Against His Will.

Hate War

His cold eyes moved from my face to all over my white lace dress with a clenched jaw. I felt weak in my knees but I was successful in keeping my brave face. "Nina is that you. You are looking so beautiful" he said while looking at me. I blushed I was still feeling burning holes on my back I gulp down nervously. "Have some drink" he said while taking a glass from the waiter. "No she is leaving," said the harsh voice next thing I know champagne was all over my dress staining it making me gasped. Before I could react he gripped my hand & dragged me near the pool area where no one could see us. I snatched my hand away from his tight grip "Why the hell you ruined my dress" I half yelled. "What the fuck you are doing in my party looking like a slut" he yelled angrily while pinning me to the wall. Listening to his words my blood boiled. "Let me guess you came here to ruin my mood by showing your ugly face," he said with an angry smirk letting me know his hate. "Stop giving yourself so much of importance. Im here for your mom my face may be ugly but ugly souls like you are not even worthy of my life's single sec" I said angrily and pushed him away from me but he didn't let me go away. "I can hide my ugly soul beside this face but ugly ducklings like you carry there ugliness which can't even be hidden by beautiful dress because they stain everything around them with their ugliness" his words were hurting my soul. I won't give him the privilege to see my tears. With all my power I pushed him making him stumble and fall in the pool. "Happy birthday," saying that I tried to walk away with a victory smirk but he didn't let me go. Things he did to me after that still sends a shiver to my spine. One thing was clear that day I would never want to see his face again in this life. But I don't know why the hell I am standing in front of him in church wearing a wedding gown. Looking at his victory angry smirk plastered to his face with my glassy eyes.

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it—she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother’s trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent—or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father’s entire empire.

My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret

My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine. Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family. To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset. They both thought I was a broken doll they could control. I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice. She sang it, and now her career is over. Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground.

My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss

My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent. But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress. Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you." To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife. When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala. He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent. He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters. He thought he had broken me. He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage. But he made a fatal error. He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign. They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me. And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck. I didn't jump to die. I jumped to be reborn. And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin.

His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love

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.

I Hid His Heir from My Alpha

For two years, I was the Alpha's secret wife, a duty he resented. But the positive pregnancy test in my hand was a miracle, a blessing from the Moon Goddess. This baby, our heir, was supposed to be the bridge that finally mended our broken mate bond. That night, he left without a word. I saw on a gossip site that he'd gone to pick up his ex-lover, Isadora. Reaching for him through our bond, I wasn't met with his usual coldness, but with her emotions bleeding through him-triumph and smug possession. The next morning, I went to his office, ready to tell him about our baby, believing our child could fix us. But I stopped when I heard him talking to our Pack Healer about me. The healer said I looked fragile, that he should care for his mate. My husband laughed. "You seem to care for her more than I do," Demetri said, his voice dripping with ice. "Do you want me to give her to you? Take her. She's of no use to me." My world shattered. I wasn't just unloved; I was a thing to be discarded. I looked down at the pregnancy report, the proof of the life inside me, and made a vow. He would never know about our child, and I would sever our bond myself.