The Billionaire Heiress's Revenge: Rejecting Her Cheating Mate

I was the Barron heiress, and everyone assumed Damien, the Head Warrior, was my fated match. But the sickening scent of rotting peaches led me to the garden, where I found him pinning Eve against a tree. He wasn't just cheating; he was admitting he only wanted me for the Alpha title, while calling that manipulative charity case his "true queen." When I tried to cut off his funding, he declared war. He sabotaged my saddle, leaving a silver shard embedded in my leg, and sneered that I was vulnerable without him. Then came the ultimate humiliation. At my twenty-first birthday party, in front of every high-ranking wolf, Eve and Damien played a deepfake video of me with Rogues. Damien looked at me with mock pity, offering to marry me only to "hide my shame," while his six brothers stood as a human shield protecting Eve. They called me broken. They thought I was defenseless. But they didn't know I had already sent a message to the most dangerous wolf in existence. Just as Damien tried to force his claim, the ballroom doors exploded inward. The Alpha King walked in, eyes glowing gold, and pulled me against his chest. "She is mine," he growled, silencing the room. I looked at Damien and his brothers, holding up a silver USB drive. "You destroyed my reputation to protect her," I whispered. "Now, let's see if you still want her when you find out she's been sleeping with all seven of you." I plugged in the drive.

Chapters

Chapter 3

The Sabotaged Shift

Elena POV:

I needed to run.

Politics and heartbreak were suffocating me. Usually, I would Shift, but I was still recovering from the residual pressure of Damien's Alpha Tone.

So, I chose riding.

I saddled Storm, a massive grey stallion only I could handle. The training ring was empty. I mounted, feeling the familiar rhythm clear my head. I urged him into a gallop.

Faster, Midnight urged. Outrun the stench of them.

I pushed Storm harder toward a high wooden oxer.

"Up, boy!" I commanded.

Storm launched. He was perfect.

Then, a sharp snap echoed through the arena.

The girth strap gave way.

Gravity vanished. The saddle slid sideways mid-air. I fell, hard.

I hit the sand with a sickening crunch. My left leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Pain, white and blinding, exploded up my thigh.

"Aggh!" I screamed.

Storm bolted. I lay there, gasping. My vision blurred. I tried to call upon my healing factor, but the pain wasn't fading. It was searing, burning like fire.

I looked down. A piece of the saddle equipment had pierced my breeches.

Silver.

A silver buckle, sharpened to a point, was embedded in my thigh.

"Help!" I grit my teeth, trying to Mind-Link. Father! Anyone!

The Mind-Link was static. Jammed.

The stable doors creaked open.

I looked up through the haze, expecting a stable hand. Instead, I saw Damien.

He was leaning against the doorframe, checking his watch. He didn't rush.

"Damien..." I gasped. "Help me. The saddle..."

He walked over slowly. His face was a mask of mock concern.

"Elena? My god, what happened?"

He crouched down, but he didn't reach for the first aid kit. He just looked at the wound.

"My leg..." I choked out. "It's silver."

"Looks painful," Damien said, his voice devoid of real empathy. "I told you that tack was getting old. You really should be more careful with your equipment."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. His touch made my skin crawl. Up close, I smelled it on his fingers—leather polish and the faint, metallic scent of silver filings.

"I'll go call the medics," he said, standing up leisurely. "Don't go anywhere."

He didn't run. He walked. Taking his time.

"Why?" I whispered to his retreating back.

He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder with a cold smirk.

"Maybe a few weeks in bed will remind you who protects this pack, Elena. You're vulnerable alone."

He walked out, leaving me writhing in the sand.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the pain. I wouldn't beg. I would take this agony, this burning fire in my leg, and I would forge it into a weapon.

Continue to next part

I stared at the contract on my desk, the words 'Billion-Dollar Infrastructure Project' gleaming under the afternoon sunlight streaming through my office windows. The legal team sat across from me, their expressions a mixture of excitement and wariness. They'd been working on this deal for months, and now it was finally ours. "Congratulations, Ms. Daniels," my head counsel said, sliding the thick document toward me. "The Hartwick Group has officially awarded us the project." I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction as I traced my finger over the signature line. My father had taught me never to celebrate too early, but this was different. This was a victory that would cement Daniels Corporation's position in the market for years to come. "The terms are favorable," I said, flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. "But we'll need to move quickly on the capital injection." I tapped my fingers three times on the mahogany desk—a habit my father had noted was my only tell when deep in thought.

