Sakakawea
18 Published Stories
Sakakawea's Books and Stories
The Tycoon's Unwanted Contract Wife
Billionaires I married billionaire Gregorio Harrison to pay off my father's massive debt and keep my dying mother on life support.
But his true love, Kiersten, drugged him with an aphrodisiac, and he used my body to survive the night.
The next day, Kiersten threatened my mother's life with loan sharks, forcing me to sign a surrogacy contract because she was completely infertile.
When Gregorio caught us together, he didn't care about the brutal bruises he had left on my skin.
He thought I was blackmailing his beloved.
He dragged me to his family estate, locking me in a room to be treated like a mindless breeding mare by his cruel mother.
Later, Kiersten tricked me into a humiliating, nude painting session to save my mother's medical funds, setting me up for a media scandal.
When Gregorio smelled her studio's incense on my clothes, he didn't ask for the truth.
"If you're that desperate to sell yourself, I'll show you what a real transaction looks like."
He violently assaulted me as punishment, shoved a digital money transfer in my face, and slammed the door behind him.
I lay on the cold leather sofa, my body broken and my heart completely dead.
Why did I have to suffer for their twisted love game?
Why was my mother's life just a bargaining chip to them?
The despair finally burned away, leaving only a cold, hard instinct for survival.
I picked up my phone and dialed his rival, Dr. Martin.
"I need you to secure my mother's hospital transfer right now." He Destroyed His Own Empire's Creator
Modern My husband, Colton, the Wall Street mogul, slid annulment papers across the table, coldly discarding me and our unborn child. He thought he was getting rid of a useless wife, but he was actually throwing away the secret architect of his entire empire. Now, I'm ready to make him pay for every insult, every lie, and every single secret I've kept.
For three years, eight months pregnant, I secretly saved Colton's ten-billion-dollar company from collapse, enduring a cold, transactional marriage.
One night, he shattered that illusion, serving annulment papers and callously discarding me and our unborn child.
I signed, leaving luxury behind. Exposing his butler's fraud, I escaped. Colton later found his wedding ring gone and, on his desk, my SEC compliance fixes—proof I was his hidden genius.
Blindsided, he realized he’d destroyed his own empire. His mother then called, gloating. The injustice ignited a fierce resolve within me.
The next morning, I launched Kidd Legal Consulting. I'd use forty-seven folders of Farmer Capital's un-patched loopholes to force a fair settlement, securing my daughter's future. Fake It Till You Ace It
LGBT+ Iverson played the role of a rebellious, useless loser to survive in his mother's new wealthy family. He deliberately tanked his grades and hid his genius so his perfect stepbrother wouldn't feel threatened.
But when a violent gang extorted Brenda, the only woman who actually acted like a real mother to him, Iverson dropped the act. He brutally dismantled four armed thugs with a broken aluminum pole to save her life.
At the police station, he faked being a terrified victim to avoid jail. But when his biological mother arrived, she didn't even ask if he was hurt. Instead, she glared at him with pure disgust.
"How much more humiliation are you going to put me through?"
She threw a tutoring folder at his chest, praising his stepbrother's Ivy League prospects while threatening to cut off Iverson's trust fund for fighting over slum trash.
Iverson clenched his fists in silence. He had deliberately played the idiot and ruined his own reputation just to keep her safe in that toxic mansion. Yet, she looked at him like he was absolute garbage. She truly believed he was just a brainless thug holding her back.
Back in his room, Iverson locked the heavy oak door and booted up his highly encrypted laptop. The screen loaded into the world's most elite underground academic network.
"Welcome back, Rank 1."
He stared at the glowing screen with a cold, dangerous smile. He was done playing the fool. The Jilted Heiress: Rising From Betrayal
Modern I woke up in a sterile hospital bed with the smell of antiseptic burning my throat, having just had my stomach pumped six hours ago. Before the sedatives even wore off, my mother called, not to ask if I was alive, but to demand I show up at my sister’s birthday gala in two hours.
