Shi Yue
12 Published Stories
Shi Yue's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Lethal Substitute Wife
Billionaires Five years ago, my fiancé and my adopted sister framed me, took my family trust, and cut my car's brake lines, leaving me with a shattered body in the freezing rain.
Now, struggling as a stunt double to fund my revenge, I risked my life to save a billionaire's trapped son from a locked room.
But instead of gratitude, I became the billionaire's prey.
Jaidyn Miles, the apex predator of Wall Street, investigated my crippling debts and threw a five-million-dollar contract in my face.
"You possess the single most valuable asset in this transaction. Your face."
He demanded I dye my hair jet black, wear specific white dresses, and use a bespoke perfume. He wanted me to be the living, breathing doll of his dead wife.
I refused to be a billionaire's prop and walked away.
But Jaidyn immediately bought the entire movie studio where I had just bled for a life-changing role, threatening to destroy hundreds of jobs and my only chance at a career if I didn't submit.
Why was I always just a tool to these wealthy, arrogant men? First a placeholder for a family trust, now a ghost for a dead woman?
I grabbed his contract and a pen, my eyes cold. I wouldn't be broken again.
"Three months, and you don't interfere with my shooting schedule."
I signed my name. I would take his five million, and I would use it to bury the people who ruined my life five years ago. Betrayed By Love, Erased From Memory
Werewolf I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed. The CEO's Runaway Cinderella Returns
Modern At the project kickoff party, Isabelle casually mocked the new capital representative, calling him a suit with a trust fund.
A low, magnetic voice spoke from the shadows right behind her.
It was Bennett Lloyd, the man holding the purse strings for the entire project.
But as Isabelle turned around, her blood ran cold.
He wasn't just her new boss. He was the stranger she had a desperate one-night stand with five years ago.
The man she had fled from before dawn, leaving only a fake name.
In her panic to escape him, Isabelle tripped on the marble stairs and left behind a single, custom-made diamond heel.
Bennett found it, but instead of exposing her, he began a terrifying game of cat and mouse.
He forced her to be his exclusive on-site consultant, vetoed her vacation time, and isolated her from her team.
He trapped her in his office, his touches lingering just enough to remind her of that night, slowly suffocating her professional life as payback.
Pushed to the brink of a breakdown by his relentless torment, Isabelle sat in a hotel bar, drowning her panic in vodka.
She pulled out her phone, intending to send a voice memo to her best friend to confess the suffocating guilt she had hidden for years.
"I can't do this anymore. I'm a sinner. I killed her... I killed my mother."
She hit send, only to realize her screen didn't show her friend's name.
The confession had gone straight to Bennett Lloyd. Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns
Modern I spent five years as the perfect wife to Easton Harrington, smoothing his midnight-blue ties and fading into the wallpaper of his massive estate. I thought I was the heart of our family, but I was really just a ghost in a sensible beige dress.
The illusion shattered at a charity gala when Easton’s "family friend," Georgina, appeared in a gown that matched his suit perfectly. While they basked in the flashbulbs as a golden couple, I was literally pushed into the velvet ropes by a cameraman. No one noticed.
Then my four-year-old son, Holt, slapped my hand away in front of the city's elite.
"Don't touch me! You're not my mom, you're just the nanny. Daddy said so."
The room went silent, but Easton didn't defend me. He just looked annoyed that I was causing a scene, making a sharp shooing motion for me to take the boy away. Beside him, Georgina feigned shock while her eyes crinkled in pure amusement.
I realized then that I wasn't his partner; I was a placeholder. They had stripped me of my dignity and even my child's love, treating my five years of devotion like a temporary staff position.
I didn't scream. I just slid off the Harrington heirloom ring, tossed it into a fountain, and walked out into the night.
Easton thinks I’m a penniless housewife who won’t last a week without his credit cards. He doesn't know that I’m Dr. Althea Morrison, the "prodigy" researcher his company has been begging to hire.
I'm not asking for alimony, and I'm not begging for a second chance. I’m returning to the lab to build an empire that will bring his to its knees. His Robot Love, Her Broken Heart
Sci-fi For five years, New York society envied me, Ava Riley, the perfectly devoted wife to tech titan Liam Carter.
Though legally blind, I felt his love in every touch, every whispered word, convinced I was the luckiest woman alive.
