Shi Liu
16 Published Stories
Shi Liu's Books and Stories
Wrong Room: The Ruthless CEO's Captive
Romance I stumbled into the wrong hotel room while drunk and accidentally lost my virginity to a stranger in the pitch black.
I fled at dawn, hoping to erase the painful mistake. But when I went to a private clinic for a checkup, the "doctor" who walked in and locked the door was him—Cain Reed, a billionaire who coldly declared my body was now his "responsibility."
When I tried to escape, he cornered me in the parking garage, threw me into his bulletproof Maybach, and locked me inside his high-security Tribeca penthouse.
He had already investigated my entire life—my abandoned childhood, my dead grandmother, my student loans.
"You took my first time, and I took yours," he whispered, pinning me against the glass. "You belong to me now."
He demanded my complete submission, threatening to stalk my job and my apartment if I dared to run again.
I was terrified and suffocating. Why me? Out of all the women in New York, why was this ruthless, powerful man so dangerously obsessed with a nobody who made a drunken mistake?
His possessive need felt like drowning, a gilded cage I would never escape.
I couldn't let him consume me. Pretending to surrender, I negotiated a public date and watched his luxury car drive away.
Then, I pulled out my phone and texted an old college acquaintance.
If Cain Reed wanted to control my life, I was going to create a "serious boyfriend" to fight back. Too Late For The Alpha's Regret
Werewolf I spent seven years in a frozen outpost as punishment for saving my fated mate's life. My family called my sacrifice dark magic, a crime that shamed our name.
When I finally came home, I found my adoptive sister, Briar, wearing my life like a stolen dress. She had my parents' love and my mate's devotion, all built on the lie that she was the one who had saved him.
They forced me to sleep in the attic and serve champagne at the party celebrating her. My own mother called me a disgrace.
My mate, Alpha Ryker, planned to formally reject me and bond with her in front of the entire pack. He demanded I stand by and bless their union.
He looked at her feigned weakness and called it a noble sacrifice. He looked at my broken spirit and called it a stain on his honor.
Then my brother found the old medical files proving I was the one who nearly died for him. The truth came out at the altar, right as Ryker was about to bond with my sister. But by then, I was already gone, a rogue wolf with nothing left to lose. The Fiancé's Treachery: A Dancer's Vengeance
Modern My brother, Douglas, and my fiancé, Connor, were the two people in the world I trusted most.
And they were the ones who destroyed my life. They hired thugs to attack me, leaving me paralyzed from the waist down and ending my career as a Broadway dancer.
In the hospital, I overheard them confess it was all for my jealous cousin, Isla.
When their guilt became too much, they orchestrated a public scandal to ruin my name, turning me from a tragic victim into a freak.
Finally, they left me to die in a yacht explosion, choosing to save Isla instead of me.
I was their family's princess, but they sacrificed me on the altar of their pity for a manipulative liar.
But a mysterious benefactor offered me a deal: a new, perfect body and the power to destroy them all. Now, I've returned, pretending to be a long-lost twin with amnesia. They think they've been given a second chance. They have no idea I'm here to collect a debt. He Chose The Dog; I Chose Empire
Modern My masterpiece perfume launch ended in chaos, with my creation blamed for a mass allergic reaction that sent people to the hospital.
My fiancé, Blake, the man who had promised me the world, was the one who framed me.
He exiled me to a remote cabin for three years, claiming he was protecting me. In reality, he had his twin brother impersonate him, stealing every new formula I created and giving them to my foster sister, Carly, who became a star with my work.
When I finally confronted them, the building we were in collapsed. I was trapped under rubble, bleeding out.
Rescuers gave Blake a choice: save me, or save Carly's dog from a different, unstable area.
"Save the dog," he said. "Emily is strong. She can wait."
He left me to die.
But I survived. Rescued by the powerful parents I had pushed away, I was given a new identity and a new life in Switzerland. Now, I'm building my own empire, and I'm coming back to burn theirs to the ground. The Unwanted Wife's Revenge
Billionaires Seven years married to the tech CEO New York adored, I was the picture-perfect wife in a gilded cage.
Nine months pregnant, I stood beside him at a glamorous gala, watching as his mistress caused a humiliating scene.
Instead of managing her, he hissed, "Sarah, fix this," forcing me to apologize while my water broke.
He dismissed my agonizing labor as "dramatic," then celebrated his mistress's birthday while I bled out, alone, in the hospital.
Days later, he brought her into *our* opulent penthouse, where she staged a vicious fake attack.
When she cut herself, he roared at me to apologize for her bleeding.
Looking at my own wrist, I pressed a letter opener to old scars, a silent cry for help.