To her, I wasn't a daughter; I was a three-hundred-million-dollar signature needed for a corporate merger. She didn't care that I was suicidal, or that my fiancé, Franco, was currently at a luxury hotel with his "secretary" while I was hooked up to an IV.
At the gala, the humiliation only deepened. I watched my fiancé walk in with his mistress, the air thick with her cloying perfume. When my grandmother’s "lost" emeralds—my rightful inheritance—spilled out of the mistress’s purse, my mother didn't flinch. Instead, she hissed at me to give them back to avoid a scene.
My sister, the "perfect" golden child, took the stage and told the elite crowd that I was mentally unstable and "confused" due to my medication. I stood there, drenched in champagne and bleeding from a glass shard, while my own family gaslighted me in front of the world's press.
Franco didn't even look at me as he shielded his mistress from the cameras, leaving me to stand alone in the wreckage of a life they had dismantled. I realized then that my parents didn't want a daughter; they wanted a pawn who wouldn't talk back.
Why was my life worth less than a line item in a budget? How could a mother hand her daughter’s legacy to a mistress just to keep a contract intact?
As my sister lunged at me in a fit of rage, I kicked her into the infinity pool and watched the "perfect" family mask finally shatter. I didn't wait for them to pull me down; I let the weight of my gown drag me into the dark water myself.
Let them think the broken Kalea Alexander is gone. When I surface, I’m not coming back as a daughter—I’m coming back as their worst nightmare. From Jilted Bride To Ruthless CEO
Modern I was Jocelyn Cruz, heiress to a billion-dollar empire, and I was supposed to marry my childhood sweetheart, Jake. My father had groomed him to be my king, and our life was a storybook romance.
But just before my 25th birthday gala, I saw him kissing Djuna-the fragile orphan my father took in, the woman I treated like a sister.
Their betrayal ran deeper than I could imagine. They drugged me to cause a riding accident, then gaslit me to make me think I was losing my mind. At a public auction, Jake froze my accounts and bought a family heirloom I cherished, only to gift it to her in front of everyone, leaving me broken and humiliated.
He wanted to shatter me, to turn me into a mindless puppet he could control.
So when he played a secret video of me crying for him at my own birthday party, I didn't break. Instead, I smiled. Because I had my own recordings, and I was about to show everyone the vipers he and his "true love" really were. Faked Death, Found Freedom
Modern At eight months pregnant, I discovered my husband Holden' s secret living trust. The password wasn't our anniversary, but the birthday of his young protégée, Anika.
His entire fortune wasn't for me or our unborn child. It was all for her.
When I confronted him, the truth was a death sentence. He called me a "vessel," a surrogate to carry an heir for Anika, who was too fragile to bear a child herself.
"She will raise him," he said, his eyes cold.
Then I found the recordings. Once our son was born, I was to be eliminated in a "tragic accident." My seven-year marriage was a lie, a transaction to produce an heir.
They wanted me dead and my baby stolen.
So I gave them one of their wishes. I faked my own death, burned my old life to the ground, and disappeared with my son. Died Alone, My Spirit Watches
Romance "We'll release one woman. Your choice, Mr. Shannon."
Facing the kidnappers, my husband didn't hesitate. He pointed at his sobbing high school sweetheart, Flora.
"Release Flora," he commanded, his voice steady. "She's fragile. Adrianne is tough enough to handle this."
I tried to tell him I was bleeding, that I was pregnant with our first child, but he pushed me toward the knife without a backward glance.
"Don't be dramatic, Adrianne," were his last words to me.
I died alone in that cold, dark basement.
But my soul didn't leave. I hovered invisibly, watching as my husband ignored calls from my phone for two days.
He told his friends I was just "playing games" to punish him for saving Flora. He didn't know those calls were from my killers, laughing at his stupidity while his wife lay dead.
It wasn't until my brother dragged him to the morgue and ripped the sheet off my body that his arrogance finally shattered.
