Ben Nan
16 Published Stories
Ben Nan's Books and Stories
Betrayed By Him, Saved By His Uncle
Billionaires On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began. Shattered Mate Bond: The Secret Hacker Luna's Vengeance
Romance After spending five grueling years securing the Madden Pack's empire, I thought my Alpha mate and I were finally building a perfect family.
But on my birthday, I returned home to find a thick, impenetrable wall of ice in our Mate bond.
Caden had completely shut me out to throw a lavish party for my half-sister, Adalynn.
He let Adalynn pollute our penthouse with her cheap perfume and brainwash my five-year-old daughter, Elara.
"Auntie Adalynn is a million times better than Mommy!"
Elara chirped happily to a camera, while Caden watched with a doting smile.
He publicly humiliated me, commanded the servants to ignore me, and deliberately fed Elara severe allergens just to spite my maternal rules.
When my pup ended up in the pack hospital gasping for air, Caden confiscated her tablet and roared at her to stop crying for the mother who "abandoned" her.
My heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
I couldn't understand how the man destined to protect my soul could twist my love into cruelty and use our helpless cub as a punching bag for his ego.
But the weeping, pathetic Luna died right there.
I calmly signed the divorce papers, surrendered all my assets, and walked out into the cold night.
Opening my encrypted laptop, I reclaimed my hidden identity as the global elite hacker "Ghost" and initiated a lethal protocol.
It was time to burn his entire world to the ground. His Defiant Ex-Wife: The True Luna Returns
Werewolf For three years, I was the silent bank account behind the Nexus Pack. My husband, Caleb, was the Alpha, but the empire was built entirely on my inheritance.
Then the mind-link went dead. Caleb walked into our penthouse smelling of cheap vanilla and betrayal, followed closely by his secretary, Kimberly. She didn't just walk in; she swiped a red keycard—my Luna clearance.
"She understands the Pack's needs," Caleb sneered, shielding his mistress while I stood there, trembling.
They called me "wolfless" and "broken" because I hadn't Shifted yet. But the betrayal didn't stop at cheating. Caleb planned to lock me in the Sanctuary—a prison for the insane—so he could declare me incompetent and seize my fortune. Kimberly even shattered my mother’s sacred Moonstone necklace, laughing as she called my legacy tacky.
I looked at the man I had elevated from poverty to power. He wasn't protecting me; he was planning a coup on my own life. He thought I was a weak, human-like liability he could discard once the checks cleared. He thought my wolf was dead.
He was wrong.
I didn't just sign the divorce papers; I froze every asset he had.
"An army marches on its stomach, Caleb," I whispered as his credit lines failed.
At his "victory" Gala, I didn't just expose his treason; I destroyed his world. And when he finally crawled back to beg for mercy, he didn't see a broken girl.
He saw the glowing silver eyes of the White Wolf. He Chose The Mistress, I Chose Freedom
Mafia "The child is mine."
My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, announced to the world, his hand resting protectively on his mistress's stomach.
He was lying to save her life, but in doing so, he signed the death warrant for the baby growing inside me.
Just hours before, I had finally gotten the positive test we had prayed for over five years.
But Dante chose to claim a traitor's bastard as his heir.
When I tried to confront him, he dismissed me cold-heartedly.
"It's a strategic lie, Elena. You aren't pregnant, so it doesn't matter."
He didn't know.
Later, when an accident left his mistress critical, he dragged me to the hospital.
He forced me to donate my blood to save her, ignoring my ghostly pallor.
He didn't know I was already bleeding out.
He didn't know I had just come from the clinic, where I had removed the "complication" he made me feel ashamed of.
He thought he was being noble.
He didn't realize he was killing his own son to save another man's lie.
On the night of the gala celebrating his "heir," I left a white box on his desk and vanished.
Inside was a medical report: *Termination of Pregnancy. 8 Weeks. Father: Dante Moretti.*
By the time he read it, I was already gone. The Monster Behind His Mask
Modern My husband Declan' s recklessness on a ski slope left me with chronic pain and unable to have children. He played the part of my devoted caretaker, but his perfect facade shattered when a stray cat, abandoned by our new neighbor, purred against his leg with a chilling familiarity.
That whisper of betrayal led me to her apartment, where I found his pregnant mistress, Bridgett. She smirked, calling me Declan's "perpetually ill wife" and flaunted the baby I could never give him.