But one night, a searing pain shot through my head, a shocking kaleidoscope of color exploded behind my eyelids, and then-I could see.
My vision, blurry but real, focused on the bed.
It wasn't Liam on top of me.
It was a faceless, flawless robot, moving with the practiced intimacy I believed belonged to my husband.
Then I saw Liam across the room, wrapped around a perfect, lifelike doll-his adopted sister, Sophia.
Every intimate moment of our five-year marriage, every cherished touch, had been a vile, mechanical lie.
The truth crashed down: I was just a blind prop in his twisted obsession, a placeholder for the woman he truly desired.
When I confronted this horrifying reality, Sophia pushed me down the stairs, and I lost our baby.
But Liam' s concern wasn't for me.
He protected Sophia, dismissing my pain, our child, and even me, as collateral damage, painting me as an "emotionally unstable liar" to cover their tracks.
How could the man I loved betray me so utterly?
How could my own sacrifice have led to such a depraved deception?
My heart didn't just break; it became a cold, hard stone of disbelief and fury.
Lying in that hospital bed, rage burning through my soul, I ripped up Liam' s seven-figure "hush money" check, looked Sophia directly in her astonished eyes, and declared, "I' m divorcing him. And I' m not going quietly. I' m going to take everything." The Blind Wife Who Saw Everything
Romance I sacrificed everything for Michael Thorne, the ambitious man I loved and believed in.
My promising career, built on integrity, crumbled when I took the fall for his unethical land deal, my name tarnished, my reputation destroyed.
The immense stress manifested as psychosomatic blindness, transforming my vibrant world into an indistinct haze, making me completely dependent on him.
He vowed to be my eyes, a low murmur of reassurance, his control a heavy cloak I mistook for devotion, as he built his real estate empire on the ruins of my life.
For years, I was a captive in our luxurious city apartment, a gilded cage arranged for my impaired convenience, subtly controlled by the man who claimed to protect me.
But then, a miracle: my vision, slowly, painstakingly, began to return, a fragile hope I nurtured in secret.
Eager to surprise him, I cut my therapy retreat short, only to silently unlock our door and find him in bed with his conniving junior associate, Tiffany.
My newly restored sight, cruelly perfect, illuminated the stark, undeniable intimacy, a betrayal that stole my breath and shattered my soul.
The man who vowed to be my eyes, the one I had given everything for, had been reveling in my dependence, enjoying the power of my blindness as he carried on his affair right under my nose.
The shock morphed into a cold, unwavering resolve; my heart, once broken, hardened into stone.
I would pretend I was still blind, still naive, enduring their thinly veiled cruelty and arrogant entitlement.
But as I stumbled, feigning helplessness, I would meticulously gather every piece of damning evidence.
I swore to reclaim my life, my heritage, and my true self, leaving him to face the very ruin he built for me.
He thought he had absolute power over his blind, docile wife, but he was about to discover what a woman with nothing left to lose, and everything to see, could truly do. Thirty-Six Hours To Save Her
Fantasy I woke up to a familiar, cheap motel ceiling.
Today was the day Chloe and I were supposed to elope.
But this wasn' t just any morning.
I'd lived this day before.
Ten years ago, on this exact date, Chloe died saving me in a fatal car crash.
Now, I'm back, haunted by a chilling ultimatum: "Thirty-six hours. Three deepest regrets. Fix them, or she stays dead."
The weight of a future where Chloe was miserable, her dreams crushed, hangs heavy.
I watch her vibrant, younger self, unaware of the gilded cage her life will become.
Her dismissive words cut, knowing the simmering unhappiness beneath them.
She' s walking blindly into a future controlled by her parents and a manipulative lover.
How can I save her from a fate she doesn't know exists?
How do I dismantle her family' s plans and expose the man she thinks she loves, without destroying her trust?
My undying love for her, once a quiet ache, is now an impossible race against a ticking clock.
Can I truly rewrite her destiny and allow her to become the person she was meant to be?
Armed with foreknowledge and a broken heart, I embark on a desperate pilgrimage of selfless acts.
I'm not trying to win her love. I'm fighting to set her free, even if it costs me everything. No Sweet Sixteen Only Bitter Betrayal
Young Adult My Sweet Sixteen was supposed to be a dream.
I was Scarlett, a golden child, engaged to my childhood sweetheart Julian, and protected by my powerful brother Ethan.
