Bound To The Disabled Apocalyptic Tycoon
Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie—an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse.
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Chapter 2
Jessie pushed open the door to the guest room and walked straight to the mahogany desk. She pulled out a blank sheet of hotel stationery and a pen. Her hand moved furiously across the paper, listing out survival items, water filtration systems, and tactical gear.
The sharp click of high heels sounded in the hallway.
Jessie flipped the paper over, pressing it flat against the wood just as the door swung open.
Brenda marched in, followed closely by a man in a sharp gray suit carrying a leather briefcase. The family's chief legal counsel.
The lawyer didn't waste time. He pulled a thick stack of documents from his briefcase and held them out to Jessie. "This is the formal renunciation of your rights to the Aguilar trust, Miss Rhodes."
Jessie didn't take the papers. She leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms. "One hundred million dollars in cash."
Brenda's face flushed a violent shade of red. "Are you out of your mind? That's extortion! That kind of money could buy half the startups on Wall Street!"
"The Ramsey injection is worth at least a billion to this family," Jessie stated, her voice flat, her eyes locked on the lawyer. "One hundred million is a ten percent finder's fee. It's a bargain."
The lawyer glanced at Brenda, giving her a subtle nod. His Wall Street brain was calculating the math, and he knew Jessie was right. In the long run, cutting her out now saved the family billions.
"Fine," Brenda hissed, her chest heaving. "Give her the money."
"I'm not done," Jessie said. "I also want the deed to the abandoned estate in the Appalachian Mountains."
Brenda blinked, genuinely confused. "That rotting pile of rocks? We've been trying to sell that useless land for a decade. You really are just a dirt-loving hick, aren't you?"
Brenda pulled out her phone and dialed Martin. She spoke in hushed, angry tones for a few seconds before hanging up. "He agreed. Just to get you out of our sight."
The lawyer set his briefcase on the bed, opened a portable printer, and connected it to his tablet. Within minutes, the machine hummed, spitting out the revised terms.
Jessie took the fresh papers. She read every single line, her eyes scanning the legal jargon with mechanical precision. She wasn't going to let them leave a single loophole.
Satisfied, she signed her name on the dotted lines and pressed her thumb onto the ink pad, leaving her fingerprint on the final page.
The lawyer tapped furiously on his tablet, authorizing the wire transfer.
Jessie's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. A notification from her offshore account flashed on the screen: $100,000,000.00 deposited.
The lawyer handed her a manila envelope. "The deed and the keys to the Appalachian property."
Brenda sneered, her eyes filled with disgust. "Take your money and get as far away from us as possible."
Jessie took the envelope. A cold, dark amusement curled in her stomach. She didn't say a word. She just turned to the closet and pulled out her suitcase.
Brenda huffed, feeling like she had punched a brick wall. She spun around and stormed out of the room, the lawyer trailing behind her.
Jessie zipped up her suitcase. She looked around the sterile, luxurious guest room. It was a golden cage, and she was finally free.
She grabbed the handle and wheeled the suitcase out of the room, down the long hallway, and into the living room.
Harley was sitting on the sofa, sipping tea from a porcelain cup. When she saw Jessie's luggage, a flash of triumph crossed her eyes.
Harley stood up, smoothing down her skirt. "Do you need me to have the driver take you to the airport, Jessie?"
"I'll take a cab," Jessie replied, her tone like ice.
Harley took a step closer. Her eyes suddenly dropped to Jessie's chest.
Jessie's collar was slightly unbuttoned, revealing the silver chain of an antique necklace resting against her collarbone.
Harley's breath hitched. Her pupils dilated, and a raw, ugly greed bled into her expression.
Jessie felt the shift in the air. She saw the hunger in Harley's eyes. She casually reached up and pulled her collar tight, hiding the silver chain from view.
Without another word, Jessie walked past Harley, the wheels of her suitcase gliding smoothly toward the private elevator. She left Harley standing in the middle of the room, staring at the space where Jessie had just been.
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7.1
For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big.
On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe."
Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero."
Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends.
"She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy."
Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder.
I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number.
"Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married."
9.1
For two years, Elena played the role of the perfect, submissive wife to her wealthy husband, Andrew Macdonald, quietly swallowing the daily insults of his elite circle to appease his family.
But using her hidden divination skills, she tracked his GPS to a dirty nightclub terrace and caught him tightly holding a fragile, crying woman, calling Elena a disposable "Appalachian hillbilly."
"The lawyers are drafting the divorce papers. Next week, she'll be out of New York for good."
Hearing Andrew promise this gently to his cheating partner, Elena stepped into the dim light, only to be met with nasty mockery from his arrogant friends, while the mistress shrank back and pretended to be an innocent victim.