"She was carrying your child, you idiot!"
Staring at my pale, lifeless face, the crisis manager who thought he could fix everything fell to his knees, a broken man.
But tears won't bring me back.
And now, he has to pay. Five Years, One Devastating Lie
Romance My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage.
Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer.
An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss.
They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them?
The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind?
I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately." His Cruelty, Her Rebirth
Romance I died once, charred by the flames that consumed me in a house set ablaze by the man who vowed to destroy me. On his 23rd birthday, I was reborn back to a day they called the "blind pick," where 20 women vied for the chance to become Ethan Thompson' s wife.
In my past life, I drew the red card, believing it a fairytale beginning, only for Ethan to blame me when his true love, Scarlett, died in a car accident he barely remembered. He never believed me, never listened, his hatred burning hotter than any love we once shared.
He dragged me into our home, his eyes filled with terrifying darkness. "You took her from me," he whispered, tightening his hands around my throat. "Now I'll take everything from you." He beat me, doused the room in gasoline, and watched with twisted satisfaction as I burned, branded a murderer and unloved.
Reborn, I found Scarlett, the true manipulator, still alive, ready to claim Ethan' s love.
I avoided the red card that day, trying to escape a cursed fate Ethan, still the monster, forced me on my knees, made me watch him brutally murder my beloved dog, Sunny, and then cooked it for me to eat. He coerced me into donating my kidney to Scarlett, claiming I owed her, all while Scarlett and her mother, Maria, gloated about their deception, admitting they engineered every twisted event after my original death.
Why did they do this? How could Ethan be so blind, so cruel, after I saved his life?
But this time, I wouldn't be a victim. I signed the organ donation papers, but my escape was already in motion, orchestrated by my family and a forgotten friend. Betrayed Bride, Reborn Architect
Romance My masterpiece, "Greenhaven," was about to change the world.
Five years of my life, my soul, poured into sustainable architecture, culminating tonight in a grand unveiling.
I scanned the ballroom for David, my fiancé, my partner in work and life.
We were a team, meant to marry after this launch.
But he was distant, cloaked in late-night meetings, telling me to trust him.
Then I saw him on stage, not with me, but with Victoria Hayes, my ruthless rival, her arm possessively around his waist.
The CEO announced "Elysian Fields," a project backed by David Thompson and Victoria Hayes.
My designs flashed on screen, every detail mine, but my name was nowhere.
The applause was thunderous.
David leaned into the microphone, his smile sickeningly bright.
"Victoria has not only been my partner in business but has become the partner of my heart. We're engaged."
Cameras flashed, capturing their faces, the thieves who stole my life's work and my future.
My phone vibrated: a text from my boss.
"Don't come to the office tomorrow. You're done. We can't be associated with this kind of scandal."
Blacklisted, ruined.
In one moment, I lost my project, my fiancé, my career.
My world, built around David, crumbled.
I stumbled out into the night, nowhere to go.
My apartment was our apartment; my friends our friends.
I had one last, desperate hope: my estranged uncle Robert.
He was a disgraced civil engineer, a recluse I hadn't spoken to in a decade.
"Sarah?" he answered, his voice raspy.
"Uncle Robert," I choked, "I need help. I have nowhere else to go."
A long pause, then: "I have a car coming for you. It will be there in twenty minutes. It will bring you to me."
He hung up.
Sliding down the cold brick wall, I understood.
I was leaving my old life behind, a lie.
I was running toward a future I couldn't imagine, a future that began with a man I barely knew.
My only family left.
But the betrayal didn't stop there.
Weeks later, David arrived at my uncle's, demanding I sign away my design rights, threatening to sue me for breach of partnership.
Victoria emerged, displaying expertly faked emails framing me for industrial espionage.
"Sign the papers, Sarah," Victoria hissed. "Or this gets leaked to every news outlet and the district attorney. Industrial espionage carries a hefty prison sentence."
Just when I thought I was utterly trapped, two large men grabbed me.
