Nathaniel Stone
15 Published Stories
Nathaniel Stone's Books and Stories
One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Romance 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. The Partner Who Stole My Life
Modern For fifteen years, I sacrificed everything for Innovatech, the tech company my partner Grayson and I built from nothing. I lived on a shoestring budget, believing every penny saved was a step toward our shared future.
Then a property deed for a mansion arrived, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Carrillo.
The Mrs. wasn't me.
I found him with his secret wife, Kacey. The truth unraveled: a six-year affair, a secret marriage, and a baby on the way. He had gaslit me into living frugally while using my sweat equity to fund her lavish lifestyle.
He claimed he did it for me that he married a younger woman to carry a child because I was getting older. My entire life with him, my sacrifices, my love it was all a calculated deception.
But he forgot one thing: the betrayal clause in our company's founding documents.
I took everything. The company. The money. The future he stole from me.
He thought losing his fortune was his punishment.
He was wrong.
Because for the next fifteen years, he did everything to win me back. Letters. Billboard apologies. A bestselling memoir. A scholarship in my name. Even a café across from my office, hoping I'd walk in.
I never did.
And on the night I received my Lifetime Achievement Award, he appeared on stage with one last letter.
I took it. I read it.
Then I tore it into pieces and let them fall at his feet.
Some betrayals can never be forgiven. Some loves can never be reclaimed.
This is the story of how he spent a lifetime learning that lesson. The Billionaire's Wife Escapes To Antarctica
Modern The anniversary candles were burning down, and the Wagyu beef had long gone cold. I waited for two hours, but Brigham never came home.
Instead, a push notification shattered the silence. It was a live video from an exclusive club, showing my husband laughing with Giselle Leach—the woman he claimed was just a business acquaintance. In the footage, he pulled her into his chest to shield her from a champagne spray, his hand possessive on her hip.
The humiliation stung, but the printed apology card he sent via his butler later that night was the final insult. He didn't even bother to sign it by hand. My life felt like a hollow performance, a series of lies meant to keep up appearances for a man who kept me as a placeholder while his heart belonged to someone else.
I felt like an idiot, holding onto a marriage that had been dead for years. Why did I keep trying to fix something that was never mine to begin with?
Then, the email arrived—a three-year research expedition in Antarctica. It required me to cut off all outside contact. I looked at the man who had treated me like a disposable accessory, then at the screen. I didn't hesitate. I typed my acceptance, ready to leave the life, the lies, and the man who never saw me behind forever. From Abandoned Puppet to the Tycoon's Contract Wife
Romance For five years, I was the secret weapon behind A-list actor Johan Lee. As his top agent and devoted girlfriend, I cleaned up his scandals, secured his contracts, and deliberately dressed down so I would never outshine him. Tonight was his birthday, and I was waiting in his penthouse in black lace, ready to surprise him.
The only surprise was the one I got when he walked in with a 22-year-old actress. From inside his walk-in closet, my romantic evening turned into a nightmare as I listened to them fall into his bed.
But the cheating wasn't the worst part. It was hearing his cruel, dismissive laugh as he explained why he kept me around.
"She's safe," he told the other woman. "She dresses like a depressed librarian. I don't need a queen trying to steal my spotlight. I need an assistant."
An assistant. Five years of my life, my love, and my career-building genius, all reduced to a convenience. The grief in my chest instantly hardened into ice. The mousy girlfriend he took for granted was gone forever.
I walked out of that closet, ended his career with a single video, and thought I was finally free. But then my aunt called, screaming. My family's company was mysteriously facing bankruptcy, and their only way out was to enforce an old family contract. I was to be sold in marriage to the ruthless billionaire who engineered their downfall: the infamous Colvin Sykes. His Lover's Dawn, My Cold Floor
Modern For three years, my estranged husband, Dayton Cole, paraded his childhood sweetheart around while I upheld our billion-dollar family merger. His latest hotel scandal splashed across the news, and I was once again called to clean up his mess, playing the part of the devoted wife.