Andrew glared at Elena with deep annoyance, aggressively demanding she stop embarrassing him in public and go back to the countryside, fully expecting her to break down, cry, and beg him to save their marriage.
Two years of cooking his meals, ironing his shirts, and enduring his family's cruel abuse were nothing but a sick joke to him, completely blind to the terrifying, ancient power she actually wielded.
Instead of shedding a single tear, Elena mercilessly exposed their darkest medical and financial secrets, signed the divorce papers without taking a single dime, and stepped into her new life as the untouchable master she truly was.
7.6
Eloise was the adopted stray of the wealthy Foreman family, mocked daily for her tarot cards and dismissed as a mentally unstable burden.
When her adoptive father suddenly collapsed with thick, black veins pulsing up his neck, they didn't blame his corrupt real estate deals. They blamed her.
"She's a witch! She cursed me!" Mitch roared, ordering his doctor and armed guards to forcefully drain her blood to cure his supernatural toxin.
Her adoptive mother revoked her trust fund and threatened to drag her to a psych ward. Her spoiled sister threw a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at her feet, laughing as the security team cornered Eloise against the wall.
Eloise stared coldly at the family that had abused her for years. They had dug up a sacred burial ground to build condos, bringing this deadly curse upon themselves, yet they wanted to bleed her dry to survive.
Just as the guards lunged, the heavy oak doors were violently shoved open.
An aristocratic butler stepped through the freezing rain, flanked by elite operatives who snapped the guards' legs in seconds. He dropped a three-billion-dollar trust document onto the table as mere "compensation" for her shelter.
"Please, Miss Palmer," the butler bowed deeply, offering her pristine white gloves. "Do not dirty your hands in this place."
Leaving her adoptive father to his midnight death sentence, Eloise stepped into a waiting Rolls-Royce, ready to reclaim her place in a hidden global dynasty.
7.5
I was the architect of my husband's billion-dollar tech empire, but he repaid me by bringing his mistress to our son's funeral-the very woman whose negligence killed him.
To protect her, he had me committed, tortured, and then burned every last memory of our son, systematically erasing our past.
Then I discovered he'd secretly divorced me years ago, so I faked my own death and gave the source code to his rival, ready to watch his world burn to the ground.
7.5
My biological mother finally came to the rundown trailer park to take me to her wealthy new family in New York.
But instead of the good life she promised, I was treated worse than a stray dog.
My stepbrother broke my legs with a golf club just for fun, while my perfect stepsister smiled and watched.
My mother didn't even try to stop them. She let them lock me in a car and set it on fire.
I was burned alive, the smell of gasoline and toxic smoke filling my lungs as they walked away with my life.
Until my last agonizing breath, I couldn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much.
Why did I have to die just so her new family could thrive?
Opening my eyes again, the smell of smoke vanished, replaced by the cheap coffee of the diner I worked at.
I was seventeen again, on the exact day the black Bentley pulled up to take me away.
This time, I wasn't going to be their victim.
I deliberately stalled our departure, saving us from the massive highway pileup that was supposed to be my grave.
And when my stepbrother threw a metal dart at my face on my first day back, I didn't just dodge.
I let New York's most ruthless billionaire step in, ruining his ten-million-dollar watch in the process.
"Since that hand likes to throw things, I will take the hand as payment."
Watching my arrogant stepfamily fall to their knees and beg for mercy, I knew my revenge had just begun.
9.2
For three years, I played the perfect, invisible wife to billionaire Dempsey Everett.
But late one night, he walked in smelling of another woman's perfume and threw a thick divorce agreement onto the coffee table.
"Darcy is back. Sign it."
The terms were brutal, a complete wipeout that left me with nothing but the clothes on my back.
To make matters worse, his true love Darcy sought me out to humiliate me, smirking that I was just a convenient placeholder keeping his bed warm.
Even his mother immediately paraded Darcy around the estate in family heirlooms, treating me like worthless trash they couldn't wait to discard.
I stared at the cold, heavy divorce papers, my chest tightening with pain, until my eyes caught the signature line at the bottom.
Elinor Parish.
A missing 'r'.
After three years of sharing a home, a bed, and a life, my husband didn't even know how to spell my last name.
All my patience, my quiet acceptance, and the love I had poured into this man had been a cosmic, cruel joke.
The realization hit me like a physical blow, but the heartbreak quickly vanished, replaced by a white-hot fury.
I swung my arm and slapped him across his arrogant face with every ounce of my suppressed pain, then signed the document without a second thought.
Dempsey thought I was just a poor dropout who would beg for his scraps.
He had no idea I was hiding my true identity.
It was time the Everetts learned what it truly meant to cross the real Parrish royalty.