After He Rejected Our Daughter, I Reclaimed My Fortune

He was a ruthless CEO who always got what he wanted until he noticed her, a homeless girl surviving outside his office building. Quietly proud, clever, and impossible to read, she became the one woman who refused to fall at his feet, forcing him to chase for the first time in his life. As she steps into his workplace, she faces ridicule, betrayal, and a wealthy woman determined to erase her from his world. While his family pushes him toward an arranged marriage with an entitled heiress, his heart is already bound to the girl everyone underestimates. In a world ruled by power and status, she must prove her worth through strength and integrity, while he learns that love cannot be bought, controlled, or inherited.

The Hamptons charity gala had always been my favorite event of the season. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and privilege through the grand ballroom of the Vandermeer estate, where Washington's elite gathered annually to celebrate their own generosity. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over designer gowns and power ties, champagne flutes clinked in practiced rhythm, and political alliances were forged in whispers behind polite smiles. I smoothed down my midnight blue Dior gown—the one Edward had once said brought out the sapphires in my eyes—and tried to ignore the flutter of anticipation in my chest. Tonight was supposed to be special. Edward had hinted at a surprise, and after two years of a carefully orchestrated engagement, I knew what was coming. "Ladies and gentlemen," Edward's voice boomed through the ballroom as he tapped his champagne glass, commanding the attention of everyone present. "If I could have your attention for a moment." The crowd hushed, all eyes turning toward the small stage where he stood. My father nodded encouragingly from across the room, and I felt a flush of pride. This was how our story was supposed to go—the perfect political union, the ideal power couple.

My favorite hobby is infuriating Elliot Miles. Just the sight of my boss’s handsome face triggers my sarcasm. God knows how he earns his Casanova reputation—if a million women want him with his personality, what the heck am I doing wrong? Disgusted with my love life, I join a dating app under a fake name. I start chatting to a man named Edgar. He’s not my type and lives on the other side of the world, but we hit off a friendship, laugh and confide in each other. But lately things are getting weird at work. Elliot’s being…attentive. His eyes linger a little longer than they should, and there’s a heat behind them that I haven’t felt before. And then, in the shock of all shocks, he tells me that my vulnerability is appealing. But when was I vulnerable? Horror dawns…Has my boss been reading my emails to Edgar? Damn it, why did I use my work email? Oh no, does he know what I really think of him? I’d rather die than ever admit it. Or, even worse: is it possible that the man I loathe in real life is the man I’m falling for online?

Elara spent three years invisible in her marriage to billionaire Damien Cross. When he hands her divorce papers, she disappears without a fight. Six months later, an accident steals Damien's memory of the past five years. He doesn't remember his ex-wife, but he can't stop searching for the woman with sad eyes who haunts his dreams. When he finds Elara thriving in Seattle, she refuses to let him back in. But this Damien is nothing like the cold husband she remembers, and as he uncovers their past, devastating secrets emerge. Can you forgive someone who doesn't remember breaking you?

The crystal chandelier cast dancing shadows across the white tablecloth as I adjusted my black dress one final time. Seven years. Seven years of marriage deserved celebration, didn't it? The intimate corner table at Le Bernardin had been reserved for weeks—our table, where Nikolai had proposed after paying my medical bills, where he'd whispered that he loved my soul when the rest of the world saw only my missing leg. I checked my phone again. 7:15 PM. Nikolai was never late for our anniversary dinners. The maître d' approached with an apologetic smile. "Mrs. Harrison, your husband called.

I smoothed the wrinkles from my beige dress—the one Kian had once said made me look "appropriately modest"—and surveyed our dining table with critical eyes. The candles were perfectly aligned, the wine breathing in crystal glasses, and the anniversary dinner I'd spent all day preparing steamed invitingly. One year of marriage. One year of transforming myself into the wife I thought Kian wanted. "Perfect timing," I whispered to myself, checking my watch. Kian would be home any minute. When the door clicked open, I arranged my features into a welcoming smile. "Happy anniversary," I said, rising to kiss him. "Ah, yes. One year." He kissed my forehead absently, his mind already elsewhere.