He saw it, then sneered, "What, self-harm for attention now? Pathetic."
His methodical abuse, his casual cruelty, had stripped away every shred of my self-worth.
How could the world’s most celebrated man be such a soulless monster in private?
Why was I, the victim, always to blame, discarded at will?
My heart, once broken, solidified into a cold, unbreakable resolve.
There was only one way out of this living hell.
I orchestrated a final, humiliating public confession, painting myself as the villain.
Then, I meticulously staged my own dramatic death, vanishing from the world's stage.
Sarah Hayes was officially gone.
But Sadie? Sadie was just beginning to live, finally free. The CEO's Secret Son, My Betrayal
Modern After years of failed fertility treatments, I finally got the news I' d been dreaming of: I was pregnant with my husband' s baby.
That same day, I discovered my perfect CEO husband, Harrison Ellis, had a secret. A five-year-old son with his high school sweetheart, a woman from his past I thought was long gone.
This wasn't just an affair; it was a parallel life he'd meticulously hidden for years. He gave the private island he promised our baby to his other son. His entire family celebrated the boy's birthday, calling the other woman "Mrs. Bradshaw" while I watched from the shadows, completely invisible.
He told me I was his everything, that he'd never betray me. But every promise was a lie, every touch a performance. I was just a placeholder in a life that was never truly mine, a trophy wife to maintain his perfect public image.
To protect my unborn child from his world of lies, I had to disappear completely.
So I faked my own death in a fiery plane crash, leaving him with only a pregnancy report and the video of his betrayal to remember me by. The Billionaire's Perfect, Plastic Wife
Billionaires For five years, I played the part of the perfect wife to Knox Steele, heir to a media empire. My life was a curated masterpiece, a reward for surviving the car accident his stepsister, Gemma, caused-an accident that was meant to kill me.
At a charity gala, I saw her. Gemma, supposed to be locked away in rehab, was glowing. She was holding the hand of a small boy. And next to her, laughing as the boy tugged on his jacket, was my husband.
Hiding in the shadows, I heard the boy call Knox "Daddy." I heard them planning his birthday party for the next day at our lake house-a "family-only" trip I was, as always, excluded from.
Then I heard Gemma' s voice, laced with poison. "What about Adelaide? Will she be a problem?"
"Don't worry about her," Knox said, his tone dismissive. "I'll tell her it's a business retreat. She'll stay home like a good little wife. Poor thing."
My entire five-year marriage was a performance. A carefully constructed cage to keep me quiet while they lived their real life right under my nose. I wasn't family. I was the cover story.
But the final betrayal was discovering their plan to drug my morning coffee, to keep me sedated and "unwell" so I wouldn't interfere with their celebration. They weren't just lying to me; they were going to incapacitate me.
That's when the woman he married died. I signed the divorce papers, walking away from billions. I wanted nothing from them but their ruin. And as I watched them cut the birthday cake at the lake house, I smiled. My gift was on its way. Replaced: A Husband's Revenge
Modern "Mr. Phantom, are you sure you want to enter the national street art competition?" the voice on the phone asked, echoing in my lavish penthouse. I, Ethan Hayes, the true Phantom, stared at my reflection, the city lights blurring like the last ten years of my life. I was back.\n\nThe memories hit me-the alley, the sickening crunch of bone, the mangled hands. Olivia, my wife, her eyes cold, furious, saying, "This competition can only be won by 'Phantom'! Anyone who threatens him will be eliminated, and that includes you!" She thought Mark Jensen, my ambitious assistant, was Phantom, my savior. She bought him this penthouse. My art saved her from suicide, but she mistook my pain for jealousy, then had my hands broken when I tried to reclaim my identity.\n\nAt the charity auction, she introduced Mark as Phantom, spending millions on his "art." When my own painting, "Three Days"-a raw depiction of my torture during kidnapping-came up, I desperately bid for it. But she outbid me, buying it for Mark, whispering, "This painting belongs to a true artist. It belongs with Mark."\n\nLater, she orchestrated a horrifying re-enactment of my kidnapping, breaking my hands again for Mark's "inspiration." My own wife. She then forced me to sign a contract in the hospital, giving up my identity as Phantom and agreeing to a divorce, all to save my hands. I signed, but not before telling her, "After this, we are nothing. You are not my wife. I am not your husband. We will be strangers."\n\nI was worthless to her, an embarrassing attachment. But I was Ethan Hayes, the true Phantom, and I wouldn't be destroyed again. I left, starting fresh in a new city, fueled by a promise: the world would see the real Phantom's work, and my revenge would be swift and quiet. His Cruel Betrayal, My Dying Wish
Romance My husband, Liam, locked me out of our bedroom for the third night, a faint murmur of voices audible from inside-his low and soothing, hers soft and appreciative. Chloe, eight months pregnant with his child, was in my bed.
