Married to the Disabled CEO Hated by his Family

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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Joanne Ogoin sat rigidly in the backseat of the luxury black sedan, her fingers clutching the hem of her dress as if the fabric could ground her. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, but she barely noticed. Tonight wasn't about the city. It wasn't about the expensive restaurant her parents had insisted on. It was about the man waiting for her inside.

Marcus Thompson.

The ruthless, cutthroat CEO of Thompson Enterprises. A man whose name was synonymous with power and destruction. A man she was being forced to marry.

Joanne's stomach twisted as her mother's voice echoed in her head. "You should be grateful, Joanne. Any woman in her right mind would kill for a chance like this."

Grateful?

She wasn't foolish. She understood what this marriage meant to the Ogoins. Their business had been bleeding money for years, and Marcus Thompson, with his wealth and influence, was the only man powestruck- Joanneo save them. A deal had been struck- Joanne, the sickly, unwanted daughter, was the price.

Her father's voice had been dismissive when he told her. "You should consider yourself lucky, Joanne. It's not like you had any better prospects."

A sharp pain shot through her chest, but she ignored it.

The car came to a smooth stop in front of Echelon, an exclusive restaurant known for hosting billionaires, politicians, and the kind of people who made and destroyed lives with a single word.

The driver opened the door, and Joanne stepped out, smoothing down the silk of her dress. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked into the restaurant.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive wine and truffle-infused dishes. A waiter guided her toward a private section, where only the most elite dined.

And then, she saw him.

Marcus Thompson sat at the corner table, his presence commanding the entire space. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his sharp jawline and piercing gray eyes made him look more like a predator than a man. A sleek, black cane rested against the table beside him.

Joanne's breath caught in her throat.

The world spoke of Marcus Thompson as if he were invincible, a force of nature that crushed anything in his path. But the cane told a different story.

For a split second, their eyes met,, something flickered in his gaze-something sharp, guarded.

Then, his lips curved into a smirk.

"Sit." His voice was smooth but edged with steel. A demand, not a request.

Joanne forced herself to move, settling into the chair across from him. The moment she did, Marcus leaned forward, studying her like she was an unsolved puzzle.

"I expected someone more... fragile," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

Joanne straightened her spine. "I expected someone less rude."

Marcus chuckled, swirling his drink. "You don't seem like the type to enjoy arranged marriages."

"I don't."

"Good," he said, leaning back. "Neither do I."

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