Awakening From A Toxic Billionaire Marriage
I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash.
But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love.
When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages.
"Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting."
Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance.
"The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!"
My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost.
And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead.
The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt.
When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.
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Chapter 1
Charlene's heavy eyelids fluttered open.
Harsh, white fluorescent light stabbed directly into her pupils. She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach rolling as the sharp, chemical stench of hospital bleach flooded her airways.
A tearing pain ripped across her forehead. It felt as if someone had split her skull open with a crowbar.
Then, the memories hit her.
The torrential rain. The slick asphalt. The flashing taillights. But clearer than the crash was the image burned into her retinas just minutes before the tires lost traction: Dawson, her husband, walking into the lobby of the Four Seasons. His hand was resting intimately on the waist of a woman who possessed the exact same profile as Angelita.
Familiar, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Leather soles striking marble.
Charlene's chest tightened. Her lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen. She turned her head toward the door, her fingers digging into the sterile white bedsheets. A pathetic, dying ember of hope flickered in her chest-a hope that he was rushing here out of fear for her life.
The heavy wooden door pushed open.
Dawson stepped into the VIP room. He wore a pristine, charcoal-gray Armani suit. There was no rain on his shoulders. No wrinkles in his trousers. He looked exactly as he always did: immaculate, untouchable, and entirely unaffected.
He walked to the edge of the bed and looked down at her. His cold, dark eyes scanned the thick gauze wrapped around her forehead. His jaw tightened, and a deep crease formed between his brows.
Charlene parted her dry, cracked lips. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She wanted to tell him her head was splitting open.
"Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting," Dawson said.
His voice was flat. Ice-cold.
The words sliced through the air and severed the very last nerve in Charlene's body that still held any affection for this man.
A freezing chill started at the base of her spine and spread to her fingertips. Her body began to tremble. Five years of bending over backward, five years of wearing the clothes he picked, smiling the way he wanted, all to be a perfect substitute for a ghost. And this was what she got.
Charlene sucked in a sharp breath. She let go of the bedsheets. She forced the devastation out of her eyes, replacing it with a hollow, empty stare.
She shrank back against the pillows, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She stared at Dawson with the wide, defensive eyes of a cornered animal.
"Who are you?" she whispered. Her voice shook.
Dawson's expression darkened instantly. He let out a harsh breath through his nose. He reached up and adjusted his left cufflink-a telltale sign of his irritation.
"Stop it, Charlene. This pathetic grab for attention is beneath you."
The door swung open again. The attending physician rushed in, holding a metal clipboard. He immediately moved to Charlene's side, shining a penlight into her pupils and asking her to follow his finger.
Charlene complied perfectly. But when the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, her face remained blank. She shook her head.
The doctor lowered his penlight. He turned to Dawson, his expression serious. "Mr. Conner, based on her current responses and the nature of the injury, she's exhibiting symptoms consistent with retrograde amnesia. We'll need to run more comprehensive tests to confirm the extent of the memory loss, but for now, she appears to have no memory of recent years."
Dawson shoved both hands into his trouser pockets. His eyes narrowed into sharp slits, studying Charlene's pale face like a hawk searching for a trap.
Charlene held his gaze. She didn't blink. She gave him nothing but the fearful confusion of a stranger.
Footsteps patted against the floor. The nanny walked in, pulling seven-year-old Silas by the hand.
Charlene's gaze shifted to her son. Her fingers curled into the sheets again. This was the child she had carried for nine months. The child she had almost died giving birth to.
Silas yanked his hand away from the nanny. He scowled, kicking the leg of the hospital chair.
"The Wi-Fi here is garbage," Silas whined loudly. "I want to go home and play my games. Make her hurry up."
He didn't even look at the bloody gauze on his mother's head.
The last drop of warmth in Charlene's blood turned to ice. She slowly closed her eyes, trapping the moisture behind her lashes.
She turned her head away, facing the blank wall.
"Get them out of my room," she said. Her voice was raspy, devoid of any emotion.
Dawson stared at her rigid back. He let out an annoyed sigh and checked his Rolex.
"Stay and handle the billing," Dawson ordered his assistant, who hovered by the door. He turned on his heel and walked out without another word.
"Finally!" Silas cheered, sprinting out the door after his father.
