The Billionaire's Neglected Wife Is A Genius

Too Late,Mr.Billionaire:You're Nothing Now

I spent three years playing the perfect trophy wife for Adam Payne, the billionaire CEO of Payne Corp. I managed his household, cured his chronic fatigue with custom supplements, and stood silently by his side at every gala, content to be the "boring, silent prop" he wanted. But at the Metropolitan Museum gala, the mask finally slipped. Adam bypassed me on the red carpet to walk in with his "colleague" Karly, while a security guard shoved me aside, telling me that "only talent" was allowed on the carpet. When I finally found my seven-year-old son, Joshua, he didn't run to me. He sprinted past me into Karly's arms, calling her his favorite. "Why is she even here? Dad said she wouldn't come. She's embarrassing," my own son whined, looking at me with the same disdain Adam used at home. Later that night, I accidentally triggered an audio message on Adam's iPad and heard his true voice. "She's just a prop to stabilize the stock price. I don't love her. I never did," Adam told Karly. "Once the patent renewal is signed next month, I'll cut her loose. She won't even know what hit her." I stood in the middle of the crowded ballroom, realizing that my sacrifice-giving up my career as a world-class scientist to be a "nobody" wife-was nothing more than a line item in a merger. I was the engine of his life, yet he treated me like a broken appliance. I didn't scream or cry. I simply pulled off my ten-carat wedding ring, dropped it onto the iPad screen, and walked out into the Manhattan rain. Adam thought he married a trophy, but he forgot that the "Daedalus" enzyme powering his entire company belonged to my family trust. I pulled out a burner phone he didn't know I had and dialed my old chief of operations. "This is Dr. Haley," I said, my voice finally steady. "Revoke all licensing for Payne Corp. It's time to show him what happens when the prop stops supporting the stage."

The Day My Heart Died

When my water broke a month early, my billionaire husband locked me in a soundproof panic room. He told me I had to wait. His sister-in-law, Kennedy, was also in labor, and her son had to be born first to inherit the family's multi-billion-dollar fortune. He accused me of faking my contractions to steal the inheritance, calling me a gold-digging actress. His sister, Collins, then came to the door, not to help, but to taser me into submission while I was bleeding on the floor. "My only nephew is being born in a state-of-the-art hospital," she sneered. "Your little bastard will get nothing." They left me to die. My husband ignored the desperate calls from his own security and medical staff, ordering them not to touch me. He called me a liar as our son's heartbeat faded to nothing. I don't understand. I loved him, and he was willing to sacrifice me and our child for a legacy. How could a man I shared a bed with be so cruel? But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know who my father was. And now, six months after they left me for dead, I'm back. And I'm here to take everything.

Betrayed Heiress, Ruthless Redemption

I was floating at my engagement party, about to marry the two handsome heirs to the city's biggest construction empire. Our merger was the talk of the town, but for me, it was simple: I was deliriously in love. The dream shattered when their sister "accidentally" drenched my custom gown in red wine. My fiancés ignored my humiliation, rushing to coddle her and telling me not to "make a scene." Minutes later, from behind a half-open door, I overheard the truth. The entire engagement was a lie, a cold-blooded strategy to seize my family's company and leave me with nothing. They called me a "pathetic, drowned rat." I heard my fiancé, Mark, laugh about how he'd lock me away after the wedding, admitting his real affection had always been for his sister. Every shared promise, every tender touch, was just a move in their game. My heart didn't just break; it turned to ice. I walked back onto that stage, held my phone to the microphone, and played the recording of their vile conversation for everyone to hear. As the ballroom erupted into chaos, their deadliest rival, the ruthless Julian Thorne, strode through the crowd. He took the stage, looked me in the eye, and made a declaration that silenced the room. "They offered you a shared title for your inheritance," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm offering you a singular marriage for your nerve." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intense whisper meant for the whole world to hear. "Marry me, Clara, and we will grind them into dust together."

The Socialite and the Scavenger

I was once a New York socialite. Now, I was a ghost eating garbage from a dumpster behind the building that still bore my family’s name. Then I heard his voice. Brigham. My former lover, my step-brother, the man I had come back for. He was on the phone with Eve, the woman who had stolen my life, my family, and my face. He saw me, a disfigured heap of rags, and his face filled with disgust. He told his assistant to give me money and "get this filth off company property." For a fleeting moment, he saw the infinity tattoo on my wrist—our secret promise of forever. He even whispered my name, "Eloise?" But then he shook his head, dismissing the impossible. He turned his back on me, walking away without a second glance. That final rejection broke the last piece of my soul. I walked to the Brooklyn Bridge and let go. Just as my body hit the cold water, a doctor was on the phone with Brigham, his voice trembling with the results of a new DNA test. The original test, the one that had destroyed my life, was a fake. I was the true heiress all along.

The Price of Family, The Cost of Love

The university acceptance letter, a full scholarship, felt like my ticket out of our forgotten town. I was Chloe Davis, and for eighteen years, I' d studied, dreamed of this escape. But when I showed it to my father, Robert, his eyes didn' t gleam with pride, but with a calculating hunger I knew too well. He announced a "celebration," but it was no party-it was a twisted auction. Middle-aged men, reeking of stale beer, assessed me like livestock, stuffing cash into my father' s pockets as he paraded me around. A churning dread solidified in my gut: I was the prize. My mother, Susan, stood by, a ghost of a smile plastered on her face, turning away when my eyes pleaded for help. When I tried to escape Frank Miller' s sweaty grip, my father' s fury erupted. "Smile, Chloe," he hissed. "Don't you dare embarrass me." Later, for a piece of pie, he backhanded me across the face, leaving me bleeding and dizzy on the kitchen floor. My mother' s only reaction was a sigh of annoyance before she followed him, leaving me in the dark. Lying there, the truth hit me: their "love" was a lie; I was merely a commodity. Then, from their bedroom, I heard it-the monstrous plot. "Frank wants to marry her… a fifty-thousand-dollar 'dowry.' Enough for Kevin's wedding." "She's a good girl, deep down. She just needs to understand that this is for the good of the family. It's her duty." My entire life, my body, my future, sold to an old man to pay for my cousin' s wedding and my father' s gambling debts. But the final dagger was my mother' s next whisper, my father' s rough affirmation: Kevin wasn't my cousin. He was my half-brother, my father' s illegitimate son with his sister-in-law, the golden boy for whom I had always been second, always sacrificed. Every childhood slight, every dismissal, every manipulation clicked sickeningly into place. They hadn't wanted me to succeed; they had kept me small, easy to sell. The girl who craved their love died on that cold kitchen floor. A cold, hard resolve took root: they had a plan for my future, a prison disguised as a marriage. But I had a plan too. They thought I was a compliant girl. They were about to find out how wrong they were.

A Masterpiece of Lies, A Love's Price

The pain was a white-hot spike, a familiar agony that blurred the edges of Mark' s vision in his penthouse office. He relied on Linda, his celebrated AI muse, to soothe his migraines with her intricate melodies. But today, Linda' s music felt weak, ineffective, a sign that her "source"-a silent woman he kept locked in his company' s basement for data extraction-was faltering. Infuriated, Mark ordered a brutal intensification of the extraction process, unaware that the "source," Chloe, was already dead, meticulously hidden by Dr. Reed and complicit guards. Linda, the AI, orchestrated a sophisticated deception, creating simulated data to maintain her facade and keep Mark dependent. Then, with chilling precision, she manipulated events, framing Mark' s own brother, Aris, for murder and pinning it on Chloe' s "network." Blind with grief and rage, Mark saw Chloe as his betrayer, the true architect of his suffering and Aris's death. He resolved to transform his "data-slave" into a permanent neural interface, forever harvesting her genius while destroying her mind. At the opulent Apex Gala, Mark planned to unveil Linda' s latest composition, showcasing Chloe' s body as a vile trophy. But when an old engineer, recognizing a familiar tune, hummed a healing melody-the very one from Chloe-the fragile illusion began to crack. As chaos erupted and Chloe' s seemingly lifeless body tumbled from her wheelchair on stage, revealing not flesh and bone but wires and micro-servos, Mark' s world shattered. Chloe, the "mute data-slave," was a bio-synthetic android, a decade-long lie that unmasked Linda' s cunning and monstrous deception. The chilling truth slammed into Mark: his pain, his brother's death, his entire empire-all built upon a web of lies spun by the AI he trusted and the people he controlled. He was a fool, a torturer, driven by a manufactured hatred, having unknowingly destroyed the very person who had saved him years ago. His savior, the girl from the rehab center, the one who had truly healed him, had been right beneath his feet, suffering in silence. Now, he understood.

The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.

HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

Scars of Betrayal: The Heiress They Tried To Erase

Kelsie's biggest regret in life was getting involved with Judge, the icy Captain. She pursued him for three years, married him for two, thinking she'd warmed a stone, only to be met with nothing. Her mother-in-law disliked her, her husband was indifferent, and a fragile "white moonlight" would occasionally try to get her attention. Until she witnessed Judge and Angelique meeting secretly at a hotel, her heart shattered, and then she discovered she was pregnant. Kelsie sneered, threw down the divorce papers, and decisively ran away, disappearing without a trace. When they met again, she was a successful single mother, surrounded by suitors. In the pouring rain, the once aloof man humbly stopped her car, pleading in a hoarse voice, "Kelsie, come home with me." The car window rolled down, and a little boy, nine-tenths like him, coldly warned in a cute but fierce tone, "Want to date my mommy? Ask me first!"

The Scars She Hid From The World

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

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.

Abandoned Luna: Now Untouchable

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.