But I had just finished massaging Chloe' s swollen feet, even making her warm milk. This was the same husband who had built our ten-year marriage on the unwavering foundation that we would be child-free. And when the baby cried from the nursery down the hall, it wasn' t Chloe who rose, but me, spending the entire night caring for their child.
The next morning, I learned Chloe had a "dying wish": to be Liam's wife. He presented me with divorce papers, asking me to sign. He believed I had finally understood what it meant to be a selfless wife. He thought he had broken me, that this was his ultimate victory.
He was wrong. I wasn' t broken; I was dying. Stage-four stomach cancer, inoperable, aggressive. Three days to live.
As I nursed his child, listening to him make love to Chloe in our bed, the pain in my stomach sharpened. The irony tasted metallic. The next morning, Liam handed me black coffee-the kind Chloe liked, the kind that upset my stomach-and again, the divorce papers.
When Chloe later appeared, wrapped in my silk robe and wearing the "Star of the Ocean" necklace I had coveted, she taunted me with Liam's dismissal of my desire for it. Overwhelmed, I collapsed, but when Liam appeared, he slapped me, then had his bodyguards drag me away. He called me a jealous, bitter monster.
Why would he, the man I loved, turn so cruel? How could he believe such lies? Why did the universe allow me no peace, even in my final moments?
I refused to be his broken toy. With the last of my strength, I offered him my entire company, signed over with a bloody thumbprint. Then, in an act of final defiance, I cut down the magnolia tree-the symbol of our love-and burned all my memories. My death was not just an ending, but a deliberate unmaking of his world, a final, painful act of rebellion. The Roommate From Hell
Young Adult My college life started with a simple rule from my roommate, Mark: "We split everything fifty-fifty, Alex. It' s the only fair way."
I soon learned his definition of "fair" was a twisted, one-way street designed for his benefit, starting with my Dr. Pepper and escalating to demanding half the cost of my brand new MacBook.
He' d use my things, then insist I pay him for the privilege, always with the same infuriating phrase: "It's only fair, Alex. We AA it."
I was trapped, spending every day swatting away his increasingly absurd demands, from "sleep taxes" to "sunlight fees," all while the university' s housing office dismissed my pleas, saying they couldn' t help without a "documented, serious incident."
Then he decided to create one himself, turning his petty schemes into a public spectacle that would ruin my reputation.
I rushed to the Student Life building to find Mark slumped in a chair, crying theatrical tears, while a mountain of expensive groceries sat before him.
He pointed a trembling finger at me, wailing, "He made me buy all this food and then refused to pay! I don' t have any money left!"
The school counselor, Mr. Harrison, listened, his face etched with concern, while the crowd whispered, judging me.
They saw an unfeeling rich kid, a jerk who' d exploited his poor roommate, all based on Mark' s carefully orchestrated performance.
I felt a hot surge of anger, a hundred rebuttals caught in my throat; I was on trial and already convicted.
But this time, I wasn' t going to just take it: "I' m not paying one cent, Mr. Harrison, because he didn' t use his money. He used mine." The Capitol Wife's Revenge
Romance For five years, I played the silent partner to Matthew's rising political career, sacrificing my MFA, my novel, and my own dreams for his ambition.
Our grand Georgetown apartment, that rich smell of my slow-cooked short ribs—it used to be the scent of home.
Then came the text: "Completely buried. Not going to make it home."
An hour later, scrolling in my dark apartment, I saw the Instagram post.
Matthew, arm casually draped behind his young, beaming mentee, Gabrielle, at a dive bar.
"Grateful to have a mentor who gets that the real work happens after hours."
My stomach churned, but something cold settled in my chest.
This wasn't just a missed anniversary; it was a public declaration of where I ranked.
When he called, sharp with annoyance about the single word I'd commented—"Impressive"—accusing me of overthinking, a chilling clarity descended.
I saw the years of excuses, the skipped family funerals, the career-first mentality that always left me second.
Was I crazy?
Was I really "overthinking" how my own dreams were dismissed as a hobby while his were a calling?
Was I just the "homebody," the one he occasionally "fit in"?
But that night, as if a spell had broken, I didn't cry.
I didn't confront.
I walked past the cold coffee machine, looked at the cheap, afterthought anniversary gift, and realized: the quiet woman who put Matthew first was gone.
And it was time to write a new ending, for myself. The Scorned Bride's Masterpiece
Romance My fiancé, Ethan, and I were planning our dream wedding in a country club brimming with lilies and privilege. Then, I saw her: Molly, the intern, visibly pregnant, looking distraught. Ethan rushed to her side, his gesture possessive, his absence a familiar sting.
