Bought A Gigolo, Got A Billionaire CEO
Alexis signed the divorce papers, leaving her with no assets, no alimony, and just the clothes on her back.
To forget her abusive husband Carlos, she got drunk and bought a high-end gigolo for the night with her last 800 dollars.
But the man she slept with wasn't an escort. He was Jarrett Hughes, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And while she was gone, her ex-husband was busy destroying her entire life.
Carlos framed her with fake photos of her cheating to justify the penniless divorce.
Then came the real nightmare.
Carlos and her own aunt secretly drained her family's corporate accounts, driving her father to jump off a building.
At the hospital, her grieving mother blamed her for the tragedy, violently attacking her in the ER.
To top it off, her cousin Josie—who was secretly sleeping with Carlos—held her father's ashes hostage.
"Crawl on your knees and pick it up, or the ashes go in the river," Josie sneered, throwing cash into the freezing slush.
Stripped of her marriage, her father, and her dignity, Alexis sat bleeding in the snow.
She couldn't understand why the people she loved most had coordinated such a brutal slaughter against her.
But Carlos and Josie made one fatal mistake.
They didn't know the "gigolo" Alexis had accidentally bought was the most powerful man in New York.
Alexis looked at the towering billionaire standing behind her, a vengeful fire burning in her eyes.
"I need you to get my father's ashes back," she said, pulling him into a kiss right in front of her ex-husband. "I don't care what it takes."
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Chapter 4
Alexis rubbed her numb hands together, her breath puffing into white clouds in the freezing air. She stepped closer to the edge of the curb, desperately scanning the empty street for the glowing light of a taxi.
A few cars sped past, their tires slicing through the icy slush. A spray of dirty water splashed up, soaking the hem of her trench coat. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering so hard her jaw ached.
Headlights cut through the darkness. A massive, pitch-black Maybach glided down the street. The engine was completely silent.
Instead of driving past, the luxury vehicle slowed down and stopped precisely in front of her, the sleek tires resting inches from the puddle.
The tinted rear window rolled down with a soft hum.
Alexis squinted against the glare of the streetlamp. The sharp, flawless profile of a man emerged from the shadows of the backseat.
Her frozen brain stuttered. It was him. The gigolo from the hotel.
She stared at the multi-million dollar car, then back at his face. Her mind scrambled for a logical explanation. A sugar mommy, she concluded instantly. He must have a very wealthy, very generous client who lets him drive her car. His services were... exceptional, after all.
Jarrett turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto her shivering frame, lingering on her blue-tinted lips. A cold, mocking smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
He pushed the heavy door open. He stepped out onto the street, his long legs closing the distance between them in two strides.
Before she could speak, Jarrett shrugged off his heavy, cashmere overcoat. He stepped into her personal space and draped the coat over her shoulders.
The fabric was thick and radiated his body heat. Alexis instinctively flinched, raising her hands to push it off.
Jarrett's large hands clamped down on her shoulders, his grip like iron. He held the coat in place, trapping her arms beneath it.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "Eight hundred dollars?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Is that what you think I'm worth?"
Alexis swallowed hard, intimidated by the sheer physical dominance he projected. "That was... that was all the cash I had on me."
Jarrett took a half-step forward, forcing her back until her spine hit the cold metal of the Maybach's door. He boxed her in with his arms.
"My rate is one million dollars," he stated, his eyes boring into hers.
Alexis gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "One million? That's extortion! You're insane!"
Jarrett didn't blink. He calmly reached into his suit pocket with one hand, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen.
A high-quality audio recording played from the speaker.
"You're mine for the night. I bought your time. I'll pay whatever it takes, just take me upstairs." Her own drunken, slurred voice echoed in the quiet street.
Alexis's face burned. The heat rushed to her cheeks, completely overriding the winter chill. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
In the driver's seat, Bruno's shoulders shook almost imperceptibly. He bit the inside of his cheek, staring intently at the road ahead as if the fate of the world depended on it, though a faint tremor at the corner of his mouth betrayed his struggle to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
Jarrett slipped the phone back into his pocket. "You owe me a million dollars. You will sign a debt contract, and you will pay it off in installments."
Alexis clenched her jaw. She looked down the empty, freezing street. She had nowhere to go. If she stayed out here, she would freeze to death.