"Take her. We'll hold her somewhere she can have time to reconsider her position."
I was thrown into a car, plunged into darkness.
They weren't just destroying my career; they were taking my freedom.
The cold isolation in their private facility was designed to break me, but it only fueled my rage.
Victoria appeared, demanding I sign a confession, cementing their false narrative.
"No," I defied.
The guard tasered me.
But the real breaking point came when Victoria, with chilling calm, slammed a heavy book onto my hand, twisting my fingers at unnatural angles.
"Architects are nothing without their hands," she sneered.
My scream echoed the agony and a new, burning hatred.
They were celebrating their wedding in my designed atrium in two days, while I was imprisoned, crippled.
They aimed to destroy me, but they had only forged me into something stronger.
This was no longer about a career or a broken heart.
This was about justice.
This was war. The Marriage Built on Lies
Young Adult The day my parents told me I was transferring schools, my world ended for the first time.
"Leo is a bad influence. A musician with no future, and he's too old for you," my mother stated, her lips a thin, unforgiving line.
Two weeks later, I was adrift in the sterile halls of Northgate Prep, an art portfolio heavy in my hand, feeling like a ghost.
Then I met Ethan.
He seemed to light up the gray afternoon, a kind, talented musician who understood my dreams of New York and the Ashton Conservatory.
Our pact to conquer the city together felt like a promise of a masterpiece.
But the night before our audition, he handed me a "herbal supplement" that made the world tilt.
I remember his whispered "I'm sorry, Chloe" just before he left me disoriented and helpless in a dark, grimy alley.
I woke up to a pounding head, a filthy, torn dress, and a missed audition.
A video of me, vulnerable and incoherent in that alley, had gone viral.
My mother disowned me, her rage shaking the very foundations of my life.
My quiet father, broken, showed me a text from an unknown number: "How does it feel to see your daughter's future ruined?"
Five years passed in a haze of medication and therapists, the vibrant artist replaced by a frightened woman.
I was diagnosed with severe anxiety, depression, and PTSD-a living ghost of the girl I once was.
Why me? What had really happened that night?
Then, Ethan reappeared. He found me in my squalid apartment, filled with profound sadness, and took me in, promising to fix everything.
He cared for me, he loved me, or so I thought, as he meticulously rebuilt the gilded cage around my shattered life. Divorce, Design, and True Freedom
Romance The scent of expensive perfume and cheap ambition hung heavy in our penthouse, a silent testament to David' s reign.
He paraded aspiring influencers through our home like trophies, their bright young faces a constant reminder of the life he flaunted.
I, Sarah Miller, the successful interior designer, was merely an accessory, observing from the periphery as he draped his arm around a blonde named Tiffany, asking me to help her pick a profile theme color.
My reflection in the glass showed a stillness, a silent defiance to his polished, empty smile.
Later, after the glitter and champagne spills were gone, he cornered me, not with affection, but with business: "We need to be more aggressive with fertility treatments. I' ve scheduled you a new consultation for Monday."
Three years of invasive tests, painful injections, and crushing disappointment, now weaponized against me.
Then came the ultimate blow: he wanted to use a surrogate, one of them, for his legacy, expecting me to manage it.
The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest as he pulled me into a hollow embrace, whispering, "You' re the only one I love, Sarah."
The very next day, a new girl, Emily, was paraded through the penthouse, her wide, innocent eyes mocking my reality.
He kissed her, deeply, passionately, right in front of me, then looked straight into my eyes before turning back to her with a whisper that made her giggle.
That night, sitting in my design studio, the last piece of this life that was truly mine, I drew a line.
A final, absolute line that would redefine everything. Betrayed Heart, Shattered Life
Modern My life, once a vibrant canvas of architectural dreams, had become a masterpiece of quiet devotion to my husband, David, and our son, Ethan.
Then came Victoria Chase, David' s sleek, ambitious business partner, and her "Aura" brand-a wellness empire built on hollow promises.
