Felix Turner
16 Published Stories
Felix Turner's Books and Stories
Secrets Of The Broken Genius Bride
Billionaires I sold myself to a paralyzed billionaire to pay for my mother's life support.
But my step-sister staged a photo of me with another man, making my new husband think I was a cheating gold-digger.
In a jealous rage, Curtis locked me in a dark panic room.
While trapped, my step-mother sent a picture of her hand on my mom's ventilator plug, forcing me to sneak out to a black-market clinic.
There, they forcibly drained 800cc of my blood to sell.
Half-dead and in severe shock, I dragged myself back home, only for Curtis to confront me with another staged photo of my ex grabbing me outside the clinic.
Believing I had snuck out to see a lover, he ordered his guards to throw my blood-drained body into the freezing wine cellar.
"Please, don't put me down there! I'll die!"
I begged and clung to his wheelchair, but he just kicked my hand away in absolute disgust.
In the pitch-black, 55-degree room, my organs slowly shut down.
I didn't understand why I had to endure this hell, or why he was so blinded by his own fragile ego that he never even noticed how chalk-white my face was.
Hours later, his precious sister needed an emergency transfusion, and they dragged my icy body out to drain me again.
But when the doctor rolled up my sleeve and exposed the horrific, bruised puncture wound, Curtis finally realized the truth.
As he stared at my arm in absolute, paralyzed terror, the EKG machine attached to my chest flatlined. Sleeping With My Ex's Ruthless Billionaire Uncle
Billionaires At my rehearsal dinner, my fiancé Coleman abandoned me to rush to the hospital.
His "savior" and first love, Elia, had been in a minor car accident.
When I followed him there, I saw him holding her hands with an agonizing tenderness he had never shown me in our three years together.
Through the gap in the blinds, Elia locked eyes with me and gave a deliberate smirk.
When I tried to leave, I was assaulted by his family's security guards and thrown into a freezing police precinct.
Coleman refused to bail me out, claiming he couldn't leave Elia's side.
Instead, his ruthless billionaire uncle, Axel Arnold, dragged me out, only for me to be drugged by his associate and wake up in Axel's bed with a ruined dress and bruised skin.
Before I could even process the shame, Coleman publicly announced the postponement of our wedding, turning me into the city's ultimate laughingstock.
For years, I had endured the biting cold of an Aspen avalanche to save his life, only for Elia to steal the credit and my fiancé.
They thought I was just a grateful, adopted orphan they could bleed dry to secure the Cooper family's wealth.
But I was done being their punching bag.
I marched straight to his penthouse, threw the three-carat diamond ring right at his chest, and left the city.
Six months later, his mother called, threatening to bankrupt my family if I didn't return to their estate by dinner.
I gripped my phone, a cold fire igniting in my eyes.
"Book us the next red-eye flight to New York."
This time, I was going back to burn their world to the ground. The Empire He Sold To Her
Modern To save my marriage, I secretly underwent surgery, a desperate attempt to reignite the spark with my husband, Collin. I surprised him in our penthouse suite, wearing a crimson dress, hoping to feel his desire again.
Instead, he called me by another woman's name. Then he gave me an order: sleep with his business rival to close the deal of the century. "You are that service," he whispered.
While his mistress listened on the phone, he called me "dead weight" and promised her my life. He was so eager to get rid of me, he didn't even read the documents his lawyer sent.
He just hit "e-sign" on everything.
Including our divorce papers and the very contract that would make me a very rich woman.
He thought he could sell his wife like an asset and then leave me destitute. He saw a broken woman, a disposable toy.
He never imagined I'd use his own contract to destroy him. Now, with the help of the very man I was sold to, I'm not just taking his money. I'm taking his entire empire. Sacrificed Everything For A Heartless Man
Billionaires I sold my soul for my fiancé, Dante Guy. I liquidated my company and handed him my entire inheritance to save his construction empire from collapse.
He thanked me by taking a wrecking ball to my parents' legacy-a children' s hospital wing-to build luxury condos for his mistress, Karly. Just as I reeled from the betrayal, I discovered I was pregnant.
But from my hospital bed, I overheard the words that shattered what was left of my world.
