But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree.
Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate.
When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block. 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." 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." Too Late For Regret: My Dead Heart
Catlaina Sloggett Rain lashed against the twisted metal as Hallie lay pinned in the wreckage of her car, her chest crushed and fading fast.
The paramedic found her phone and desperately dialed her husband, Aidan.
"Your wife has been in a severe car crash! We're losing her!" the paramedic shouted over the storm.
A harsh, mocking laugh came through the speaker.
"Tell her this is a pathetic way to stop the divorce," Aidan sneered. "I do not have time for her crazy games."
The line went dead, and Hallie's heart flatlined.
Separated from her body, Hallie's ghost was forced to witness the horrific aftermath of her own death.
Her mother refused to claim her corpse because there was no insurance payout, telling the hospital to throw her in a ditch.
Pulled back to her penthouse, she found Aidan gently holding her sister, Cecile.
Cecile sobbed about Hallie's "fake crash" in Aidan's arms, but the moment he looked away, a wicked smirk of victory spread across her face.
Cecile was the predator, and Aidan was her willing protector.
He even ordered Hallie's brilliant, life's-work sketchbook to be thrown into an industrial shredder, giving all her corporate resources to fund Cecile's debut.
Hovering in the cold air, Hallie watched her three years of devotion turn to ash.
She was treated like garbage, a mere stepping stone for her sister's rise.
But just as her soul turned to ice, Aidan's face suddenly grew paranoid.
"Check her medical records," Aidan ordered his assistant coldly. "Find out who is helping her fake this injury."
Hallie's invisible spirit shivered with a dark, vengeful anticipation.
What would her arrogant husband do when his relentless digging finally uncovered her cold, dead body? 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. The Trophy Wife's Ruthless Revenge
Little Pink Lace Keely returned to her Manhattan penthouse a day early, expecting the loving billionaire husband who had just told her how much he missed her.
Instead, the scent of cheap vanilla perfume led her to the guest room, where she found Haden tangled in the sheets with his timid, soft-spoken secretary.
To the world, Haden was the flawless, devoted partner. He would even beat a man to a bloody pulp at a high-society gala just for insulting her, violently claiming he was protecting his wife.
But behind his golden-retriever facade lay a narcissistic monster. While begging for her affection and making her breakfast, he was secretly draining their marital assets into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Keely had to swallow her disgust, forcing a perfect smile as she played the clueless, dependent trophy wife he wanted her to be.
It made her physically sick. She couldn't understand how the man who looked into the camera with eyes full of love just last night could be the same thief plotting to leave her with nothing. Was his violent, suffocating obsession with her just a sick cover for his betrayal?
But Haden didn't know his "helpless" wife was actually the ruthless CTO of a tech empire. She had already hacked the home surveillance and traced the missing funds, ready to make him bleed. Then, her private investigator called with a medical report that pushed her revenge to the edge.
"Mrs. Jones, Darlene Sutton is six weeks pregnant." 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. 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." Shattered Vows: The Secret Heiress's Dazzling Return
Nap Regazzini For two years, Clementine played the perfectly obedient wife to billionaire Donovan Bray, wearing his heavy diamonds and enduring his cold indifference.
Until she accidentally saw his tablet and discovered she was just a "collateral asset"—a cheap lookalike prop hired to make his ex-girlfriend, Gisela, jealous.
When Gisela returned to New York, Donovan's mask completely slipped.
During a vicious argument where he mocked Clementine as a pathetic shadow, he grabbed her, causing her to fall down a flight of marble stairs.
Waking up in the hospital, Clementine learned she had miscarried a six-week-old baby she didn't even know she had.
But what truly shattered her was hearing Donovan's voice through the cracked hospital door.
"It changes nothing."
He coldly lied to his friend that the fall had caused permanent infertility.
"It was probably for the best."
He had killed her unborn child and casually dismissed her worth, truly believing she was a penniless nobody who would suffer his abuse in silence.
He thought he held all the power, leaving her broken and discarded for his true love.
What Donovan didn't know was that his fragile, dependent wife was secretly "C.", the billionaire genius behind Aurelian, the world's most exclusive luxury jewelry empire.
Lying in the sterile room, Clementine dried her tears, filed for a ruthless divorce, and permanently froze his supplementary black card.
It was time to show him who really held the strings. 
/1/113430/coverorgin.jpg?v=4b2feca0141b5876cd2d15216d5ac238&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101908/coverorgin.jpg?v=1b0bba697f5ce6bed9d384b2972ff37f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104081/coverorgin.jpg?v=e0f20d663c74edc858b9d805515eafb0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103165/coverorgin.jpg?v=738be27b42132fd2afcebda8b3d1c33f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/90878/coverorgin.jpg?v=1973315d95f05c836abb25fdc2636b3c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86909/coverorgin.jpg?v=8233a440ada3f0cdd7e98c4431447939&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86813/coverorgin.jpg?v=78c2bc2fdb30471f9ec1b1d1121789e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85345/coverorgin.jpg?v=5a2b9bee9b6f2f8c24d759303589efd4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83693/coverorgin.jpg?v=5c82a482d64f98c887cb44804da95483&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81135/coverorgin.jpg?v=1ec04c067886d0799f507dfa2bd2933b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81119/coverorgin.jpg?v=3a2add673a1eb77201ab7494e4f7f1e7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80531/coverorgin.jpg?v=bb217c030faf2c551ea69741c060174c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113767/coverorgin.jpg?v=772336466bbc1cee062e976a97dc39ad&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114057/coverorgin.jpg?v=e2b7fa942efd52c56ad9e6c662553681&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110451/coverorgin.jpg?v=2820de6fa805c709de688f2d653ccf9e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113338/coverorgin.jpg?v=bca0d3ad477281cababf38dd09f47622&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114588/coverorgin.jpg?v=473c3ace1a34b5000cb050d4fc03cfd7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112787/coverorgin.jpg?v=bdd683d05c41c30b98bdff89f4642393&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113158/coverorgin.jpg?v=9925b6190304131331c503a5676236ba&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82937/coverorgin.jpg?v=2907194aa510c647b04f7cba8770d5c5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112771/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cdc8f90c863fd179c7930683f5edc44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113938/coverorgin.jpg?v=d2c72858d7573862e8a6e92f30d27f7b&imageMogr2/format/webp)