Suddenly, my gifted ten-year-old, Ethan, whose art was his very soul, was deemed a "liability," his vibrant oil-and-turpentine world clashing with Victoria' s sterile, minimalist vision.
David, blinded by ambition and Victoria' s deceptive charm, whisked Ethan away to a mysterious "Pathways Institute" – a place Victoria touted as "creative re-education" but which sent a chill down my spine.
"They help children channel their talents into more constructive, marketable, and socially acceptable forms," he' d said, a chilling echo of parental consent disguising something far more sinister.
My desperate pleas, my warnings of psychological damage, were met with David' s contempt: "You, with your failed architecture career and your outdated, sentimental ideas about 'art' … You don' t get a vote."
Just two weeks later, the phone call came, flat and devoid of emotion: "Ma'am, there's been an incident. He's gone. A massive cerebral hemorrhage."
While David and Victoria celebrated their launch on a lavish yacht, popping champagne and basking in their "perfect success," my brilliant, hopeful boy lay in a cold morgue.
My world shattered, then coalesced into a razor-sharp fury as I called David, his party' s laughter a grotesque backdrop to my guttural announcement: "Ethan is dead. While you were popping champagne with your mistress."
I declared total war upon his very existence: "This is not just me leaving you, David. This is me erasing you… You have no son. You have nothing. You lost it all today. I hope your brand was worth it."
The "Miller women," my grandmother used to say, "feel things deeper… When we are betrayed, the world feels it."
Now, the world would indeed feel the shattering of my heart, and the ancient knowing awakened within me, ready to reclaim what was mine and unleash the cosmic balance they had so carelessly broken. Roots of Our Love: A Quirky Romance
Fantasy I woke up from a three-month coma to a world that wasn' t mine.
Doctors called it a miracle, but my phone was a disaster zone: hundreds of texts, a fan page dedicated to me, and a cringe nickname: "Ethan' s Girl."
The only problem? I had no idea who Ethan was.
Apparently, while I was unconscious, someone-or something-had been living my life, turning me into the town's most obsessive fangirl to a golden boy I' d never met.
Before I could even process it, my best friend burst in, dragging me to a bonfire to sing a love song to Ethan, making me wear a ridiculous "Mrs. Golden Leaf" hoodie.
I immediately became the target of the entire town' s mockery, especially from Ethan, who expected my usual fawning adoration.
Worst of all, I soon discovered that the "stalker" was a lovesick tree spirit who had borrowed my body, ruined my reputation, and given a piece of her soul-her very life essence-to Ethan as a lucky charm.
My entire life had been upended, my name dragged through the mud, all because of a plant' s one-sided crush on an arrogant jock.
But I wasn't that girl anymore, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let a glorified potted plant and a narcissistic hockey player dictate my future.
I was going to get that charm back, reclaim my life, and burn every trace of "Ethan's Girl" to the ground. The Mechanic's Vengeance
Modern My father' s FDNY badge wasn't just a piece of metal; it was the last tangible piece of my hero, a sacred legacy I cherished above all else.
My socialite wife, Chloe, tossed it to her ex-boyfriend, Julian, like a cheap souvenir, igniting a cruel chain of events that would devastate our lives.
When our seven-year-old son, Leo, bravely tried to reclaim his grandfather' s stolen badge, Chloe punished him by sending him to a brutal "behavioral modification" camp in the desolate Utah wilderness.
Days later, I found my bright, sensitive boy in a sterile Utah hospital room, lying in a coma, his small body ravaged by severe dehydration and hypothermia, clinging to life after a horrific "reflection exercise."
As I sat by his bedside, paralyzed by terror and helplessness, my phone buzzed with a taunting text from Julian: a smug picture of him and Chloe, glowing with happiness, accompanied by the chilling words, "Chloe's pregnant. Our little family is starting. Time for you to move on, buddy."
My world shattered with a sickening crunch, replaced by a searing, all-consuming rage as I comprehended that my son was dying because of her unbelievable cruelty, yet she was celebrating a new life with the very man responsible for his torment.
