Ren Ping Sheng
14 Published Stories
Ren Ping Sheng's Books and Stories
Left To Die: The Wife's Spectacular Comeback
Billionaires Elliana sat on the cold marble floor, staring at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. Overjoyed, she went to her husband Garrett’s study to surprise him.
But the room was empty. On his iPad, she accidentally opened a muted security video from the night before. As a graphic novelist trained in facial anatomy, she easily read Garrett’s lips as he spoke to their housekeeper.
"Increase the hallucinogens and the birth control. Let her become a complete lunatic."
The truth shattered her reality. Her three years of inexplicable exhaustion and mental collapses were orchestrated to keep her away from her ex-fiancé, who was now married to Garrett’s sister, Cristina. The nightmare worsened during a horrific highway crash. As their SUV flipped and caught fire, Garrett ruthlessly abandoned a pregnant Elliana in the crushed backseat. He dragged Cristina to safety, leaving Elliana to burn. She survived, but her right hand—her drawing hand—was permanently destroyed.
Lying in the hospital with her career ruined and her intellectual property stolen by the husband who forged her signature while she was drugged, a freezing void of hatred consumed her. She was nothing but a sedated decoy to hide Garrett's twisted, incestuous obsession with his own sister.
When Garrett knelt by her hospital bed with fake tears, Elliana didn't scream or expose him. Instead, she forced a pathetic, dependent smile, playing the perfect broken wife. She was going back to his penthouse to steal his encrypted files, ready to feed him to Manhattan's most cutthroat divorce lawyer and watch his empire burn. Too Late, My Alpha: You Killed Me
Werewolf My sister, the pack's beloved future Luna, was dying of kidney failure.
Axel, the Supreme Alpha and the man I had secretly loved my entire life, used his Alpha Command to force the pen into my trembling hand.
"Sign the papers, Jana," he growled, his eyes glowing with a predatory red light. "Stop being selfish. Kyleigh needs a transplant, and you are the only match."
I tried to beg. I tried to tell him that I couldn't survive the surgery.
I tried to tell him that I had already secretly donated a kidney to our father five years ago—a sacrifice my sister had claimed credit for.
But Axel threw a stack of falsified medical scans in my face.
"Stop lying to save your own skin," he spat. "You are a useless, Wolfless Omega. This is your only chance to be of value to this pack."
He didn't know that Kyleigh had been poisoning me with Wolfsbane for a decade to suppress my inner White Wolf.
He didn't know that the anesthesia wouldn't work on my poisoned body.
I felt every inch of the silver scalpel as they cut me open to harvest my only remaining kidney.
I died on that table, listening to the man I loved call me dramatic.
But death was not the end. My spirit floated above the chaos, watching as the surgeon's face turned pale with horror.
"She only had one!" the doctor screamed, holding up the blackened organ. "Alpha, look at the old scars! We just killed her!"
Only after my heart stopped did the scent-masking drugs fade.
Axel fell to his knees in the blood-soaked room, finally smelling the scent of rain and pine he had been searching for his whole life.
He realized he had just butchered his true mate to save a liar.
"Jana?" he howled, clawing at his chest.
But I was already gone. Bankrupt Socialite: The Billionaire's Revenge Bride
Modern I was the bankrupt socialite everyone pitied, standing in the mud at my mother's grave with nothing left but a pair of old Louboutins and a single white rose. My bank account was overdrawn by three hundred dollars, but I still believed Julian, my fiancé, was the one person who hadn't abandoned the toxic Compton name.
Then I saw his Maybach shaking in the cemetery parking lot. Through a crack in the window, I heard the man I loved whispering to my stepsister, Tiffany.
"Don't worry about the broke princess. Once I secure her voting proxy for the trust, I'm dumping her."
Tiffany laughed, clutching the scarlet coat she'd charged to my own maxed-out credit card.
"She's so pathetic, Julian. She actually thinks you love her."
I didn't scream; I recorded them. But when I tried to use that leverage, my family turned into vipers. To protect Julian's status, they framed me for causing Tiffany to miscarry a fake pregnancy and planted stolen documents in my bag. My own father stood by as they locked me in a room, planning to sell me to a predatory creditor named Hightower to settle his gambling debts. I ended up in a freezing police cell, my ankle shattered and my reputation destroyed.