But this time was different. My best friend handed me divorce papers, urging me to finally choose myself. Yet, Dayton cornered me, using my family's ambitions as leverage. He demanded I maintain our charade for three more months-a performance that included sharing his bed.
He'd humiliate me, calling me a tool for his family's image, then turn around and whisper that I was a beautiful woman he couldn't let go of. His jealousy flared when another man showed me kindness, yet he spent his nights rushing to his lover's side.
The ultimate degradation came when he forced me to sleep on the floor of our shared room at his family's estate, declaring he had no desire for a wife who didn't want him.
But in the dead of night, as I shivered on the cold floor, I felt his arms wrap around me, his lips brush my temple in a secret, tender gesture.
I woke up alone, the warmth gone. A quick check of social media showed a new post from his sweetheart, thanking her "quiet strength" for being there at sunrise.
That was the moment everything snapped. The game was over. He could have his fragile flower. I was taking back my life. No Mercy for the Past
Modern I was reborn, back to the day my daughter and my husband's old flame were kidnapped.
Over the phone, the kidnappers demanded I choose one.
In the background, my daughter Anne and another girl sobbed.
My husband Jed Bennett snatched the phone, his eyes bloodshot, and roared at me, "Katrina has claustrophobia! Save her first!"
In my past life, he chose Katrina Watson, and it cost my daughter's life.
I laughed, tears streaming down my face.
"Mommy... I'm scared..." came Anne's faint cry through the receiver.
Jed bellowed again, "Amelia! Choose! Save Katrina!"
I looked at him, nodded slowly, and took the phone.
Then, calmly, I said into it, "Do it." Jilted Bride, Shattered Illusion
Billionaires For four years, I sponsored an artist from Queens, Demetrius Rogers. I paid his mother's medical bills, sent his sister to prep school, and funded his entire career, turning him from a nobody into a star. I did it all because he was the spitting image of my dead fiancé.
Tomorrow was our wedding. But tonight, standing outside his family's home, I overheard the truth. He was plotting with his high school girlfriend, Cayla, to leave me at the altar. He never loved me; it was all for the money.
His mother, whose life I saved, called me arrogant and said I looked down on them.
His sister, whose future I paid for, said she only ever wanted Cayla as her sister-in-law.
Cayla demanded that he not only leave me, but publicly humiliate me in front of everyone.
And Demetrius, the man whose world I had built from nothing, agreed.
I had tried to buy a substitute for a dead man, and this was the price. They thought I was a fool to be used and discarded.
But they were wrong. The next morning, I recorded a video. "Demetrius," I said to the camera, "I know your plan to leave me at the altar. I'm saving you the trouble. I'm leaving you first."
I sent the video to be played at the church just as the ceremony was to begin, then boarded a one-way flight to London. The Unburnt Man's Revenge
Modern The smell of gasoline and the horrifying image of my own son, Leo, smirking as he flicked a lighter, consumed me in my last moments. My wife, Olivia, stood beside him, her face a mask of cold satisfaction.
In that agonizing instant, I learned the bitter truth: Leo wasn't my son, but the product of IVF with Alex, Olivia's childhood love, a man supposedly long dead.
I had spent three decades building an empire for Olivia's family, the Millers, out of gratitude for them taking in an orphan. All for a love that was a lie. Olivia confessed her secret, revealing how she had always loved Alex and despised me, the obstacle to her true happiness.
The flames roared, my silent scream lost in the inferno. I died burning, betrayed by the woman I cherished and the son I raised, a fool who had wasted his entire existence.
But then, I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses and champagne. I was standing in a lavish suite, wearing a tuxedo. My body felt young, strong, unblemished. It was my wedding night, thirty years ago.
Olivia, panicked, snatched her buzzing phone. "It's Alex," she whispered, "He says he's going to jump." She looked at me, not with love, but with raw, desperate fear for another man. Her father burst in, forbidding her to leave. She froze, then reluctantly agreed, blaming me with her eyes for the life she was forced into.