He returned, announcing her pregnancy was "a one-time mistake" but "she carries the child, and you don't have to go through the trouble. We'll raise the baby as ours. It's a perfect solution." His words hit me like a physical blow, a callous disregard for the miscarriage I' d just hidden, caused by his own genetic issue.
Despite the humiliation and public admonishment from Ethan later, I was forced to play the part of the compliant fiancée. I watched as my life was moved to a guest room in the penthouse that was supposed to be our home, while Molly, propped up like a queen, directed movers and even demanded I cook her seafood risotto – knowing full well I knew about her shellfish allergy. My attempt to expose her resulted in Ethan violently attacking me and dragging me to the hospital to apologize.
How could he be so blind? So cruel? How could he not see the manipulation, the cold calculation in her eyes? Why was I, his fiancée, being punished for their secret?
But in that hospital room, a flicker of light: Molly' s O-negative blood type on her medical bracelet. Ethan' s AB-positive. A baby couldn' t inherit that combination. The child wasn't his. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The love died. The war began. Beneath the Uniform: A Soldier's Betrayal
Modern As a military wife, I simply wanted to get my son, Les, an ID card at the Fort Cypress DEERS office so he could finally access vital medical care for his persistent cough.
But the clerk's chilling words revealed a nightmare: my husband, Captain Michael Turner, had fraudulently listed another child, Tyler-Brenda' s son-as his dependent, effectively denying our own son access to military benefits while living a brazen double life.
This current betrayal was a devastating echo of a past I now remembered, where Michael's neglect led to Les' s abduction and my utter despair, as he continued his cruelty by dismissing Les' s worsening illness and even slapping him for crying over a destroyed toy.
The burning injustice solidified within me, leaving me furious and bewildered at how this military officer could so callously betray his family, neglect his child, and brazenly defraud the very system he swore to serve, especially as town whispers and Michael' s legal threats tightened their grip around me.
No more: Michael' s final, cruel slap on Les' s innocent face wasn't a defeat but the ultimate catalyst, igniting an unyielding resolve within me to fight back, expose his every lie, and ensure that armed with the bitter lessons of a nightmare past, Captain Michael Turner would face true justice at Fort Cypress, securing my son a future he deserved. Watching My Family Burn
Fantasy I woke up floating.
Not in a dream, but tethered to a nightmare.
My body lay cold on the bed, while my son, Leo, whispered, "Papa won't wake up."
My wife, Eleanor, stood by the door, her face a mask of ice. I was a ghost, able to watch, but powerless to intervene.
Then Julian Croft appeared, oozing charm and false sympathy. The man who'd received my liver, the root of my demise.
Eleanor dismissed Leo's desperate pleas, accusing *me* of manipulation, of using our son. She chose Julian, leaving Leo behind, a small, trembling figure in our empty home.
What followed was agony. I watched my seven-year-old journey miles to her office, only to be publicly humiliated, framed by Julian, and then viciously beaten.
Eleanor, blind to the truth, abandoned him again, leaving him bruised and alone in a dark alley.
My spirit seethed, consumed by a cold, useless rage. How could she believe such lies? How could she discard her own child so easily?
The injustice was unbearable. I was murdered, my son brutalized, and the woman I loved stood by my killer. I longed to warn her, to protect Leo, but I was just air. A silent scream.
Then Julian delivered the final blow: my little boy was tossed into the freezing Hudson River.
But as Leo's small form sank into the darkness, a desperate hope ignited. A stranger, an angel, pulled him from the depths.
My death was real, my son's suffering unbearable. And now, the true battle for justice, and for Leo's future, was about to begin. You might like
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
Katie Oettgen As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background.
"Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again."
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
"You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up."
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born. Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father
Madel Cerda I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.
That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.
The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.
The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.
Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.
"Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb.
Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.
"Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back."
I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe. One Night With My Billionaire Boss
Nathaniel Stone I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.
Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.
He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.
"Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins."
He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.
I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.
"Showtime, Mrs. Gardner."
Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. Bound By The CEO's Cruel Contract
Sibeal Sallese I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash.
To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars.
I thought it was a clean transaction.
But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty.
He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me.
My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire.
Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner.
"Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly.
His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand.
"Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler."
They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog.
I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain.
As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth.
But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood.
"She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison."
They murdered my parents.
I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call.
Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell. After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. Neglected Wife: Hidden Heiress's Cold Revenge
Da Lanlan I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue.
Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart.
The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name.
I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow.
The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred.
Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
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Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
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