"Her child… it' s a mistake. A complication," Dante whispered to Karly on the phone. "You and our son are the future."
He called me a parasite living off his generosity, twisting every sacrifice I' d made into a weakness. The man whose new empire was built on my family' s ashes had not only betrayed me; he had erased me.
That night, Karly had me strapped to a chair and tortured with an electroshock device, trying to harm our unborn child. When Dante found me broken on the floor, he chose to comfort her, telling me I needed to "make sacrifices for the family."
As he carried me back to our gilded cage, my mind went eerily calm. He thought I was nothing without him. He was about to find out just how wrong he was. I Ranked In The Top Three On The Country's Rich List
Modern One hour after I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, my husband, Ethan Wood, a superstar, publicly cheated with his agent, Lilian Forster.
Some media outlets bombarded me with calls and asked if I would pay a hefty sum to buy out the scandalous footage.
Watching their intimate figures in the video, I coldly replied, "I won't."
I decided to do what I had wanted to do in the remaining days. I divorced, invested, and rebuilt my gallery.
I wanted to be my own empress.
No one expected that the cheap paintings I casually snapped up would become wildly popular among collectors and that the stocks I bought on a whim would surge overnight. In just a few weeks, my wealth snowballed. I nearly landed among the top three on the rich list in Preayork.
As Ethan and Lilian mocked that I had no time to enjoy my wealth, the doctor revealed to me that the supposed brain tumor was, in fact, a misdiagnosis. The Alpha's False Mate, The Omega's Silent War
Werewolf I was a lowly Omega, but the Moon Goddess herself declared I was the fated Mate to Alpha Kaelan. For a year, I believed our love was a legend, and for the last eight months, I carried what I thought was his son and heir.
Then I found the scroll. A year before he even met me, he had performed a blood ritual to make himself sterile. He did it all for another woman.
The love story I cherished was a lie. He and his warriors had a betting pool on who the father of my bastard child was.
They laughed as they used me on cold nights.
He drugged me and let his true love, Seraphina, kick my swollen belly for fun. Then he offered my unconscious body to his men as a reward.
My fated love, the future I was promised, was nothing but a sick, twisted game they played for their amusement.
As I lay there, violated and broken, my heart didn't just break. It turned to ice.
So I swallowed the forbidden herbs to end the life inside me.
This was not an act of despair.
It was the first act of my war. A Vicious Love, A Deadly End
Romance My husband of ten years, Alexander Vaughan, was a man carved from ice. Our marriage was a business deal to save my family, and my primary duty was to quietly pay off his endless stream of mistresses.
But then, a single phone call shattered my bleak existence. The hospital had found a perfect stem cell donor for my dying sister, Cathi. We could save her.
I begged Alexander to authorize the life-saving transplant. He refused, completely captivated by his new favorite, an influencer named Karlee.
He ignored my frantic calls. When I finally confronted him, Karlee whispered a poisonous lie that my sister had been rude to her.
Based on her word, Alexander delivered the fatal blow. "I'm withdrawing Cathi's medical team," he said, his voice like ice. "The transplant is off."
My phone rang again. It was the hospital. My sister was dead. She had left a note, saying she didn't want to be a burden anymore.
He had killed her. As surely as if he had held the blade himself.
My grief turned to rage. After I confronted him, he tried to drown me, then had his prized drone inject me with a neurotoxin. He left me paralyzed on his workshop floor for his guards to have their "fun."
As I lay helpless, waiting for the end, the door creaked open. A man I hadn't seen in fifteen years knelt beside me, his face a mask of horror.
"Addie? My God, what did he do to you?" Beyond The Fairy Tale: A Monster
Billionaires They called me the luckiest woman in New York, the girl from nowhere who had somehow captured the Sterling heir, Liam. He fought his powerful family for me, gave up his inheritance, and it was a fairy tale.
Then, his brother died, and Liam became the sole heir, forced into an arranged marriage with his widowed sister-in-law, Scarlett. The city expected him to drop me, but he dramatically announced our engagement still stood. Everyone saw a grand love story.
