My Coldhearted Ex-Husband Demands A Remarriage

Chapter 6

Word Count: 637 | Released on: Today at 10:13

ry muscle in Erika's

orcelain bowls, and her hands were raw and

was S

, put on her warmest sweater,

golden reflections off the skyscrapers. Connor pressed his face agains

ch like his uncle's... or so she thought

wealthy families pushing designer strollers. Erika kept a tight

ped dead in

ouble-decker carousel. The painted horses bob

the ticket booth. She g

of a single ride was more than s

hesitation in her eyes, the way he

e. He dropped his hand and took a step back. "I

eakingly mature, that it felt like

pped her wallet, pulled out her last twenty-dol

ase," she said,

g the strap around his waist. She stood behin

s the horse went up and down. For three

out the gate and slammed into

sion on his little face. He dug

uarters and dimes, pressing the

nounced proudly. "I'm going to buy our dinn

right there on the pavement and pulled him into a crushing hug

ir faded, replaced by the phantom memory of a sw

from the drugs her stepbrother had slipped her

ing ragged. He had held her with an overwhelming but not brutal strength, a des

man in the dark was Elijah Morgan. Doyle's older brother. The k

ul memory she had from

looked into Connor's d

sed his cheek. "I know you

s into her pocket. She would pr

Chapter End

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My Coldhearted Ex-Husband Demands A Remarriage

Souza Souza Billionaires

“Erika was a disgraced ex-wife, struggling to survive in a freezing Brooklyn slum to raise her five-year-old son. But her billionaire ex-husband, Doyle Morgan, wasn't done destroying her. He orchestrated a cruel trap, forcing her to deliver a custom sapphire brooch to his new mistress, just to watch her get humiliated and severely burned by scalding coffee. When Erika fought back and refused to beg, Doyle's punishment was swift. He demoted her to scrubbing executive toilets with raw, bleeding hands. Starved, exhausted, and pushed to the absolute brink of organ failure, she finally collapsed lifelessly in front of him in Central Park. For five years, she had endured his relentless torment and the world's mockery just to keep her child safe. Doyle despised her, convinced her son was the filthy proof of her cheating with another man. He didn't know the boy was actually the child of his deceased older brother, conceived in a dark, drugged hotel room. Why couldn't he just leave them alone to suffer in peace? But when Erika woke up in the VIP hospital ward, the nightmare took a terrifying turn. Doyle pinned her weak wrists to the mattress, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive obsession. He had figured out the truth about the boy's bloodline. "He's a Morgan. He has my family's blood in his veins, and I will not allow my nephew to be raised in a slum. If you can't care for him, I will. From this moment on, you and that boy belong to me. And you are never leaving my sight again."”