Gray Matter
10 Published Stories
Gray Matter's Books and Stories
The Jilted Heiress's Ruthless Billionaire Revenge
Billionaires 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." Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the Wolf King
Werewolf I was the unshifted fiancée of the Alpha, working eighteen-hour days to design his kingdom while waiting for my wolf to finally wake up.
He told me we couldn't be intimate until I shifted, claiming it was to "conserve my energy."
I believed him, right up until I saw the email notification on his open laptop.
It was an invitation to the baptism of his two-year-old son. The mother was Hayden, the "fragile" Omega he claimed was just like a sister to him.
He wasn't waiting for me to shift. He was waiting for me to finish his fortifications so he could replace me.
When I tried to freeze the construction funds, he sabotaged my climbing gear, hoping a "tragic accident" would silence me forever.
When I survived, he froze my bank accounts and humiliated me at the pack auction, using the money I had saved to buy a diamond necklace for his mistress.
They thought I was powerless without a wolf. They thought they could broadcast intimate videos of me to shame me into submission.
But they forgot that as the architect, I built the very security systems they felt safe behind.
I walked into the ceremony not as a victim, but with the rival Alpha by my side and a decrypted USB drive in my hand.
"You want to talk about secrets?" I smiled at the terrifying silence of the hall.
"Let's show the pack who the real father of your 'heir' is." The Alpha's Lie, The Omega's Uprising
Werewolf After a 36-hour shift at the healing center, I brought my mate, Alpha Damien, his favorite meal, eager for a quiet moment together.
But I found him in a secret manor on the edge of our territory, laughing with another woman and a little boy I never knew existed.
Hiding in the shadows, I heard him call me his "Omega placeholder," a political tool he would publicly reject once a new treaty was signed. My adoptive parents, the Alpha and Luna, were in on it. My entire life, my fated bond, was a carefully constructed lie.
Just then, he sent me a mind-link, "Miss you, my sweet."
The casual cruelty of it burned away my tears, leaving only cold, hard rage.
They were planning my public humiliation at a grand dinner. But I prepared a gift for his son’s birthday party, set to be delivered at the exact same time.
Inside was a data crystal containing every one of their secrets. Unmasking Their Lies
Modern The sharp, chemical tang of turpentine used to smell like hope, but not today.
I woke up eighteen again, just weeks before my art school scholarship deadline-the one my mother "helped" me meet by giving me paint stripper instead of turpentine, ruining my masterpiece.
My family, ever the loving wolves, had blamed me, calling me ungrateful and a failure, twisting the knife until I believed I deserved the heartbreak and a lifetime of mediocrity in a cold, lonely apartment.
I spent years internalizing their gaslighting, wondering why I was never good enough, always the villain in their self-serving narrative.
But this time, as my mother chirped, "Good morning, sweetie. I brought you something to help you finish up," I knew. This was my second chance, and they had no idea who they were dealing with. My High School Sweetheart, Reimagined
Romance The preacher' s voice echoed in the barn as I stood at the altar, ready to marry Jocelyn, my high school sweetheart. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but all I saw was the twisted metal of a Ford Explorer.
In another life, our 25th wedding anniversary ended with a phone call: "Your wife... she didn't make it. She wasn't alone, sir. A man was with her. Ryan Scott."
The grief was a physical wound, but the betrayal poisoned twenty-five years of my life. Now, miraculously, I was back. Reborn on this very day, given a second chance.
Not to fix it, but to end it before it began.
"No," I declared, cutting through the vows like a gunshot. Jocelyn' s smile faltered, confusion widening her perfect eyes. A cold fury fueled me as I told her I didn' t love her anymore, then leaped from the loft, limping away from the life of quiet misery I refused to live again.
But despite my escape, she kept coming back – cleaning my apartment, charming my parents. It had to be about money, I reasoned, rumors of her family' s debt swirling. I even offered her a financial bailout, demanding she leave me alone.
"You think this is about money?" she whispered, tears streaming. "I came back, too! I came back for you!" Her words shattered my carefully constructed reality. She came back, too? Impossible. She collapsed, and I later saw her with Ryan Scott, the man she died with. Rage confirmed my initial suspicions.
But then, she found me, telling a story of an entity, a parasite, that controlled her in our past life, leading to the crash. And then, she collapsed again, sick. I finally learned the truth: Glioblastoma. My cancer, from my old life. She had taken my fate.
This wasn't just a second chance, but a cosmic correction. And now, reborn again, I stood before her in high school. "Hi," I said, my voice filled with a love that had crossed lifetimes. "I'm Ethan Lester. It's nice to meet you. For the first time. Again." The Senator's Blind Spot
Modern Senator Harrison believed he understood my ambition: a seat at his influential table, maybe even his bed.
He was utterly mistaken.
