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 3
Dawson stood in the doorway. His eyes dragged over the ruined fabric scattered across the Persian rug. The vein at his temple throbbed visibly.
He stepped over the shredded silk, his heavy shoes crushing the expensive material. He closed the distance between them in three long strides.
He snatched the scissors from Charlene's hand and slammed them down onto the vanity.
The heavy metal clattered loudly against the marble top.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dawson gritted out, his voice vibrating with suppressed rage.
Charlene brushed a loose thread from her fingers. She looked up at him. Her eyes were completely dead, devoid of the fear he expected to see.
"Those clothes are ugly," she said, her tone entirely flat. "I don't like them."
The casual dismissal hit Dawson like a physical blow. He was used to her trembling apologies. He thrived on her submission. This blatant disregard for his authority made his blood boil.
He stepped closer. His towering frame cast a dark shadow over her. The sharp, icy scent of his cedarwood cologne wrapped around her face, suffocating her.
He reached out. His large hand clamped around her jaw, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He forced her head up, making her look directly into his eyes.
Normally, Charlene would shrink back. Today, she stared right back at him. Her lips twitched into a faint, mocking smile.
"Let's get a divorce," she said.
Dawson's fingers twitched against her jaw. His dark eyes widened for a fraction of a second, as if she had just spoken in a foreign language.
Then, he let go of her face. He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. He thought this was a game. A desperate, dramatic tactic to force him to spend more time at home.
He smoothed down the front of his suit jacket, looking down at her with absolute disdain.
"Denied," he said coldly. "Conner Group rings the bell on the NASDAQ next month. I will not tolerate a single PR scandal regarding my marriage. You will behave."
Charlene rubbed her aching jaw. The skin was already turning red.
"I have amnesia," she stated firmly. "I feel absolutely nothing for you. I won't live with a stranger."
The word 'stranger' struck a nerve. Dawson's eyes darkened, turning dangerous and predatory. His masculine pride flared up, demanding immediate correction.
He lunged forward. His arm wrapped around her waist like a vice, yanking her hard against his chest. Their bodies collided.
He lowered his head, aiming for her mouth. He wanted to force a kiss, to trigger the muscle memory of her submission, to prove that her body still belonged to him.
The moment his breath brushed her skin, Charlene's stomach violently revolted.
She drove her knee upward, slamming it hard into his stomach.
Dawson grunted in pain. His grip loosened instinctively.
Charlene shoved both hands against his solid chest, pushing him away with all her strength. She stumbled back two steps, putting distance between them.
She reached behind her, her fingers wrapping around the neck of a heavy crystal vase on the nightstand. She hurled it at the floor right between his feet.
The crystal shattered with an explosive crash. Shards of glass exploded outward, scattering across the hardwood.
Charlene pointed a shaking finger at the broken glass. Her chest heaved.
"Don't touch me," she spat, her voice dripping with pure disgust. "You make me sick."
Dawson stood on the other side of the broken glass, clutching his stomach. His face was pale with fury. No woman had ever looked at him with such raw repulsion. The humiliation burned through his veins like acid.
He pointed a finger at her, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"Push me again, Charlene, and you'll find out exactly what happens when you cross my bottom line."
He turned around and stormed out of the bedroom. The heavy double doors slammed shut with enough force to rattle the windowpanes.
Charlene's knees buckled slightly. She leaned back against the wall, taking deep, shaky breaths to slow her racing heart.
A cold, victorious smile slowly spread across her lips.
She walked over to the small writing desk in the corner. She pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pen. Drawing on the meticulous attention to detail she cultivated in her secret life as the elite photographer 'Vesper', a habit that made her naturally adept at reviewing complex contracts, she began to list the specific fault-based clauses hidden deep within their prenuptial agreement.
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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.