Marriage Application: A Fateful Revelation

The Ex-Fiancé You Can't Afford To Lose

I stood in the ballroom with a diamond ring in my pocket, waiting to be crowned King of the empire I had built from the ground up. Instead, the woman I loved walked to the microphone and signed my death warrant with a smile. Serena didn't announce our engagement. She announced that Luca Moretti—an incompetent associate I'd almost fired three times—was the new Underboss and her partner in life. Then, she kissed him. Deep and possessive, right in front of the entire Commission. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. Luca smirked at me, wearing a suit that was too tight, while Serena looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "Dante is the old guard," she told the crowd, dismissing me like a waiter. "We are moving in a new direction." They stripped me of my title. They humiliated me on live television. They thought they had taken my crown. But they forgot one crucial detail. I was the Architect. I had built the encrypted logistics system that kept the FBI in the dark. A system that required my specific biometric code every morning to function. I didn't make a scene. I didn't scream. I simply placed the ring on a waiter's tray and walked out into the night. Forty-eight hours later, the Vitiello empire was in a freefall. The accounts were frozen. The shipments were flagged. My phone buzzed. It was Serena. "Dante," she panicked, her voice trembling. "Fix it. Now." I took a sip of my espresso and smiled at the chaos on the news. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Serena. You fired the only pilot who knows how to fly the plane."

The Silent Mate The Alpha Left to Die

My mother was in the hospital after a nasty dog bite, so I called my fiancé, Cohen. He was supposed to be my rock. Instead, I got annoyance. He was in Aspen, on a ski trip with my best friend, Hillary. “What do you want me to do? Fly back right now?” he snapped, before hanging up to get back to the “perfect snow.” The dog, it turned out, was Hillary’s. The bite on my diabetic mother’s leg quickly developed into a raging infection. I texted Cohen an update, telling him she was getting worse, that they were talking about surgery. He didn't call back. Instead, Hillary’s Instagram story updated: a photo of her and Cohen, cheeks flushed from the cold, smiling in front of a fireplace. The caption was a single heart emoji. While they were sipping hot chocolate, my mother went into septic shock. As I sat alone in the grim hospital waiting room, staring at my silent phone, I knew he had already made his choice. He had chosen a vacation. He had chosen my best friend. He had left my mother to die all alone. She passed away at 3:17 AM. I held her hand until it grew cold, then walked out into the gray dawn. I wasn't just grieving. I was done. I was going to erase myself from his world and burn everything to the ground.

The Chairman's Revenge

My life was the American dream: Alex Sterling, a tech CEO with a penthouse, a beautiful wife, and a billion-dollar company. Then came the Aspen ski accident, changing everything. Confined to a wheelchair, "recovering," my perfect wife Jessica and my best friend Marcus took over my life and my company. But beneath their overly solicitous smiles and condescending coos, I saw the truth-the lipstick smudge on his collar, the furtive glances, the subtle touches. My wife and my best friend were having an affair, plotting to steal everything I' d built. They paraded doctors, pushed papers for me to sign, openly humiliated me, calling me a "cripple," "pathetic," believing me utterly broken and powerless. Jessica purred about romantic chalets while forcing me to sign away what they believed were my company's controlling shares. Marcus, my supposed brother-in-arms, even kicked my wheelchair, his eyes gleaming with years of festering resentment, reveling in my apparent downfall. Even my fiercely loyal head of security seemed to turn on me, joining their "winning team." The betrayal, the public mockery, the slow dismantling of my life-it was a torment I wouldn' t wish on my worst enemy. Why would I endure this unbearable humiliation? Why let them strip me bare, sign away my company, my marriage, my very dignity, believing I was blissfully unaware? They thought they had won, that I was a broken man about to be discarded. But what if the accident was no accident? What if I knew every single step of their treacherous plan, even before they took it? Because when I put my name to those papers, the game wasn't over for me; it had truly just begun for them.

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

The Real Boss Was His Neglected Wife

I was putting my signature on the invoice for the Gulfstream G650 when my husband snatched the boarding pass from the folder and handed it to his mistress. "You're taking the commercial flight out of JFK," Jackson said, daring me to challenge him in front of his security detail. "Amber needs the privacy. She gets air sick." I looked down at the crumpled ticket he had slid to me. Economy. Middle seat. Three layovers. Then I looked at the sixty-million-dollar bird I had leased specifically so his crime family wouldn't get slaughtered on the highway by their rivals. "Amber is fragile," he whispered, his breath smelling of the expensive scotch I bought. "She carries the future. You just carry the checkbook." My mother-in-law was already on board, sipping the vintage Dom Pérignon I had curated, refusing to look at me. They treated me like a glorified ATM with a medical degree. They forgot that five years ago, when the Feds froze everything, I was the one who bought their lives with a five-million-dollar tribute. They forgot that the hand that writes the checks can also close the account. As the engines roared to life, leaving me stranded on the tarmac, I didn't cry. Surgeons don't cry over dead bodies. I pulled out my phone and cancelled the Uber he had called for me. I wasn't going to the airport. I was going to the safe to retrieve the "Blood Contract." The five million dollars wasn't a gift. It was a callable loan. And the collateral was everything. I dialed my lawyer. "Burn it to the ground."

I Built Your Empire, Now It Burns

I realized my husband did not love me the moment he stepped over my broken heart to answer a text from his mistress. Caleb was the "Architect," a feared Capo in New York, but he forgot that I was the one who funded his rise from the gutter with my inheritance. He brought his assistant, Kimberly, into our private penthouse. She wore my silk robe, mocked my past trauma, and snapped my dead mother’s rosary right in front of my eyes. When I lashed out in grief, Caleb didn't defend me. He pinned me against the wall, comforting her while calling me "unstable" and "violent." He gaslighted me, claiming I would be eaten alive without his protection. He thought I was just a fragile princess who would crumble without him. He truly believed he was the king, forgetting that I was the one who built the castle. I didn't cry. I simply wiped the blood from my arm and walked out the door. He didn't know that I owned thirty percent of his laundering front and the land beneath his precious casino. I picked up the phone and dialed the number of his deadliest rival, the Irish mob. "The bank is closed, Caleb. I’m selling my shares to the enemy."

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.

The Stray Heiress Strikes Back

Ten years ago, Elizabeth Kaiser was abandoned by her biological father, cast out of her home like a stray dog. A decade later, she returned as a decorated general of Nation A, wielding immense power and wealth beyond measure. The onlookers waited eagerly for her downfall, only to watch in shock as the elite families of Capitol City bowed before her in reverence. Elizabeth smirked coldly. "Want to chase me? Better ask my fists for permission first!"

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."

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

A Favor To My Boss

Emma had agreed to pretend to be her boss's girlfriend at an event where his ex-wife planned to show up with the guy she had cheated with. "We'll see how this turns out."

The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen

I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella. Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark. But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved. Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies. When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel. While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest. The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella. He ordered my father to punish me. I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth. That night, the love in my heart finally died. On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven. Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney. By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.