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 5
Jessie turned around and walked back to the low table. She grabbed the sleek laptop resting on the edge of Kenneth's desk and pushed it toward him. She nodded at the USB drive.
Kenneth picked it up, plugged it into the port, and typed in the password Jessie dictated. A spreadsheet with dozens of tabs popped up on the screen.
He scrolled down the first page. His bored expression slowly morphed into a deep, intense frown.
"Military-grade MREs. High-frequency water filtration units. Arctic survival gear. Solar matrix panels," Kenneth read aloud, his voice tight.
He clicked to the next tab. "Ten tons of specialized steel. Ballistic glass. Heavy engineering machinery."
He clicked the final tab, and his breath hitched. His eyes darted up to meet hers. "C4 explosives? Armor-piercing rounds? Are you building a private army to start a war, Jessie?"
Jessie pulled a chair close and sat down. "A global, apocalyptic storm is going to hit in exactly thirty days. It will last for two months. Everything you know will be wiped out."
Kenneth let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "That is the most ridiculous doomsday scam I have ever heard."
Jessie didn't argue. Instead, she rattled off a series of numbers. "Ramsey Tech will drop twelve percent tomorrow at 10 AM. Ramsey Shipping will lose a major contract at noon on Thursday, causing a twenty percent plunge."
Kenneth's fingers stopped tapping his armrest. His muscles tensed. Those were highly classified internal metrics. He had only received the briefing an hour ago.
"Next week," Jessie continued, her voice relentless, "there will be a massive geological anomaly in Alaska. The government will cover it up as a minor earthquake. It's the precursor to the storm."
She leaned in, her eyes locking onto his. "When the grid fails, your billions are just paper. Supplies are the only currency that will matter."
Kenneth stared at her. He searched her face for a twitch, a lie, a sign of madness. He found nothing. Only an absolute, terrifying certainty.
He slammed his hand down on the intercom button. "Arthur. Get in here."
The heavy oak doors opened instantly. Arthur stepped in, bowing his head.
Kenneth spun the laptop around so Arthur could see the screen. "Use the underground channels. I want everything on this list acquired and moved within a week. Blank check."
Arthur's eyes widened slightly as he saw the munitions list, but his training held. "Yes, sir." He turned and left the room.
Jessie nodded in approval. "You won't regret this investment."
Kenneth rolled his wheelchair forward until his knees almost touched hers. The proximity was suffocating, thick with tension. "If you are playing me," he growled, "I will bury you under those mountains along with your supplies."
Jessie smiled, a small, cold curve of her lips. "You won't get the chance."
She stood up. "I need to go to the Appalachian estate to oversee the security retrofitting."
Kenneth reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a solid black, limitless credit card, and held it out to her. "If you need more capital, use this."
Jessie took the card, sliding it into her pocket. It was a tangible sign of their new, dangerous alliance.
She walked to the door, but stopped just before opening it. She looked over her shoulder.
"Stop taking those physical therapy pills your doctor gives you," Jessie said quietly. "They're laced with a slow-acting neurotoxin."
Kenneth's hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles turned bone-white. The veins in his neck bulged.
Jessie didn't explain further. She opened the door and walked out into the hallway.
Kenneth sat in the dark, staring at the empty doorway, a violent storm brewing in his eyes.
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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.