She looked back up at his hard, unyielding face. "Fine," she whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth.
Jarrett's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction. He reached past her and pulled the car door open.
Alexis ducked her head and climbed into the back seat, pulling his oversized coat tight around her.
Jarrett slid in right beside her. The door shut, sealing them inside the warm, leather-scented cabin. The sudden shift in temperature made Alexis's skin tingle.
The car pulled away smoothly. Jarrett reached into the center console, poured a cup of steaming black tea from a thermos, and handed it to her. His movements were fluid, practiced.
Alexis took the cup. As he pulled his hand back, the interior lights caught the edge of his sleeve. A massive, flawless blue sapphire cufflink glinted in the light.
She stared at it. Definitely a sugar mommy, she thought, her grip tightening on the warm cup. No gigolo buys that for himself.
Jarrett leaned back against the headrest, turning his head to watch her sip the tea like a frightened animal.
"Give me your address," he said lazily. "I'll drop you off."
Alexis opened her mouth to give him Ayla's address.
Suddenly, a piercing ringtone shattered the tranquility inside the car.
Alexis dug into her purse and pulled it out. The screen flashed brightly in the dim car.
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8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
9.5
On the day she discovers she is pregnant, Amara is handed divorce papers by the man she loved for three years. Betrayed by her husband and her best friend, she walks away with nothing-except the secret growing inside her.
But what Ethan Cole doesn't know is that the woman he abandoned is not weak... and not alone.
When Amara returns as a powerful heiress, no longer the woman he could control, Ethan begins to regret everything. But as secrets unravel and the truth about her pregnancy comes closer to light, one question remains-
When he finally finds out the child is his... will it already be too late?
7.2
I thought I was just marrying a middle-class commercial pilot who proposed to me in a Brooklyn cemetery to fulfill his grandmother's bizarre dying wish.
But when an arrogant pilot tried to harass me at the airport, my "ordinary" husband suddenly appeared, his eyes like chips of ice.
"Take your hand off my wife."
With that single cold command, he had the airline's top executives groveling and the man practically fired on the spot.
Everyone called him "Mr. Chandler." He handed me an exclusive black Centurion card, claiming it was just a standard "manager's perk." His retired parents, who supposedly ran a small business, visited me wearing Patek Philippe watches. I ignored all the glaring red flags, foolishly believing I had just lucked into a stable, caring marriage after a lifetime of disappointments.
Yet, despite his constant, suffocating generosity, he kept a physical wall between us. After a kiss so desperate and hungry it felt like he had been starving for it his entire life, he violently pushed me away.
"We should take this slow."
I couldn't understand why a man who looked at me with such intense, possessive devotion would treat our marriage like a sterile business deal. Why was he orchestrating every perfect detail of my life while refusing to even share a bed with me?
I had no idea that the man sleeping in the guest room wasn't a pilot at all. He was Harmon Chandler, the ruthless billionaire emperor of the Chandler Group. And he had been secretly monitoring my every move for ten years.
8.2
Justine abandoned her career as a top trauma surgeon to marry Congressman Carl McConnell. She did it to fulfill her dying sister's last wish: to protect her son, Leo, from this ruthless political family.
But the seven-year-old boy she swore to protect shoved her into a freezing koi pond, then cried to his father that Justine tried to drown him.
Carl didn't even check the security cameras. He hugged his precious heir and looked at his freezing wife with pure disgust.
"Are you out of your mind? Trying to hurt the heir to the McConnell family!"
He locked Justine in a 55-degree wine cellar while she was burning with a 102-degree fever. When she finally told him the truth, Carl flew into a rage and hurled a heavy brass-cornered book at her face, slicing her cheekbone wide open.
His mother even ordered the staff to starve her for seven days to reflect on her sins.
Justine stood in the dark, blood dripping down her face, her heart completely dead. She had sacrificed her brilliant future and her pride for this family, only to be tortured and discarded like garbage. How could they be so utterly devoid of humanity?
She pulled out her old medical kit and stitched up her own face.
Then, she signed the legal documents to permanently relinquish her stepparent rights, threw them at the housekeeper, and calmly looked at her abusive husband.
"I am divorcing you, Carl."
8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.