Jill Frevert
14 Published Stories
Jill Frevert's Books and Stories
Bound To The Devil From My Past
Romance To save my family's dying company, I was forced to marry a billionaire I hadn't seen in fourteen years.
But right outside the City Clerk's office, he tossed our marriage certificate at me like a cheap receipt and shoved a four-year-old boy into my arms.
"Your new life has begun. You're on babysitting duty now."
He sneered and left me stranded on the sidewalk. I realized with absolute horror that my new husband was Ellsworth Marshall, the sickly boy I had relentlessly bullied in middle school.
He didn't spend five billion dollars to save the Bradford family. He bought me to execute a slow, suffocating revenge.
He used his orphaned nephew as a pawn, explicitly threatening my father that if I failed to play the perfect, compliant nanny, he would instantly destroy our family's legacy.
He even had his guards lock me out of his Long Island estate on my first night, forcing me to stand in the cold dark just to prove he owned me.
I was trapped in a gilded cage, suffocated by the guilt of my past and the terror of my present.
Why did he involve an innocent child in his twisted vendetta? How much humiliation was enough to pay for my childhood cruelty?
Looking at the terrified little boy clinging to my skirt, I tightened my grip on my suitcase.
If he wanted to destroy my will piece by piece, I had to find a way to survive the monster I created. The Unwanted Omega: The Alpha's Late Regret
Werewolf For five years, I was a ghost in the Spencer Pack, a placeholder wife for an Alpha who couldn't stand the sight of me. I endured the neglect, believing my loyalty would eventually win him over.
But at the Moon Ball, when his mistress mocked my disabled mother and I finally stood up for myself, Easton didn't defend me. Instead, he used his Alpha Command to force me to my knees in front of the entire pack.
"Submit," he growled, stripping away my dignity.
The humiliation didn't end there. He forced me to chauffeur him and his mistress to their romantic getaway. He watched silently as they fed me raw meat like a feral dog. And when his mistress framed me for stealing the Luna necklace, he didn't check the cameras. He looked at me with pure disgust and threw me into the silver cells.
He didn't know I was the "Ghost Designer" behind his company's massive success. He didn't know I had lost our child alone on the bathroom floor three years ago while he was on vacation with her. He only saw a wolfless Omega he could use and discard.
Standing in that cold cell, the love I held for him finally turned to ash. I realized I wasn't waiting for him to love me; I was waiting for permission to leave.
I looked at the man who promised to protect me and spoke the words that would destroy him.
"I, Brooke Rollins, reject you, Easton Spencer."
As he clutched his chest in agony, the bond snapping like a whip, I walked out of the cell and into the arms of the rival Alpha who saw my true worth. The Barren Wife's Revenge: It Was You
Modern On our seventh anniversary, my husband Dante tossed divorce papers onto the desk.
He looked at me with cold indifference, his hand resting on the swollen belly of his nineteen-year-old mistress.
"You are barren, Seraphina," he spat. "She carries my legacy. You carry nothing but ghosts."
When I tried to argue, he shoved me.
I fell hard, my back slamming against the concrete floor of the studio.
Pain tore through my abdomen, and warm blood began to pool beneath my red dress.
The tragedy wasn't just the violence; it was the truth he didn't know.
The IVF hadn't failed. I was pregnant with the son he had desperately prayed for.
And in his rage to protect a mistress carrying a stranger's baby, he had just killed his own flesh and blood.
He stepped over my bleeding body and took her to the Commission Auction to celebrate.
He thought I was broken. He thought I was finished.
But he forgot that I knew all his secrets.
I woke up in the hospital, signed the papers that froze his entire fortune, and walked straight into the gala.
I stood before the most dangerous men in New York and threw a medical file onto Dante's table.
"You killed your real son today when you pushed me," I said, my voice slicing through the silence.
"As for hers? It can't be yours, Dante."
"Because according to this, you have been sterile for seven years." Poisoned, Shot, Reborn: Now Watch Me
Modern For ten years, I was the invisible architect of my husband's tech empire, forced to manage his parade of publicly funded mistresses.
But he crossed a line when he destroyed my father's last legacy-a priceless block of marble-to carve a statue for his new obsession, Isla.