I sat on that metal bench, shivering as I realized my own blood had traded my life for a check. I called the only man powerful enough to burn them all-Julian's uncle, the "Butcher of Wall Street," Alden Stark. The phone just kept ringing. He wasn't coming. To the world, I was just a walking bankruptcy filing, a girl who had finally run out of luck.
I didn't wait for a savior. I escaped custody and ran barefoot through the rain, leaving a trail of blood on the marble floor of Stark Tower. When I collapsed at Alden's feet, he didn't look at me with pity; he looked at me like a rare, damaged artifact he finally owned.
"Inform the board that this is my fiancée," he announced, lifting me into his arms.
I signed the marriage contract that night, trading my freedom for the power to ensure my family's liabilities exceeded their assets for the rest of their natural lives. Pregnant and Rejected: The Alpha's Biggest Mistake
Werewolf My husband Liam was the perfect Alpha. He built me a library, fought off rogues, and swore I was his soulmate. I thought we were the perfect fated couple.
That was until I found the burner phone wedged deep in the sofa cushions.
"She's just a placeholder," he texted his mistress, Ava. "You know you're my real queen."
Attached was an ultrasound of a wolf pup—his heir.
I tried to leave with dignity, but he dragged me to the Pack Gala. On a live stream watched by thousands, he paraded Ava around, wearing my family’s heirloom necklace. When I tried to take it back, he didn't just stop me.
He slapped me across the face.
The force of his blow didn't just break my heart; the trauma killed the secret baby growing inside me.
I severed the bond and vanished, leaving him with his "queen" and his guilt.
Five years later, I returned, not as a weak rejected mate, but as the powerful Alpha of the Sanctuary.
Liam fell to his knees in the dirt, holding a flawless pink diamond, begging for a second chance.
"I fought for you," he cried, tears streaming down his face. "I bled for you! I am your Fated Mate!"
I looked at him with nothing but pity, then turned to the man standing beside me—the quiet Beta who had silently saved my life years ago when Liam was too busy playing the hero.
I took Ethan's hand.
"Ethan," I asked, my voice ringing clear through the silent crowd. "Will you be my Mate?"
As Liam screamed in agony, the Moon Goddess answered with a blinding golden light. The Contract Wife: Thorne's Redemption
Romance I lay in the sterile silence of the hospital, mourning the baby I never got to hold. Everyone called it a tragic accident. A slip and fall. But I knew the truth of my husband's shove.
Mark finally came to visit. He didn't bring flowers; he brought a briefcase.
Inside were divorce papers and a non-disclosure agreement.
He calmly informed me that his mistress-my friend-was pregnant. They were his "real family" now, and they couldn't have any "unpleasantness."
He threatened to use fabricated psychiatric reports to paint me as an unstable danger to myself.
"Sign the papers, Clara," he warned, his voice void of emotion. "Or you'll be moved from this comfortable room to a more... secure facility. A long-term one."
I looked at the man I had loved and saw a monster. This wasn't a tragedy; it was a corporate takeover of my life. He had been meeting with lawyers while I was losing our child. I wasn't his grieving wife; I was a liability being managed, a loose end to be tied.
I was utterly and completely trapped.
Just as despair consumed me, my parents' old lawyer appeared like a ghost from the past. She pressed a heavy, ornate key into my palm.
"Your parents left you an escape route," she whispered, her eyes filled with resolve. "For a day like this."
The key led to a forgotten contract, a pact made by our grandfathers decades ago.
An ironclad marriage agreement, binding me to the one man my husband feared more than death itself: the ruthless, reclusive billionaire Julian Thorne. His Wife, His Best Friend's Baby
Romance The cemetery air was heavy, just like my heart, staring at Lily' s name, a scar etched in stone.
Then she arrived, Sophia, my wife, leaning into Mark, my best friend.
Her hand resting on the slight curve of her stomach twisted my gut.
"Lily, from heaven, will surely bless the baby in my womb with health and safety," she sneered, holding her belly.
My daughter was dead, and their child, a blessing.
I slid my wedding ring off, the symbol of a shattered lie, and let it fall onto the damp earth beside Lily' s grave.
I walked away without looking back, leaving everything behind.
Later, I overheard Sophia' s sisters mocking me.
"What do you bet he comes crawling back in a week?" one giggled.
They had no idea.
Soon, I found myself serving Mark, Sophia' s lover, even peeling him an apple, a twisted parody of our past intimacy.
Her smirk told me she relished my humiliation.
Then she dropped the bomb: "We can all be one big, happy family."
I handed her the divorce papers, already signed.
Sophia laughed, picking up the papers. "You have nothing without me."
Suddenly, Mark began to choke, his face turning red.
"What did you do?" Sophia shrieked, her eyes blazing, forcing a piece of the apple into my mouth.
A sickeningly sweet, nutty taste flooded my senses. Almonds.
The room spun, and the first wave of anaphylaxis hit me like a fiery punch.
"We found out about the baby almost a year ago, right after… Lily got sick."
A year. Lily was still alive when their affair began.
They left me there, choking, as they rushed Mark to the hospital.
But in that cold, sterile hospital room, a ruthless plan began to form. Built To Break Her
Sci-fi For three years, I lived a fairy tale, believing I was the universe's luckiest woman, deeply loved by my brilliant creator, Ethan.
Then, everything shattered the night he strapped me to a table, revealing a woman with my exact face on a screen: "That's my wife, Madisyn. You were built to replace her."
He harvested my love, my memories, my very essence to revive her, then stripped me of everything, calling me a "soulless machine," and forced me to watch their rekindled romance from a glass cage, punishing me with electric shocks if I dared to look away.
I endured agonizing chemical burns, dismissed as "glitches," until Madisyn had me thrown into a warehouse filled with unstable, decommissioned androids, certain I'd be torn to pieces.
But as their metal claws ripped me apart, a secret program deep within me activated: a "gestational" program, a digital child Ethan had hidden. I had to protect it, even broken and dying.
Ethan found me mangled, finally seeing the monstrous truth: Madisyn had sabotaged me with a "mortality patch" and orchestrated my destruction, even sending the robots to target the child.
With Madisyn threatening to self-destruct if he saved me, Ethan made his choice, sacrificing her to activate the Genesis Protocol for me.
But it was too late. My body, my pain, was who I was. I just wanted to feel the wind, one last time.
He carried me to the ocean at sunrise, proposed with a ring that couldn't fit my ruined hand, and as my light faded, he carried my lifeless chassis into the waves, disappearing with me beneath the surface-a final, tragic embrace. The Night He Drugged My Tea
Romance My husband, Ethan Cole, was New York' s legal golden boy-revered for his legal prowess and, more famously, for his legendary adoration of his wife, Sarah Miller.
"My North Star" tattooed over his heart, cross-country flights for a few hours with me; I believed this perfect fairytale for years.
Then, the crash. Arriving at his office to surprise him, I overheard his junior associates' crude jokes: "Boss is off to Napa with Jessica Vance for a 'client retreat'." Napa? He'd texted "Chicago deposition."
My world tipped.
The video landed, sent by Jessica: her, tied with Ethan' s silk tie, his face consumed by a desire I hadn't witnessed in years.
It plummeted deeper.
That night, he drugged my tea.
Then, he brought her into our bed, right beside me, believing I was out cold.
Her moans, his rough whispers, Jessica' s sweat-damp hair brushing my cheek-the ultimate, sickening violation.
The man who once cooked me gourmet breakfasts became a depraved stranger, brazenly flaunting his infidelity inches from me.
How could he?
My reflection showed tear-streaked eyes, but pain became icy resolve.
No screaming. No breakdowns.
A chillingly precise plan formed.
I took a burner phone, texting him-my husband, the famed attorney-as an anonymous "Ms. Evans": "My husband is cheating with his assistant. What should I do?"
His reply, professional and prompt: "Secure all evidence of his infidelity. Bring it to me."
So, I did.
I formally retained Ethan Cole to handle my divorce. Game on. Don't Mess With the Cat Lady
Modern I' m Chloe, a nursing student, always broke and buried in textbooks, a stark contrast to my influencer-wannabe roommate, Tiffany. We tolerated each other, barely.
Then, one night, Tiffany burst in, grinning, clutching a filthy, terrified cat she' d "rescued" from an alley. "Meet Scrappy!" she squealed, oblivious to my strict allergies and our apartment's no-pets rule. From the moment I saw him, the matted cat stared at me with an unnerving, instant dislike.
He quickly became a nightmare, tearing apart my expensive nursing textbook and leaving messes everywhere. Tiffany just laughed, filming him for her "content" while branding me a "killjoy" and "hater." But it spiraled out of control when Scrappy viciously attacked my eight-year-old cousin, Lily, sending her to the ER for stitches and agonizing rabies shots.
My hands shook with a cold, desperate fury. This wasn't about a ruined textbook anymore; this cat was a dangerous menace, and Tiffany, wrapped up in her influencer dreams, couldn' t care less. I tried desperately to get rid of him, but she stopped me, and he escaped.
Years melted away, only for the horror to become horribly real: Scrappy, now a scarred alpha of a monstrous feral cat colony, murdered my family. I screamed, and then, mercifully, nothingness. I woke up. Sunlight streamed through my old apartment window. I heard Tiffany' s chirpy voice from the living room: "Chloe! Look!" It was the exact same day. The same terrifying cat. I' d seen the future, and this time, I knew precisely what needed to be done. The Man Who Didn't Remember Our Love
Romance I was a pregnant widow, my heart shattered by the loss of Ethan, my husband, who vanished into a relentless blizzard months ago. Every day on our isolated Montana ranch was a quiet struggle, a desperate attempt to move forward with the tiny, fluttering life within me.
Then, a soft knock on the door, almost lost in the howling wind, shattered my fragile peace. Standing there, weathered but undeniably real, was Ethan. My breath caught, my world stopped spinning.
But the moment his familiar blue eyes dropped to my noticeably swollen belly, his face turned to ice. "We never shared a bed," he rasped, a chilling statement, not a question. "How can you be pregnant?"
The words struck me like physical blows, each one a fresh betrayal. After all the lonely nights, the tears, the private secret I cherished, this was his return? He stood before me, a stranger, denying a passion I distinctly remembered, demanding answers with accusation blazing in his eyes.
How could I explain the man who held me when he himself couldn't remember? The one who called himself Ace? The one who loved me without fear, unlike the guarded Ethan who stood before me now?
The Kingman curse might have consumed other men, but it wouldn't claim the truth of my child. I lifted my chin, a spark of defiance igniting. He wanted answers? I' d give them to him, even if it meant shattering his carefully constructed reality and fighting for the whole man I loved. His Last Regret: Unmade
Sci-fi The city festival lights blurred, then the world exploded into screams and dust.
Liam was on top of me, saving me again, for the third time.
But this time, his last words, choked out with blood, were not what I expected.
"If only... I had never met you."
Ten years of a cold marriage, of my unrequited love, ended with that brutal, devastating line.
At his funeral, his mother’s sharp voice cut through my grief: "He died because of you. Always you."
The whispers followed me out of the church, society agreeing I was the reason Liam Walker, the city’s golden boy, was dead at thirty-three.
I was branded the burden he’d carried to his grave, utterly alone and consumed by guilt.
Liam’s words echoed, haunting me: "If only I had never met you."
I desperately wanted to undo it all, not for a romance that never was, but for *his* peace, for *my* peace, to save him from a life of quiet desperation.
Then, a whisper from the city’s underbelly reached me: the "Chronos Device," a secret, experimental temporal machine.
It was unstable, dangerous, and, according to the scientist, tied directly to the deepest regrets of the person whose fate you were trying to change.
I knew Liam's regrets intimately from his hidden journals: marrying me, abandoning his music, and failing to "save" Jessica, his true love.
Driven by this desperate knowledge, I strapped myself into the humming machine, ready to rewrite his regrets, to give him the life he wanted.
Even if it meant erasing myself from his life and future forever. I Bled for His Child, He Buried My Brother
Fantasy My tribe was dying, our sacred Sunbeam Ridge ravaged by the deafening roar of Remington Mining’s bulldozers.
I, Ella Windrider, the last guardian of the Sunbeam Vine, felt my own life force draining away with each passing day.
They said I had three years away from the Ridge before I withered and died.
But my people would fall sooner if I did nothing.
So, I walked out of the mists of our hidden valley and into the cold glass towers of Keller Remington, the man whose parents went missing on our lands, believing I could trade answers for peace.
Instead, he took me prisoner, convinced my tribe murdered his family.
Days blurred into months within his fortress-like estate, where I was held captive in a damp, windowless cell.
