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.
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Chapter 9
The air in the living room turned to concrete. The sheer, crushing gravity of Bronson's presence pressed down on the Schmitt family, making it hard for them to breathe.
Warren was the first to snap out of his paralysis. He violently pinched his own thigh, the sharp pain confirming he wasn't hallucinating.
He scrambled forward, his face contorting into a mask of extreme, nauseating sycophancy. He thrust both hands out, desperate to grasp Cornelius's hand.
"Mr. Ramirez! What an absolute honor!" Warren practically squeaked.
Cornelius didn't even break his stride. He cast a freezing, dismissive glance at Warren's outstretched hands and walked right past him, heading straight for the center sofa.
Warren's hands hung in the empty air. He awkwardly pulled them back, his face burning, and quickly pivoted to Bronson, bowing so low his back almost snapped.
Bronson treated him like a piece of ugly furniture. He walked past Warren and lowered his large frame gracefully into a single leather armchair, crossing one long leg over the other.
Cornelius lifted his ebony cane and struck the marble floor. Clack.
The sharp sound instantly silenced the room.
"I am here to finalize the marriage arrangement between our families," Cornelius announced, his voice echoing with unquestionable authority.
Warren trembled with pure ecstasy. "Yes, yes, of course! We are completely ready!" He had completely forgotten the original lie about the crippled relative.
Cornelius turned slightly, gesturing to the man sitting in the armchair. "Allow me to formally introduce the groom. My eldest grandson, and the sole heir to the Ramirez dynasty, Bronson."
The words hit the Schmitt family like a localized earthquake.
Mona clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and manic joy. They had hit the ultimate jackpot.
Haylie's breathing turned shallow. Her eyes devoured Bronson's handsome face and expensive suit. Her mind raced, instantly convincing herself that this god-like heir could not possibly be meant for plain, insignificant Elva. The arrangement was clearly a mere formality—a placeholder until the Ramirez family laid eyes on her, the true prize of the Schmitt household. She would make them see that she was the only logical choice.
She frantically tried to pull the edges of her casual robe together to look somewhat presentable, pasted on her most sickeningly sweet, innocent smile, and practically glided over to Bronson's chair.
"Mr. Ramirez," Haylie cooed, pitching her voice to sound like a delicate Southern belle. "It is such a pleasure to finally meet you."
Bronson didn't blink. He didn't turn his head. He stared straight ahead, treating her existence as nothing more than a mild draft in the room.
Haylie's smile stiffened, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. But her greed quickly overrode her shame. She convinced herself that billionaires were just naturally aloof, and that once he noticed her, everything would change.
Behind Cornelius, a stone-faced assistant stepped forward and placed a thick, sealed document file onto the glass coffee table.
"This," Cornelius declared, "is the wedding gift from the Ramirez family. A marital trust fund valued at two billion dollars."
Two billion.
The number physically punched Warren in the gut. The blood vessels in his eyes expanded, turning his vision red with raw, unfiltered greed. His mind seized on the figure. Two billion dollars, and it all hinged on delivering the bride. His gaze darted instinctively toward Elva, still standing quietly near the stairs. For a split second, his lips parted to summon her forward, to present her like a winning lottery ticket and claim this fortune before anything could go wrong. But then his eyes flicked to Haylie, who had draped herself inches from Bronson's chair, and cold calculation overtook him. The Ramirezes hadn't asked for Elva by name. They wanted a bride from the Schmitt family. If Haylie could charm her way into the heir's favor right now, the deal could be closed tonight on even better terms, with his biological daughter as the rightful wife. He decided to buy Haylie a few precious minutes. Elva could always be produced as a backup if Haylie's gambit failed.
Haylie let out a strangled gasp of delight. She spun around, her eyes landing on Elva. A flicker of cold, calculating malice crossed her face before she masked it with theatrical condescension. She knew perfectly well that Elva was the designated bride, which was precisely why the girl needed to be removed from sight immediately, before anyone in the Ramirez entourage could acknowledge her.
"Elva," Haylie snapped, her voice dripping with condescension. "What are you still doing here? Go back to your room."
She waved her hand dismissively. "This is a high-society matter. It has nothing to do with a country girl like you."
Elva crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at Haylie with the kind of pity usually reserved for the severely brain-damaged. She didn't move an inch.
Warren, reading Haylie's play perfectly and terrified that Elva's presence would derail his daughter's brazen attempt to seduce the heir, turned on her.
"Did you hear her?!" Warren barked, pointing a shaking finger at the stairs. "Get upstairs immediately! You are embarrassing us!"
The tension in the room snapped tight.
Suddenly, a low, dark scoff broke the silence.
Bronson's long, knuckle-scarred fingers began to tap against the leather armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The rhythmic sound sent a chill down Warren's spine.
Bronson slowly lifted his head. His eyes, cold and sharp as obsidian blades, sliced through the Schmitt family, completely ignoring Haylie, and locked dead onto Elva.
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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.