I knew the truth. While the world saw a hero, I saw a monster. He crept into Scarlett' s bed nightly, leaving me a prisoner in his house, bound by his family' s cruel rules. When I discovered I was pregnant, his mother, Mrs. Sterling, dragged me to a clinic, forcing an abortion for their "pure Sterling line."
But the true horror came weeks later: an anonymous medical file revealed Liam hadn' t just allowed the abortion; he' d secretly ordered the doctor to remove my uterus, ensuring I could never bear another child, never have a claim to the Sterling fortune through an heir.
He had carved out my womanhood. The love I had for him died, replaced by a cold, sharp rage. He thought I was broken, a fragile pet, but he was wrong.
I would make him believe I died for him, a tragic victim of a love he destroyed. I would fake my death, escape this gilded cage, and one day, I would have my revenge. My freedom began with playing the docile, heartbroken lover, letting him believe he was in control, utterly unaware he was dancing to my tune. The Scars Of Her Disdain
Billionaires The hospital air, cold and sterile, usually a familiar hum, felt wrong that day.
My sister, Lily, lay broken and small in that bed, her artist' s hands swollen and bandaged, a machine breathing for her. Someone had done this.
The doctor' s words-"blunt force trauma," "critical condition"-blurred into the background, drowned out by the name: Brandon Thorne, son of a tech billionaire.
My wife, Sarah, a rising star prosecutor, offered only a chilling hesitation when I asked for justice. "We need to be careful, Ethan. The Thornes are a powerful family."
Then the preliminary hearing came. Sarah stood there, a mask of neutrality, while Brandon Thorne smirked and the police chief spun lies.
"Lily Miller has a history of... emotional instability," Sarah' s voice echoed, destroying my sister' s name.
I' d given Sarah Lily' s last texts: "Ethan, I\'m scared." "Brandon... he\'s scaring me."
Sarah declared, "The messages in question appear to have been deleted."
My own wife had covered for him. I saw her later, laughing with the chief and Brandon' s father. My marriage, my life, had been a lie.
The judge' s gavel sealed it: "Case dismissed." Brandon was free. I was ordered to pay $100,000 for defamation.
"You\'re less than nothing," Brandon sneered, tossing a hundred-dollar bill at my feet, his expensive cologne suffocating me as he whispered, "Lily cried for you. Sarah thinks you' re pathetic."
Something broke inside me. The discipline I' d honed as a SEAL shattered. I lunged, my fist finding his smug face. Bone crunched.
Guards slammed me against the cold marble. Sarah screamed "Assault!" playing the damsel, looking at me with pure contempt.
Completely alone, swallowed by their world, I barely made it back to Lily' s apartment. The silence screamed, until I found it-a letter, tucked away.
"I told Sarah about it," Lily had written. "She told me I was overreacting... She made me feel small."
Then, taped to the bottom of the chest, a USB drive. Proof. The audio played: Brandon' s predatory voice, Sarah' s cool complicity.
"Make the evidence disappear." "You\'re in this just as deep as I am."
The last recording played: Lily' s broken voice, a voicemail to Sarah. "Why? I trusted you. He... he hurt me so bad. And you knew. You let him. Why?"
Sarah wasn' t just betrayed by ambition; she was a co-conspirator, feeding my sister to wolves.
I went to the precinct, USB in hand. The detective sneered, "Case closed, pal." Then he and another officer dragged me into a blind spot.
They beat me, hitting where bruises wouldn' t show. "Brandon Thorne\'s father owns this city," they growled. "You are nothing."
Later, from the shadows, I watched Sarah and Brandon laughing, sharing a possessive kiss outside the DA' s office. They were celebrating their victory on my sister' s grave.
Rage burned. But Lily\'s words echoed: "He scares me, Ethan." Rage was their weapon, not mine.
I drove all night to D.C. I knelt at the Pentagon, my parents' medals laid on the pavement before me. "My name is Ethan Miller," I choked out to the guards, "My sister was murdered, and the system is corrupted. I have proof. Please. Help me."
A General emerged, a man who had served with my father. He looked at the medals, then at me. "John and Helen\'s boy?" he asked, his voice low.
The dam broke. The story poured out. He examined Lily' s picture, his face hardening to granite. "This is not just an injustice, Miller. This is a desecration."
