His Vengeance, Her Life

The Mute Heiress's Fake Marriage Pact

I was finally brought back to the billionaire Vance estate after years in the grimy foster system, but the luxury Lincoln felt more like a funeral procession. My biological family didn't welcome me with open arms; they looked at me like a stain on a silk shirt. They thought I was a "defective" mute with cognitive delays, a spare part to be traded away. Within hours of my arrival, my father decided to sell me to Julian Thorne, a bitter, paralyzed heir, just to secure a corporate merger. My sister Tiffany treated me like trash, whispering for me to "go back to the gutter" before pouring red wine over my dress in front of Manhattan's elite. When a drunk cousin tried to lay hands on me at the engagement gala, my grandmother didn't protect me-she raised her silver-topped cane to strike my face for "embarrassing the family." They called me a sacrificial lamb, laughing as they signed the prenuptial agreement that stripped me of my freedom. They had no idea I was E-11, the underground hacker-artist the world was obsessed with, or that I had already breached their private servers. I found the hidden medical records-blood types A, A, and B-a biological impossibility that proved my "parents" were harboring a scandal that could ruin them. Why bring me back just to discard me again? And why was Julian Thorne, the man supposedly bound to a wheelchair, secretly running miles at dawn on his private estate? Standing in the middle of the ballroom, I didn't plead for mercy. I used a text-to-speech app to broadcast a cold, synthetic threat: "I have the records, Richard. Do you want me to explain genetics to the press, or should we leave quietly?" With the "paralyzed" billionaire as my unexpected accomplice, I walked out of the Vance house and into a much more dangerous game.

Too Late Mr. Sterling: You Lost Me

I was the perfect fiancée to Archer Sterling, a tech mogul who demanded I be as polished as his marble countertops. I gave up my art and my identity to fit his world, believing our upcoming wedding was the start of our forever. A mysterious text led me to a hidden folder in a calculator app on Archer’s phone. Inside were photos of him with his assistant, Mia, and texts calling me a "dead fish" and "manageable" collateral for his upcoming IPO. The humiliation peaked at my final bridal fitting. Archer ditched me for a hotel tryst with Mia, leaving me to overhear the salon staff mocking me as a "clueless gold digger." When I collapsed in the hallway, barefoot and broken, Archer didn't offer a hand. He only scolded me for "making a scene" and ordered me to be "supportive" of his busy schedule. The seven years I spent molding myself into his ideal woman were a lie. I wasn't his partner; I was a character in a play he wrote for his investors. My love had been met with calculated contempt, and my sacrifices were treated as his due. That night, I found Mia’s silk stockings shoved in my guest bathroom. The scent of her perfume in my home was the final breaking point. When Archer tried to touch me, my skin crawled with a physical rejection I couldn't mask. I locked the door, shredded the stockings, and called the one man Archer feared: Julian Van Der Bilt. "Does your offer for help include getting me out of here?" I asked. "Pack a bag," Julian’s voice rumbled through the dark. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't let him see you leave."

The White Wolf He Rejected For A Mistress

I lay in the ICU, silver toxicity turning my blood to lead. A chandelier had sliced through my shoulder, poisoning me and the secret life growing inside my womb. The doctor was frantic, gripping the phone. "Alpha, the silver has reached her marrow. She needs a transfusion of your blood. It's the only way to save the Luna and the... the potential life." I waited for my husband, Blake, to rush to my side. Instead, his voice came through the speaker, cold and clinical. "Keep the reserves in storage, Doctor. Ariana is in shock from a scratch on her finger. She might need it if she faints. I cannot risk depleting my supply for Caroline." The room went silent. In that silence, my inner wolf gave one last shuddering gasp and died. She couldn't survive the rejection. And the tiny spark of life in my womb flickered out with her. He had stopped our child's heart to protect his mistress's panic attack. I didn't scream. I reached for the black leather notebook on my bedside table. My ledger. For five years, I had tracked every insult. Every time he chose Ariana over me. We started with 100 points. He walked through fire for her and left me to burn under the debris. -20. He gave the family heirloom to her to 'soothe' her. -15. He refused the blood. He killed our son. I wrote the final number. Total: 0. The debt was paid. The bond was bankrupt. I signed the divorce papers and vanished into the storm, leaving a dead son and a dead marriage behind. Two years later, I returned as the most powerful architect in the region, the rare White Wolf. Blake, now a ruined, disgraced man, knelt in the rain before me, begging. "I can fix it," he sobbed, clutching the hem of my dress. "I can earn the points back!" I looked down at him with cold, dead eyes. "The ledger is closed, Blake. You hit zero."

