From The Dead: A Billionaire's Revenge

Rejected Heiress: My Heartless Family's Regret

For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."

His Perfect Lie, My Shattered World

I thought I had the perfect marriage to Emerson Gonzales, the most powerful man in the music industry. When the doctor confirmed our baby had a strong, healthy heartbeat, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. That was before I discovered the truth. I wasn't his wife; I was a substitute. A perfect imitation of his cousin Gisele, who had been in a coma for three years. The baby wasn't meant to be mine, either. It was a "legacy" for Gisele, a gift for when she woke up. And when she did wake up, my life became a living hell. She shattered the last memento of my dead mother, and Emerson told me it was just a "cheap little figurine." He had me brutally beaten for her amusement, recording the whole thing as a tribute. But that wasn't the worst of it. Gisele attacked me, causing a violent miscarriage. Then, she threw the ashes of my mother and my unborn child on the floor and ground them into the dirt with her heel. My husband, my entire world-all of it was a calculated sham. I was just an incubator, and now, I was disposable. With nothing left to lose, I took my passport and fled to Paris. When he finally found me, begging me to come home for the sake of "our baby," I just showed him the medical report. "What baby are you talking about, Emerson?"

His Beautiful Lies, My Shattered World

For five years, my husband Gabriel was the perfect man. He was a doting, gentle producer who saw the magic in me, the quiet songwriter behind the scenes. Everyone said the way he looked at me was pure adoration. I believed them. But his love wasn't for me. It was a shield to protect his real project: my younger sister, the pop star Aria. He was stealing my songs and my art, gifting my soul to her so she could shine while I remained in the shadows. The final proof came at a party celebrating her latest stolen triumph. When Aria faked a fall, the sound of my husband screaming her name was filled with a raw, desperate love I had never heard in our entire marriage. It was a love reserved only for her. He then turned to me, his eyes cold, and hissed, "What did you do?" In that single moment, the woman who loved him died. My entire world, built on his beautiful lies, shattered completely. I wasn't his wife; I was just the golden goose, and my heart was simply collateral damage. So when he asked what I wanted for my thirtieth birthday, I gave him a small, empty smile. "I want to go out on the yacht. Just the two of us. We can watch the sunrise." He thought it was a romantic escape. He had no idea it was the stage for my disappearance and the beginning of his ruin.

Her Husband's Cruel Indifference

It was my son Ethan' s fifth birthday, a day meant for celebration. His small hand clutched mine, his eyes wide with the innocent wish to visit the city aquarium. But then, my husband David, a man as imposing as the military jacket he wore, declared his plans had changed, dismissing our son' s hopes with chilling indifference. "The aquarium is for common people." he sneered, his true priority a mistress, Lisa Johnson, and their sordid affair. When I begged for just a few hours, David' s face hardened into a mask of cruel indifference. Ethan, sensing the tension, began to cry softly. "Crying? Over something so trivial?" he scoffed, before scooping Ethan into his arms. My son' s cries turned to shrieks as David strode towards our private lake. "I' m teaching him a lesson," he calmly stated. Before I could react, he tossed our five-year-old son into the dark, cold water. The splash was horribly loud, and Ethan' s small body disappeared, then reappeared, flailing, gasping for air. David stood motionless, watching him drown, "If he' s my son, he' ll survive." I screamed, fighting to reach Ethan, but David' s steel grip held me back, forcing me to watch as my son' s struggles grew weaker, his head bobbing, his small hands slapping the water with less and less force. His eyes, wide with terror, locked on me, a desperate, silent plea. Then his head went under. It didn' t come back up. "He failed," David stated, as I collapsed onto the ground, my life shattered. I returned home to find Ethan' s room being dismantled, his world erased, replaced by a nursery for Lisa' s unborn child. They stood there, smiling, planning their future on the ashes of my son' s life. "Ethan doesn' t need a room anymore, Sarah," David said, his voice laced with that same chilling indifference. "He' s dead!" I shrieked, "You killed him!" His response was a dismissive sigh, and Lisa, cunningly feigning distress for her baby, manipulated David into striking me. His slap echoed in the empty room, stinging my cheek, and in that horrifying moment, I saw the monster he truly was. This wasn' t just indifference; it was pure evil. With his father' s help, I held a small memorial for Ethan, a vigil that David and Lisa callously ignored, even sharing a triumphant kiss in front of our son' s symbolic casket. My heart turned to ice. Then David, in a fit of rage, smashed Ethan' s last photograph and burned his beloved teddy bear, extinguishing the last tangible pieces of my son, and with them, any lingering attachment I had to him. Later, I discovered David was sterile, meaning Lisa' s baby wasn' t his. This wasn' t just betrayal; it was a calculated scheme. Clutching the charred remains of Ethan' s teddy bear' s eye, a searing physical anchor to my unimaginable loss, I walked out of that house and that life with a quiet, resolute dignity. I was done.

For My Daughter, A Storm

The sterile hospital room hummed with the slow, dying breath of my daughter, Gabrielle. My rare family gift, usually a beacon of fortune, felt utterly useless as I watched her slip away. My husband, Andrew, stood cold and calculating, not grieving, but orchestrating a political damage control campaign, sacrificing Gabrielle' s reputation for his ambition. Then, the true horror unfolded: he confessed his affair, then mocked my ancestral remedy-the very cure that saved his life once-before pouring the last precious vial onto a sick dog, letting our daughter die. How could a man be so heartless, so utterly devoid of humanity, to choose ambition and a dog' s comfort over his own child' s life? But as I buried Gabrielle in the sacred Appalachian soil of our ancestors, a chilling realization ignited within me: the pact was broken, and now, my gift would no longer protect them; it would exact a vengeful fate.

Weeks Before My Wedding, My Fiancé Forgot Only Me

My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away. After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future. Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me. I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call. "Total genius move," he boasted to friends. His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding. Heartbroken, I feigned belief. I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies. He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency. After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first. He even tried to cut me off financially. How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster? His betrayal poisoned every memory. I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty. His audacity left me reeling. But I wouldn’t be his victim. Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed. I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter. I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom.

Beneath His Ugly Wife's Mask: Her Revenge Was Her Brilliance

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

The Jilted Heiress' Return To The High Life

Corinne devoted three years of her life to her boyfriend, only for it to all go to waste. He saw her as nothing more than a country bumpkin and left her at the altar to be with his true love. After getting jilted, Corinne reclaimed her identity as the granddaughter of the town's richest man, inherited a billion-dollar fortune, and ultimately rose to the top. But her success attracted the envy of others, and people constantly tried to bring her down. As she dealt with these troublemakers one by one, Mr. Hopkins, notorious for his ruthlessness, stood by and cheered her on. "Way to go, honey!"

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

He Chose First Love, I Chose the Alpha King

I gave him three years of silent devotion behind a mask I never wanted to wear. I made a wager for our bond-he paid me off like a mistress. "Chloe's back," Zane said coldly. "It's over." I laughed, poured wine on his face, and walked away from the only love I'd ever known. "What now?" my best friend asked. I smiled. "The real me returns." But fate wasn't finished yet. That same night, Caesar Conrad-the Alpha every wolf feared-opened his car door and whispered, "Get in." Our gazes collided. The bond awakened. No games. No pretending. Just raw, unstoppable power. "Don't regret this," he warned, lips brushing mine. But I didn't. Because the mate I'd been chasing never saw me. And the one who did? He's ready to burn the world for me.

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.