When I demanded a divorce, both our families turned on me, calling me hysterical and greedy. Declan dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, but his "love" felt like a cage built on my pain and his lies.
The truth, however, was far more monstrous.
Bridgett later appeared on my doorstep, terrified, revealing Declan had forced her to lose their baby-a twisted "proof of love" meant to win me back.
As he pounded on my door, confessing his crime and screaming that I was his, I realized I hadn't just married a cheater. I had married a monster. The Painter's Unending Haunt
Horror My best friend, Noah, had my hands broken. He did it so I could never paint again. Then he told my wife, Olivia, that I had lost my mind and needed to be sent away for "rehabilitation."
They sent me to what was essentially a prison, where I was starved, beaten, and eventually died alone on a cold floor.
Now, I'm a ghost, haunting Noah's lavish party, a celebration of his stolen success. He' s exhibiting paintings that are eerily like my lost collection, while everyone praises him as an art mogul. Olivia, my wife, is there too, looking beautiful but with a shadow in her eyes. Noah's assistant, the one who helped break my hands, even lies to her face, saying I'm still "adjusting" at the center.
The arrogance is breathtaking. Olivia stands in the house my stolen art paid for, listening to the lies of the man who killed me. He even fakes an injury to garner her sympathy.
It was shocking when a call came through, revealing I' d been secretly flying every six weeks for a year to donate blood for Olivia's rare condition, saving her life. Then the news broke: the "rehabilitation" center I was sent to was a network of abusive prisons where patients died.
No one heard my silent screams. My wife even refused to believe the truth, preferring to cling to Noah' s comforting lies, even as she tried to salvage my shredded art from the attic. But then my real parents, billionaires who had been searching for me for decades, showed up. And Noah, my murderer, embraced them, pretending to be their long-lost son. He wanted to steal my inheritance, too.
"Mom? Dad?" he said, holding out the locket my birth mother gave me.
My wife's refusal of Noah's marriage proposal was a small flicker of hope, soon extinguished by his manipulative feigned heart attack. But then the funeral home called, asking Olivia to pick up my remains. My ashes scattered on the floor after Noah fumbled the urn, and my mother-in-law suddenly revealed I' d donated my kidney to Olivia.
That was the moment. She called 911, reporting a murder. My murder. He Said No, She Found Love
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold.
It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, mocking the thin dress you wore.
I was dying in a dark, abandoned warehouse, our son Leo trembling beside me.
Then, his voice.
Over the kidnapper' s phone, Harrison Hayes, the man I' d loved for years, flatly declared: "Wrong number. I don' t know them."
He didn' t know me.
He didn' t know Leo.
Five years of a miserable marriage dissolved into one brutal truth: he resented me, seeing my existence as the ruin of his life.
My death, simply a convenient erasure.
And then, nothing.
A profound, silent void.
Until, a voice, warm and familiar, broke through the darkness: "Ava? Happy birthday."
My eyes snapped open.
I wasn't in a warehouse.
I was at my 21st birthday dinner, staring at a younger Harrison, before the resentment carved lines around his mouth.
This was the night it all began, the night I confessed my desperate love.
But this time, the memory of his callous "Wrong number" burned.
The phantom ache of my son' s absence was a hollow void in my chest.
I would not make the same mistake.
I would not confess.
I would let him go.
I would let him have his perfect life with his perfect Charlotte.
When Charlotte Evans, his first love, walked in, I didn't fight.
I left.
I walked out into the cool night, hailing a cab, for the naive girl I had been, for the son who would now never exist.
The pain was immense.
But underneath it, a fragile seed of freedom took root.
I wouldn' t be a victim.
I would save myself.
My first call was to my parents' lawyer.
I was activating a forgotten betrothal agreement.
I was going to Daniel Thorne. The Architect's Shattered Heart
Romance For five years, I lived in a gray, quiet world, shattered by a tragic accident that claimed my fiancée, Amelia, and my three promising apprentices.
I became Ethan Miller, the brilliant architect who' d lost his touch, a hollowed-out recluse living with ghosts.
Then, a familiar laugh broke the silence from a room I hadn' t entered in years-Jake' s old room.
It was Amelia' s voice. And with it, Olivia' s, Sophia' s, and Jake' s.
"It was a necessary sacrifice," Amelia purred, her voice chillingly confident. "We needed him to be completely broken. The firm is just sitting there, waiting for me to take over."
My blood ran cold as I heard their twisted plan: fake deaths, my engineered grief, all to seize my company.
They had let my mentor, Mr. Davies, waste away; they had let me suffer for five years, all for a long con.
The love I felt, the grief that defined me-it was all a vicious lie.
They thought I was broken, a pathetic fool they could manipulate.
They were wrong.
A furious, cold rage ignited within me, burning away the sorrow.
They wanted my legacy, built on my ruin.
They would never get it.
My steps were steady for the first time in forever.
They had a plan. Now, so did I. Too Late, Mother: I Am Reborn
Sci-fi My eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a fresh start, "Lottery Day" for the Life Path Augmentation (LPA) program.
My toxic mother, Susan, was desperate for me to get the Support Role Optimization (SRO) LPA, reducing me to the compliant trophy wife I was in my first life before it all ended in tragedy.
But then, my older sister, Jessica, whose insatiable greed for an "easy life" was legend, bizarrely elbowed her way forward, only to be ironically assigned the very SRO meant for me.
As I stepped up, the machine hummed, then announced its shocking verdict: I received the High-Potential Innovator (HPI) LPA, the burden that had led to Jessica' s ruin in our previous timeline.
My mother' s carefully constructed world imploded; Jessica' s triumphant smirk dissolved into furious disbelief.
They immediately launched their counter-attack, determined to crush this "dangerous" potential.
My Caltech scholarship, my lifeline to a real future, was brutally yanked away, deemed a distraction from my "duty" to support Jessica's floundering attempts at social climbing.
Every penny I earned from grueling dead-end jobs was siphoned into their bottomless pit of familial exploitation.
"Family comes first," my father would drone, a chilling echo of their manipulation from a past I desperately sought to rewrite.
This was it – the same old cage, just with new bars.
But they fundamentally misunderstood.
Their betrayal only fueled the quiet revolution brewing within me.
As their carefully laid plans crumbled around Jessica, I wasn't just enduring; I was processing, learning, plotting.
And soon, the architect of their downfall wouldn' t just be a thought, but a force. She Died for Her Son's Future
Billionaires My days were a silent decay, confined to a dark wing of my husband Ethan' s sprawling estate, a place as forgotten as I had become.
Once a celebrated musician, now I was a ghostly presence, my body frail, my spirit hollowed by isolation.
Then, they came for me: two brute men pulling me from my stained mattress into the blinding opulence of Ethan' s main living area.
My husband stood there, a king with his pop star queen, Chloe, and my own son, Leo, whose face was a mask of coldness.
They demanded a public apology, accusing me of sabotaging Chloe' s career with vicious lies, lies my son' s small voice echoed, tearing me apart.
Within moments, the charade intensified: Chloe dramatically collapsed, feigning a sudden, fatal heart condition, and the physician Ethan controlled declared a desperate need for a transplant.
Ethan' s eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on me with a horrifying intent: I was to be sacrificed, my healthy organs harvested for Chloe' s fictional illness.
The ultimate betrayal wasn't just my stolen songs or the car crash that left me paralyzed; it was this barbaric desecration, driven by Ethan's monstrous, deluded love, all to secure Chloe' s fame.
How could I, a mother, a wife, who had given everything, be condemned to such a gruesome, public death for a lie?
Just as the clinic room prepared for my end, I made a choice, a whisper to the voice inside my head, the System, to simply "vanish."
Sarah Thompson was dead, leaving only an empty shell behind.
But a flicker of hope, the image of my ailing sister and my son, still tangled in their web of deceit, ignited a desperate resolve.
I would return, step back into the inferno, and for the first time, not be their victim.
I would expose their monstrous truths, redeem my son, save my sister, and make Ethan, the man who destroyed me, truly pay for every single sin.
This time, I was ready to demand: "Die for me, Ethan." When The Charity Case Buys The Empire
Billionaires I was the Bradford family's charity case, groomed to be Liam Bradford's wife, endlessly cleaning up his messes.
Discreet calls to pharmacies, quiet payoffs – that was my life, a familiar, suffocating routine.
Then, Eleanor Bradford's chilling call: "Ava, the penthouse. Now."
I walked in to find Sophia Hayes, Liam's high school sweetheart, artfully tear-streaked and clutching her stomach.
"It's her, or me and our babies!"
Liam didn't even look at me. "It's Sophia. She's pregnant. Twins."
He casually outlined his plan: Sophia would live in our penthouse, I'd be a godmother, then a sham wedding for appearances.
My antique locket, a treasured gift, was tossed carelessly towards a trash bin.
Later, Liam announced my custom wedding dress would be live-streamed as a charity donation for "good PR."
"You were taken in out of charity," he sneered. "Be eternally grateful."
The final blow: a legal document demanding I sign away any future maternal claims, ensuring Sophia's twins were the undisputed Bradford heirs.
My value, reduced to a barren placeholder.
When I refused, Sophia staged a dramatic fall, screaming I'd tried to harm her babies.
Liam, in a furious rage, threw my suitcase, then shoved me out of the penthouse.
"Go back to the gutter where we found you!" he roared, slamming the door.
Cast out. Alone. But a cold, steel resolve ignited.
My trembling hand dialed a name I hadn't called in years: Jax Cole.
"Is that offer... does it still stand?" I choked out.
"Always, Ava," he replied. "For you, always."
My only way out.
Boston City Hall. Three days. Nine AM. I would be there. Queen of Alaska: His Final Regret
Romance My life as a senator's daughter, filled with Hamptons summers and a proposal from my childhood sweetheart, Ethan, was shattered.
Facing financial and political ruin, my father forced me into an arranged marriage with rugged Alaskan oil magnate, Marcus Thorne.
Ethan, my supposed soulmate, dismissed my family's crisis, prioritizing his "fragile" confidante, Clara Vance, even suggesting a "nominal marriage" to her while I faced an abyss.
Heartbroken, I fled to Alaska.
But even there, betrayal followed.
During an assassination attempt, my new fiancé, Marcus, chose to save his assistant, leaving me critically wounded and abandoned.
Why was I always the one sacrificed?
Why did every man choose someone else over me, even when my life was on the line?
Saved from near-death by a loyal servant, I rose from the ashes, my heart cold but clear.
So when a gaunt, desperate Ethan crashed my Alaskan wedding, begging for me back, I faced him.
In front of everyone, I exposed his weakness and narcissism, severing ties to the past.
From that moment, I embraced my true power, transforming into the formidable Queen of Alaska, where unexpected strength and a different kind of loyalty awaited. His Wife's Last Lie
Romance My life was perfect. I was Ethan, a successful architect, seven blissful years into marriage with my high school sweetheart, Olivia. We were talking about starting a family; life was good. Then Liam walked into the cafe.
"You' re Ethan, right? Olivia' s husband." The young guy smirked. "I' m Liam. Her boyfriend. She' s pregnant with my kid." My world imploded.
Olivia arrived, slapped Liam, and swore he was a nobody. I wanted to believe her, desperately. But his relentless DMs chipped away at my sanity: photos of her arm wrapped around him, her distinctive bracelet, a new guitar she bought him. Then, the sickening truth: Buddy, the golden retriever I adored, was actually Liam' s dog, given to me as part of her elaborate deception.
The final blow came when I overheard her. She wasn't just abandoning me for him in Maine; she' d been secretly drugging my protein shakes for weeks, actively sabotaging my lifelong dream of having children. The betrayal was malicious, beyond comprehension. Why? What monstrous game was she playing?
Watching Olivia passionately kiss Liam in Maine sealed it. I was done. I left my wedding ring, a note, and my phone, Liam' s taunts still blazing on the screen. As I walked away into the cold, clean air, I knew this wasn't just an escape. This was the start of uncovering the raw, brutal truth behind every lie. The Disposable Lover's Revenge
Romance My life was an opulent lie, perched high in a Manhattan skyscraper as executive assistant and secret lover to Wall Street magnate Ethan Hayes.
He paid for everything, even covered my family' s past medical debts, binding me to him in an unspoken agreement of dependency.
Then, an email arrived: "Termination of Employment. Effective immediately."
Within hours, Ethan' s 'white moonlight' sweetheart, Chloe Davenport, flew back into New York, and suddenly, I was disposable.
He paraded Chloe publicly, their rediscovery splashed across Page Six, while I withered, my chronic autoimmune disorder flaring from the agonizing stress.
When Chloe' s furious friend shoved me, leaving me with a concussion, Ethan' s only concern was Chloe' s pristine image, demanding I lie to the police, his icy gaze warning me to "behave."
My golden cage had become a torture chamber.
How could the man I loved, the man who' d once saved my family, wield such casual cruelty?
Was my entire existence merely a debt to be repaid, my body and soul his to discard at will?
The pain was unbearable, consuming.
But the true breaking point came when he whispered, "Only death changes the terms."
He thought he had me trapped forever.
He didn't know I was ready to die to be truly free. No More Miss Nice Wife
Modern My husband Ethan and I had built a life together.
Ten years of marriage, my career and inheritance poured into his rising tech venture, Innovatech, all from our beautiful Hamptons home.
On our tenth anniversary, a young woman named Chloe Washington arrived, her words like a knife: "I'm pregnant.
It's Ethan's. You need to divorce him." She had photos.
Ethan confirmed it, unapologetically stating he needed an "heir" due to my infertility.
He publicly paraded Chloe, even setting her up in an Innovatech office next to his.
When I confronted him, Chloe feigned a fall, and Ethan, in a fit of rage, threatened to call security on me, the woman who built his empire.
My decade of sacrifice—my youth, my money, my identity—all dismissed as he gaslit me, calling me "hysterical."
How could he betray me so utterly, then demand I remain "reasonable" while he erased me from our life?
As Ethan extended his hand for the phone, a chilling calm replaced my heartbreak.
The broken wife was gone.
I dialed the only number that mattered, initiating a battle he never saw coming. You might like
The Jilted Heiress's Ruthless Billionaire Revenge
Gray Matter For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett.
Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid.
When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives.
"Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself."
I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together.
Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company.
He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life.
He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire.
I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer.
"Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant." The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback
Zhi Yao For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties.
But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom.
Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot.
Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years.
"You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic."
My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support.
They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets.
I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life.
But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree.
Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate.
When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block. Too Late For Regret: My Dead Heart
Catlaina Sloggett Rain lashed against the twisted metal as Hallie lay pinned in the wreckage of her car, her chest crushed and fading fast.
The paramedic found her phone and desperately dialed her husband, Aidan.
"Your wife has been in a severe car crash! We're losing her!" the paramedic shouted over the storm.
A harsh, mocking laugh came through the speaker.
"Tell her this is a pathetic way to stop the divorce," Aidan sneered. "I do not have time for her crazy games."
The line went dead, and Hallie's heart flatlined.
Separated from her body, Hallie's ghost was forced to witness the horrific aftermath of her own death.
Her mother refused to claim her corpse because there was no insurance payout, telling the hospital to throw her in a ditch.
Pulled back to her penthouse, she found Aidan gently holding her sister, Cecile.
Cecile sobbed about Hallie's "fake crash" in Aidan's arms, but the moment he looked away, a wicked smirk of victory spread across her face.
Cecile was the predator, and Aidan was her willing protector.
He even ordered Hallie's brilliant, life's-work sketchbook to be thrown into an industrial shredder, giving all her corporate resources to fund Cecile's debut.
Hovering in the cold air, Hallie watched her three years of devotion turn to ash.
She was treated like garbage, a mere stepping stone for her sister's rise.
But just as her soul turned to ice, Aidan's face suddenly grew paranoid.
"Check her medical records," Aidan ordered his assistant coldly. "Find out who is helping her fake this injury."
Hallie's invisible spirit shivered with a dark, vengeful anticipation.
What would her arrogant husband do when his relentless digging finally uncovered her cold, dead body? The Billionaire's Ugly Wife
Ximena West "I've warned you from the beginning. Don't marry him, but you won't listen." Darcy stood close to me and smiled with concern. "You're not a woman worthy of a man as handsome, rich, smart, and virile as Blaze."
My whole body trembled at her words. "Have you no shame?" I asked.
"Take a good look at yourself, Heather." She stared at me in the mirror. "You can't even glance at your ugly face. Do you think Blaze can endure a lifetime of gazing at that scar?"
Heather Bailey got a surprise from her husband: a divorce agreement. After a year of marriage and facing ups and downs, she couldn't believe Blaze intended to divorce her. She was devastated when she saw him gazing lovingly at another woman.
After signing the divorce papers, shockwaves caught her up. Her flower shop was burned to the ground. Her father's company collapsed, and her parents blamed her.
She struggled to rebuild her life from the ground up and became more successful than ever. Having many customers from influential families, she started her revenge on Blaze. She won the very thing he wanted, but that was just the beginning. Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
"Call her Aunt." Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
TESS WHITE I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground. Marrying My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle
Yuan Xiluo On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours." 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." I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan 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. 
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