Billionaire Modern Mystery

7.8

Breaking The Script: My Billionaire Husband

7.8

I was three million dollars in debt, forced by my agent to star in a reality show as the brainless gold-digger who married a decrepit billionaire. But right before the live broadcast, as I touched the tacky neon dress I was supposed to wear, a violent vision struck my brain. I realized my entire life was a script, and I was just a villainous side character designed to make America's Sweetheart look like a saint. My agent was secretly taking payouts from her PR firm to deliberately ruin my reputation with endless hate traffic. If I followed his orders today, I would be torn apart by the internet, lose every contract, and eventually die alone in a cheap motel. I couldn't accept that my every fake smile and stupid decision had been manipulated to destroy me just to elevate someone else. Why should I let them sell me out and turn my life into a complete joke? Looking at the ugly pink dress, I threw it straight into the trash. "You are fired, and my lawyers will be in touch about your offshore accounts." I poured a glass of freezing water over my head to wash away the heavy makeup and the helpless persona I had worn for years. I kicked out my backstabbing agent, put on a pair of plain black leggings, and walked out to face the live cameras. To hell with the script. Today, I was going to expose this fake PR marriage myself.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.7

Contract Marriage With My Enemy

8.7

Manhattan heiress Stephanie is summoned home and told her family is bankrupt; the only bank bailout requires her to marry childhood nemesis Jason Whitman. She reluctantly signs the papers and returns to her Brooklyn apartment—only to find Jason’s luggage already moved in and her landlord paid six months ahead. On their wedding night Jason steals her blanket, leaving her freezing when the heat fails. The next morning Stephanie discovers Jason zip-tied and gagged in the guest room, a gift from his scheming parents. She live-streams his humiliation to 100k viewers, forcing him to call her “sister” before she frees him—then orders a loud victory breakfast.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.5

Her Last Name, His Claim

7.5

She left him five years ago, long before he became the ruthless billionaire the world now fears. Now she's ready to marry again but first, she needs his signature. Except Enzo Wayne doesn't plan to let go. He's waited five years to remind her what belonging means. One signature, one demand, one impossible month..and one question neither of them wants to answer: What if she never stopped loving him?

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.0

His Mistress, My Revenge

8.0

The elevator climbed toward the presidential suite, each floor marker lighting up like a countdown to my freedom. I clutched the keycard tighter, savoring the weight of this small rebellion. For the first time in five years, I was doing something Logan didn't know about—something he couldn't control. "Welcome to the Spencer Fifth Avenue, Ms. Chen," the bellhop said, using the alias I'd chosen. The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I stood in my family's crown jewel, pretending to be someone else, testing beds in a hotel that would one day be mine. The suite door clicked open, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows that framed Central Park like a living painting. I set down my overnight bag—packed in secret, hidden in the back of my closet for weeks—and let myself breathe. The city lights twinkled below, each one a reminder of the world beyond Logan's suffocating grip.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.1

Never fake a divorce with your hidden billionaire wife

9.1

I married Kevin Fort when he had nothing but debts, grief, and a famous last name that everyone wanted to tear apart. I gave him everything I had—my savings, my trust, my loyalty, even the babies I lost while he promised he would love me forever. So when he begged me to sign a “fake divorce” to protect us from his company’s financial crisis, I believed him. Then I came home early. I heard another woman in my bed… wearing my robe… while my husband laughed and called me “that stupid woman.” Worse, the woman he betrayed me with wasn’t just his secretary. She was the mother of his hidden child. Overnight, my perfect marriage turned into a humiliation broadcast across New York. Kevin thought I was powerless. He thought I would take the cheap settlement, cry quietly, and disappear. He was wrong. Because I’m not just Lena Fort. I’m Lena Black—the hidden heiress of a billion-dollar empire. And while Kevin scrambles to save the company I helped build, another man steps out of the shadows. Vincent Koldin has watched me for years, waiting for the day I finally see the truth. Cold, powerful, and dangerously patient, he offers me exactly what I need: revenge. Kevin wanted a fake divorce. Now he’s about to lose everything for real.

Billionaire Modern Romance

The Billionaire Heiress's Revenge: Rejecting Her Cheating Mate

Chapter 3

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