From Oil Heiress To Mountain Ghost

The Rejected Luna's Secret: Awakening the White Wolf

For three years, my Alpha husband forced me to take inhibitors, claiming my bloodline was too "weak" to bear his heir without dying. I believed him, swallowing the pills and the lies to be his perfect, submissive Luna. But during the rogue attack at the Victory Gala, the truth finally shattered me. A feral wolf lunged for my throat. I screamed Bennett's name, frozen in fear without my wolf to protect me. He looked at me. Then he looked at his mistress, Aria, who was cowering behind a table with her wolf fully accessible. He turned his back on me. He tackled the rogue attacking her, leaving me exposed to be torn apart. If his Beta hadn't stepped in at the last second, I would have died right there on the ballroom floor. When the fighting stopped, Bennett didn't even look my way. He was too busy cooing over Aria’s minor scratch, ignoring his wife who had nearly been slaughtered. I realized then that the pills weren't for my safety. He was keeping me sterile and docile until he could replace me with her. I walked upstairs, past the wreckage of my marriage, and flushed the inhibitors down the toilet. Then, I took out a piece of pack stationery and wrote the words that would destroy his world. "I, Kelsey Jensen, reject you, Bennett Randolph, as my mate." I left the note on the nightstand, packed my passport, and walked out into the night, never looking back.

The CEO's Pregnant Genius: No Escape

I spent six years as a "shadow asset" for the Holmes family, a brilliant scholar living in a cramped Queens apartment on a secret scholarship. I was their silent investment, a ghost in their machine, until the day a fluorescent orange eviction notice appeared on my door. The legal documents from Holmes Holdings were brutal. They were terminating my sponsorship and demanding immediate repayment of every cent of my tuition. The reason was buried in the fine print: a moral turpitude clause. I was pregnant with a Holmes heir, and in their world, that made me a liability that needed to be erased. Ingram Holmes, the family’s cold-blooded CEO, didn't see a woman; he saw a line item on a balance sheet. He offered me a million dollars to disappear, abort the child, and sign away my existence. He had me escorted to a private clinic like a criminal, ready to finalize my erasure. But the plan shattered when his grandmother, the matriarch of the family, collapsed in a sudden cardiac arrest. As the doctors failed, I stepped out of the shadows. I diagnosed the toxicity they couldn't see and brought her back from the brink of death. I wasn't the helpless charity case they expected. I was a genius who knew their medical secrets better than their own surgeons. "Who are you?" Ingram growled, pinning me against a desk in his frozen office. I didn't blink. I had just secured the family's ancient signet ring and a seat at their table. Now, I’m living in his manor, sharing his bed, and holding the keys to the vault that contains their darkest sins. "I'm the problem you can't afford to solve," I whispered. The game has changed. I’m no longer the asset—I’m the hunter.

The Architect of His Own Downfall

I was a celebrated architect engaged to Carter Hart, the city' s golden boy politician. I designed our perfect life, and he was on the verge of becoming mayor. Then I found a video on a shared cloud drive. It was of him marrying his pregnant campaign manager three months ago. I was just a prop for his image, a "fake girlfriend" he planned to discard after the election. To keep me compliant, he secretly drugged my daily smoothies, making me feel foggy and unstable. He staged a fire at my award-winning building to ruin my reputation, then tried to have me locked away in a mental institution, claiming I' d had a breakdown. But the final blow came from my godfather. He discovered Carter' s manipulation began seven years ago, when he paid someone to sabotage my college thesis, shattering my confidence just so he could swoop in and be my savior. My entire relationship wasn't just a lie; it was a cage he had designed from the very beginning. So I flew to London and spent six months with my godfather' s production team. We created a ninety-minute documentary to expose every crime, every lie. And we planned to air it live, hijacking the broadcast of his final election night rally. We called it "The Architect of Lies."

The Mermaid He Sold Away

I was Lot 734. A living, breathing mermaid, displayed in a massive tank, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. In the front row, watching it all, was Dr. Aris Thorne, the man who had promised me forever on a hidden beach, the man I had loved with my whole being. His colleagues had surrounded my secret cove with nets the day after he discovered my tail; he stood by, silently allowing my capture. He called me a "scientific anomaly," a "new species," transforming me from his beloved Lyra into a specimen for his research facility, where I was poked, prodded, and drained. His fiancée, Isabelle, delighted in tormenting me, kicking away my food, tapping on my tank, her laughter echoing his betrayal as he stood by, silent and complicit. I tried to tell him that she had sabotaged my tank, almost suffocating me, but he simply believed her tears over my frantic gasps. When he ripped my precious scales from my bleeding palm, claiming it was to "prevent contamination," I knew the man I loved was truly gone. My pain was just data points on his tablet as he watched Isabelle douse me in burning sterilization agents. He then sedated me, turning me into a docile object for auction, a car ready to be sold. I tried to fight back, unleashing a burst of raw power, shattering Isabelle's glass. He reacted by electrocuting me, then draining my tank, letting me suffocate on the dry concrete. Loathing in his eyes, he hissed, "If you try anything like that again, I will make sure you arrive at your new owner's home in pieces." Then, through my pain, a sharp voice cut through the haze: "Let's see the merchandise." The buyer's representative dismissed my "damaged" scales, demanding one more spectacle: "He wants to see her cry pearls. Make it happen." My last flicker of hope died when Aris, his voice flat, agreed.