When I confronted him, he had me shot, poisoned, and left for dead in a basement.
He framed me for attempting to murder Isla, turning our entire world against me.
He chose her, always her, even as she dragged me to a cliff's edge, ready to push me into the ocean below.
"Choose, Elliott!" she screamed. "Her or me!"
"You," he choked out, his eyes on Isla. "I choose you."
With his betrayal echoing in the wind, Isla threw my father's sculpture into the sea. And as the last piece of my heart sank into the abyss, I smiled.
Then, I jumped. His Love, Her Prison, Their Son
Modern For five years, my husband, Courtland Johnson, had me locked in a rehabilitation center, telling the world I was a murderer who had killed my own stepsister.
On the day of my release, he was waiting. The first thing he did was swerve his car directly at me, trying to run me down before I even left the curb.
My punishment, it turned out, was only just beginning. Back at the mansion I once called home, he locked me in a dog kennel. He forced me to kowtow to my "dead" sister's portrait until my head bled onto the marble floor. He made me drink a potion to ensure my "tainted bloodline" would end with me.
He even tried to give me to a lecherous business partner for the night, a "lesson" for my defiance.
But the cruelest truth was yet to come. My stepsister, Kinsley, was alive. My five years of hell were all part of her sick game. And when my little brother Aspen, my only reason for living, witnessed my humiliation, she had him thrown down a flight of stone steps.
My husband watched him die and did nothing.
Dying from my injuries and a broken heart, I threw myself from a hospital window, my last thought a vow of revenge.
I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day of my release. The warden's voice was flat. "Your husband has arranged it. He's waiting."
This time, I would be the one waiting. To drag him, and everyone who wronged me, straight to hell. From Pawn To Queen: A Love Story
Young Adult The acceptance letter from Atheria Art Academy was heavy in my hands, promising a future I' d dreamed of with my childhood friends, Jake and Noah. We all got in, scholarships secured. But then, Jake' s smile faltered. He and Noah dropped a bombshell: they weren' t going to Atheria; they were choosing community college, all for the new girl, Emily, who' d appeared just months ago.
"It' s because of Emily," Jake stated, his voice filled with a righteousness that grated on my nerves. "She needs us. She' s going to Northwood, so we' re going with her." I wanted to scream, to shake them, but then shimmering, golden letters appeared before my eyes, a phantom message only I could see: "If the supporting character continues to hinder, the male leads will design to lose her scholarship documents. She will then fall down the stairs while looking for them, resulting in permanent leg paralysis, spending the rest of her life in a wheelchair."
More words appeared: "She deserves it! Anyone who obstructs the plot will face consequences!" The world spun. Supporting character? Male leads? This was a cheap novel come to life, and I was slated for paralysis. My blood ran cold, the words I was about to say dying on my lips. They weren't just making a stupid choice; they were agents of a predetermined, horrifying destiny.
My family had given them everything, treated them like sons, and this was their repayment? Becoming pawns who would see me crippled? No. I refused. I choked down the bitter taste of betrayal and forced a calm over my face. "If you' ve made up your minds, then go to community college."
They looked surprised, then relieved, completely missing the quiet fury in my eyes. They thought they were choosing a different path. They had no idea they had just chosen to walk off a cliff. The Wife Who Stole My Dreams
Modern The call came on a Tuesday, shattering my world: my parents, gone. My startup, built on their dreams, imploded soon after, leaving me with crushing debt and hollow ambition.
Friends vanished, family offered dismissive condolences, and I was left a failure, a walking tragedy they wanted no part of.
Then, Emily Vance appeared.
She organized my parents' funeral with quiet grace, held my hand as their caskets were lowered, and publicly defied her powerful family, declaring, "I' m marrying him. He needs me."
For five years, she was my rock as I launched and shuttered ninety-nine ventures, each ending in failure.
Tonight, our fifth anniversary, I was ready to celebrate her unwavering belief.
But through the quiet hum of the restaurant, I heard Chloe' s cynical voice slice through the air: "Ninety-nine failures, Em. When are you going to drop the charity case?"
Emily' s familiar laugh, once my comfort, now twisted into a chilling sound.
