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 9
A bitter gust of wind swept across the pavement, lifting a few of the hundred-dollar bills and blowing them against Alexis's blood-stained hospital gown.
A small crowd of pedestrians had stopped to watch. Several people pulled out their phones, the camera lenses focused on the pathetic sight of the fallen heiress.
Josie crossed her arms, tapping the toe of her designer boot impatiently. "I said pick it up. Or the ashes go in the river tonight."
Just as Josie spoke, a black Range Rover pulled up aggressively behind the Porsche. Carlos threw open the door and stepped out, a smug grin plastered on his face. He walked over and wrapped his arm around Josie's waist, looking down at Alexis with utter contempt.
"Look at her," Carlos laughed, the sound grating like sandpaper against Alexis's ears. "Not so arrogant now, are you?"
Alexis closed her eyes. The image of the black marble urn burned in her mind. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She slowly reached her trembling hand forward, her fingers stretching toward a bill lying in a puddle of dirty slush.
Just as her fingertips brushed the wet paper, a heavy, custom-made Italian leather shoe stepped firmly onto the bill, pinning it to the concrete.
Alexis froze. She followed the sharp crease of the dark suit trousers upward, past a narrow waist, broad shoulders, and finally met Jarrett's pitch-black, furious eyes.
Jarrett's massive frame blocked out the sun, casting a long, protective shadow entirely over Alexis.
He bent down. He didn't look at the money. He wrapped his large, warm hand around Alexis's thin wrist and pulled her upward with a smooth, unstoppable force.
Carlos and Josie jumped back, startled by the sudden appearance of the imposing stranger.
Carlos felt the suffocating aura of power rolling off the man. He instinctively took a step back, his bravado faltering. "Who the hell are you?" Carlos demanded, his voice cracking slightly.
Jarrett completely ignored him. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a dark silk handkerchief.
He lowered his head, his focus entirely on Alexis. With slow, meticulous movements, he wiped the dirty slush from her fingertips, treating her hand as if it were made of fragile glass.
The blatant dismissal hit Carlos like a physical blow. His fragile ego flared into violent rage. "I'm talking to you, asshole!" Carlos yelled, lunging forward and reaching out to shove Jarrett's shoulder.
Jarrett didn't even turn his head.
As Carlos's hand came within inches of his suit, Jarrett shifted his weight. His left hand shot out like a striking snake. He clamped his fingers around Carlos's wrist, twisted his body, and snapped his arm downward with brutal, calculated torque.
A loud, sickening pop echoed over the street noise.
Carlos let out a high-pitched, agonizing scream. He dropped to his knees, cradling his dislocated wrist against his chest, his face turning pale green.
Josie shrieked, jumping back against the Porsche. "You maniac! I'm calling the cops!"
Jarrett released Carlos's arm, letting him collapse onto the pavement. He tossed the soiled silk handkerchief directly onto Carlos's face in a gesture of absolute disgust.
He finally turned his dark, lethal gaze onto the two of them. "Loud," Jarrett muttered, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
Alexis stood behind him, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She stared at his broad back. This gigolo possessed a level of violence and authority that completely dwarfed Carlos.
A reckless, desperate plan formed in her mind. If her reputation was already ruined, she would use this man as her weapon.
Alexis took a step forward. She reached out and wrapped her arms around Jarrett's waist from behind, pressing her cheek against the solid muscle of his back.
Carlos looked up, groaning in pain, his eyes widening in shock and furious jealousy at the sight of his ex-wife clinging to another man.
Josie pointed a shaking finger at Alexis. "You shameless whore! You just got divorced and you're already screwing some street thug!"
Alexis ignored the insult. She stepped around Jarrett, moving to his front. She reached up, grabbed the lapels of his expensive suit jacket, and pulled herself up onto her tiptoes.
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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.