Reilly Mcardle
17 Published Stories
Reilly Mcardle's Books and Stories
The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Modern For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. The Neglected Wife's Return To The Top
Romance For three years, I maintained the flawless image of Mrs. Clark Saunders, believing my husband's polite distance was just his form of respect.
That was until I overheard him in the garden, confessing that he only married me to stay in the estate and protect his late brother's widow, Kathryn.
When Kathryn fainted, Clark shoved me aside to rush to her. He immediately moved the widow and her spoiled son into the suite next door.
When the boy deliberately shattered the only photograph of my dead parents, Clark simply scolded me.
"Ana, he's just a child. Are you really going to throw a grieving woman and her son out?"
On our third anniversary, he abandoned me at a ruthless high-society gala to buy Kathryn a six-million-dollar diamond necklace.
As punishment for my husband's absence, my strict family matriarch forced me to stand outside in a freezing blizzard in a thin evening gown.
Clark didn't care if I froze to death; he was busy comforting his crying sister-in-law in a luxury hotel.
I had always thought he just needed time. But I overheard him tell Kathryn he had never touched me because he was "saving himself" for her.
I wasn't a wife. I was a convenient shield, a piece of furniture in their twisted love story.
But they underestimated me.
I tricked him into signing divorce papers hidden in a stack of charity documents.
I packed my bags, demanded my six million dollars, and walked out the door.
It was time they learned what a real crisis looked like. Mafia Princess's Vengeance for Lost Heir
Mafia At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south.
But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband.
In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family-a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire.
His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach.
"We're terminating this complication," she said coldly.
As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter. My Husband's Betrayal, My Brilliant Rise
Modern After six brutal months, I returned to my Seattle villa, my sanctuary. An unsettling quiet, then a cloying mix of cheap vanilla and baby talc hit me. Pink slippers, a cookbook, and a blonde hair on Nathan's hoodie screamed betrayal.
Unwashed baby bottles and a note from "M" to "feed the baby" confirmed my dread. A baby's cry led me to Misty, holding a baby with Nathan's exact curls. She claimed Nathan called me his "bankrupt ex-wife," my clothes gone, wedding photos crumpled, and his loving text proved his calculated fraud.
Nathan burst in, spewing gaslighting lies, despite finding a deed transfer for *my* house. His blame—that I was a "cold work machine"—only solidified my resolve. My husband used my money, home, and trust to build a new life, systematically trying to erase me. He didn't just cheat; he tried to steal everything. A venture capitalist doesn't just walk away from a hostile takeover. The Jilted Wife's Dangerous Revenge
Romance For three years, I played the perfect, invisible contract wife to Angel Wilcox.
But last night, after being drugged at a club, he lost control and brutally took my innocence in a freezing bathtub.
The next morning, instead of an apology, he threw a million-dollar settlement at me and slapped the divorce papers on the table.
His first love, Hillary, had returned from Paris, and he needed to clear the way for her.
He called what he did to me a mere inconvenience.
When I refused to sign the papers—because my brother would be killed by loan sharks without the Wilcox name to protect him—Angel lost his temper.
In the lobby, right in front of a mocking Hillary, he violently shoved me.
My head slammed against a massive marble pillar with a sickening thud.
"Don't play games with me! Sign the damn papers!"
He roared, trying to force the pen into my hand while I lay crumpled on the cold floor.
My body was burning with a severe infection from his assault, my wrists were bruised, and my heart was shattered.
How could the man I secretly loved for three years treat me like disposable garbage the second she came back?
I looked at his furious eyes, then slowly raised my trembling hands to cover my right ear.
The same ear that was severely injured in a car crash he caused three years ago.
"My ear is ringing. I can't hear you."
If he wanted to be ruthless, I would use his deepest guilt to trap him in this marriage forever. The Ghost Surgeon's Secret Billionaire Twins
Modern Adelia thought she was just heading upstairs to rest in the hotel suite arranged by her caring stepsister.
But her champagne had been heavily drugged. In the pitch-black room, her rational thoughts melted away as she was violently pulled into the darkness by a terrifying stranger.
The next morning, the heavy suite door was kicked open, and blinding camera flashes shattered her world.
Her fiancé stormed in, hurling their prenuptial agreement directly at her bleeding cheek.