His words: "The United States military does not abandon its own. You have the full weight of the United States military behind you." For the first time in months, I felt hope. From Victim to Victor
Romance The downtown coffee shop was just another Tuesday, another latte, until a voice from five years ago sliced through the mundane.
Jessica, holding a ridiculously expensive handbag, scanned me with eyes full of judgment, then dropped a bombshell: Ethan, my ex, still mentioned me.
He'd soared to success, made millions, yet, according to her, he never forgot "the girl who just disappeared," the one who supposedly "accused him of not understanding her."
The twisted narrative continued, painting him as the heartbroken victim, me as the obsessed, unfaithful one who used him as a "substitute" for a ghost.
My hand clenched on my purse, the old lies churning my stomach, the memory of public shame and private agony flickering back.
But the old pain dissolved into pure clarity as I looked her straight in the eye: "I'm married, Jessica. And my son is turning four next month." No More Sacrifices: A Rebirth
Fantasy The screams of the "Proving" ceremony were the first thing I heard when I woke up.
My eyes shot open, and the scent of pine, sweat, and something metallic filled my lungs.
I was back in this godforsaken survivalist compound, mysteriously transported from my office job.
A hand grabbed my arm, and it was Gabrielle Chadwick, or Gabby, her terrified eyes pleading.
"Molly, help me! Please! They're going to hurt me!"
This was the ritual where young men would strike unmarried women with leather belts, and the one enduring the most blows was deemed "most desired."
In my past life, I shielded Gabby, taking every blow for her, believing I was protecting a friend.
My sacrifice made me the "most honored," granting me first choice of a partner, and I chose Caleb Scott, the compound leader' s son.
But my life with Caleb was a private hell of control and brutality, while Gabby, seething with resentment for what she thought was her rightful place, pretended to be my friend.
She eventually got her revenge, pushing me off a cliff during a foraging trip.
Now, reborn at the start of that same horrifying ceremony, Gabby was playing the same part, her hand clamping my arm, her voice a desperate plea for me to be her shield again.
I looked at her, at the calculated fear in her eyes, remembering the sharp, final impact of falling.
Not this time. The Boy Who Became Don
Mafia My name is Leo O' Connell, and I was just fourteen, the overlooked son in a crime family ruled by my tyrannical father.
My only solace was my beautiful, quiet mother, Isabella, an outsider in our Irish world, sent as a peace offering from her Sicilian family.
Then, my estranged older brother, Connor "The Ghost" O' Connell, a legendary enforcer, returned home after fifteen years in exile.
Everyone around me buzzed with anticipation, but I noticed something unsettling in my mother: a forgotten energy, a bright light in her eyes, especially when she looked at Connor.
That night, driven by a strange intuition, I crept to my mother' s private bungalow.
Through a gap in the blinds, I saw them: my mother, Isabella, and Connor, locked in a passionate embrace, not the embrace of brother and sister-in-law.
I heard him whisper a different name, "Bella," confessing he'd thought of her for fifteen years before he kissed her.
My world shattered. My mother, beautiful and sad, was a liar. And Connor, the brother I was beginning to admire, was a thief of her affections.
He was going to take her away. He penned a secret note, hidden in a Zippo lighter, detailing their escape and a new life together for all three of us.
But consumed by a cold, selfish fear of abandonment, I found that note and burned it.
I told her nothing, letting her believe he was simply leaving, forever heartbroken.
Two years later, my father lay dying, naming Connor the new Don, and secretly ordering my mother' s death to clear the slate.
To protect me, my mother lied to Connor, claiming I was my father's true son, forcing Connor to sacrifice his inheritance.
He gave up everything, even his life in a bloody gang war, to secure a future for the woman he loved and the boy he believed was his brother.
Only after his death, and my mother's passing from a broken heart, did the full, terrible truth unravel, leaving me as the lonely, haunted Don.
Now I stand alone, a king of an empire stained with the blood of lies, forced to confront the devastating consequences of my selfish act and the unimaginable sacrifices made by those I loved. The Bare Ring: A Husband's Vengeance
Sci-fi My Saturday mornings used to be filled with the comforting aroma of slow-cooked barbacoa, a smell that meant business was booming at our flagship "Lone Star Cantina."