My aspirations were far larger, rooted in the unseen, ruthless power that truly governed D.C.
It all started with a public humiliation from a new-money donor' s entitled daughter, which I subtly handled through my estranged, powerful father, Marcus.
Then, the calculated retaliation escalated into horror: my apartment engulfed in flames, a shadowy figure in my doorway, and me barely escaping certain death.
My temporary life, along with the identity of Chloe Cheney, was completely erased, officially declared a tragic accident.
The cold dread settled in, the unsettling question of whether my own father, Marcus, had ordered the attack, considering me a disposable "loose end" in his shadowy world.
That gnawing suspicion, coupled with the immediate need for survival, transformed me.
Chloe Cheney had died, but Ava was reborn, stepping into Washington D.C. with a meticulously crafted new identity.
This new persona was not a disguise, but a calculated opportunity to find my would-be killer and claim the power I truly deserved. His Brother's Ghost, My Captor
Romance The positive pregnancy test signal was a secret in a three-year marriage built on a silent debt. My husband, Ethan Cole, asked for a divorce again this morning-his ninety-ninth time. I married him because I owed him, after he supposedly saved me from a capsized canoe years ago.
Then the news broke: Ethan's older brother, Marcus, was dead from a boating accident. Ethan miraculously survived, feigning severe injuries and memory loss, now believing he was Marcus. But I overheard them. "The memory loss is perfect, Mother," Ethan whispered. "Olivia will finally be mine. Marcus is gone. And Sarah… Sarah will be easy to get rid of now."
My blood ran cold. The man I married, the supposed hero, was a monster. My pregnancy? An "inconvenience." He was using his brother' s death, manipulating everyone. The debt wasn't paid; my life was being stolen. I made a horrifying decision. I terminated the pregnancy, desperate to break free. But my nightmare was just beginning.
Framed for a hit-and-run, I found myself in county jail, then stabbed in a brawl, ending up in a hospital bed. Ethan, still playing Marcus, hovered, his concern a sickening lie. Soon, his mother, Eleanor, offered me juice. My nursing instincts screamed: she was drugging me. Later, "Marcus" slipped into my room, his eyes predatory, confessing their plan for me to bear the Cole heir.
Adrenaline surged through the fog in my brain. As nurses rushed in during the chaos, I grabbed my phone, and with trembling fingers, dialed an international number. My last resort. "Ben," I sobbed, "Help me!" The Jilted Storm Weaver's Return
Fantasy Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, stood ready to claim my birthright as a Moon Bay Guardian, destined to command the skies as a Storm Weaver.
But my power died to a nervous breeze, and amidst the elders’ scorn, my fiancé Richard publicly rejected me, proposing instead to my adopted sister, Olivia.
Humiliation burned, yet worse was the invisible force that slammed into me, stripping every last shred of my abilities, leaving me hollow.
In my despair, the powerful leader, Ethan Blackwood, offered me his name, his protection—a lifeline I desperately grasped.
But my savior was my ultimate betrayer.
I soon discovered Ethan had deliberately sabotaged my Awakening, using me as a conduit to siphon Olivia's ritualistic burdens—her “Cleansing Curses”—so she could rise.
His promises of love were cruel lies masking a sinister plot.
Worst of all, Olivia, with a smirk, confessed she engineered my parents’ ritualistic deaths, and Ethan, the man who married me, had not only known but covered up her crime.
He watched me suffer, using me as a shield, all for her.
My entire life was a lie, a sacrifice for his twisted ambition for Olivia.
Cold rage replaced my shattered heart.
If they desired my end, they would instead find my beginning.
I meticulously faked my own gruesome death, disappearing into the bayou's shadows.
My tormentors believed me gone, but from the depths of betrayal, I would rise, no longer just Sarah Miller, but a force of nature reborn, ready to unleash a storm far more devastating than they could ever imagine.
They wanted to strip me bare?
Now, they would face the thunder. The Day They Erased Me: I Came Back
Romance My mother’s impossibly sweet voice confirmed the usual: another polite banishment to an "art program."
My life, I knew, had always been transactional, a mere "spare part" after I saved my sister Jessica's life.
But this time, as I numbly agreed, a full-body shock pulsed through me.
I remembered dying.
The screech of tires, the shattered glass, the red bloom on a wedding dress.
I was back.
Reborn.
On the very morning they first tried to erase me.
My past was a relentless betrayal.
Jessica, the golden child, had stolen my identity, my connection with Ethan—the man who once called me "Wren."
My parents enabled her, labeling me jealous.
At their engagement party, a staged "accident" left my hand bleeding, ignored.
Then, my own father publicly struck me, and Ethan, the man I loved, stood by, his face utterly cold.
How could they be so blindly cruel?
How could my own family always choose their lies over my existence?
And Ethan, who once knew my quiet soul, believed every falsehood, watching me break without mercy?