"Patience, Chloe. It' s almost over. Mark' s company just secured another round of funding. All thanks to Liam' s latest 'failure' ."
Mark Turner. Her ex. My rival. The man whose company eerily mirrored my own failed concepts.
My roses felt like lead.
"You' re still feeding him Liam' s data?" Chloe asked, awe in her voice.
"Of course," Emily purred, dripping with satisfaction. "Every core algorithm, every business plan. Liam' s a genius at ideas, but a terrible businessman. Mark is brilliant at execution. It' s the perfect partnership, really. They just don' t both know they' re in it."
My salvation was a lie. Our marriage, a business transaction. My grief, my struggle, my desperate hope-all harvested and fed to another man.
"I' m proposing to Mark tonight," she continued, delivering the final blow. "This anniversary dinner is the last one, I promise. A final goodbye to five years of wasted time."
The world dissolved around me. My entrepreneurial dreams, killed not by incompetence, but by the most intimate betrayal imaginable.
I wouldn't go quietly. Not as the broken man she thought I was.
I stepped away, the plan already forming to collect every piece of evidence.
My salvation had been a lie. Now, my ruin would be her truth. Pixelated Promises, Shattered Dreams
Romance For seven years, I poured my soul into "Pixelated Promises," a game that was meant to be the living embodiment of my love story with Liam.
I envisioned it as the grand finale, the pixelated masterpiece that would finally lead to his proposal.
But at the biggest gaming convention of the year, my world shattered as I watched him on the main stage, showcasing my game, rebranded as "Digital Destiny," with his ex-girlfriend, Sophia, at his side.
My characters, my art, my life's work-all presented as her vision, while Liam stood by, beaming, completely oblivious to the dawning horror on my face.
He dismissed my pain, my betrayal, and every question I had, brushing it all off as "just a rebranding" for "the good of the project" because Sophia had a "huge following."
He even had the audacity to suggest that since I "hated the spotlight," I should just "lend" her my life' s work.
Later, I overheard conversations confirming my worst fears: Liam and Sophia' s collaboration wasn't new; it was a premeditated plan spanning years, and I was just a temporary placeholder until his "real love" was available.
My seven-year relationship, my dreams, my very identity-all crumbled into dust, proving I had been nothing more than a convenient tool.
Adding insult to injury, he exploited my critical illness, diagnosed just weeks prior, to manipulate me into continuing to provide technical support for their game.
Then, I stumbled upon a file on our shared server: "Sophia_Game_Proposal_V1.docx," a document containing my deeply personal design notes from five years ago-notes I hadn' t even shared with him-now stolen and claimed as Sophia' s "inspiration."
When confronted, Liam, with sickening nonchalance, asked me to "just let it go" for Sophia's sake, utterly oblivious to the fact that I was dying.
That night, amidst the hollow celebrations for "Digital Destiny," I sent Liam a final text: "We're done. Don't contact me."
The next morning, he showed up at my door, feigning shock at the breakup, and then, in a desperate, performative gesture, knelt and proposed with a diamond ring.
But his theatrical display meant nothing; the man I loved had already stolen everything from me.
When he stumbled upon my medical report, confirming my terminal illness, he crumbled, blaming Sophia, begging for forgiveness.
Yet, his tears were too late; the man I had loved for seven years had left me with nothing but ashes.
I was done fighting not for myself, but for the devastated faces of my parents, I agreed to one last, futile treatment.
In the faint light of an old arcade, surrounded by the ghosts of our past, I calmly told Liam, "We had a good dream once, Liam. It was a beautiful promise," accepting the end with quiet dignity. Her Fiance's Betrayal, Her Brother's Sword
Romance Jack Miller, my big brother and the powerful head of Miller Corp, was presenting university scholarships, a yearly family tradition.
He made a simple comment to a young student, Sarah Vance, noting she shared my exact birthday – same day, month, year, even the hour.
It was a throwaway line, but for Sarah, it became a spark, igniting a terrifying delusion.
In my first life, that delusion grew into a monstrous lie: she convinced herself she was the true Miller heiress, inexplicably switched at birth.
That monstrous lie led directly to my murder.
