Betrayed By Ex, Married To The Tycoon
Elva used a spare key card to quietly enter the hotel penthouse, only to find her boyfriend of two years panting heavily on the king-sized bed with her own cousin.
Instead of showing remorse, her cousin shamelessly mocked her background, while her ex aggressively lunged at her to destroy the photographic evidence she had just captured.
"You think you can just walk away? Warren already made the deal. By next week, you're being shipped off to marry that fifty-two-year-old crippled freak from the Ramirez family!"
Her ex spat the words to threaten her, and the nightmare only escalated when Elva returned to her uncle's estate, where Warren confirmed he was indeed selling her off for a business connection.
Her family eagerly joined the abuse, threatening to permanently freeze her late mother's trust fund and even plotting to secretly drug her morning milk so she couldn't fight back when the groom's family arrived.
They looked at her like a pathetic, orphaned burden they could bleed dry, fully expecting her to drop to her knees, cry, and accept her miserable fate without a single word of defiance.
But they had no idea that just hours ago, Elva had already signed a marriage certificate with Bronson Ramirez, the undisputed billionaire king of the dynasty, and she was stepping into the living room ready to watch their greedy world burn.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 3
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in.
The small, enclosed space was instantly dominated by Bronson's presence. The cold, woodsy scent of his cologne mixed with the faint tobacco, wrapping around Elva's senses.
She kept her back straight, maintaining a strict physical distance. Her eyes remained glued to the digital floor display, refusing to acknowledge the stranger.
Bronson slowly turned his head. His dark, bottomless gaze dragged over the sharp, defensive lines of her profile, completely unapologetic in his scrutiny.
"You need a husband," he stated.
His voice was a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated against the metal walls, shattering the dead silence.
Elva's head snapped toward him. Her eyes turned into twin daggers, her entire body radiating hostility.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her voice dripping with ice. "And why are you eavesdropping on my life?"
Bronson didn't flinch at her venom. He reached inside the breast pocket of his tailored suit and pulled out a heavy, gold-embossed business card. He held it out to her between two long fingers.
Elva didn't take it. She just dropped her gaze to read the crisp black font.
Bronson Ramirez.
Her brow furrowed slightly. Ramirez. It was the surname of one of the most terrifyingly powerful financial dynasties in New York, but it was also a common enough name.
"A three-month contract marriage," Bronson offered, cutting straight to the chase.
"I provide you with the legal marital status you need right now to block your uncle's forced arrangement. In exchange, you act the part of my devoted wife to get my overbearing elders off my back."
Elva's brain kicked into overdrive.
She needed a way out. Warren was relentless, and he held the legal power to force her hand. But more importantly, her mother's will had a specific clause: the trust fund and the company shares would only be transferred to Elva upon her marriage.
If she got married today, she could trigger that clause. She could rip her mother's legacy right out of Warren's greedy hands.
She lifted her chin, staring directly into Bronson's aggressive, predatory eyes, searching for a trap.
Bronson held her gaze. There was no warmth in his eyes, no hidden affection or twisted pity. There was only the cold, hard calculation of a Wall Street shark closing a mutually beneficial deal.
Oddly enough, that lack of emotion was exactly what made her relax.
The elevator chimed. The ground floor.
The doors slid open to reveal the bustling hotel lobby.
Bronson stepped back, offering her a polite, gentlemanly gesture toward the exit, leaving the choice entirely in her hands.
Elva took a deep breath, letting the cold logic settle in her chest.
"Deal," she said.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of Bronson's mouth. He stepped out of the elevator first, parting the crowd with his sheer presence.
Elva followed him through the opulent lobby.
As they approached the exit, the doorman scrambled to pull open the heavy glass doors. The biting New York wind whipped across Elva's face.
A sleek, black, armored Maybach was already idling at the curb.
Bronson walked around to the passenger side and opened the heavy door himself, his posture radiating a flawless, old-money elegance.
Elva didn't hesitate. She ducked her head and slid into the luxurious, leather-scented interior.
Bronson got in on the other side. He didn't look at the driver, just issued a single, clipped command. "City Hall."
The Maybach pulled smoothly away from the curb, merging into the chaotic Manhattan traffic.
Elva watched the towering skyscrapers blur past the tinted window. Her pulse was steady. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her life was about to flip upside down, and she was the one pulling the lever.
You may also like
8.1
Elinor's frail daughter, Cece, died in a sterile hospital room while waiting for her father to take her to Disney World.
But her billionaire husband, Derick, never showed up. At the exact moment Cece's heart monitor flatlined, the hospital TV broadcasted Derick affectionately holding the hand of his mistress and he has booked a clearance of the entire Disneyland to celebrate mistress's daughter's birthday!.
When Elinor confronted Derick with their daughter's ashes, he sneered and accused her of hiding the child just to get his attention. Elinor's heart was torn to shreds. How could a father be so blind and ruthless? Did Kamryn use his power to steal the very kidney that belonged to Cece? Why did her innocent baby have to die for their sick affair?
The suffocating grief inside Elinor finally crystallized into a sharp blade. She wiped the blood from her lips, canceled the simple divorce, and began her ruthless revenge.
9.0
Colette stepped out of the federal prison, finally breathing the air of freedom after two agonizing years.
But instead of a bus home, a black armored SUV blocked her path. Ferris Vance's men kidnapped her right at the gates. He forced her to sign a marriage certificate, threatening to completely destroy her father's legacy if she refused.
The nightmare had only just begun. She soon learned her father had been driven to suicide anyway. Dragged into the Vance estate, Colette was beaten bloody by the family of Ellie, the girl she supposedly wronged. Ferris paraded her in a pure white gown for the cameras, playing the fiercely devoted husband. But the second the lenses turned away, he forced her into a coarse maid's uniform, making her scrub the freezing marble floors on her hands and knees.
"Your life isn't even worth the dirt on my shoes."
Ferris whispered those words as he threw his muddy boots at her bruised face. She was nothing but a piece of bleeding bait, a prop meant to lure his missing lover out of hiding. She was tortured and humiliated for a crime she had absolutely nothing to do with. The sheer injustice of paying the price for another woman's disappearance tore her soul apart.
When he cornered her in the bathroom, the last thread of Colette's sanity snapped. She hurled a bucket of filthy water right into his face, broke out of his grip, and threw herself out a window into a freezing storm. This time, she chose to escape, even if it meant death.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
8.1
Pretty Devil
8.1
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
7.6
"One signature. One life-long debt. One night to change everything."
Elara Vance thought she could escape her family's dark past, until the ruthless tech-mogul Silas Vane corners her with a contract she can't refuse. Her father didn't just owe Silas money-he owed him a blood-oath.
The deal is simple: Marry Silas for 365 days, endure his cold touch, and play the perfect doll for the media. In return, her family's sins are erased. But Silas isn't just looking for a wife; he's looking for the woman who shattered his heart ten years ago.
Elara is wearing a dead woman's face, and Silas is a man who never forgets a betrayal. As the line between hate and heat blurs, Elara realizes the debt isn't money... it's her heart. And Silas Vane is coming to collect.