The pain of betrayal was suffocating.
No more.
As the ultimate humiliation settled, a terrifying resolve hardened.
I wouldn't fight for their approval.
I wouldn't scream.
I would agree to their terms, but internally, I would sever every tie.
I would disappear, truly free, and build a new life where they held no power. The Maxwell Secret
Modern My three-year marriage to Ethan Vanderbilt, New York's golden heir, was a carefully managed illusion of high-society perfection.
Publicly, we were the power couple; privately, our Park Avenue apartment echoed with cold silence.
I had clung to the belief that, unlike other men in our rarefied circle, Ethan was at least impeccably discreet.
That fragile peace shattered when I found an AmEx receipt from a Hamptons hotel I'd never visited.
A quick call confirmed "Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt" had enjoyed a romantic weekend there.
I, however, was not that Mrs. Vanderbilt.
The betrayal felt like a cold knife twisting in my gut.
Days later, the situation escalated horrifically when his college-aged mistress, Chloe, stormed my home with her screaming friends.
She publicly denounced me as an "old, barren hag," claiming Ethan was leaving me for her, right before they physically assaulted me.
When Ethan finally arrived, he didn't shield me; he shielded *her*, his little plaything.
He actually told me Chloe was "just a kid" and that I, being "older," should "know better" than to cause a scene.
To add insult to profound injury, he later casually mentioned he wouldn't even care if I sought my own "diversions."
His blatant dismissal of my assault, my dignity, his casual cruelty, was more painful than the affair itself.
He'd give me permission to cheat after allowing his mistress to attack me in my own home?
Our entire marriage felt like a sick, twisted joke.
That night, a text message illuminated my phone's screen: "Thinking of you. - N."
It was Noah, the handsome, kind-eyed stranger from my own impulsive night of rebellion just after I first discovered Ethan's betrayal.
Ethan's careless, cold words – "I wouldn't even care" – echoed in the sudden quiet of my mind.
A reckless, defiant spark ignited deep within my bruised soul.
"My place. One hour," I typed back, my fingers trembling slightly.
My silent suffering, my role as the perfect, accommodating Vanderbilt wife, was officially over. You might like
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." 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." From Prison Cell To Billionaire's Target
Jv Lingxian The freezing rain lashed against my face as I clung to the iron gates of the Hendrix estate, begging for a chance to prove I didn't kill my best friend.
I had come here for mercy, but the man I had secretly loved for years had a different plan. He didn't want to hear my truth; he wanted to see me broken.
As the sun rose, the estate manager delivered the final blow. He shoved Emery’s phone into my face, showing a forged text message that framed me for her death, then turned his back as the gates slammed shut.
My own family didn't offer a lifeline, either. When the police came for me, my parents didn't fight for my innocence; they chose to disown me to save their bank accounts from Alfredo’s wrath.
I was thrown into Rikers Island, stripped of my dignity, and subjected to years of calculated, brutal torture paid for by the man who once held my heart.
How could the person I loved turn my life into a private slaughterhouse based on a lie?
After three years of hell, I walked out of those prison gates with nothing but a scarred body and a hollow soul. The woman who loved Alfredo Hendrix died in that cell. Now, I’m back in the city where it all began, and I’m done hiding. 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. You Can't Afford Your Genius Ex-Wife Now
Xin Miaomiao For two years, Kailey lived as the invisible wife of billionaire Jack Velasquez, treated like a ghost in a mansion that felt like a beautiful cage.
When Jack finally grew tired of her, he didn't even show up to say goodbye. He sent his cold-faced butler to hand her the divorce papers, kicking her out like trash.
The entire East Coast high society mocked her, laughing at the "gold digger" who got dumped. Jack expected her to cling to his wealth, assuming she would eagerly take the fifty million dollar alimony. But shortly after the divorce, Jack's precious ward was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Desperate, Jack ordered his men to turn over every rock in the world to find "The Surgeon"—a legendary, untraceable medical genius.
He had no idea that the mythical savior he was frantically searching for was the quiet, forgettable ex-wife he had just thrown away. When Jack finally stood before her in the hospital, he didn't apologize. Instead, he threatened to destroy her career if she failed the surgery, arrogantly calling her a greedy opportunist.
"I will take your license, your reputation, and your precious new center, and I will burn them to the ground."
Kailey didn't shed a single tear. She had already signed away his fifty million without taking a cent.
She simply picked up her old surgical tools, put on her pristine white coat, and forced the arrogant billionaire to fund a nine-figure neuroscience center just to get her to the operating table. Pampered By The Ruthless Tycoon Guardian
Julian Reid Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box.
She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her.
The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death.
"This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm.
Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer.
How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her.
Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind.
"Poison! She's trying to kill me!"
Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist. 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." 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. 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. 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." 
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