The door clicked shut. The room fell into a dead silence.
Charlene opened her eyes. The confusion was gone. Her gaze was as sharp as broken glass. She reached over to her left hand and ripped the IV needle out of her vein. A drop of dark blood welled up on her skin.
She stared out the window at the gray Manhattan skyline. The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt. She was going to use this blank slate to tear their perfect world apart.
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
7.4
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.
9.7
For three years, I was the dutiful wife of billionaire Ervin Valdez.
On our third wedding anniversary, he came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, pinned me down, and brutally mocked me.
His mistress, Sylvia, had even sent me a fake ultrasound report to force me out of the picture.
In Ervin's eyes, I was just a vicious, calculating liar who used a pregnancy to trap him into marriage.
He didn't care that I had actually lost that baby, nor did he know the trauma of my gambling father selling me to a dark club where I was assaulted by a stranger.
When I finally handed him the signed divorce papers, giving up all assets, and left the penthouse with nothing but an old suitcase, he just sneered.
"She is playing a game of hard to get. She won't last three days before she comes crying back."
He froze all my bank accounts, let his mistress humiliate me in public, and waited coldly for me to starve and beg.
He thought my entire existence relied on his wealth, completely confident that I would inevitably surrender to his control.
But he was wrong.
I calmly opened my old laptop, bypassed the complex encryptions, and looked at the dozens of unread emails from top-tier global brands begging for my return.
I resurrected my hidden identity as the legendary jewelry designer "R," and walked straight into the top design firm in Manhattan.
"It is time to find myself again."
7.9
Valerie Ashford, a girl who had just turned twenty-one, was introduced by her father to his business associates at a grand party, where she met a frightening, cold-blooded man.
That man was none other than her father's business partner, the CEO of a major corporation. He was taken with Valerie and had wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
For Rovano Morvane, whatever he desired was absolute and he had to have it, even by the worst means possible.
That night Valerie vanished without a trace and Rovano became the prime suspect, yet the Ashford family could not prove their allegations.
"P-please, I don't want to die, sir..." Valerie whispered so softly that Rovano had to bend down even lower.
"Didn't you just say you didn't care whether you were kidnapped or not? So shut your mouth." Rovano ordered.
Cold, Valerie felt the other side of the folding knife pressed against her cheek.
Rovano was going to mark Valerie.
It felt like something was missing if Rovano didn't take out his psychopathic urges on someone.
And this time, for the first time, he wanted a girl: Valerie Ashford.
Would Valerie's life end here?
9.5
Jennifer, a fiercely independent entrepreneur, never imagined that running her company would put her in the orbit of Joseph, a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous agenda. Their professional clashes ignite a forbidden attraction, drawing them into a passionate affair that threatens to unravel everything Jennifer has built. As corporate sabotage, hidden heirs, and dark secrets from Joseph's past begin to surface, Jennifer's world spirals into a web of betrayal, desire, and moral peril. In a story where power and love collide, nothing is as it seems and every choice could be lethal.
7.6
Elliana Lewis lay dying on the freezing concrete of a federal penitentiary, her ribs shattered by a guard's heavy boot.
She had been flawlessly framed for murder by the one person she trusted with her life: her sweet, innocent stepsister, Jovita.
During her final prison visit, Jovita wore their mother's diamonds and smiled cruelly behind the glass. She revealed she had liquidated the family company, caused their father's stroke, and paid the guards to ensure Elliana suffered a grueling, agonizing death.
"Your marriage was a joke from day one, Ellie. You have nothing left."
As her lungs stopped, the tragic truth finally dawned on Elliana. She had spent months screaming for a divorce and publicly humiliating her billionaire husband, Damon Stirling, believing his silence was weakness. She didn't realize until it was too late that his endless tolerance was the deepest form of protection. She had pushed away the only man who would have burned the world down to keep her safe.
Why had she been so incredibly stupid? Why did she blindly trust a monster and destroy the only person who truly loved her?
Then, a blinding light pierced her retinas. Elliana bolted upright, gasping for air on a massive, king-sized bed.
There was no pain. No broken bones. The digital clock on the nightstand flashed a date from exactly ten years ago.
It was the morning after her disastrous wedding night.
This time, she would tear Jovita's life apart piece by piece. And she would hold onto Damon so tightly that nothing could ever pry them apart.