The Heiress They Stole

The Thanksgiving call from my adoptive mother was laced with a forced cheerfulness that immediately put me on guard. Maria and Anthony never just wanted me home; it was always a preamble to a demand, a lecture, or a guilt trip. This time, it was worse. I arrived to find our small, worn-out house packed with church members, their eyes filled with pious expectation. My adoptive parents, Maria and Anthony, proudly presented a newborn baby, Caleb, demanding I shoulder his entire upbringing and hand over my paramedic salary as my "Christian duty." My refusal unleashed a nightmare. They disowned me, threw out my belongings, and publicly shamed me at my workplace, jeopardizing my hard-earned career. But the lowest blow came when they tried to marry me off to my violent cousin, Rufus, hoping to gain legal control over my life and income. When Rufus used a spare key to break into my apartment, trying to force himself on me, my boyfriend Ethan saved me. Yet, at the police station, my adoptive parents' theatrics and lies allowed them to walk free, while I was left reeling from their venomous threat: a civil lawsuit for "elder abandonment" and demanding every penny I had. How could these people, who claimed to be my family, relentlessly try to destroy me, all in the name of God? Was there no end to their depravity, no escape from their manipulative grasp? But as their twisted words echoed in my mind, a forgotten memory-a snatch of a phrase about a "fire"-ignited a terrifying new question.

Too Late, Mr. Golden Boy

Six years, four rounds of IVF, and a mountain of debt were the price for two pink lines, a baby Andrew proudly proclaimed was our heir. He even bought out an entire floor of Manhattan's most exclusive maternity hospital to celebrate, cementing his image as the perfect #HusbandGoals. But a knot of dread formed as anonymous emails arrived, hinting at "designer babies" and asking, "Is it really your baby, Molly?" A secret prenatal test confirmed the worst: the baby I carried wasn't biologically mine. My body, a battlefield of hormones and needles for six years, had been reduced to a mere vessel for a child conceived with another woman. The final blow came with an audio file of Andrew's voice, clear and cold: "She's just the vessel. Our perfect heir. Her genes are a dead end. Yours, Sabrina... they' re perfect." My world didn't just shatter; it revealed itself to be a meticulously crafted lie where I was nothing more than an incubator for my husband's twisted legacy and his mistress's genes. I gave birth to a child that wasn't mine, then watched my husband publicly dedicate his life and career to his true "partner" in a humiliating display. With a fierce, cold resolve, I walked out of that gilded cage, leaving my old life behind and determined to reclaim my own identity and future.

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.

The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

Craving The Wrong Brother

She spent ten years chasing after the right brother, only to fall for the wrong one in one weekend. ~~~ Sloane Mercer has been hopelessly in love with her best friend, Finn Hartley, since college. For ten long years, she's stood by him, stitching him back together every time Delilah Crestfield-his toxic on-and-off girlfriend-shattered his heart. But when Delilah gets engaged to another man, Sloane thinks this might finally be her chance to have Finn for herself. She couldn't be more wrong. Heartbroken and desperate, Finn decides to crash Delilah's wedding and fight for her one last time. And he wants Sloane by his side. Reluctantly, Sloane follows him to Asheville, hoping that being close to Finn will somehow make him see her the way she's always seen him. Everything changes when she meets Knox Hartley, Finn's older brother-a man who couldn't be more different from Finn. He's dangerously magnetic. Knox sees right through Sloane and makes it his mission to pull her into his world. What starts as a game-a twisted bet between them-soon turns into something deeper. Sloane is trapped between two brothers: one who's always broken her heart and another who seems hell-bent on claiming it... no matter the cost. CONTENT WARNING: This story is strongly 18+. It delves into dark romance themes such as obsession and lust with morally complex characters. While this is a love story, reader discretion is advised.  

Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine

I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting." When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home. Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name. He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal. I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing. As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life.

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!"

After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.