I can still feel the damp chill of the abandoned warehouse, Sarah's eyes blazing with feverish triumph, the faces of the two hired thugs, Spike and Knuckles.
But nothing cut deeper than seeing Ethan Hayes, my own fiancé, standing by, watching it all unfold.
"She deserves it," Ethan had said, his voice devoid of emotion. "For everything she took from you, Sarah."
The utter betrayal was a punch to the gut.
Liam Hayes, Ethan' s gentle cousin, tried to intervene, but they easily overpowered him.
Then, the dark, churning water of the river enveloped my head, Liam struggling beside me before falling still himself.
How could this happen? How could I be killed for a fictional claim, abandoned by the man I loved?
Darkness.
Until now.
I jolted awake, gasping, my eyes snapping open to the familiar, faded floral wallpaper.
It was the same dusty smell, the exact same day.
The day of the kidnapping.
I was back.
Reborn.
My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs.
This second chance wouldn't be wasted.
I wouldn't be their victim again.
This time, I would fight back. Not Your Nanny Anymore
Billionaires My life with tech billionaire Ethan Hayes, two seemingly perfect children, and a meticulously managed household in New York City, was outwardly flawless, a gilded cage where my tireless efforts remained invisible and unappreciated.
I awakened abruptly, not in the sterile care facility of my terrifying premonition where I lay neglected and alone near death, but startlingly, in my own bedroom, vibrant and 35, now burdened with a chilling crystal-clear replay of a future where Ethan' s deep-seated affection for his college sweetheart, Chloe Vance, alongside our children' s gradual alienation, directly led to my abandonment and lonely demise.
Recognizing this as a dire warning rather than a dream, I swiftly filed for divorce, deliberately setting the stage for Chloe to replace me, hoping to avert the impending tragedy, a decision that paradoxically accelerated my projected torment.
Chloe' s insidious infiltration deepened, turning my children against me, culminating horrifically when my son, EJ, falsely accused me of enabling his severe peanut allergy, prompting Ethan, believing their cruel lie, to forcibly spoon peanut butter into my mouth, and as I choked on the allergen, my children chillingly clapped, proclaiming, "Now she knows!"
The excruciating pain of that forced ingestion, quickly followed by EJ's vengeful shove that brutally fractured my ankle-all met with Ethan's callous indifference and Chloe' s feigned concern-left my heart a barren wasteland, utterly consuming every ounce of the love and years of devoted care I had bestowed upon them.
With an unwavering, steel-cold resolution, declaring "I' m the nanny. And the nanny quits," I severed every remaining tie, abandoning the mansion and their poisonous presence for a new life, irrevocably free, leaving them to face the consequences of their shocking cruelty. The Secret My Mother Buried
Horror My dad vanished four years ago on Widow's Peak, a notorious trail.
I thought I'd finally found closure when rangers declared him dead, burying his ruined journal in our backyard.
But then, late one night, the back door creaked open, and he was back.
Not really.
He was a horrifying shell of a man, caked in dirt, radiating a preternatural chill, and grinning with an empty, fixed smile.
My mom, Linda, took one look at him and whispered, "That is not your father," before fleeing, leaving me alone with it.
Desperate, I unearthed Dad's journal, its water-damaged pages filled with warnings, and a chilling photo of Carol, my biological mother, dead near a cave.
His last legible entry, scrawled in what looked like blood, screamed: "MAYA! LINDA ISN'T YOUR MOTHER!"
My world shattered.
Who was Carol?
And if Linda wasn't my mother, then who was she, the woman who raised me, now possibly a betrayer?
I had to unearth every dark secret the Appalachian mountains held, from the chilling 'Hollow Man' in my living room to the twisted truth of my family, even if it meant confronting the woman who sacrificed everything for me. The PR Guru and The Predator
Modern I was Ava Miller, Hollywood's top PR guru, thriving at my firm, happily pregnant with my fiancé Ethan's child.
One ordinary evening, Ethan's familiar tea tasted odd.
Darkness.
I awoke tied to a chair, dimly lit, only to see Rex Donovan, my volatile client, standing there.
And Ethan. My Ethan.
My blood ran cold as Ethan, with chilling casualness, exposed his betrayal, blaming me for an intern’s past disappearance.
