The Thong in My Bed

The Billionaire's Secret Heir In Hiding

I woke up in a bed of cold marble and silk, lying next to Armond Emerson—the billionaire CEO who treats people like disposable assets. Five years ago, I escaped his world with a secret that could destroy me; now, a single night of desperation had put me right back in his crosshairs. My nightmare was only beginning. My ex-boyfriend, Lucas, had me followed to the penthouse and was now using my family as target practice to force me back under his thumb. Within twenty-four hours, my gallery was seized, my bank accounts were frozen, and my brother was left bleeding on a warehouse floor with his painting hands crushed. Lucas’s threat was clear: "Kneel and beg, or I’ll make sure your little bastard in Queens has an accident." That "bastard" was Leo, my four-year-old son. He was the secret heir to the Emerson empire, and Armond had no idea he existed. To protect him, I sold my soul. I walked into Armond’s office and offered a deal: I’d be his fake fiancée to stabilize his board of directors if he destroyed Lucas. He agreed, but his touch was a brand and his suspicion was a knife. He started digging into the five-year gap in my resume, hiring investigators to peel back the layers of my time in Switzerland. I thought I could play the part of the harmless socialite until the danger passed. I thought I could keep my son hidden in the shadows of a crumbling Queens apartment while I played house with a monster. But after a brutal attack in a parking garage, I collapsed in Armond's arms, my consciousness fading as I whispered the one name I should have kept buried. As I lay sedated in his penthouse, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Armond answered it. "Mommy? Are you okay? Uncle Nate said the bad man hurt you." The silence that followed was the sound of my world ending. Armond stared at the caller ID, looking at the face of the son I had stolen from him, and finally realized exactly what I had been running from.

He Faked Amnesia To Break Our Vows

I was sealing our wedding invitations with crimson wax when I heard my fiancé through the slightly ajar study door. Ethan wasn't reciting the poetry he’d written for me over the last seven years. He was outlining the logistics of his betrayal. "If I fake amnesia after the 'accident' tonight, I can delay the wedding without the family stopping the merger," Ethan laughed, ice clinking in his glass. "And Ava? The Canary?" his friend asked. "Ava is property. You maintain property; you don't have fun with it. While she plays nurse, I get a medical exemption to sleep with Chloe." My world shattered. I fled into the rainy night, blinded by tears, until headlights turned my world upside down. I woke up in the wreckage, my arm shattered, tasting blood. Ethan arrived moments later. But he didn't run to me. He stepped right over my bleeding body to comfort Chloe, who had a minor scratch on her forehead. "I've got you, baby," he cooed to his mistress, looking at me with nothing but cold annoyance. "Don't worry about her. She's tough." He left me in the street. By the next morning, the narrative was set: The tragic Don had lost his memory of his fiancée, but miraculously remembered his 'true love,' Chloe. He evicted me from our penthouse while I was still in surgery. He thought he had won. He thought the Canary would just die in the cold. He forgot one thing. I knew where he hid the bodies—literally. I walked into his staged public proposal, slammed my ring on the table, and left a note under it. *I remember everything. And so do you.* Then I boarded a plane with his secret incriminating journal in my bag. The empire was about to burn.

The Billionaire Widow's Redemption

For three years, my husband Carter Hancock had erectile dysfunction. Or so he told me. I was the one who pulled him from a fiery car crash, and this marriage was his promise to cherish the hands that saved him. But tonight, I overheard him with my sister-in-law, Jodie. He confessed his condition was a lie to avoid touching me, and that he' d always loved her. Our marriage was just a sham to appease his grandfather. The betrayals kept coming. He claimed she was the one who saved him. He abandoned me during a landslide to rescue her. When I woke up in the hospital with broken ribs, he asked me to donate skin from my leg to fix a scratch on her face. He wanted to mutilate my body for the woman who stole my life, the woman carrying his secret child. My love was a burden, my sacrifice a joke they laughed about behind closed doors. Then I found the final, soul-crushing truth: our marriage certificate was a fake. I was never his wife, just a placeholder. That night, I picked up my phone and called the one person he' d warned me away from. "Alex," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I need to leave. Can you meet me in Europe?"

Her Vengeance, His Ruined Life

My son was dead. The official report called it a suicide, a drug overdose. But I knew it was a lie. I was a Crime Scene Investigator, and I had processed his body myself. The evidence screamed murder. I appealed, seven times, each time presenting irrefutable proof. Each time, District Attorney Bentley Shannon slammed the door in my face, dismissing my grief as delusion. The system I had served for twenty years was protecting a killer. So, I took the law into my own hands. I kidnapped the District Attorney's daughter, Dallas Shannon, and broadcast my demands to the world. For every chance he wasted, I would use a forensic tool on her, permanently disfiguring her. The world watched, horrified, as I stapled her arm, then cauterized it, drawing thin red lines on her skin with a scalpel. My former mentor, Dr. Hooper, and my son's girlfriend, Alexandra, were brought in to convince me, to paint my son as depressed, to present a fabricated suicide note. For a moment, I wavered, the pain of being a "bad mother" crushing me. But then I saw it—a hidden message in his "suicide note," a secret code from his favorite childhood book. He wasn't giving up; he was crying for help. They had twisted his plea into a lie. My grief burned away, replaced by an unbreakable resolve. "I do not accept this note," I declared, pressing the cauterizing pen to Dallas's leg as the FBI swarmed in.

Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: The Doctor's Verdict

It was our eighth wedding anniversary, and nine hundred and ninety-nine imported orchids, courtesy of my husband Ethan, filled the ER breakroom, a suffocating monument to his wealth and our utterly hollow marriage. My name is Sarah, an ER doctor, and just a month ago, I lost our baby – our second child – alone, terrified in the hospital. That night, Ethan was at a "critical work dinner" with his assistant, Chloe, claiming he couldn't leave my side. His grand gesture of impersonal flowers was a chilling reminder of how little he truly cared, or how little he bothered to know me anymore. When I finally called, his voice was impatient; he dismissed my desperate plea to talk, sighing about my work stress before hanging up. Later, at our cold, modern penthouse, he offered an expensive diamond necklace, likely chosen by Chloe, ignoring my quiet but firm demand for a divorce. He scoffed, calling me "dramatic," bragging about the "best" orchids. Worse, his family, led by his domineering mother Eleanor and always-present Chloe, began using our son, Leo, as leverage, subtly painting me as emotionally unstable. Why was the man who once gave me a single, dollar-pink carnation, a symbol of genuine, selfless love, now so utterly incapable of seeing me at all? How could he respond to the agonizing loss of our child with a callous remark about me being "stretched thin with my career?" His profound indifference, coupled with his family' s insidious manipulation, transformed my deep grief into a cold, unwavering fury. After years of swallowing my anger and enduring their polished cruelty, I finally reached my breaking point at their opulent Connecticut estate. I was done being ignored, done being dismissed. It was time to shatter their perfect, miserable charade and reclaim every piece of my life.

The Dog's Vengeance: An Heiress Returns

For five years, my best friend Elyse and I hid our elite identities, pouring our hearts and our immense resources into building my boyfriend Ethan and his brother Wesley' s media empire. Then, just as success was within reach, Ethan's voice, devoid of all warmth, flatly demanded my entire life savings, mirroring the cold betrayal he and his new socialite partner, Sabrina, launched against us. The final blow came when Wesley cruelly sold our beloved dog, Buddy, to a research lab for mere cash, an act of sheer barbarity that forced Elyse to stage her own death to escape their clutches and activate her family' s power. How could these men, whom we believed in and loved, dismiss us as simple baristas, exploit our hidden connections, and then destroy everything we held dear, even celebrating our presumed tragedy for their gain? But as they boasted of their triumphs and prepared to conquer Washington D.C., little did they know the "barista" they thought they'd destroyed was merely shedding her disguise, a powerful Heiress now returning to her home turf, ready to unleash a vengeance they could never comprehend.

The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband

I sat in the gray, airless room of the New York State Department of Corrections, my knuckles white as the Warden delivered the news. "Parole denied." My father, Howard Sterling, had forged new evidence of financial crimes to keep me behind bars. He walked into the room, smelling of expensive cologne, and tossed a black folder onto the steel table. It was a marriage contract for Lucas Kensington, a billionaire currently lying in a vegetative state in the ICU. "Sign it. You walk out today." I laughed at the idea of being sold to a "corpse" until Howard slid a grainy photo toward me. It showed a toddler with a crescent-moon birthmark—the son Howard told me had died in an incubator five years ago. He smiled and told me the boy's safety depended entirely on my cooperation. I was thrust into the Kensington estate, where the family treated me like a "drowned rat." They dressed me in mothball-scented rags and mocked my status, unaware that I was monitoring their every move. I watched the cousin, Julian, openly waiting for Lucas to die to inherit the empire, while the doctors prepared to sign the death certificate. I didn't understand why my father would lie about my son’s death for years, or what kind of monsters would use a child as a bargaining chip. The injustice of it burned in my chest as I realized I was just a pawn in a game of old money and blood. As the monitors began to flatline and the family started to celebrate their inheritance, I locked the door and reached into the hem of my dress. I pulled out the sharpened silver wires I’d fashioned in the prison workshop. They thought they bought a submissive convict, but they actually invited "The Saint"—the world’s most dangerous underground surgeon—into their home. "Wake up, Lucas. You owe me a life." I wasn't there to be a bride; I was there to wake the dead and burn their empire to the ground.

Traded Husbands, Tangled Hearts: Can Destiny Be Changed?

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

One Night with My Ex's Alpha Brother

I thought nothing could hurt more than being betrayed by my mate, until I found out he married my friend behind my back! One night. One mistake. One unforgettable encounter with the one wolf I was never meant to touch: The cold, dangerous Alpha. My ex's sexy older brother. It was supposed to be meaningless. Then I woke up marked. and very much not alone. Turns out, the real danger wasn't sleeping with the wrong brother... It's that he never planned to let me go.

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.

Too Late For Regret: The Genius Heiress Who Shines

Blinded in a crash, Cary was rejected by every socialite—except Evelina, who married him without hesitation. Three years later, he regained his sight and ended their marriage. "We’ve already lost so many years. I won’t let her waste another one on me." Evelina signed the divorce papers without a word. Everyone mocked her fall—until they discovered that the miracle doctor, jewelry mogul, stock genius, top hacker, and the President's true daughter… were all her. When Cary came crawling back, a ruthless tycoon had him kicked out. "She's my wife now. Get lost."