How could the woman I married, the mother of my child, betray her own son so utterly, choosing a manipulative, parasitic ex over our child' s desperate fight for survival?
Yet, in that sterile, echoing hospital room, a cold, unwavering resolve took root deep within me; I didn't call Chloe, who was too busy basking in her new life, but instead dialed the one man powerful enough to dismantle their entire twisted world: my father-in-law.
This wasn't just about my son's desperate recovery or a bitter divorce anymore; this was about unleashing an unstoppable reckoning that would make them pay for every single ounce of pain they inflicted upon my innocent child. The Price of Her Obsession
Modern Ethan Cole, heir to a formidable dynasty, was hopelessly infatuated with Seraphina Vance. When a devastating explosion nearly claimed her life, he defied all odds, secretly risking his own to fund a clandestine rescue, even letting another man claim his heroic sacrifice.
But that man, his security chief Marcus Thorne, shamelessly twisted the truth, painting Ethan as her envious tormentor. Seraphina, vulnerable and blinded by grief, believed Marcus' s lies, cultivating a fierce love for him and an unyielding hatred for Ethan.
After Marcus' s supposed death (for which she blamed Ethan), Seraphina became "The Matriarch" of a shadowy Order, imprisoning and ruthlessly torturing him for two decades. She inflicted a lifetime of calculated physical and psychological torment, watching his very spirit crumble under her cruel "300 years of suffering," until her new favorite, Lucian, took sadistic pleasure in shattering his hands.
He unearthed records within the Order-a sacred "Book of Truths"-revealing Marcus' s complete treachery and his own self-sacrificing innocence. Yet, she dismissed it as another pathetic lie, her hatred for him unshakeable. How could one man endure such profound, undeserved torment, built entirely on a monstrous, self-serving deception?
Left for dead, his memory wiped, he started anew as Elian, building a peaceful life. But when Princess Seraphina, now seeking atonement, found him and proposed marriage, it tore open old wounds. Now, with a celestial second chance, he must re-enter his past and meticulously unravel the threads of his own tragic fate. The Wife's Hidden Fortune
Modern The phone rang near midnight, a jarring sound that sliced through the quiet of my small apartment, a familiar dread seizing me before I even picked up.
It was the hospital, informing me my brilliant, valedictorian son, Alex, had been in an accident while working a late-night delivery shift, ending the call with the words no parent should ever hear: "He didn't make it."
My world shattered, I rushed to City General, only to stumble upon a scene that made the grief even more unbearable: my seemingly frugal wife, Jessica, in a shimmering gown, showering a stranger's son with a luxury car and a downtown loft at a lavish hotel party.
The horrifying realization crashed over me: the "stranger's son," Jake, was the hit-and-run driver who killed Alex, and Jessica knew, choosing to protect him, the child of her old flame, over our own son.
At Alex's somber burial, as his small casket was lowered, Jessica abandoned us, rushing off because Jake had a "migraine," her tire crushing the simple flowers our neighbor laid at Alex's graveside.
My grief twisted into a cold, unyielding rage, the agony in my chest mirroring the gnawing pain in my gut, later diagnosed as terminal cancer, a life worn down by sacrifices she never needed to make.
How could the woman I loved, the partner I trusted for two decades, have maintained such a monstrous charade, building a fortune while we barely scraped by, all for another man and his son?
With nothing left but a few months to live, I walked away from the city, from the lies, but the story wasn't over for Jessica, whose own dark quest for atonement was just beginning. You might like
The Jilted Heiress's Ruthless Billionaire Revenge
Gray Matter For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett.
Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid.
When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives.
"Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself."
I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together.
Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company.
He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life.
He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire.
I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer.
"Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant." The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback
Zhi Yao For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties.
But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom.
Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot.
Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years.
"You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic."
My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support.
They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets.
I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life.
But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree.
Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate.
