icon 0
icon TOP UP
rightIcon
icon Reading History
rightIcon
icon Sign out
rightIcon
icon Get the APP
rightIcon
closeIcon

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
My Ruthless Uncle's Justice

My Ruthless Uncle's Justice

My alarm buzzed, a cheerful tune that mocked the dread in my stomach. Today was the day: our family road trip to Vegas. Last time, it was the day I died. I remembered the screech of tires, shrill against hot asphalt. The sickening crunch of metal, the world swirling upside down. Then, the suffocating smell of gasoline, my own blood. Frank – my father – had orchestrated it all. He'd meticulously sabotaged our car, intent on murdering my mother and me for our organs. His mistress, Jessica, had a dying son, Leo, and we were merely unwilling donors for their twisted scheme. I gasped, shooting bolt upright in my cramped suburban bedroom. The morning sun streamed through the cheap floral wallpaper, a cruel contrast to the grim reality that had just resurfaced. The gruesome memory of my death, brutally betrayed by my own flesh and blood, washed over me like a tidal wave of ice and raw panic. My blood ran cold. This wasn't a nightmare; it was today. The same day he planned to carve me up for parts. How could a father, the sworn protector, conceive such a monstrous act for another woman' s child? The sheer injustice, the chilling horror of it, was unbearable, turning my stomach. But then, the nausea receded, replaced by something cold, hard, and sharp: pure, unyielding rage. I wasn't that naive 19-year-old anymore. I was a ghost with a score to settle. This time, there would be no crash. No organs harvested. This time, they would be the ones to feel pain.
My Husband's Secret Son

My Husband's Secret Son

My marriage to Andrew Lester was a fairy tale. I was Maria, a kindergarten teacher, and he was a real estate tycoon, giving me a life of luxury with our beloved five-year-old son, Caleb. He adored us, said we were his whole world, and I believed every word. Until a rain-slicked road in the Hamptons. One moment, Caleb was singing; the next, there was a deafening crunch. I woke in a hospital, searing pain through my body, Andrew' s face etched with what I thought was profound grief. He told me Caleb didn't make it, a tragic hit-and-run. But then, drifting between consciousness and hell, I heard voices outside my room. Andrew' s, cold and stripped of grief, asking, "Is it done?" A surgeon replied, "The liver was a perfect match for your son. Ryan is in recovery." Ryan? My blood ran cold, moments before another chilling revelation: "And the other matter? The hysterectomy was performed as you instructed." Andrew's casual cruelty solidified my nightmare: "Good. Be careful with her when she wakes. My wife is sensitive to pain." My husband, the love of my life, had murdered our son, harvested his liver for a secret child, and sterilized me to ensure that bastard would be his only heir. My world didn' t just break; it had been a calculated lie from the start. Lying there, with the fresh stitches on my abdomen a brutal testament to his betrayal, my grief transmuted into a cold, bottomless rage. He wore our son's handmade bracelet, a symbol of pure love now reeking of ultimate treachery. I knew then: I would endure this monster. I would play his game. And I would take everything from him, just as he had taken everything from me.
My Husband Stole My Company, I Took His Life