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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 7
With a wet, sickening smack, Dax's face planted directly into the center of the cement tub.
Thick, gray sludge exploded outward. A heavy glob of wet cement splattered across Harley's expensive Jimmy Choo heels.
Dax thrashed wildly in the tub. His hands clawed at the slippery edges, his muffled, panicked screams bubbling up through the thick mud.
Harley shrieked, stumbling backward. She didn't reach out to help him; she just stared in horror at her ruined designer shoes.
Two construction workers dropped their tools and sprinted over. They grabbed Dax by the shoulders and hauled him out of the muck.
Dax was a monster made of gray sludge. Cement coated his hair, filled his nose, and plastered his eyes shut. He fell to his knees, coughing violently, spitting out gritty mouthfuls of mud.
"I'll kill her! I'll sue her!" Dax gagged, wiping blindly at his burning eyes.
Jessie reached into her pocket and pulled out a wet wipe. She slowly, methodically cleaned the fingers that had touched Dax's wrist.
She walked over to Harley. She stood tall, casting a shadow over the trembling fake heiress.
"Keep your dog on a leash," Jessie whispered, her voice dropping to a chilling register. "If he barks at me again, he won't be eating cement. He'll be eating dirt. Six feet under."
Harley's entire body went rigid. The raw, unfiltered murder in Jessie's eyes paralyzed her vocal cords. She could only nod, her face pale with genuine terror.
Jessie tossed the used wet wipe. It landed perfectly on top of Dax's cement-covered head.
She turned and walked to the backyard shed, retrieved the small wooden box containing the farming journals, and walked right out the front gates without looking back.
Jessie got back into the waiting cab. "Appalachian Mountains. Drive."
As the cab merged onto the highway, Jessie pulled out her phone. She dialed the number of a premier industrial contractor.
"I need twenty military-grade, heavy-duty shipping containers," Jessie ordered the moment the line connected. "Billed to the black card I'm providing."
The contractor paused. "Ma'am, that takes weeks to source-"
"I am paying triple your rush fee," Jessie cut him off. "I need them retrofitted with thermal insulation, anti-corrosion coating, and concealed ventilation systems. Delivered in three days."
"Yes, ma'am. Consider it done."
She hung up and immediately dialed a modular housing supplier, ordering dozens of rapid-assembly wooden cabin kits.
She stared out the window as the city skyline faded into rolling hills. Her Personal Biome was massive, but it was just raw, black earth. She needed the containers and cabins to build a structured, secure base inside her spatial dimension.
Hours later, the cab dropped her off at the rusted iron gates of the Appalachian estate.
Jessie unlocked the gate and walked through the overgrown weeds. The main stone house was old but built like a fortress. She stepped inside and saw that the dust had been cleared. Kenneth's men had already prepped the staging area.
Her phone buzzed. It was Arthur.
"Miss Rhodes, the first batch of supplies has arrived at a discreet warehouse five miles from your location."
Jessie's pulse quickened. "Send me the coordinates. And pull all your security personnel out of the perimeter. I want the site completely empty."
"Understood."
Jessie went to the master bedroom, changed into a set of black tactical clothes, and grabbed the keys to an old, beat-up pickup truck left in the garage.
The sun dipped below the horizon as Jessie drove the truck down the winding mountain road, heading straight for her first massive haul of survival gear.
Keep Reading
The story is getting intense! Switch to App to
Unlock All Chapters
You may also like
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.