When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block. Too Late For Regret: My Dead Heart
Catlaina Sloggett Rain lashed against the twisted metal as Hallie lay pinned in the wreckage of her car, her chest crushed and fading fast.
The paramedic found her phone and desperately dialed her husband, Aidan.
"Your wife has been in a severe car crash! We're losing her!" the paramedic shouted over the storm.
A harsh, mocking laugh came through the speaker.
"Tell her this is a pathetic way to stop the divorce," Aidan sneered. "I do not have time for her crazy games."
The line went dead, and Hallie's heart flatlined.
Separated from her body, Hallie's ghost was forced to witness the horrific aftermath of her own death.
Her mother refused to claim her corpse because there was no insurance payout, telling the hospital to throw her in a ditch.
Pulled back to her penthouse, she found Aidan gently holding her sister, Cecile.
Cecile sobbed about Hallie's "fake crash" in Aidan's arms, but the moment he looked away, a wicked smirk of victory spread across her face.
Cecile was the predator, and Aidan was her willing protector.
He even ordered Hallie's brilliant, life's-work sketchbook to be thrown into an industrial shredder, giving all her corporate resources to fund Cecile's debut.
Hovering in the cold air, Hallie watched her three years of devotion turn to ash.
She was treated like garbage, a mere stepping stone for her sister's rise.
But just as her soul turned to ice, Aidan's face suddenly grew paranoid.
"Check her medical records," Aidan ordered his assistant coldly. "Find out who is helping her fake this injury."
Hallie's invisible spirit shivered with a dark, vengeful anticipation.
What would her arrogant husband do when his relentless digging finally uncovered her cold, dead body? 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." 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. Marrying My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle
Yuan Xiluo On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours." Shattered Vows: The Secret Heiress's Dazzling Return
Nap Regazzini For two years, Clementine played the perfectly obedient wife to billionaire Donovan Bray, wearing his heavy diamonds and enduring his cold indifference.
Until she accidentally saw his tablet and discovered she was just a "collateral asset"—a cheap lookalike prop hired to make his ex-girlfriend, Gisela, jealous.
When Gisela returned to New York, Donovan's mask completely slipped.
During a vicious argument where he mocked Clementine as a pathetic shadow, he grabbed her, causing her to fall down a flight of marble stairs.
Waking up in the hospital, Clementine learned she had miscarried a six-week-old baby she didn't even know she had.
But what truly shattered her was hearing Donovan's voice through the cracked hospital door.
"It changes nothing."
He coldly lied to his friend that the fall had caused permanent infertility.
"It was probably for the best."
He had killed her unborn child and casually dismissed her worth, truly believing she was a penniless nobody who would suffer his abuse in silence.
He thought he held all the power, leaving her broken and discarded for his true love.
What Donovan didn't know was that his fragile, dependent wife was secretly "C.", the billionaire genius behind Aurelian, the world's most exclusive luxury jewelry empire.
Lying in the sterile room, Clementine dried her tears, filed for a ruthless divorce, and permanently froze his supplementary black card.
It was time to show him who really held the strings. I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Jessica C. Dolan Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he's not letting me go. The Jilted 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." Craving for My Tyrant Husband
Cosme Seidel I was cheated on by my scumbag boyfriend.
On the night I got blackout drunk, I married a stranger, and when I woke up, I only found a marriage certificate and a black card.
He took care of my scumbag ex for me, gave me a canary diamond ring, but refused to show his face-he only called me baby on video calls.
I ran to my best friend's house to hide, only to find that the billionaire next door, who made my heart skip a beat, had the exact same scent as him.
My best friend cried and begged me: "He's Augustus, a tyrant who eats people alive!"
But only I knew that the man who pressed me against the terrace railing, leaned down to kiss me, and whispered "I'll protect you" softly.
Fifty thousand dollars to sneak photos of his private office? I'll go.
Not for the money, but to ask him to his face-
Gus, how many secrets are you hiding? And how long have you been craving me? 
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