Today, however, was my mom' s birthday, and we had a rare, quiet dinner planned.
It was a moment of peace, far from the restaurant chaos.
But Sarah, my wife and business partner of eight years, was gone.
Then my phone buzzed-an Instagram notification, a tag from a seemingly innocent mutual friend.
The picture that appeared on my screen was a punch to the gut: a smiling Sarah, holding hands with "Ethan," her high school "one that got away."
The caption: "Finally holding the hand I was always meant to hold #TrueLove #SecondChances."
My eyes instantly locked onto her left hand.
It was bare.
The two-carat diamond ring, symbolizing our shared dream of building an empire, had vanished.
My mom' s birthday, our marriage, everything-all forgotten, publicly, for the world to see.
Sarah later dismissed our life together as a "mistake," claiming she "settled" for me, while Ethan brazenly called me a "placeholder."
The betrayal wasn't a whisper; it was a screaming billboard.
"True love?" I scoffed, the words tasting like bitter ash.
How could eight years, our entire shared legacy, be so casually discarded for a high school fantasy and a man who looked like a con artist?
The burning fury eclipsed all other emotions.
Seeking catharsis, I stumbled upon an old, forgotten tablet left by my eccentric grandfather.
It powered on, revealing a bizarre "SOUL-SWAP INTERFACE" and, chillingly, Ethan's hidden financial and personal ruin.
A button pulsed: "INITIATE CONSCIOUSNESS TRANSFERENCE?"
They wanted a different life, a "second chance."
I decided to give them one.
A very, very different life. The Girl Who Wouldn't Leave
Romance On his deathbed, Liam Walker's last breath was a bitter sigh of regret.
Forty years married to Sophia, a union devoid of love, left him yearning for a different path.
Then, blackness. A gasp.
He woke up, a 17-year-old again, posters of forgotten bands on his wall. A second chance! He swore to himself: No Sophia.
But fate had other plans. Sophia Hayes, the architect of his past misery, suddenly transferred to his school, pursuing him with an unnerving intensity.
Her strange kindness, unsettling smiles, and persistent presence felt like a cruel game. Liam, convinced she was manipulative, coldly pushed her away.
Despite her tearful confession that she had reincarnated too, and deeply loved him, his heart was guarded.
Then, he saw it: Sophia, cozy and laughing, emerging from a cheap motel with Ethan Vance, her old flame.
The gut-wrenching betrayal, the hollow ache of his first life, surged anew.
"Games?" he roared.
Was he destined to be a fool twice over? Why was she doing this to him, after all his efforts to escape? His heart shattered, leaving him desperate to flee.
He drove across the country, leaving a heartbroken Sophia behind. But she followed, determined to reveal a truth that could unravel two lifetimes of pain.
What if everything he knew was a horrifying misunderstanding? And could two fractured souls truly find a second chance at a love they never thought possible? My Stepbrother's Cruel Game
Romance Winning a prestigious photography scholarship to New York City felt like my ticket to a new life, a future beyond the gilded cage of the Davenport mansion and my secret, forbidden love for my stepbrother, Ethan. Our intimate, years-long affair had been my most cherished secret, a tender rebellion.
But then I overheard him, laughing. Our "romance" was nothing but a calculated game, a twisted revenge plot against my mother, designed to shatter her by utterly destroying my heart. My world crumbled, replaced by a chilling realization.
The man I truly loved continued his sickening charade, playing the doting lover, even as his 'intended wife,' Chloe, openly taunted me, flaunting her knowledge of his cruel charade. Then came the ultimate, public humiliation: Chloe deliberately destroyed my deceased father's ashes, and Ethan, the supposed love of my life, coldly sided with her, accusing me instead.
My heart didn't break; it simply emptied, leaving behind a cold, hard resolve where love once resided. How could I have been so blind, so used, so utterly betrayed by the one person I had dared to love, reduced to a disposable pawn in his hateful vendetta?
