The Billionaire's Contract: Revenge On My Ex

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 903 | Released on: 22/01/2026

way like a bullet

. She dropped her shoulders, lengthened her neck, and drove her heels into the floor with a precision that was almost violent. It was the Cobra Walk

through the front row. Heads turned. Sunglasses were lowered.

mured, loud enough to be heard over th

widening. "Mon Dieu," he breathed. "That movement. It is not the girl from th

skin, blinding and purifying. She couldn't see the faces in the crow

ing photos like the rest of the influencers. He was watching. He saw the chin-the sharp, defi

s his

alk. This was the moment Brandy us

yes, framed by the black feathers of the mask, locked onto the camera lens at the center of

ee seconds. An eter

hips as she walked back was hypn

apping; it was a roar. It was the kin

d. "She's stealing my spotlight!" she shrieked, throwing her half-eaten d

between the monitor and the curtain. "The press loves it," he

adrenaline was still coursing throu

k you're clever?" she hissed, r

said, her voice muffled slightly by the mask but clear enough to cut glass.

she?" A vo

y a phalanx of cameras and lighting

completely. He went

d finger at her. "That walk! It

front of Hester. "Pierre

thout looking. "Move, child.

ger smile. "Yes, Pierre, this is our c

dden talents," a deep vo

haos seemed to freeze around him. He didn't look at Haywo

ood close enough that she could smell the cris

d, microphones thrust forward. "Who is this 'Myster

ly didn't cal

ing. "Who are you?" "Take o

ng her the stage. She looked at Haywood, who was pale, shaking

t take of

oes the work," she said in

the air. It was cry

ort the star to her transport. The public d

cked off. Haywood stood there, mouth open, unable

smooth under her fingers. They walked out together,

wood and Brandy were standing in the wreckage of t

Chapter End

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The Billionaire's Contract: Revenge On My Ex

Grump Romance

“I was a top-tier model with a fiancé I trusted to manage every cent I earned. I thought we were building a life together until a blown fuse at the studio sent me home twenty minutes early. The silence of the penthouse was broken by a trail of clothes: Haywood's silk tie, then a red-soled stiletto that belonged to Brandy, the girl I had mentored like a sister. Through the bedroom door, I watched the man I loved tell his mistress that I was "yesterday's news" while they tangled in the sheets I had picked out six months ago. I didn't scream; I just turned to leave, but the betrayal went deeper than the bedroom. When I checked my banking app, my balance was exactly $12.45. Haywood had liquidated every holding account and savings entry I owned, using a "tax strategy" he'd convinced me of to steal my entire past. Within hours, the man who robbed me was planting stories in the press, claiming I was having a drug-fueled breakdown. He wanted me penniless, homeless, and discredited so no one would believe the truth. He even tried to force me into a "rehab" facility to silence me forever while he promoted his pregnant mistress. I stood on a New York curb with nothing left but a desperate, insane idea born from a headline on my phone. Isham Rhodes, the most ruthless CEO in the city, needed a wife by thirty to keep his empire, and I needed a shield to survive mine. "Mr. Rhodes, I hear you need a puppet," I said, intercepting him in the rain outside City Hall. "I don't want your love. I want a legal document that makes me untouchable." He didn't ask for a romance; he asked for my ID. Now, with a billionaire's black card in my pocket and a marriage certificate in my hand, I'm going back to the agency to take back everything they stole. The war has just begun.”