Contingency

The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress

Zi Ya

The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting. "Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes." Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind. I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack. Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba. How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow? When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE. "Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me."

Billionaires Revenge Ex-wife

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Danika huddled down on her cell. Empty cold cell.

She has been here for one week. She craves outside....anywhere. Anywhere at all that's not this cold barren space. Only one bonk bed occupied the side of the room.

She hasn't seen her captor in the past one week and that was the time he walked up to her, staring at her with the coldest eyes she has ever seen as he reached around her neck and collared her.

His slave. His property. He'd called her.

A chill went down Danika's arms. She has never seem a hatred more raw before, in anybody's eyes.

King Lucien hated her. So much.

Danika knows the reason more than anybody. Oh, does she know this.

One week ago, she was Princess Danika. Daughter of King Cone of Mombana. She was feared and respected.

No one dare look at her twice. You dare not look her in the eyes. You dare no walk the part she walks unless you have no value for your life. Her father saw to this.

Today, her father has been killed, their kingdom taken over by the ruthless King Lucien. He has also taken her over as his slave.

The sound of footsteps and chains rattling drew Danika's attention towards the door of the cell. The door opened and a bodyguard entered.

He carried a tray of food and Danika's stomach rumbled, hunger shoving through her and reminding her that this is her first meal since morning and it suspiciously looks like evening now.

"Here's your food, Priiiincess." The stretched the syllable in disgust. Everyone here hates her, Danika knows that much.

She raised her chin defiantly, saying nothing.

"The king will be here in a few hours. Be ready to receive him." He announced before walking away.

Fear slid through her. She isn't ready to face her captor yet. But it's been one week, and Danika knows it's inevitable.

🍄🍄🍄Two Hours Later🍄🍄🍄

The sun is almost down when Danika heard footsteps. Followed by, "THE KING HAS ARR---"

"Do not announce me, Chad." Came the curt reply that sent chill down Danika's arms. In all her twenty-one years of life, she hasn't heard a voice so cold.

"I apologize, my king." Chad quickly said.

Sounds of chains....and then, the door threw open.

Only the king entered because Danika heard just one almost-unheard footstep. The door closed behind him.

Suddenly, her cold barren cell was no longer so...barren. She raised her eyes and stared at him with her own hatred for him in her eyes.

He's so big like a warrior but he has the bearing of a king. Danika knows he's thirty-five years old...and larger than life itself.

Even when he was in slavery for her father, that regality was almost present around him. No matter how much he's beaten...how much he's tortured.

They stared at each other, the malice between them apparent. Evident.

Only, King Lucien's wasn't just hate...it was loathe. Full raw hatred and rage. There is no warmth in his eyes.

His face would have been so handsome, but a thick scar ran over one cheek, giving him a savage look.

He stalked closer to her, bent down and ran his hand through her blond...almost white long hair.

He grabbed it tight and yanked hard, forcing her head back and forcing her to stare into the ocean that is his eyes. Pain seared her.

"When I come in here, you'll address me. You don't just sit down like a coward staring st me or I'll punish you for it." His eyes flashed red, "I would love nothing more than to punish you."

Danika found herself nodding. Yes, she hated this man her captor, but she really has a deep aversion to pain. She doesn't like pain at all and she would do anything to avoid it....if she can.

"Yes....my king." She groaned.

Disgust flashed in his eyes. His hand lowered and rested on her barely-covered breast.

He circled her nipple through her clothing and then, he pinched her so hard Danika cried out as a thick wave of pain reverberated through her.

He still held the nub tight as he looked her in the eyes. "I am not your king and I will never be your king. I am a king to my people and you're not my people. You're my slave, Danika. My property."

Danika nodded quickly, wishing he'd let go of her hurting n'pple.

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