"You make me sick! Violating our agreement like this. You are a disgusting, unfaithful whore!"
Her stepsister squeezed to the front of the crowd, crying perfectly rehearsed tears of horror for the tabloid reporters, while her eyes gleamed with pure, unadulterated triumph.
Desperate and trembling, Adelia begged her father for help, explaining she had been framed.
But her father, the family CEO, only cared about his plummeting stock prices. He coldly stripped her of her inheritance, froze her trust funds, and had massive security guards physically drag her out of Manhattan.
She hadn't just been betrayed; she had been completely slaughtered by the people she loved most. As the elevator plummeted toward the lobby, her tears dried into a bloody, silent vow.
Six years later, Adelia stepped out of JFK Airport, flanked by her terrifyingly smart six-year-old twins.
She was no longer a disgraced, pathetic victim. She had returned as a legendary, untouchable ghost surgeon, ready to rip her family's empire apart.
And her very first move involves saving the life of the ruthless Wall Street predator who ruined her that night. Betrayed Bride: Claimed By The Brother
Modern I arrived at the hotel with Julian's favorite takeout, ready to surprise my fiancé before our big merger. But the moment I swiped the keycard, the silence of the hallway felt heavy and wrong.
Inside, a red-soled stiletto lay on the marble floor-the same one I'd watched my best friend Lila try on at Saks last week. Through the cracked bedroom door, I watched Julian's back arch as Lila looked me straight in the eye and smiled, wrapping her legs tighter around him to mock my heartbreak.
I fled to the penthouse to hide, only to find Grafton, Julian's "crippled" brother, waiting in the dark. To my horror, the man who was supposed to be paralyzed stood up from his wheelchair, gripped my chin with cold fingers, and forced me to sign a contract that gave him control of my family's shares. He knew about my mother's secret medical bills and used them to buy my silence, effectively turning my life into a calculated game of corporate chess.
The betrayal tasted like acid, and the injustice of it all burned in my throat. My fiancé was a liar, my best friend was a thief, and the man now controlling my fate was a predator who had been faking his disability for years.
I couldn't understand how everyone I trusted had turned out to be a monster. I was trapped between a man who cheated on me and a man who wanted to own me, with no way out and no one to turn to.
But when Julian came looking for me, Grafton didn't hide; he stood tall, looming over me with a possessive glint in his eyes. "Help me destroy Julian," I rasped, realizing that to survive the Faulkner men, I had to become the most dangerous player of them all. Stranded For His Fake Sister
Romance My fiancé kicked me out of his car on a deserted highway because his "sister" Krystle claimed her car had broken down.
He drove off with her and her daughter, leaving me stranded in the scorching heat without a backward glance.
While I trudged for miles through the dust, Krystle posted a video of him at the gala, captioning it "My Hero" as they laughed together under the fireworks.
I realized then that I was never his partner, just a placeholder he could discard the moment Krystle snapped her fingers.
I didn't cry, and I didn't call him to beg for an explanation.
Instead, I returned to our shared penthouse and took a pair of heavy tailoring shears to my custom wedding dress.
I shredded the delicate lace until it was nothing but a pile of ruined scraps on the floor, destroying the future we were supposed to have.
Then I blocked his number, packed my life into a single suitcase, and vanished.
By the time he realized Krystle had staged the breakdown to destroy us, I was already gone.
Three years later, he found me again-but I wasn't the same woman he left on the side of the road. The Player's Wife: A Queen's Revenge
Modern The soft glow of my husband David' s laptop in our quiet living room seemed innocent enough, just like his daily ritual of coming home, dropping his keys, and sighing about a "long day" at the office.
But then I saw the words on the screen: "The Player' s Sanctum," a dark forum where 'AlphaDave' detailed his calculated betrayals, turning our son Ethan into an unwitting accomplice in his web of lies, all while preaching the art of trust to facilitate deception.
The facade shattered, revealing a cold, methodical manipulator who saw our perfect life as merely a stage for his performance, a performance he thought I was too naive to see through, and a philosophy that stretched far beyond simple infidelity.
My breath caught as the birdhouse, his "secret project" with Ethan for my birthday, twisted in my mind-a symbol not of love, but of his monstrous manipulation; the discovery left me reeling, a deep, icy ache settling in my bones.
He thought he was the director, the master of manipulation in a game he invented. He was utterly wrong. The moment he walked through that door, cheerful and loving, I knew the real game had just begun. He had unknowingly challenged a queen, and I never lose. Goodbye, I'm Not Your Substitute Wife Anymore
Romance For three years, I was Mrs. Sarah Davis-a title that meant nothing more than being a ghost in my own opulent home. My architect husband, Mark, kept our marriage a secret, a mere convenience while his heart belonged to another.
The shattering truth unveiled itself in a hidden room: a shrine filled with portraits of Emily, his childhood sweetheart, his "one true love." I wasn't a wife; I was a placeholder, a warm bed until she returned.
When Emily rejoined Mark's firm, his joy was palpable, his neglect of me complete. He spent endless nights by her side, leaving me invisible, my love unrequited, my existence dismissed.
How could I have been so blind, so foolish, to waste three years on a man who could only offer polite indifference? The pain wasn't just his betrayal; it was my own self-inflicted wound, the slow erosion of my spirit.
So, I devised a desperate plan-a carefully orchestrated deception designed to win my freedom. I would get his signature on a blank sheet of paper, and then the real work would begin. He wouldn't even know what hit him, consumed as he was by his public persona and his undying devotion to Emily. He would release me, even if he never truly saw me. The Heiress's Sweet, Cold Revenge
Billionaires They found her, the long-lost true heiress of the Blakely fortune, after two decades in the rough foster system.
They saw a loud, defiant girl who "hired a gang" to attack the family's adopted daughter, Stella.
So, they sent me away, to a high-security psychiatric facility, to be reformed.
I returned, a blank slate in a plain white dress, my voice soft, my hair severely pulled back, confessing to a crime I didn't commit.
They called it recovery, but in truth, it was a subtle form of torture, designed to break me, inflicted by the very people who should have welcomed me home.
My "sister" Stella, with her perfected victim act, continued her sickening games, dropping my childhood keepsake in the trash, then faking an attack to have me banished to the freezing basement.
My "brother" Matthew, the cold CEO, put me through demeaning tasks, all the while watching for any sign of the "madness" he believed I possessed, while Andrew, the one flicker of conscience, could only watch, paralyzed by guilt.
What kind of family would do this to their own?
But they had no idea who they were dealing with, or what I truly learned in that "reforming" facility.
The docile girl they saw was merely a sophisticated weapon, quietly observing, meticulously planning, and waiting for the perfect moment to prove that their guilt would be their undoing. The Ghost He Discarded: Now A Gaming Queen
Romance I was "NyxEcho," the hidden strategist behind my superstar gamer boyfriend, Kaiser. My plain avatar was a shield, masking past trauma as I secretly built his team into champions and created his real-world brand.
Then, his message hit: "Nyx. Meet Seraphina. She's... the one." My heart shattered. He benched me, replacing me with an ethereal avatar, his long-obsessed "digital muse," declaring her his dream.
He publicly discarded me as "practice," flaunting Seraphina. In real life, Liam, blind to my true identity as Ava Chen, severed my freelance work. Seraphina's cruelty deepened: she framed, slandered me, and incited thousands to hunt my avatar for a bounty.
How could I be so invisible? Why did he believe her crafted fantasy over my genuine support? I was "not important," hunted, my true self unseen, while he celebrated her lie.
The humiliation hardened into resolve. At Liam's lavish public proposal to Seraphina, I made my choice. No more hiding. My identity, my face, my truth-it was time for them to be revealed. My Wife's Dark Secret
Romance I was Liam, a quiet woodworker, often overshadowed by my dazzling wife Victoria and our Hamptons estate.
My son, Ethan, a perfect copy of his mother, barely acknowledged me, instead fawning over his "Uncle Julian Vance."
My life felt comfortably settled, if a little overlooked.
That changed the sunny afternoon Julian arrived, a pale, small boy named Noah trailing behind him.
Ethan cruelly taunted Noah, and a horrifying "accident" soon left Noah severely burned and fighting for his life in the hospital.
As I sat outside his room, the smell of burnt fabric clinging to me, I overheard Victoria and Julian's low, conspiratorial voices.
They spoke of a "switch at that clinic in Monaco," how "Noah wasn't Julian's," and "Liam's little swimmers" disappearing because "the medication worked perfectly."
My blood ran cold.
They were planning to pull the plug, to kill a child, because "Ethan is the sole heir."
This wasn't just Julian's son; Noah, the frail, abused boy, was mine.
And Ethan, the son I'd loved and raised, wasn't.
My seemingly perfect family was a monstrous lie, a gilded cage built on unspeakable betrayals.
Everything I thought was real crumbled to dust.
They had sterilized me, swapped my child, and now plotted murder, all for inheritance.
How could I have been so blind?
How could the woman I loved be capable of such chilling evil?
The world tilted, sickening and raw.
With a horrifying clarity, I knew what I had to do next.
Pushing open that door, my voice raw, I declared war: "You want a divorce, Victoria? You got it."
But not before the world knew the truth of what you had done. More Than Just A Tutor
Young Adult My SAT prep book felt heavy as I approached Jake Peterson' s front porch for our usual Tuesday session.
Tutoring was my reliable income, essential for my college fund.
The front door stood ajar, and a muffled thumping from upstairs hinted at something unexpected.
Suddenly, my vision warped, inundated with glowing, intrusive text: `[Live-Chat Commentary]`.
Remarks like `User_DramaQueen77: OMG, is the nerdy girl gonna bust in on them?!` and `User_JashleyFan01: Nooo, don' t ruin the Jashley moment! They' re endgame!` flashed across my sight.
My life, apparently, was now a live broadcast for anonymous strangers on the internet.
Moments later, Jake emerged, flustered, followed by a smirking blonde I immediately recognized as 'Ashley' , while the chat exploded with comments labeling me 'side character energy' .
A chilling 'prophecy' soon appeared: `User_OracleGamer: Bet Jake dumps the tutor for Ashley. Sarah' s gonna lose him AND her cash cow. Sad.`
What was this surreal nightmare, and why was my quiet, strategic existence suddenly the subject of relentless, bizarre public judgment from unseen trolls?
I wasn' t a character in their made-up drama, yet every practical decision I made, from valuing my paid time to demanding payment for a stolen item, was twisted into a display of 'Ice Queen' or 'Money Grubber' behavior.
But through the chaos, a different kind of insight emerged: this invasive commentary, while humiliating, also contained invaluable intel, revealing their malicious schemes before they even started.
If my life was now a game show for their entertainment, I decided to become the player who knew all the cheats, turning every snarky comment into my strategic advantage. Too Late for Apologies, Mr. Cole
Romance For eight years, I was the quiet mastermind behind Synapse Dynamics, its financial engine and the secret girlfriend of its brilliant founder, Ethan Cole. I poured my life, my capital, and my intellect into his vision, building his empire from the shadows, believing fiercely in our shared future.
But at an SXSW after-party, my meticulously built world imploded. I overheard Ethan publicly dismiss me as "useful but questionable," then proudly introduce Tiffany Bell, a marketing associate, as his "actual girlfriend"—and kiss her.
The humiliation snowballed. Tiffany, pregnant and cruel, flaunted their affair on social media, even AirDropping a photo of her in *my* bed with Ethan. She texted, gloating about Ethan's "disgust" with me, contrasting her "clean" image. Then, at a private clinic, she faked a fall, framing me, turning Ethan and his parents into a rage-filled mob who publicly shamed me, labeling me "used goods" who "whor*d herself out."
How could the man I loved, the company I saved, turn so viciously against me, twisting years of sacrifice into scandal? Every lie stung, designed to erase my unseen labor, to paint my dedication as depravity. Why was my loyalty repaid with such calculated cruelty?
The final blow came: a deepfake video aiming to destroy my reputation, followed by Ethan’s public engagement announcement. But as the ice settled, a chilling clarity emerged. I wasn't broken. With my father's full backing, it was time they saw what a scorned woman could truly do. The Heiress Hoax
Sci-fi The Texas heat shimmered, another ranch chore done.
For years, strange comments floated in the air, a private, unsolicited social media feed just for me.
Sometimes oddly accurate, sometimes nonsense.
Then a woman and a girl appeared on our porch, clutching a fake DNA report.
"She’s your daughter too," Maria Rodriguez declared, claiming my life.
The air crackled.
New comments hissed: "Here comes trouble. The real heiress arrives."
My blood ran cold.
I’d lived this day before.
Last time, I followed the comments' treacherous advice.
They said Ashley loved peanut butter cookies, so I baked them; she nearly died from a severe allergy.
My parents' love turned to suspicion.
Later, the comments screamed "Ashley’s in danger!"
I rushed to help, only to be framed by Maria with fake texts and videos, making my parents believe I was a monster.
Disowned, I was sent away, then found and brutally killed in a staged car accident.
The comments, my supposed guides, were actually my undoing, twisting my actions, alienating my family, and sealing my doom.
The horror of reliving this nightmare again and again was unbearable.
But waking up today, with the sun on my face, the same day endless: I refused to be a puppet.
This time, I would fight back, armed with the knowledge of their lies. You might like
Betrayed Bride: Marrying The Ice Tyrant
Valeria On our third engagement anniversary, I bought my fiancé the watch he had wanted for months.
But my phone's location tracker led me to a secluded overlook, where I caught him rocking his car with another woman.
The woman in the passenger seat was my stepsister, Sienna.
When I exposed their affair, my adoptive parents didn't comfort me.
Instead, they called to scream at me for ruining the family's reputation.
They even rewrote history, claiming Sienna was the one who saved my fiancé from drowning six years ago, and I had stolen her credit.
Carter shamelessly agreed with their lies.
"She's been quietly supporting me all this time... I misunderstood."
I was disowned, thrown out into the freezing rain, and my adoptive father threatened to use his corporate empire to crush my small bakery.
I finally understood that to them, I was just a temporary placeholder, a stepping stone for Sienna to take everything I cherished whenever she pleased.
I refused to let them destroy me.
To protect my bakery and tear down their hypocritical lives, I walked into the penthouse of New York's most ruthless billionaire to propose a fake PR relationship.
But he slid a two-year marriage contract across the table instead.
Before I could fully process marrying a man I barely knew, a little blonde girl ran into the room and tugged at my dress.
"Are you my new mommy?" Falling For My Cheating Boyfriend's Uncle
Gu Mumu "I'm badly injured. Get over here right now!"
Fresh off a grueling twelve-hour open-heart surgery, I received a frantic call from my boyfriend, Derik. Without even changing my scrubs, I rushed through Boston's freezing autumn rain to the bar.
But the moment I pushed open the VIP room door, my blood ran completely cold.
Derik was sitting perfectly unharmed on the sofa, with a scantily clad, third-rate model straddling his lap.
Seeing me soaked to the bone and looking like a mess, the model didn't get off him. Instead, she leaned into his chest with fake innocence: "Sorry to bother you, sis. I just twisted my ankle, but Derik was so worried he insisted a top doctor like you come take a look."
The cold rain dripped from my hair. Swallowing the sharp pain in my chest, my voice trembled: "I'm a cardiothoracic surgeon. I can't treat an ankle."
"If you can't even look at a twisted ankle, what use are you?" Derik interrupted impatiently, looking at me like I was a cheap object. "Don't forget, my family funded your medical degree. You're nothing but a free maid we took in out of charity! As long as you behave, I might still let you keep the title of my girlfriend."
In that instant, my four years of walking on eggshells and compromising felt like a massive joke.
Instead of crying and begging like he expected, I looked at him coldly. "You're right, I can't treat it. So I'm officially giving up the position of your girlfriend to her."
Leaving Derik staring in shock, I turned around, walked out of the room, and rushed straight into a restroom stall.
Just as I was about to let out a sob, the door was violently kicked open. A towering, blood-soaked man forced his way in, pinning me hard against the wall. The overwhelming scent of fresh blood and dangerous masculinity instantly enveloped me. "Keep your mouth shut if you want to live."
Hearing the assassins' footsteps approaching outside, my doctor's instinct kicked in. I yanked his belt loose, grabbed his collar, and kissed him fiercely.
I thought I had just saved a stranger, until a few days later when Derik's grandmother suffered a severe heart attack. Her life was hanging by a thread, and the surgery required the signature of the family's ultimate patriarch.
