The Day He Chose Her, I Chose Myself

His Empire, My Vengeful Return

My husband watched our newborn son die on the cold hospital floor and called it a "relief." He threw a check for $100,000 at my feet, telling me to disappear so he could marry his mistress. He thought I was just a poor nobody he could discard like trash. I lay in a pool of blood, clutching my lifeless baby, while his mistress, Clarabelle, laughed and kicked me. They had barred the doctors from entering, turning my delivery room into a torture chamber. Kenton looked at the tiny, still body and sneered. "He was just baggage, Kaylene. Now I can finally focus on my future with someone who has status." He believed the lie I had maintained for eight years-that I was an orphan with nothing. He had no idea that the "startup capital" he used to build his empire came from my trust fund. Or that the VIP investor he was desperate to impress was actually my father. Just as they turned to leave, the delivery room doors crashed open. My father, billionaire Harold Mcneil, stepped in, his eyes burning with a terrifying fury as he saw his daughter broken and bleeding. Clarabelle' s face went pale as she realized who he was. I wiped my tears and stood up. The grieving mother died with her son. Now, only the heiress remains, and I will burn their world to ash.

Pancakes for a Stranger's Love

My husband vanished on our fifth anniversary, leaving me frantic with worry. I thought something terrible had happened until a stranger named Jayda sent me a photo. He wasn't missing; he was in a penthouse, flipping pancakes for her with a smile he hadn't shown me in years. When I tracked them down, Bennett didn't apologize. He shoved me away to protect his pregnant mistress, looking at me with pure disgust. "You're a liability, Iris," he spat, cutting off my access to our bank accounts. "Stop being hysterical." He laughed when I clutched my head in agony, claiming I was faking pain just to ruin his new happiness. He didn't know my "headaches" weren't a plea for attention. They were Stage IV Glioblastoma. While he was buying her the diamond necklace I had always wanted, I was receiving a terminal diagnosis. I looked at the man I sacrificed my entire career for and felt a cold, final resolve. "Fine," I whispered, tossing the medical report in the trash where he wouldn't see it. "Send the divorce papers. I'm done."

Rejected By My Alpha, Claimed By My Crown

My mate, Alpha Damien, was holding a sacred naming ceremony for his heir. The only problem? He was celebrating a pup he had with Lyra, a rogue he brought into our pack. And I, his true mate, four months pregnant with his actual heir, was the only one not invited. When I confronted her, she clawed her own arm, drew blood, and screamed that I had attacked her. Damien saw her performance and didn't even look at me. He snarled, using his Alpha's Command to force me to leave, the power of our bond twisted into a weapon against me. Later, she attacked me for real, making me fall. As blood bloomed on my dress, threatening our child's life, she tossed her own pup onto a rug and screamed that I had tried to kill him. Damien burst in, saw me bleeding on the floor, and didn't hesitate. He scooped Lyra's screaming pup into his arms and sprinted away to find a healer, leaving me and his true heir to die. But as I lay there, my mother's voice echoed in my mind through our own link. My family's escort was waiting for me just beyond the territory border. He was about to find out that the Omega he threw away was actually the princess of the most powerful pack in the world.

His Betrayal, My Billion-Dollar Rise

My husband, Liam, a tech mogul, was supposed to be home for a quiet Christmas Eve, just us and our baby on the way. Instead, I watched from the window as he stepped out of his car, not alone, but with Sarah Miller, a junior employee from his company. And she was pregnant, her belly as round as mine. He walked in, pulled divorce papers from his briefcase, and flatly told me, "Sarah is pregnant. It' s my child." My mind reeled as he explained his plan: he would marry her temporarily to legitimize their child and protect his reputation, then divorce her and remarry me. He told me I was leaving with nothing. Sarah stood by, smirking, dismissing my child as a "complication." My heart shattered. I realized the man I loved was shallow and selfish, valuing his reputation above all else, even his own child. Could I let my baby carry his name, his blood, his legacy of casual cruelty? No. With a cold calm, I signed the papers, giving him the clean break he wanted. He thought I was broken and dependent, but he had no idea of my secret life as "Perla," the anonymous digital artist with a fortune he knew nothing about. I transferred my wealth, wiped my laptop, and walked out, leaving him and his lie behind, determined to protect my child from his darkness.

His Penny-Pinching, My Power

The searing pain from my C-section was nothing compared to the shock of my husband' s first words. "Did the doctor give you the final bill? The C-section costs more. You need to cover it." I had just brought our daughter, Lily, into the world, a difficult birth that required emergency surgery to save her life. Yet, for Tom, it was simply an "extra cost" for my body. This was his idea of "AA parenting"-Active and Accountable, splitting every child-related expense down the middle. What I thought was a progressive vision of equality quickly morphed into a financial battlefield where every diaper, every ounce of formula, became an itemized debt. When we moved into my parents' house for recovery, hoping for support, Tom saw only a "cost-saving opportunity." He ate their food, used their electricity, and never offered a dime, all while sending me spreadsheets for Lily' s pacifier and baby lotion. He never changed a diaper. He never comforted his crying daughter. He just watched TV, claiming a "long day." It became agonizingly clear that in his eyes, he was merely a "financial partner" in a project he was already losing interest in. The final straw came when I overheard a neighbor revealing his true feelings: he' d wanted a boy, because it would be "simpler, cheaper in the long run." His penny-pinching wasn' t about equality; it was about the supposed "lesser investment" of a daughter. So, when he and his mother publicly shamed me on social media, accusing me of mental instability, I didn't hold back. I posted screenshots of his vile texts, exposing his calculated cruelty to the entire neighborhood. I was done being the silent victim. I was going to fight back, and I was going to win.

