Contract Marriage With Disabled Billionaire

Contract Marriage With Disabled Billionaire

Gavin

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The anesthetic was a thick fog, but the ache in my side was sharp and real. I' d just given away a kidney for Alex, the man I loved, my terminally ill boyfriend. I' d do anything for him. But then, I overheard Alex' s best friend, Mark, say, "I can't believe she actually did it. You told her you were dying, and she just rolled up her sleeve and gave you a kidney. She's so naive." My comfort turned to dread when Alex' s cold voice scoffed, "She's always been easy to fool. A few pretty words, a couple of sad stories about my 'art', and she'd do anything for me." The fog cleared, replaced by a chilling truth. "Everything is for Chloe," Alex declared, confirming he never loved me. Our three years were a lie, a scheme for revenge. He, the heir to Peterson Tech, had posed as a struggling artist while I worked double shifts. The deepest cut came when he casually said he didn't need my kidney and might just dispose of it. "It's kind of funny, isn't it? She gave me a part of her body, and it's completely worthless to me." They both laughed. My sacrifice, my love, my very body-all worthless. I was a tool for his revenge, all for Chloe, my adoptive sister, the golden child my parents adored while burying my own identity as the true heiress of Miller Tech. Betrayal, pain, and lies suffocated me, but in the wreckage of my heart, a cold, hard resolve began to form. They thought I was naive, easy to fool, worthless. They were wrong. I wouldn't let them destroy me. I would take back everything that was mine. There was an old, forgotten arrangement-a marriage my parents had tried to set for Chloe with a reclusive, paralyzed tech billionaire named Ethan Cole. They were terrified of sending Chloe to a man in a wheelchair. They would send me instead. And I would go-on my own terms.

Introduction

The anesthetic was a thick fog, but the ache in my side was sharp and real. I' d just given away a kidney for Alex, the man I loved, my terminally ill boyfriend. I' d do anything for him.

But then, I overheard Alex' s best friend, Mark, say, "I can't believe she actually did it. You told her you were dying, and she just rolled up her sleeve and gave you a kidney. She's so naive." My comfort turned to dread when Alex' s cold voice scoffed, "She's always been easy to fool. A few pretty words, a couple of sad stories about my 'art', and she'd do anything for me."

The fog cleared, replaced by a chilling truth. "Everything is for Chloe," Alex declared, confirming he never loved me. Our three years were a lie, a scheme for revenge. He, the heir to Peterson Tech, had posed as a struggling artist while I worked double shifts. The deepest cut came when he casually said he didn't need my kidney and might just dispose of it. "It's kind of funny, isn't it? She gave me a part of her body, and it's completely worthless to me." They both laughed.

My sacrifice, my love, my very body-all worthless. I was a tool for his revenge, all for Chloe, my adoptive sister, the golden child my parents adored while burying my own identity as the true heiress of Miller Tech.

Betrayal, pain, and lies suffocated me, but in the wreckage of my heart, a cold, hard resolve began to form. They thought I was naive, easy to fool, worthless. They were wrong. I wouldn't let them destroy me. I would take back everything that was mine. There was an old, forgotten arrangement-a marriage my parents had tried to set for Chloe with a reclusive, paralyzed tech billionaire named Ethan Cole. They were terrified of sending Chloe to a man in a wheelchair. They would send me instead. And I would go-on my own terms.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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