Our lives were perfectly aligned, part of an influential dynasty.
But then, a science experiment gone wrong left me disfigured and screaming.
The intern, Brianna, who caused it, seemed to vanish, destined for jail.
My brother and fiancé swore revenge, their initial protectiveness a comforting blanket.
Yet, strange, mocking voices whispered in my head: "They're impressed by her. They'll fall for her. Hard."
Soon, Brianna was "sick," and Ethan and Julian abandoned my hospital bedside to rush to hers.
My calls went to voicemail, my care diminished, and then I was framed for attacking her.
Julian dissolved our engagement, calling me unstable.
I was banished to a forgotten wing, then a rundown halfway house, forced into grueling labor.
The lowest point came when they held me under icy water, demanding an apology for a crime I didn't commit.
Why abandon me, their Scarlett, for this woman who ruined my life?
Was I just an inconvenience, a damaged relic of a past they wanted to forget?
The voices in my head revealed the shocking truth: "It was a diversion. You were a pawn. Everything – your suffering – was a strategic move."
My pain wasn't about love or betrayal; it was a cold, calculated sacrifice for power.
With this sickening clarity, I refused their hollow apologies and offers to "restore" my life.
I walked away from their gilded cage, leaving my old self and their lies behind.
Now, free from their toxic influence, I begin a new chapter, far from the corrupt city, ready to redefine my own destiny. The Sister Who Stabbed, The Heir Who Fell
Billionaires The lawyer’s pen clicked, signaling the finality of my parents' second divorce, but for me, Emilia, it was just the eerie echo of a past life that had ended with my younger sister, Sophia, stabbing me seven times, and a brutal existence under the ruthless Isabella Vanderbilt.
This time, I had to escape Isabella's grasp, so I deliberately plunged down the stairs, disfiguring myself, knowing Isabella would never accept "damaged goods" as an heir.
My father, Richard, confirmed my desperate gamble: "Isabella will never accept damaged goods!"
I stayed with my kind mother, Linda, and we built a new, humble life away from that toxic world.
But then Sophia, now a condescending teenager, reappeared, flaunting her new life with Isabella, subtly reminding me of my "missed potential."
The façade of peace shattered when Sophia sent literal thugs to abduct me, twisting my mother’s arm and breaking it right before my eyes.
My mom, Linda, screamed in agony, her broken arm a visceral pain that ripped through me.
As I was dragged into a black SUV, the metallic taste of terror filled my mouth, utterly desperate and confused.
Why would my own sister go so far, inflicting such harm on our own mother?
Amidst the chaos, hidden from Sophia’s triumphant gaze, I fumbled for my emergency phone.
I dialed a number I had only memorized in secret, a last resort: the private line of my estranged grandmother, Eleanor Ainsworth, a name that commanded respect even in the darkest corners of New York society.
This time, everything would be different. 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. 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." The Trophy Wife's Ruthless Revenge
Little Pink Lace Keely returned to her Manhattan penthouse a day early, expecting the loving billionaire husband who had just told her how much he missed her.
Instead, the scent of cheap vanilla perfume led her to the guest room, where she found Haden tangled in the sheets with his timid, soft-spoken secretary.
To the world, Haden was the flawless, devoted partner. He would even beat a man to a bloody pulp at a high-society gala just for insulting her, violently claiming he was protecting his wife.
But behind his golden-retriever facade lay a narcissistic monster. While begging for her affection and making her breakfast, he was secretly draining their marital assets into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Keely had to swallow her disgust, forcing a perfect smile as she played the clueless, dependent trophy wife he wanted her to be.
It made her physically sick. She couldn't understand how the man who looked into the camera with eyes full of love just last night could be the same thief plotting to leave her with nothing. Was his violent, suffocating obsession with her just a sick cover for his betrayal?
But Haden didn't know his "helpless" wife was actually the ruthless CTO of a tech empire. She had already hacked the home surveillance and traced the missing funds, ready to make him bleed. Then, her private investigator called with a medical report that pushed her revenge to the edge.
"Mrs. Jones, Darlene Sutton is six weeks pregnant." 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. 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 Unwanted Wife Walks Away Free
Dong Lier For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire.
But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters.
For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions.
He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage?
He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk.
"Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn." 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. One Night With The Possessive CEO
Fritz Heaney Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web. 
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