The Price of His Deception

The soft glow of three monitors was my world, lines of code and complex algorithms my language. Tomorrow was the IPO, the culmination of years of tireless work building Nexus from the ground up with my live-in boyfriend, Mark Davis, CEO of ConnectCorp. But then, the office door hissed open, revealing Chloe Miller, Mark' s new Head of Product and my old college rival. Her voice, dripping with fake sweetness, announced, "The board and I have had a discussion. We've decided to let you go." I blinked, the words echoing, "You're firing me? The day before the IPO?" She sneered, calling me redundant, uncommitted, just a "coder." Then, with a predatory smile, she whispered, "I'm going to be the First Lady of Tech... You were just a gold-digger who got lucky. Your time is up." Rage surged as I reached for my phone to call Mark, but Chloe snatched it, answering and feigning distress. "Mark? Oh, thank god," she sobbed into the phone, "It's Ava... she's going crazy. She's threatening me... I'm scared." The crowd gathered, their judgmental eyes painting me as the unstable villain. Mark stormed in, his handsome face contorted with fury, not at Chloe, but at me. "What did you do to her?" he snarled, immediately comforting Chloe. "She's lying," I pleaded, "She fired me." "I heard the whole thing, Ava! You're harassing my Head of Product. I can't believe you." Then, he slapped me. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the shock that cleared everything: the late-night meetings, Chloe's perfume, their triumphant glances. "You're sleeping with her," I stated, not a question. He didn't deny it, dismissing my years of dedication. "You were just the help," he spat, "A glorified typist." "A code monkey," Chloe added, snuggling into his side. The final blow came when I demanded my share, only for Chloe to brandish a marriage certificate-hers and Mark's, dated three months ago. "The one we have is a fake, Ava," Mark confessed, his voice devoid of emotion. "It was just a piece of paper to make you feel secure. It never meant anything." My world shattered. "You have no equity, Ava. You were an employee. And now, you're a fired employee." He tossed me a grimy key, "As a severance package, you can have our first apartment. The one you loved so much with the leaky ceiling." They wanted the core Nexus algorithms, the encryption keys, everything. I pulled the small, black USB drive from my laptop. Then, with all my strength, I threw it between them. "You want it? Find it." I walked away, leaving the wreckage of my old life behind, a spark of cold fury igniting a new resolve.

The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

Revealing My Secret Identities! My Bros Are Speechless!

For seventeen years, I was the crown jewel of the Kensington empire, the perfect daughter groomed for a royal future. Then, a cream-colored envelope landed in my lap, bearing a gold crest and a truth that turned my world into ice. The DNA test result was a cold, hard zero percent-I wasn't a Kensington. Before the ink could even dry, my parents invited my replacement, a girl named Alleen, into the drawing room and treated me like a trespasser in my own home. My mother, who once hosted galas in my honor, wouldn't even look me in the eye as she stroked Alleen's arm, whispering that she was finally "safe." My father handed me a one-million-dollar check-a mere tip for a billionaire-and told me to leave immediately to avoid tanking the company's stock price. "You're a thief! You lived my life, you spent my money, and you don't get to keep the loot!" Alleen shrieked, trying to claw the designer jacket off my shoulders while my "parents" watched with clinical detachment. I was dumped on a gritty sidewalk in Queens with nothing but three trunks and the address of a struggling laborer I was now supposed to call "Dad." I traded a marble mansion for a crumbling walk-up where the air smelled of exhaust and my new bedroom was a literal storage closet. My biological family thought I was a broken princess, and the Kensingtons thought they had successfully erased me with a payoff and a non-disclosure agreement. They had no idea that while I was hauling trunks up four flights of stairs, my secret media empire was already preparing to move against them. As I sat on a thin mattress in the dark, I opened my encrypted laptop and sent a single command that would cost my former father ten million dollars by breakfast. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves, but they forgot one thing: I'm the one who leads the pack.

Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge

I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband’s aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason’s coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go. The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason’s mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside. The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal. I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate. But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone. "Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands." The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I’m starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak.

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.

My Alpha's Heartless Contract Wife

"Anya, a 'wolfless' in a world of powerful werewolves, was invisible, drowning her sorrows and desperately lonely. One drunken text, a desperate cry for attention, accidentally reached the Alpha, pulling her into his terrifying orbit. Now, she's trapped, a pawn in his game, forced to warm his bed while he waits for his true mate, her heart breaking with every stolen moment. As a 'wolfless' in the Blackwood Pack, Anya felt like an outsider, always yearning for a connection. One night, in a drunken haze, a misdirected text meant for her best friend landed in Alpha Declan Blackwood's inbox: ""Send me something hot."" Minutes later, the most powerful, terrifying man in the Pack stood at her door, claiming her with a possessive kiss that ignited a dangerous, unwanted fire. The next morning, his cold indifference shattered her world. Publicly humiliated and instantly fired, Anya became a pariah. Her dying mother's urgent need for a million-dollar heart transplant left her with an impossible choice: accept the Alpha's cold, transactional marriage proposal or watch her mother die. She became his ""placeholder"" wife, a contract, not a partner, all while battling a confusing attraction to the man who treated her as property. Why did he demand her, only to remind her constantly of her worthlessness, especially when everyone knew he waited for his true mate? Her world crumbled when she overheard Declan tell his returning ""true mate,"" Kristin Larsen, that Anya was ""just a substitute."" Despite the crushing betrayal and a strange, unyielding pull, Anya, fueled by her mother's desperate need, vowed to survive this gilded cage and reclaim her life before she lost herself completely."