Outside the ER, Derik arrogantly showed up with his arms around that model. "She's already carrying my child! Once my grandmother wakes up, I'm kicking you out of this hospital!" he yelled at me.
Suddenly, the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop below freezing. Flanked by two rows of bodyguards, a terrifyingly powerful man strode out.
Derik, who was acting so high and mighty a second ago, instantly turned pale. He shrank like a frightened mouse, trembling as he bowed his head: "U-Uncle..."
My mind completely short-circuited, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.
The dangerously lethal man I had fiercely kissed and stripped to bandage in that dirty restroom late that night... was actually Derik's most feared and revered billionaire uncle?! Billionaire Captain: Claiming My Rival's Ex
Natala O'neal I woke up from surgery, reaching for my phone to tell my secret boyfriend of two years, NHL star Jared, that I was okay.
Instead, a TMZ headline exploded across my screen: Jared was publicly engaged to my stepsister, Christy.
The man who hid me in the shadows for two years to "protect his career" was now proudly showing her off to the world. When I called my mother for comfort, she just scoffed at my pain.
"Jared needs a powerful family. What can you offer him besides an empty name?"
She then blackmailed me with my late father's trust fund, forcing me to marry Jared's biggest rival, Beckham Waller, to secure a business deal. To make matters worse, Jared publicly denied we were ever together, and I later caught him and Christy naked, defiling my late father's bed.
I had given Jared my heart and secretly built the core algorithms for his company's success. My own mother treated me like a worthless commodity to be sold, letting my stepsister steal my life. I couldn't understand how the people closest to me could be so heartless.
But they made a fatal miscalculation. Marrying the untouchable Beckham Waller gave me the legal right to take back my inheritance.
"Get out of my house!"
I dumped a pitcher of ice water on the cheating couple, kicked my mother's family out of the estate, and calmly told my security team to burn the bed. My revenge had just begun. Five Times He Threatened Divorce, I'm Done
Stardusk Mirelle Reborn at Gavin's fifth divorce demand, Emily saw him offer half his fortune to be free.
She knew there'd be no sixth: he'd throw her into bed with his aphrodisiac-drugged rival Colton, brand her a cheat, take her assets, and murder her, calling it suicide. Colton would lose his reputation and chance to beat Gavin.
Emily signed immediately-then married Colton.
After the wedding, she was surprised to find the supposed womanizer was actually a lovesick husband who couldn't get enough of her.
Later, Gavin knelt pleading in the pouring rain. On Colton's arm, she flashed her diamond ring. "Sorry, ex. I found better." Contract Marriage To The Coldhearted Tycoon
Eydie Pfefferle Adaline Hayes was just three minutes away from launching the biggest corporate summit of her career-the project that would finally pay for her critically ill brother's ICU bills.
Instead of the presentation slides, the ballroom's fifty-foot display broadcasted a live security feed: her fiancé of eight years, Chandler, passionately kissing billionaire heiress Fallon Kirk on an office desk.
The public humiliation was merciless. Blacklisted from every firm in New York and stripped of her career overnight, Adaline was pushed to the brink of ruin.
To make matters worse, Chandler showed up at the hospital with a predatory ultimatum:
"I'll pay your brother's medical bills permanently-if you agree to be my secret mistress."
Adaline didn't cry. She hit record on her phone, slapped him across the face, and walked away into the freezing New York night.
Heartbroken and reckless, she sought to burn her pain away in a dark alley bar. A drunken stranger in generic glasses demanded an "antidote"-and in a storm of defiance, Adaline gave in to a wild, scorching one-night stand.
She thought she'd left a socially awkward academic behind in a luxury penthouse.
Until the next morning, when the same man walked into her workplace with a black card and an ironclad contract:
A seven-figure allowance. Unlimited medical authority to save her brother. In exchange for a fake marriage.
What Adaline didn't know was that her eccentric "nerdy" husband was in fact Koryzen Case-the untouchable, reclusive titan behind a hundred-billion-dollar empire, a ruthless CEO known only as "The Tyrant."
Chandler and Fallon thought they had ruined her.
They have no idea that the woman they tried to put on her knees is now the absolute mistress of the empire that owns them. Dying Wife, Billion-Dollar Regret: The Captain Begs Too Late
Delight Abudu Three years of secret marriage.