Determined to sever every poisonous tie and leave no lingering debt, I meticulously amassed every penny to repay my stepfather. I systematically erased every trace of our shared past, and orchestrated a final, dramatic exit, leaving Ethan a devastating breakup note and the full repayment on his desk. As I finally boarded my flight for New York, I knew I was flying towards a new life, leaving behind the ashes of a love I was finally free from. The Hundred-Point Divorce
Romance My heart hammered. My Moleskine, my "Strike List," lay open on Ethan’s desk. Every betrayal, every point deducted from our marriage. One hundred points, and I’d be free. He’d already reached ninety-five.
Then came the fire, raging through his ex, Olivia's, restaurant. Ethan, my husband, became a frantic hero for her, oblivious to my presence, my pain. I was just background noise in his obsession. But the true horror emerged months later. Pregnant and hemorrhaging in the ER, fighting for my life, I needed an O-negative blood transfusion.
The doctor’s voice was grim: "Your husband has reserved our entire O-negative supply for a Ms. Olivia Vance—for her minor cosmetic procedure." Over speakerphone, I heard Ethan's cold, impatient reply: "Olivia’s needs are paramount. That blood is for her. My wife will have to wait." Our baby, our future, became collateral damage for his obsession. He chose her appearance over our child's life.
How could the man who swore to cherish me, who claimed to fulfill my dying father’s wish, be capable of such monstrous indifference? Was I really just a convenient placeholder, waiting for his 'true love' to become available? The pain was a hollow echo now, not sharp, but vast and empty.
The score was final. One hundred points. My hand, trembling but resolute, reached for the divorce papers. I packed my life into boxes, leaving behind a marriage that was never really mine, and booked a one-way flight to Austin. This was not the end; it was the ferocious, unyielding beginning of my own story. 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? 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." 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. 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. Shattered Vows: The Secret Heiress's Dazzling Return
Nap Regazzini For two years, Clementine played the perfectly obedient wife to billionaire Donovan Bray, wearing his heavy diamonds and enduring his cold indifference.
Until she accidentally saw his tablet and discovered she was just a "collateral asset"—a cheap lookalike prop hired to make his ex-girlfriend, Gisela, jealous.
When Gisela returned to New York, Donovan's mask completely slipped.
During a vicious argument where he mocked Clementine as a pathetic shadow, he grabbed her, causing her to fall down a flight of marble stairs.
Waking up in the hospital, Clementine learned she had miscarried a six-week-old baby she didn't even know she had.
But what truly shattered her was hearing Donovan's voice through the cracked hospital door.
"It changes nothing."
He coldly lied to his friend that the fall had caused permanent infertility.
"It was probably for the best."
He had killed her unborn child and casually dismissed her worth, truly believing she was a penniless nobody who would suffer his abuse in silence.
He thought he held all the power, leaving her broken and discarded for his true love.
What Donovan didn't know was that his fragile, dependent wife was secretly "C.", the billionaire genius behind Aurelian, the world's most exclusive luxury jewelry empire.
Lying in the sterile room, Clementine dried her tears, filed for a ruthless divorce, and permanently froze his supplementary black card.
It was time to show him who really held the strings. 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." The Trophy Wife's Ruthless Revenge
Little Pink Lace Keely returned to her Manhattan penthouse a day early, expecting the loving billionaire husband who had just told her how much he missed her.
Instead, the scent of cheap vanilla perfume led her to the guest room, where she found Haden tangled in the sheets with his timid, soft-spoken secretary.
To the world, Haden was the flawless, devoted partner. He would even beat a man to a bloody pulp at a high-society gala just for insulting her, violently claiming he was protecting his wife.
But behind his golden-retriever facade lay a narcissistic monster. While begging for her affection and making her breakfast, he was secretly draining their marital assets into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Keely had to swallow her disgust, forcing a perfect smile as she played the clueless, dependent trophy wife he wanted her to be.
It made her physically sick. She couldn't understand how the man who looked into the camera with eyes full of love just last night could be the same thief plotting to leave her with nothing. Was his violent, suffocating obsession with her just a sick cover for his betrayal?
But Haden didn't know his "helpless" wife was actually the ruthless CTO of a tech empire. She had already hacked the home surveillance and traced the missing funds, ready to make him bleed. Then, her private investigator called with a medical report that pushed her revenge to the edge.
"Mrs. Jones, Darlene Sutton is six weeks pregnant." 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." 
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