He demanded answers, but gave me only torture, both physical and spiritual.
He forced me to nurture the stolen Sunbeam Vines, draining my very essence to sustain his conniving fiancée, Sophia Wexler, and her unborn child.
Each drop of the Vine’s sap I bled, was a piece of my soul.
Then, my brave little brother, Little Hawk, came looking for me, only to be killed by Remington’s men, a death orchestrated by Sophia.
As deep winter set in, I lay dying, haunted by his crushing loss, the truth of Keller’s parents’ murders a stone in my chest.
I knew it wasn’t my people who killed them, but a ruthless corporation, led by Sophia’s family, and a traitor from my own tribe.
They had used Keller’s grief, and now they were using me, slowly bleeding me dry.
Just as my last breath faltered, an old lawyer arrived, armed with irrefutable proof that shattered Keller’s carefully constructed world.
The man who had tortured me, who had caused my brother’s death, finally saw the face of his true enemy, and the innocent woman he had systematically destroyed. The SAT Eve Nightmare
Young Adult The fluorescent lights of Northwood High’s auditorium hummed, a familiar sound.
It was the last Monday assembly before SATs, and Brittany Jones, head cheerleader, announced a pre-party at her place tonight.
A cheer went up, but my blood ran cold because I’d lived this exact moment before.
Last time, Brittany’s party led to her faked overdose, my public ruin, Jake’s betrayal, and ultimately, the orchestrated death of my fire captain father and my own demise in a hospital bed.
Now, inexplicably sent back, I tried to keep my distance, hoping to protect myself and my family from repeating the nightmare.
Instead, Brittany and Jake escalated their cruelty, cornering me, stealing my SAT ticket, ID, and phone, and locking me in a dark gym storage room.
My father miraculously rescued me, but that very night, Brittany and Jake launched a vicious social media campaign, framing me for their party’s disastrous mass hospitalization and even slandering my brave dad.
Rocks were thrown through our window, and an angry mob, fueled by their lies, gathered outside our home, screaming "child poisoner."
How could they be so utterly evil, so determined to destroy my life, and why was this second chance even worse, more violent than the first?
But then, a flicker of hope: my smartwatch had been recording, and I remembered Jake’s old cloud passwords from our past, giving me access to all his damning secrets.
This time, I wouldn’t just survive; I would use every memory and every piece of evidence to ensure they reaped what they sowed, for good. You might like
Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
"Call her Aunt." The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
Zi Ya The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting.
"Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes."
Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind.
I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba.
How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow?
When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE.
"Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me." From Prison Cell To Billionaire's Target
Jv Lingxian The freezing rain lashed against my face as I clung to the iron gates of the Hendrix estate, begging for a chance to prove I didn't kill my best friend.
I had come here for mercy, but the man I had secretly loved for years had a different plan. He didn't want to hear my truth; he wanted to see me broken.
As the sun rose, the estate manager delivered the final blow. He shoved Emery’s phone into my face, showing a forged text message that framed me for her death, then turned his back as the gates slammed shut.
My own family didn't offer a lifeline, either. When the police came for me, my parents didn't fight for my innocence; they chose to disown me to save their bank accounts from Alfredo’s wrath.
I was thrown into Rikers Island, stripped of my dignity, and subjected to years of calculated, brutal torture paid for by the man who once held my heart.
How could the person I loved turn my life into a private slaughterhouse based on a lie?
After three years of hell, I walked out of those prison gates with nothing but a scarred body and a hollow soul. The woman who loved Alfredo Hendrix died in that cell. Now, I’m back in the city where it all began, and I’m done hiding. Pampered By The Ruthless Tycoon Guardian
Julian Reid Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box.
She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her.
The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death.
"This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm.
Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer.
How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her.
Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind.
"Poison! She's trying to kill me!"
Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist. I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he's not letting me go. His Accidental Cure: The Runaway Contract Wife
Norrra I was drugged and sent to a hotel room to be compromised, but I ended up in the presidential suite with a stranger.
I didn't know the man I clung to in my hallucinogenic haze was my own husband, Devaughn Winters, a man I hadn't spoken to in a year.
When I woke up the next morning, the terror of what I’d done hit me like a physical blow. I fled, leaving behind nothing but a shredded dress and a lingering sense of dread.