Just A Vessel: The Surrogate's Escape

I went to the bank to set up a trust fund for my twins, only to have the manager look at me with pity. "Mrs. Dunlap, the trust requires the *biological* mother's signature." I froze. I *was* their mother. Or so I thought. That day, I learned my husband, the most powerful Mafia Don on the coast, had used his ex-lover’s frozen eggs. For six years, I wasn't his wife. I was just the incubator. When his "true love," Iliana, returned from exile, my life disintegrated. My children, poisoned by her lies, pushed me down the stairs and called me "just the nanny." Gavyn didn't help me up. He stepped over my bleeding body to take his "real family" out for ice cream. But the ultimate betrayal happened on a windswept cliff. Staged by Iliana, we were both tied up, allegedly rigged to explode. Forced to choose who to save, Gavyn didn't hesitate. He cut Iliana loose. "You did this to yourself, Alex," he said, driving away with the children, leaving me to die. He thought he was leaving behind a corpse. He didn't know I had skimmed ten million dollars from the household accounts. "Cut me loose," I told the hitman, transferring the money. "And tell him the ocean took me." Two years later, the Don is on his knees in my garden, begging for a second chance. Too bad he has to get through my new fiancé first—the head of the rival cartel.

The Substitute Wife Escapes Her Gilded Cage

Everyone thought I was the pampered queen of Marcus D’Angelo, New York's most feared Don. But I was just a placeholder for the woman he couldn't have: his cousin, Izzy. The truth shattered everything at a family dinner. A waiter tripped, sending a tureen of scalding soup flying toward the table. Without a second of hesitation, Marcus threw himself over Izzy to shield her. He left me exposed. The boiling liquid seared my legs, but the real agony was watching him cradle her face, checking for scratches, while I screamed on the floor. "In my hierarchy of pain," he later told her, ignoring my burns, "her death is an inconvenience. A scratch on you is a tragedy." He didn't know that while he was comforting her over a bruise, I was in emergency surgery losing our unborn child. When I woke up, he didn't ask about me. He didn't ask about the baby he didn't know existed. instead, he asked if I would donate blood to help Izzy recover. That was the moment the old Liv died. I signed the divorce papers with a steady hand. And inside the envelope with the legal documents, I tucked a single, devastating medical report. *Diagnosis: Spontaneous Abortion. Cause: Trauma.* I left it on his desk and disappeared into the night. By the time he realizes he sacrificed his own heir to save his mistress, I will be a ghost he can never touch again.

The Negotiator's Cruelest Game

My husband, Harrison Phelps, was the FBI's golden boy, the hero negotiator who never lost his cool. To the world, we were the perfect couple. Then a bank robbery went wrong. The desperate kidnapper grabbed two women as human shields: me, and Harrison's colleague, Brooke. He gave my husband a choice: save one. Through the megaphone, my husband's voice boomed, clear and decisive for the whole world to hear. "Let Brooke Shelton go! She is a national asset!" He rushed to embrace her, shielding her with his body, never once looking back at me. The kidnapper, enraged, turned his gun on me. I saw the flash before the world went black. I woke up in the hospital and the first thing I did was call a lawyer. I wanted a divorce. But he returned from retrieving our marriage certificate with a strange look on his face. "There's a problem, Mrs. Phelps," he said, sliding the document across the table. "According to official records, this was never filed. Legally, you were never married." Six years. Our home, our friends, our life-all built on a lie. It was all for her. He built a perfect, fake life with me just so he could wait for Brooke to come back.

Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me Now

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."

Heartbreak Billionaire: He Should Never Have Let Go

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

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.

Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge

I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband’s aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason’s coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go. The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason’s mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside. The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal. I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate. But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone. "Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands." The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I’m starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak.

The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire

The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road. Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city. "Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around." Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding. They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag. What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased. I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York. "I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down. "But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister."