Er Ye
18 Published Stories
Er Ye's Books and Stories
His Betrayal Forged Her Empire
Billionaires I run my family's political dynasty with an iron fist. From my father’s Senate votes to my own calculated engagement, every move is mine to control.
Then, in a single evening, my ambitious stepmother made her play. She used our housekeeper as a spy and orchestrated a scandal involving my fiancé and stepsister, designed to shatter my reputation and power.
They thought they could break me. Within twelve hours, the spy was dead on the marble floor of my foyer. My fiancé’s family was blackmailed into silence. My stepsister was exiled to a Swiss boarding school, and I stripped my own father of his authority for his weakness.
As for my stepmother, Bronte, I had her declared mentally unstable and forcibly taken to a remote facility in Montana, completely cut off from the world.
Everyone saw a cold-hearted coup, but they didn't know the secret I held. I had proof that Bronte had systematically orchestrated my brother’s death years ago, all to position her own son to inherit everything. This wasn't about power; it was vengeance.
But winning the war at home has put me on a much deadlier board. Now, I'm preparing for a dinner with Eldridge Marsh—the most dangerous man in Washington—who wants to decide if I'm a player he can use, or a threat he needs to destroy. The Timid Wife Is A Ruthless Boss
Billionaires I married Curtiss Coffey under a strict business contract, playing the role of a pathetic, timid orphan to survive my greedy uncle’s family. They treated me like dirt, mocking my cheap clothes and forcing me to beg for their scraps while I lived in the shadow of their Manhattan penthouse.
But my life as a doormat ended the night Curtiss discovered who I really was.
During a high-stakes meeting at an exclusive SOHO club, a door cracked open for a split second. Inside, I wasn't the trembling assistant they all despised; I was Freya, the ruthless, cold-blooded founder of Verve, dominating powerful executives and dismantling their pathetic offers with surgical precision.
Curtiss stood in the hallway, frozen in the shadows, his eyes locked on the woman he thought he knew. He watched me command the room with a lethal, calculated grace that shattered every lie I had ever told him.
The timid girl he had pitied and protected didn't exist. He had been playing a game with a predator, and he had been her biggest fool all along.
As the door clicked shut, he didn't storm in to confront me. He simply loosened his tie, a dark, terrifying smile spreading across his face. He looked like a wolf that had finally cornered his prey.
He turned to his assistant and gave the only order that mattered: "Lock down the club. Nobody leaves." The Undercover CEO's Accidental Wife
Modern At my family's charity gala, I was on stage presenting the drone that would secure my legacy.
Suddenly, the power cut. My own brother and cousin had sabotaged the presentation, causing the drone to crash.
As a cruel joke, a bizarre auction rule was invoked, pairing me with the maintenance worker injured in the chaos. My fiancé, Kurtis, didn't defend me. Instead, he publicly insisted that "rules are rules," abandoning me to the crowd's laughter.
Humiliated and utterly alone, I was tied to a man they called a "glorified janitor" while my family did nothing.
So I did the one thing they never saw coming. I walked up to the maintenance worker and proposed right there on stage.
I thought it was just an act of spite.
I had no idea my new husband was actually a powerful undercover CEO, and that our marriage would be the first step in my family's complete and utter ruin. Betrayed By Blood: The True Heir's Revenge
Mafia I thought being rescued from the kidnapper's basement after eight years was the end of my hell, but it was just the beginning.
My father, the powerful Underboss Derek McCall, looked at my twelve-year-old face and saw only the monster who had held us captive. He was convinced I was the byproduct of his wife's assault, calling me "pollution" in his pristine bloodline.
Life at the estate was a nightmare. I was forced to scrub floors while his stepdaughter, Kylie, lived like a princess.
When I was starving, Derek caught me eating from the garbage and mocked me.
When Kylie ordered a Doberman to maul me, tearing my leg apart on the manicured lawn, he just watched and told the guards to stitch me up without anesthesia.
Yet, when he was dying from a gunshot wound and the hospital was out of blood, I was the one who stepped up.
I gave two pints of my blood to save him, hoping he would finally see me.
He didn't.
The moment he was stable, his mother kicked me out of the house, handing me over to social services like unwanted trash.
They didn't realize until the car drove away that the medical file on the table held a secret.
My blood wasn't dirty. The DNA was a 99.9% match.
I wasn't the kidnapper's child. I was his.
When they finally came begging for forgiveness years later, I didn't offer a hug.
I handed them an eviction notice. Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband
Romance My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman.
I rushed Jeremy to the Emergency Room, his small body heavy and limp against my chest. But the person blocking the sliding doors wasn’t a doctor. It was Yvonne, my fiancé Benedict's new lover.
She looked at my desperate, rain-soaked face and sneered.
"Don't ruin my night with your drama," she hissed. "Benedict is busy."
She and her brother shoved me back onto the wet floor. My son died on the cold tiles of the entrance. My heart gave out moments later, unable to bear the grief.
When Benedict finally walked past our bodies, he didn't even look at our faces. He crumpled up the note I had written begging for help and tossed it into the trash.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."
He stepped over his own dead son to go to a party.
But I didn't disappear. I became a ghost, invisible and tethered to him by an unbreakable chain. I watched him laugh with the woman who killed us. I watched him live his perfect life while I floated in the void.
Until he found the autopsy report. Until he saw the date of birth. Until he found the broken locket in the evidence bag engraved with *Benedict & Ava*.
Now, he spends every night crying into the dark, begging for a forgiveness he will never get.
He thinks he is simply haunted. He has no idea he is paying a blood debt that will never end. His Guilt, Her Freedom
Romance At their nine-year anniversary party, Annis's husband brought his pregnant mistress home. He told Annis to move her things to the guest room and play hostess.
"She's carrying my son," he said. "Be a good girl."
But that wasn't the worst of it. A few days later, his mistress had "complications." She needed a transfusion. She had a rare blood type—the same as Annis's.
He had his men drag Annis to a private hospital. She had a severe heart condition, and the doctor warned him that a full transfusion could stop her heart. Her husband simply waved him off.
"Do it," he ordered. "I'm assuming full responsibility."
He forced her to sign the papers, saying, "You owe me this, Annis. After all I've given you."
As her blood drained away, her heart monitor began to scream. But his mistress called for him from the next room. He left Annis on the table, snapping at the doctor to "speed it up" before rushing to her side.
The nine years of love she had for him died right there in that hospital bed.
But she didn't die. She survived. And she waited.
On his grandfather's 80th birthday, in front of his entire powerful family, a courier arrived. He wasn't carrying a gift. He was carrying a package from Annis, containing signed divorce papers and the official medical report detailing exactly how her husband had tried to kill her. The Price Of His Choices
Romance My husband, David Chen, casually destroyed my grandmother' s locket-a cherished family heirloom-in the garbage disposal, just to appease his childhood friend, Jessica Lee. That same day, I packed my bags, took our son Leo, and left.
Three years later, back in the city as a jewelry designer, I found myself face-to-face with David at a prestigious competition. He was still the arrogant tech mogul, seemingly surprised I wasn' t struggling. He tried to buy me back, offering diamonds, believing money could fix his broken character.
Then his assistant, Jessica, slinked up, mocking my simple dress and implying I was a gold digger, desperate for David' s lifestyle. She then deliberately spilled red wine on my priceless Antoine Dubois dress. As if that wasn' t enough, she maliciously tossed my custom-made, diamond-studded anniversary bracelet-a gift from my new husband, Michael Thompson-into a public trash can, mirroring David' s cruel act from years ago.
The audacity of their insults, their absolute contempt for my worth, and the calculated destruction of something deeply personal infuriated me. How could they be so blind, so utterly convinced of their superiority, while standing on property owned by my husband and insulting his wife, a judge of the very competition they were attending?
Just as Jessica raised her hand to slap me, a strong hand caught her wrist. "What do you think you' re doing to my wife?" Michael Thompson' s voice, cold and authoritative, cut through the silence. My new life, built on respect and true love, was about to shatter their illusion of power. Beyond Forgiveness: A Wife's Vengeance
Romance For ten years, Julian Thorne, the Silicon Valley titan, was my world.
He came into my life when I was a nobody, busking on the streets, and transformed me into a princess, envied by every woman in the country.
He promised me forever, fighting his powerful family to marry me, treating me like the most precious thing in existence.
But that fairy tale shattered the moment Bethany Greene entered the picture, and six months was all it took for him to erase a decade of devotion.
My husband, once full of warmth, became a stranger who looked at me with cold fury.
He accused me of manipulating Bethany into leaving him, spitting "Liar" with disgust.
He played a video of my younger brother, Finn, on life support, threatening to pull the plug if I didn' t convince Bethany to return.
"He' s a vegetable that' s costing me a fortune," he said coldly, as I begged him not to.
The pain of knowing I might lose Finn, my only family, was unbearable, but the true horror was yet to come.
As I pretended to call Bethany, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen.
I was bleeding.
"Julian, please… help me," I whispered, terrified, realizing I might be losing our baby.
He dismissed it as drama, then his face lit up with a genuine smile when Bethany called his phone.
He left without a second glance, instructing the butler to lock me in the meditation room, confident I was just trying to manipulate him.
Hours later, alone, bleeding, and pounding on the locked door, I felt the life I was carrying slip away.
My baby was gone, lost because the man I loved condemned me.
When I woke in a sterile hospital room, Bethany was there, clinging to Julian, fabricating a story about me harassing her parents.
He believed her instantly, his eyes cold and unmoved, denying we' d ever had a baby.
"Lost what baby? Scarlett, stop making up stories to get attention."
He watched impassively as Bethany forced me to apologize for something I hadn' t done, her triumphant smirk a knife to my heart.
Then, he dropped the final bombshell, "I'm divorcing you."
He even had his lawyer tell me he expected me to wait patiently for him to return after his "fling" with Bethany was over.
That was the moment everything snapped into brutal clarity.
My love for him, which had endured so much, finally burned to ashes, leaving only a cold, hard resolve.
I signed the divorce papers, picked up the plane ticket, and looked him straight in the eye: "I don' t want you to love me anymore. I' m done."
And with that, I walked out, leaving Julian and his new obsession behind, ready to disappear and never look back. Love Letter, Public Shame
Young Adult The crumpled note in my locker felt like a ticking time bomb.
It was a love letter, addressed to me, Chloe, from a handwriting I didn't recognize.
But before I could even process it, Principal Albright, hawk-eyed and always on the prowl, spotted a corner peeking from my pocket.
"What is that, Ms. Davis?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the hall.
I was caught, forced to hand over the painfully private confession.
She read it, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her own pocket.
"My office. After school," she said, her heels clicking like a death knell.
Dread coiled in my stomach, but a sliver of relief, too-at least it would be private.
I was wrong.
Ms. Albright, perched behind her mahogany desk like a queen on her throne, deemed the letter "poetic" and "overly emotional," a "distraction" that derailed "promising students."
Then she dropped the bomb: I would be reading it aloud, for everyone, at the Parent-Teacher Meeting tomorrow night.
It wasn't a choice; it was a command, a public shaming she framed as a "teachable moment."
My blood ran cold.
Her voice, now dripping with self-righteous conviction, painted the letter as a "serious problem," a "symptom of a lack of focus," a "derailment of academic career."
She demanded I not only read it, but identify the author.
She was turning a tender, private sentiment into a weapon, attempting to break me and publicly humiliate some anonymous boy.
But Ms. Albright, so certain in her rigid worldview, had no idea just how spectacularly her plan was about to backfire.
She had no idea that the "problem" boy she wanted to expose, the one whose heartfelt words she was about to use as a performance of moral superiority, was her own son.
Ethan Albright. Her perfect, valedictorian, star-athlete son. The Illusion Of His Love
Romance The private jet was a symbol of my high-flying life with Ethan Vance, my husband and tech empire co-founder.
But then he slid a contract across the table, demanding I sign away my company share, declaring it was to repay a debt to his supposedly lost first love, Scarlett.
As I hesitated, he had his bodyguards throw my younger sister, Lily, from the plane, her terrified screams swallowed by the roar of the engines.
I was left utterly broken, locked in a freezing basement, my mother' s cherished bracelet shattered, her grave desecrated – all while Ethan paraded Scarlett as his fiancée, even forcing me to be her maid of honor.
How could the man I loved destroy everything I held dear, believing a manipulative con artist' s lies, and feel no remorse?
Yet, as I walked down the aisle at their wedding, a defiant plan ignited within me: freedom, no matter the cost. Regret’s Embrace
Romance For seven years, I lived a quiet life as a musician, believing my wife, Sophia, kept her distance to protect my "fragile artistic temperament."
It was a story I told myself, a reason for the cold silence of our marriage.
But that carefully constructed world shattered when I overheard her whispering another man' s name in the moonlight-her half-brother, Liam.
The whispers festered, revealing a truth more agonizing than I could have imagined: her passion, her longing, was all reserved for him.
My heart was ripped to shreds, but the true horror began when Liam, fueled by jealousy and encouraged by Sophia, viciously attacked me.
Not only did she abandon me, she even robbed me of my painkillers from the hospital, claiming Liam needed them more for a measly foot injury.
I didn't understand.
How could the woman I loved disregard my broken ribs so easily, while doting on a spoiled, entitled man-child?
Why did my pain mean nothing to her, while his minor discomfort became her world?
My life, my very art, had been built on a foundation of lies.
Then came the twisted game, a cruel choice forced upon Sophia: save me or Liam.
With a gun to my head, and my final words telling her I hoped to never meet her again, she chose him, declaring her unwavering devotion to her brother.
I didn't die that day, but the man I was did.
Now, free from her toxic embrace, and with hands that may never play guitar again but a spirit finally unbound, I am ready to forge a new path.
Sophie, however, is left to face the empty silence of a life without the man who once gave her everything. The Impostor Daughter
Fantasy I am Echo, born of forgotten children's whispers, and for centuries, I've seen only the transactional nature of human love.
A chance at freedom from Purgatory appeared: assume the form of five-year-old Lily for three days.
If her brother or mother truly recognized me, I could stay, finally knowing what true connection felt like.
But stepping into the vibrant human world as Lily, I became an immediate pawn.
Her wealthy brother, Ethan, saw not his sister, but a medical solution-a bone marrow donor for his "real sunflower."
He locked me away, labeling me "the donor" and "secured," completely devoid of familial affection.
Later, her politically calculating mother, Katherine, eyed me with suspicion, dismissing me as a cruel stunt arranged by her rivals.
My every attempt to rekindle their memories-a shared friendship bracelet, a secret four-leaf clover-was met with cold accusations.
I was imprisoned, treated as a tool, and nearly forced into a painful medical procedure.
During a terrifying earthquake, Ethan abandoned me without a glance; my mother violently shoved me away, convinced I was a political weapon.
How could they know all Lily's secrets, her cherished tokens, yet gaze through me as if I were nothing more than an empty shell?
The love I craved, the recognition I desperately pursued, seemed to vanish the moment it flickered.
My cynicism, once a shield, became a crushing weight; they recognized the symbols, but utterly failed to see the soul.
At the stroke of midnight, as my test hung on a thread of their persistent doubt, the true Lily' s spirit appeared.
And in that instant, without a single question or a need for proof, Ethan and Katherine recognized her, unconditionally.
This pure, undeniable love, transcending physical form, shattered my entire understanding of existence.
Now, faced with this profound truth and an unimaginable choice, my story-and theirs-was destined for a miraculous, unforeseen path. The Heart Condition That Wasn't
Romance My life was stable.
I had a good tech job, a beautiful home in Seattle, and a decade-long marriage with Jessica, who I thought was the love of my life.
She was supposed to be on an overseas work assignment, a big career move we celebrated.
Then the key turned in the lock-a sound I hadn' t heard in two years.
And she wasn't alone.
She pushed a double stroller into our living room.
"Michael," she calmly announced, "meet Leo and Lily. They' re mine. And Ethan' s."
Ethan. Her high school sweetheart, the one she always said was terminally ill and she was just "helping."
My heart jumped, then plummeted.
For ten years, Jessica had told me her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous.
I believed her, mourned the children we couldn't have.
Now, she waved a dismissive hand, "My doctor said IVF was perfectly safe."
Then she handed me a baby, telling me to quit my demanding job.
"They need a stay-at-home dad. My work is too important right now."
It got worse.
I found intimate emails between her and Ethan spanning years, even our wedding anniversary.
And a second mortgage on our house, taken out without my knowledge, the money likely gone to him.
The final, gut-wrenching blow: I followed her to a honky-tonk bar.
There, Jessica, who claimed to hate country music and beer, was line-dancing, beaming up at Ethan-tanned, fit, and very much alive.
The woman I married was a stranger.
My world was built on a decade of calculated lies.
Whatever I felt for her shriveled up and died.
I was done arguing on her terms.
The next morning, I had divorce papers drawn up.
I wouldn' t let her destroy me. I would reclaim my life. My King, My Coma Patient
Sci-fi My husband, Ethan, lay in a coma, drowning in medical bills that threatened to crush me.
Desperate, I took a lifeline: an offer to return to Elysium, the hyper-realistic virtual world I helped create, for a reality show.
My task: "reconnect" with AI King Aiden, a being I' d shaped, poured my heart into, years ago.
But the Aiden I found was a cold, opulent stranger, surrounded by cameras and a smug rival queen, Nova, who reveled in every public humiliation.
He dismissed me, mocked my desperate plea for funds, even specifically mentioning Ethan' s rising medical debt.
Yet, his words were at odds with small, secret acts-a hidden wooden star, a fleeting, tender gaze-that unnervingly mirrored someone else.
How could this advanced AI feel so disturbingly familiar, like the man I was desperately trying to save in the real world?
The show, hungry for drama, then demanded a humiliating, public kiss to prove my "devotion."
I closed my eyes, whispered "I accept," and braced myself for the performance.
But then, chaos erupted.
A system attack plunged Elysium into crisis, Nova' s frantic betrayal exposed her true mercenary nature, and Aiden, suddenly a blur of combat, pulled my flickering avatar into a desperate embrace.
"Don't leave," he rasped, his voice raw with a fear of abandonment I knew too well from Ethan.
In that shattering moment, the impossible truth hit me: Aiden wasn't just like Ethan. He was Ethan. The Unwanted Wife's True Home
Romance My life as Mrs. Harrison of Boston's elite was a gilded cage, beautiful from the outside, suffocating within.
But that cage shattered in a third-grade classroom.
My 9-year-old son, Ethan, declared in front of everyone, "She's not my real mom.
Grandma Eleanor said Dad took her in, like charity."
His words were a knife, twisted by my husband's ex-girlfriend, Izzy, who had subtly infiltrated our home.
She turned Ethan against me, destroyed my last sentimental possession, and systematically framed me for instability.
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, even threatened to have me committed.
The cruel climax arrived at a charity gala.
There, Izzy orchestrated a theatrical "fall," and Ethan, coached by her, gleefully accused me of violence.
The humiliation was total, public, and exquisitely painful.
How could my own family conspire to destroy me like this?
Was I truly meant to be erased, just a ghost haunting a life never mine?
But as the crowd stared, a cold resolve settled within me.
I was pregnant with another man's child, my one true secret, my hope.
That night, I walked out of the mansion.
I left behind signed divorce papers relinquishing everything, including custody of my son.
This wasn't surrender; it was survival.
My desperate escape was just the beginning of a truth that would bring their gilded world crashing down.
And my new life, finally on my terms, was waiting. No Longer His Second Choice
Modern My Charleston dream wedding to Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, was just days away.
Our future together felt set, a lifetime hand-in-hand.
Then, my smart home security feed played a horrifying, silent film.
Ethan, my fiancé, intimately with Chloe, my stepsister, right there in our house.
An undeniable, sickening betrayal.
A decade of devotion shattered, revealing I was merely a placeholder.
Ethan enabled Chloe's every cruel stunt, from public humiliation to outright wedding sabotage.
He dismissed my pain, protected her lies, and left me invisible, even after injury.
My world crumbled.
Grief gave way to a cold, burning rage.
How could I have been so blind?
So carelessly used?
The truth hit hard: I was just a prop in their long, illicit affair.
But the wedding would still proceed.
Only, it wouldn't be their triumph.
It would be my grand exit, a public act of devastating defiance.
I would ensure their world came crashing down around them.
My countdown to liberation had officially begun. My CEO Ex-Wife
Romance The email hit my inbox with the force of a guillotine: "Company-Wide Announcement: Acquisition & New Leadership."
My gut twisted, another Austin tech buyout meant more upheaval.
Then, I saw the new CEO’s name: Isabella Rossi.
My stomach dropped.
Isabella, my ex-wife, the woman whose betrayal had scarred me deeper than any wound.
At the mandatory all-hands meeting, she swept in, a predator in a power suit, her cold eyes scanning for me, devoid of recognition.
Later, my name, highlighted on the company BBQ sign-up sheet, was brutally scratched out by her red pen.
She demanded I work late, then warned me, "Stay away from any woman in this company. Understood?"
My colleagues whispered, wondering if this "ice queen" was strangely flirting or just exercising pure, calculated power.
The truth behind her audacity was a wound that never truly healed: five years ago, on our wedding anniversary, she publicly flaunted her "college sweetheart" Alex.
The Frost Bank Tower blazed with their names, while I was holding her dying father’s hand in the hospital—the very man *she* had abandoned.
Her father, seeing my raw pain, urged me to divorce her, handing me a lifeline.
Even then, she fought me, trying to manipulate the narrative, accusing me of extorting her over *her own* father's medical bills.
Now, after the final decree, she’s moved in next door.
How much audacity could one person possess, to continue playing these games, attempting to control my life even after our divorce was finalized?
My heart felt like a dead thing where Isabella was concerned, a vast, echoing emptiness where too much had been lost.
But then, an unexpected and chilling discovery about Alex, a secret only I knew, made me realize this wasn't just about escape anymore.
It was time to reveal the true face of the man she’d chosen over me, and finally claim my definitive freedom. You might like
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.” No More Your Scorned Wife: The Medical Empress Returns
Ela Osaretin "Sign it. Save her, and I'll give you anything."
For four years, I was Damian Wright's 'invisible wife'.
While I played the pauper, he poured his soul into his dying first love. Desperate, he blindly signed a stack of papers to buy the 'Gifted Doctor's' time.
He didn't read the fine print. Buried inside was our Divorce Decree.
"Congratulations, Damian," I said, stripping off my surgical mask to reveal the wife he never truly knew. "You're free."
The submissive Amelia is dead.
The legendary 'Ghost Surgeon'? That's me.
The blindfolded racing queen 'Raven'? Also me.
The shadow behind the global intelligence network V-Null? Still me.
I was ready to vanish, but Lucas Sullivan-the titan who makes the Wrights look like peasants-blocked my path.
When Damian tried to reclaim me, Lucas didn't just stop him; he brought an empire to its knees.
"They don't deserve to look at you," Lucas whispered, his touch a lethal mix of protection and obsession. "But if you crave the world, Amelia, I'll burn it down just to hear you say my name."
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. Craving for My Tyrant Husband
Cosme Seidel I was cheated on by my scumbag boyfriend.
On the night I got blackout drunk, I married a stranger, and when I woke up, I only found a marriage certificate and a black card.
He took care of my scumbag ex for me, gave me a canary diamond ring, but refused to show his face-he only called me baby on video calls.
I ran to my best friend's house to hide, only to find that the billionaire next door, who made my heart skip a beat, had the exact same scent as him.
My best friend cried and begged me: "He's Augustus, a tyrant who eats people alive!"
But only I knew that the man who pressed me against the terrace railing, leaned down to kiss me, and whispered "I'll protect you" softly.
Fifty thousand dollars to sneak photos of his private office? I'll go.
Not for the money, but to ask him to his face-
Gus, how many secrets are you hiding? And how long have you been craving me? The Unwanted Wife Walks Away Free
Dong Lier For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire.
But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters.
For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions.
He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage?
He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk.
"Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn." The Discarded Heiress: Marrying My Lethal Husband
Xiao Wang The rain in Detroit was slick with grime when my family finally came to fetch me. They didn't want a reunion; they wanted a sacrificial lamb to marry into the Kaufman empire to save their failing business.
I thought I was just being sold off, but the limo ride ended under a dark overpass where six hired thugs were waiting with chains. My own sister had ordered them to "break my spirit" so I’d be a shaking, pathetic mess by the time I reached the altar.
They called me "Detroit trash" and sprayed air freshener when I sat on their leather seats. My stepmother wanted a video of me begging for my life, and my father was ready to trade me like a used car to a man everyone called a "vegetable." They expected a submissive country girl, unaware that I was a high-level "cleaner" who could snap a radius bone before they could even scream.
When I finally reached the Kaufman estate, I found my fiancé, Barron, slumped in a wheelchair, drooling and silent. But as soon as the doors closed, the "invalid" grabbed my wrist with a grip of iron and whispered a command that changed everything.
I didn't understand why my own blood was so desperate to see me destroyed. What had I ever done to deserve a hit squad and a forced marriage to a man they thought was a corpse?
But Barron isn't a vegetable, and I'm not a victim. We just touched down at the Moon family gala in a matte-black helicopter, and as the doors slide open, the "broken" bride is about to show them exactly what happens when you throw away the wrong daughter.
"If we're going to crash a party," Barron whispered, his eyes burning with lethal clarity, "we should make an entrance." Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon’s Unplanned Wife
JESSICA KIRK My family arranged my marriage to Silas Thorne, a Wall Street titan. There was just one problem: everyone, including my powerful new husband, believed I was a crippled, helpless girl from the countryside.
On the day of my physical therapy, my father called, not to ask how I was, but to demand I give up the marriage for his illegitimate daughter, Chloe.
"You can barely walk without a limp," he sneered. "You are going to embarrass the Vance family."
My new husband treated me with cold duty, carrying me like a fragile doll but refusing to share a bed, citing my ‘soft tissue injury’ as a pathetic excuse. The rejection was humiliating. To make matters worse, Chloe tracked me down while I was shopping, eager to mock me in public.
"Silas doesn't value you," she said, flashing a cheap ring from my father. "You’re just a crippled placeholder."
They all saw a weak girl they could push around, completely blind to the fact that my limp was a carefully crafted lie.
So I took the unlimited black card Silas gave me and bought a fifty-seven-million-dollar pink diamond, crushing her in front of New York’s elite. When I returned to our penthouse, Silas was waiting for me, a dangerous smirk on his face.
"I heard," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that you bought a star with my money today?" Sexy Behind The Mask
Ellie Wynters She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith-the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room-Manhattan's most exclusive masked club-she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you." Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father
Temple Madison I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires.
Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world.
My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets.
I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her.
The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money.
I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table.
"Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead." 
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