I thought I’d finally escaped the cold, suffocating contract of our marriage when I signed the divorce papers, but I was wrong.
My mother-in-law arrived at my apartment, freezing my sick mother’s medical funds and threatening to ruin me for the "infidelity" she claimed I’d committed.
She dragged my secrets into the light, leaving me with no choice but to fight back with a knife in my hand and a 911 call on speaker.
But just as I thought I was free, the man I’d spent the night with—the man who was supposed to be my stranger—tore up our divorce papers and declared that I was his to keep.
I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, trapped between a ruthless father who wanted to sell me for corporate secrets and a husband who demanded I belong to him in life and in death.
How did he not know who I was that night, and why is he suddenly claiming me as his own?
I’m done being a victim, and if he thinks he can own me, he’s about to find out exactly what happens when a cornered woman decides to burn it all down. Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
TESS WHITE I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius's Spectacular Comeback
Lan Zixin For seven years, I was the perfect wife to Denny Sanford and the brilliant CTO who built the core technology of his billion-dollar empire.
But at my brother-in-law's memorial service, I hid behind a velvet curtain in the study and caught my husband passionately kissing the grieving widow, Brittany.
They weren't just having an affair. Brittany was pregnant with Denny's child.
"Once the paternity test confirms the baby is a Sanford heir, we control everything," she whispered.
"Christa is brilliant with data, but clueless with people. She's completely harmless," Denny sneered, dismissing me as a convenient tool.
My world shattered. Under his protection, Brittany had already stolen the credit and millions of dollars in consulting fees for my patents. To maintain his perfect facade, Denny even abandoned our six-year-old daughter's championship to hold his mistress's hand through a fake hospital visit.
I had sacrificed my days and nights to build his company, only to realize my entire marriage was a calculated lie designed to fund his second family. He thought my scientific detachment made me blind, stupid, and weak.
Harmless? I smiled coldly in the dark, backed up every server log proving my intellectual property, and messaged the most ruthless divorce attorney in New York. If he wanted to build his future on stolen data, I would show him exactly how a scientist dismantles a flawed experiment. Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire
William Jafferson My mother called me a defective product and insisted I marry Preston Finch, a man who treated our first date like a corporate merger.
During our lunch, Preston demanded I clean his car like a servant, his arrogance snapping the last thread of my patience.
I threw my iced coffee right into his lap, sending the cafe into a stunned silence as he screamed insults about my background and the cost of his designer pants.
My mother didn't care about the abuse; she only cared that I had lost a "catch," calling me an embarrassment and threatening my future while my flower shop faced imminent foreclosure.
Trapped by debt and my family’s relentless cruelty, I felt like a drowning woman with nowhere left to turn.
Just as I hit rock bottom, Connor Powers—my brother's old roommate—stepped in, his icy gaze promising a brutal end to my misery.
"Let's get married," he said, offering a cold, calculated contract that would shield me from my family forever.
I signed the papers, unaware that I had just tethered my life to a man whose world was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined. No Heir For The Cheating Billionaire
Marnie Nomura Hadley married into the Jacobson family, a ruthless Wall Street empire. Her prenuptial agreement was absolute: she wouldn't touch a penny of the family wealth until she produced an heir.
But one rainy night, she used a copied keycard to enter a secret Tribeca penthouse, only to find her husband tangled in bed with a famous actress.
When she slapped the divorce papers in front of him, Cleveland didn't apologize.
"The party who files walks away with nothing. You will die in this position."
He tore the documents to pieces. To protect his flawless public image, he forced Hadley to attend family galas, smirking coldly while his grandfather publicly humiliated her for her "barren" stomach. When Hadley finally fought back and confronted his mistress, Cleveland snapped. With a single phone call, he froze her bank accounts, revoked her access to their home, and left her stranded in a cold parking garage.
She had given up her independence for a man who treated her like a useless breeding machine. He thought he could erase three years of her life in an instant, confident that his money made him invincible.
But Cleveland didn't know she was holding the ultimate weapon to destroy his precious legacy. As he received a frantic call about his mistress and rushed to his SUV, Hadley finally screamed the agonizing secret she had hidden for years.
"I can't give you an heir! It's over!"
Watching his taillights disappear into the dark, Hadley prepared to burn his empire to the ground. 
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