A Stage 3 cancer diagnosis on our anniversary.
And a $20 million firework show across Boston Harbor-for another woman.
On the day I was told I was dying, I stood in the cold hospital lobby and watched the breaking news. Courtney Trevino-the ruthless NHL captain, billionaire heir, and the husband who hadn't looked at me in years-was wrapping his coat around his dazzling "soulmate," Blair, kissing her under a sky lit with her initials.
He came home at 1:00 AM with red lipstick smeared on his collar. He didn't ask why I was awake. He just pinned me to the chair with cold, arrogant eyes:
"It's your ovulation window. Lie down and do your job. You wanted to be Mrs. Trevino-now give my family an heir."
When I refused, he ordered me to do the unthinkable: as his PR manager, I had to draft the official press release declaring him single-personally washing his mistress clean of homewrecker rumors.
Everyone treated me like a pathetic, clingy nobody who trapped a god into marriage.
Courtney smirked when I whispered the word divorce.
"Stop throwing tantrums, Camille. You have nowhere else to go. You'll come crawling back."
He was dead wrong.
I left my wedding band on the counter, signed away every penny of his fortune, and walked out the door with a single suitcase.
What Courtney and high society forgot was who I was before this toxic cage: the premier mind in aerospace biomechanics, the classified legend behind military combat drones, and an untouchable tech pioneer. The "genius" mistress he worshipped wasn't even fit to read my discarded drafts.
I have months left to live. I won't waste another second begging for scraps of love.
Courtney thought I was bluffing.
Until he found the bloody medical reports in the trash, the divorce papers in his archive, and the entire world falling to its knees for the genius he threw away... 
/1/113362/coverorgin.jpg?v=5efb20621f255e262e29bdba5df38f3b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/117652/coverorgin.jpg?v=a17ea5382142a8af48f4cd6b218bceb8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114607/coverorgin.jpg?v=5740e72502aafb59fe3f3d036be1c837&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114487/coverorgin.jpg?v=3843a6f00cbc00fb5c4136872abf0522&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113787/coverorgin.jpg?v=4d24b4ecd095ebc24bb14cde0ac92e31&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113426/coverorgin.jpg?v=054e7c05e6de4bcd2fbe662585969ee8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107451/coverorgin.jpg?v=352363b62c0f17fa6a3a17a3e604e875&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101743/coverorgin.jpg?v=29abdf05aecc63e88c8dc1ab56c364a3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86408/coverorgin.jpg?v=e0a62fbdfcc4788849950fdda352e91f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84846/coverorgin.jpg?v=31ac9ad0afeb7526cf79b21a924cb798&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84025/coverorgin.jpg?v=ac7db956b7f7cac6f36b0bd6315eaa51&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82904/coverorgin.jpg?v=c34cb21a9f12f5e945f5032f3d12213f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82041/coverorgin.jpg?v=866c2db128d584c7a4b017f8233935f0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82013/coverorgin.jpg?v=d596f07ae19a674f6ac46a2f5058dcce&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80715/coverorgin.jpg?v=0d7ccaca3f798f19e0f64fcdd1424375&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80391/coverorgin.jpg?v=2c06ae4a04d17d77f70222b502bd7b3b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/62130/coverorgin.jpg?v=8f1df742dd8c16e970a0a380142c52e3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/126405/coverorgin.jpg?v=9927fffe64e35704bef6967a90b00afb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/125302/coverorgin.jpg?v=be568e5403aea3d772380fafb20dcf3a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114901/coverorgin.jpg?v=20006cfc4521987e716c05971553339f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/132429/coverorgin.jpg?v=de1b7835f16310818c236b092793e8c1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/119542/coverorgin.jpg?v=0cd97b1b6c7ed775888dd60be6d8fbf6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/132295/coverorgin.jpg?v=371eac474e9b014fa395d10f2d439794&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/130651/coverorgin.jpg?v=aaa7bca5325b898ff7650152ea542399&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/125847/coverorgin.jpg?v=be11c6b39d8e80d13783843510695223&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/131821/coverorgin.jpg?v=1874ffa710651391bd41d929375faf4c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/116729/coverorgin.jpg?v=42f9f39690a22809df88aa08d304e9ab&imageMogr2/format/webp)