My throat burned with the memory of the fire. I remembered every sacrifice-my ambitions, my eighteen-hour days, raising Leo. A son who wasn' t mine. A life built on deceit. A death born of her twisted obsession. She slapped me, her words meant to humiliate. "Say something, you pathetic social climber!"
This time, things would be different. I caught her wrist. "No." I would not be the devoted husband or sacrificial lamb. My past was a brutal lesson. This time, I would save myself. I released her wrist. "The wedding is off." The Son Who Broke Her
Romance Tomorrow was my thirteenth wedding anniversary. I found a receipt in Mark's suit pocket for two at The Oak Room, our spot, sparking a small, hopeful smile that he remembered. I planned a surprise, baking his favorite lemon cake and wearing the blue dress he loved, driving downtown to meet him.
But he wasn't inside the restaurant. He was across the street, entering the St. Regis Hotel with Emily Stone, his first love and now his indispensable secretary. Her tinkling laugh, his gentle smile – a betrayal that hit harder than any physical blow. The cake box became heavy, my dress felt cheap.
I dialed his number, but my son, Alex, answered, annoyed. He dismissed my concerns, defending his father's "meeting" and calling me disruptive. "Just stay home," he ordered, before hanging up and blocking my number. That night, Mark returned, echoing Alex's accusations, calling me a spy and telling me to "know my place." He forced me onto the balcony during a storm, demanding I "think about my role."
The next morning, feverish and aching, I placed divorce papers before him. He scoffed, mocking my pain and easily claiming full custody of Alex. Alex, summoned by Mark, delivered the final, crushing blow: "I'm a Jenkins. I'm not her son." My heart, a block of ice, shattered.
That day, as I crawled away, left to bleed on the driveway by the son I raised and the husband I loved, I realized I had endured affairs, neglect, and belittling. But this? This was the end. The final, brutal severing. From that moment on, a new resolve hardened within me: I would reclaim my life, piece by painful piece, leaving them to their perfect, hollow existence. The Unseen War
Modern My parents bought me a quiet condo, a soft landing after Afghanistan and the psych facility, a place where I hoped to rebuild my life with my familiar hobby of miniature painting.
My first package of rare, custom miniatures arrived, bringing a rare flicker of excitement, but it was quickly extinguished by the mailroom manager, Barney Oliver, who tried to extort a bogus fee.
Before I could process his blatant scam, his ten-year-old grandson, Caleb, snatched my package, mocked my hobby, and snapped a precious figure in half, unleashing a surge of controlled rage within me that felt terrifyingly close to breaking.
My parents pulled me away from the brink, but the feeling of being violated in my sanctuary, especially by a slimy old man and his cruel grandson, left a burning injustice simmering just beneath my skin.
This wasn't just about money or petty vandalism; it was about reclaiming my peace, and I knew I had to push back, harder than they could possibly imagine. No More Tears: Her Empire of Justice
Modern The harsh fluorescent lights hummed as my son, Leo, struggled for breath, his skin a terrifying blue.
"Anaphylactic shock," the doctor declared, holding the only available auto-injector – our son's last hope.
But then, my husband, Matthew, burst in, dragging his whimpering mistress, Tara Lawrence, who claimed she had a minor food reaction.
He demanded the life-saving epipen be given to her, shoving me aside, dismissing Leo's critical state as mere "drama."
I watched in cold horror as my child's only chance was wasted, his tiny gasps fading, my world crumbling around me.
His callous disregard continued as he mocked Leo's death, spilling his ashes, then locking me in the basement, calling me the monster, while Tara gloated about her pregnancy with his child.
How could the man I married abandon our dying son, desecrate his memory, then imprison me?
But their cruel victory was short-lived; I had a call to make, and a cold, hard resolve to show them what a true monster looked like. From Breeding Mare to Billionaire Baker
Romance Five months pregnant, I walked into Ethan's kitchen, expecting to pick up our marriage license.
Instead, his mother, Maria, smiled thinly as Ethan slid a sheaf of papers across the table. It wasn't a license.
It was a cohabitation agreement, demanding I forfeit all rights to his future earnings and property, and stating we'd only legally marry after a son was born.
My heart shattered, yet what I found next froze it solid: crumpled in his sock drawer, a urologist's report stating Ethan had severe infertility.
My "miracle" pregnancy was no miracle; it was a calculated trap, a desperate pawn in their greedy game to secure a male heir and control my life.
I was trapped, pregnant, and betrayed by the man I loved, used like a breeding mare.
My entire relationship was a lie built on their grasping poverty and cruel manipulation. How could anyone be so cold, so utterly devoid of love?
They thought I was helpless, a naive, pregnant woman from the wrong side of the tracks.
They believed they had me cornered, ready to sign my life away.
They were wrong.
That day, as they gloated, I smiled back, realizing they had just walked straight into my trap. The Vance Redemption
Billionaires Ellie Vance.
The name spoke volumes: old New England money, Ivy League polish, groomed to be the perfect partner for Governor Will Harrison III.
Our wedding plans filled a thick binder, a union of legacy and ambition, celebrated by all.
Then came the Kentucky Derby.
Will, usually so focused on image, became captivated by Tiffany Rourke, a brash, loud Texas oil heiress-everything I wasn't.
A week later, he uttered the chilling words: "I've fallen for Tiff.
You're perfect, on paper."
He casually suggested I accept a "lesser role" or a quiet end to our engagement, a public demotion unthinkable for a Vance woman.
My family's dignity, my very identity, felt assaulted.
The heirloom diamond on my finger, once a symbol of promise, now felt tainted and heavy.
"You're always so sensible, Ellie.
You'll see this is for the best," he'd dismissed, as if my life, our shared future, was a minor inconvenience.
A cold, burning contempt replaced my shock.
Vances are not "options."
We are not "second best."
Who did he think I was?
A drop of blood bloomed on my pristine wedding binder, a final, painful mark.
And a cold resolve set in.
My path was clear: I would not just survive this humiliation; I would redefine what winning truly meant.
My first call was to Will's mother, Catherine Harrison.
Get ready, Washington. The CEO's Hidden Hand
Billionaires Mike Collins lived a double life that was tearing his marriage apart.
To the world, he was a "corporate security consultant," a boring cover for his true role as personal security head for a reclusive tech CEO.
His wife, Jessica, craved the flash and status he couldn't publicly provide, growing increasingly resentful.
At a lavish charity gala, her high school bully, Chad Miller, an ostentatious luxury car dealer, decided to make his move.
Chad dramatically approached Mike, flaunting a thick envelope.
"Here's a severance package," he boomed, "do Jessica a favor and grant her a divorce. You're holding her back."
Jessica, instead of defending her husband, publicly justified her affair, claiming Mike's secretive "boring" job made him "impossible to live with."
The entire room, a sea of whispers, watched the "nobody" corporate drone being humiliated.
My heart ached with a cold, profound disappointment – not just from the betrayal, but the sickening realization this entire evening was a meticulously planned ambush.
Chad, high on arrogance, then committed his biggest blunder.
He seized Mike's discreet company phone, screamed insults into it, and triumphantly shattered it on the marble floor.
"No more calls to your imaginary powerful friends," he sneered, utterly oblivious.
Chad believed he was utterly destroying a pathetic man.
But he had just foolishly provoked an invisible, meticulously powerful force.
He was about to learn that underestimating a man who drives an unassuming Ford Fusion might be the last mistake he ever makes. 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. 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. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Da Lanlan I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. Bound By The CEO's Cruel Contract
Sibeal Sallese I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash.
To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars.
I thought it was a clean transaction.
But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty.
He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me.
My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire.
Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner.
"Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly.
His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand.
"Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler."
They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog.
I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain.
As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth.
But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood.
"She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison."
They murdered my parents.
I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call.
Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell. 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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