He fed Rex a grotesque lie, fueling the rock star's rage.
The pain was unimaginable; Rex ensured I knew he was killing my baby first, tearing my world apart.
As darkness embraced me, my last sight was Ethan, watching, his face a mask of pure hatred.
"Why?" I choked, blood filling my mouth, grappling with this unfathomable betrayal.
Then, a jolt.
I gasped, bolt upright in my office chair, my stomach flat.
The calendar showed it was *that* day – the day Chloe Sanders first walked in, asking for the Rex Donovan case.
I was back. You might like
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Too Late, Mr. CEO: Watch Me Shine
Nieves Gómez Kayla stood outside the CEO suite, holding a custom suit for her fiancé, Brennon. They had spent seven years building a tech company from a freezing garage into a billion-dollar empire.
But through the cracked door, she heard the breathy laugh of Evelin, the newly hired director. Then came Brennon's low, careless voice.
"The wedding's a PR milestone for the IPO, nothing more."
Kayla's blood turned to ice.
"She's comfortable. Makes sense on paper," Brennon continued. "But you, Evelin. You understand ambition."
The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. She had written the core code that made him a billionaire. She had stayed up until 4 AM debugging while he slept on a futon. Now, he was mocking their relationship to his mistress and handing over her life's work to a woman who couldn't even read a data log.
Seven years of loyalty, reduced to a PR stunt. She didn't cry. Instead, a cold, violent clarity washed over her. Why should she let him keep the crown she forged?
Without a word, she pulled the three-carat diamond off her finger and dropped it into her bag. She walked out of the building, drafted her resignation, and accepted a VP position at his biggest Wall Street rival. It was time to show Brennon what happened when the real genius behind his empire decided to tear it down. Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. The Betrayed Heiress And Her Genius Comeback
I. HAWKINS I skipped my final lab review in Geneva and endured a fourteen-hour flight to surprise my husband for our fourth wedding anniversary.
Instead, looking through the window of our beachfront estate, I saw him playing the perfect, loving father to a "tragic widow's" daughter, kissing the widow with practiced, casual intimacy.
Fleeing in pure panic, I got into a horrific car crash.
Waking up in the VIP hospital room, I kept my eyes shut and heard my husband talking to his best friend right beside my bed.
"She's just a party girl who knows how to swipe a black card. I only play the part because I need her father's proxy vote for the IPO."
"Every time I have to touch her in bed, it feels like a corporate obligation. It makes me sick."
Later, even my own father demanded I step down from my company role and publicly welcome the mistress, just to protect the family's investment in the upcoming ten-billion-dollar IPO.
Four years of marriage and quiet humiliations, all reduced to a calculated lie. They all thought I was just a brainless, hysterical socialite who could be easily manipulated and discarded.
They didn't know that the core anti-aging algorithm his entire empire relied on was secretly built by me.
I calmly pulled out my phone and texted my divorce lawyer.
"I want him bankrupt. On the day his company rings the bell, I am going to burn his entire life to the ground." Broken Ring, Billionaire Secrets: Watch Me Shine
Cornelia I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life. Married to the CEO by Morning
Hydro Therapy After my boyfriend of four years publicly humiliated me at a charity gala, calling me a "charity case," I drowned my sorrows at a dive bar and had a one-night stand with a stranger.
I woke up the next morning in a luxury hotel suite to find out the stranger was Christian Porter, the most ruthless billionaire on Wall Street.
Worse, paparazzi had photographed us leaving the bar. He coldly informed me that the photos would create a scandal that could tank his company's upcoming IPO, costing him hundreds of millions. As if my world wasn't collapsing fast enough, I got a call that my younger brother had been arrested for assaulting my ex in my defense.
Christian didn't want my apology; he wanted a solution. He slammed a prenuptial agreement on the table in front of me.
He gave me an ultimatum: sign a two-year marriage contract to turn the scandal into a corporate fairy tale, or he would ruin me. Trapped, I agreed. But when my furious brother confronted him at the police station, Christian looked him dead in the eye and said something that left me breathless.
"I didn't marry her to solve a problem," he said, his voice echoing in the small room. "I married her because I've been in love with her for ten years." 
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