Bred by My Ex's Boss
I married an S-class Alpha to save my family's bankrupt company.
But my husband, Braydon, treated me worse than a stray dog.
When my heat cycle triggered early, the fever was agonizing. I crawled to our master bedroom, crying and begging him for just one temporary bite to save my life.
Instead, he locked the door from the inside.
"Go back to your room. I told you I didn't want to deal with you this weekend."
Through the crack under the door, I smelled the cheap perfume of his mistress. While I was dying in the hallway, forced to inject a toxic black-market suppressant that made me vomit blood, he was sleeping with her in our bed.
Days later, a drunk Braydon pinned me to the floor, trying to violently force a permanent mark on my neck just to assert his dominance.
When I fought him off, he blamed me for provoking him and casually tossed a credit card at me to buy my silence.
"Go buy whatever you want. Just tell the clinic you slipped in the shower."
Staring at the man who was supposed to protect me, my heart went completely cold. Why did I ever think this monster would change? This wasn't a marriage anymore; it was a cage, and the animal inside it was trying to kill me.
I quietly pressed the record button on my phone, capturing every single word of his twisted bribe.
Then, I pulled out a matte black business card and called the terrifying Enigma CEO who had been waiting for me in the shadows.
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Chapter 3
Braydon didn't even look back.
He grabbed the file, turned on his heel, and slid back into the warm, dry leather interior of the Aston Martin. The heavy car door slammed shut, sealing him off from the storm.
The engine revved with an obnoxious, deafening roar.
Braydon slammed his foot on the gas. The rear tires spun on the wet pavement, kicking up a massive spray of dirty street water directly onto Alston's legs. The sports car shot forward and merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic, disappearing into the gray rain.
Alston stood completely still on the sidewalk.
His umbrella offered no protection against the water that now soaked him from the knees down. The freezing wet fabric of his pants clung to his skin.
Slowly, Alston crouched down on the sidewalk. He balanced on the balls of his feet, his hands shaking as he tried to wipe the thick, gritty mud off his pant leg. It was useless. The mud just smeared into the beige fabric.
His throat burned. A hot prickle of tears gathered behind his eyes, but he dug his thumbnails into his index fingers, forcing the emotion back down.
He was not going to cry on the street.
Behind him, the heavy glass doors of the Marks Tech building pushed open.
Easton stepped out onto the marble landing.
The second the door opened, the wind hit him. It carried the freezing rain, the smell of exhaust, and something else.
The chamomile.
Out here, without the sterile air conditioning of the boardroom, the scent was a thousand times more potent. It was pure, intoxicating, and laced with a sharp, bitter note of distress.
Easton's pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. His chest expanded as he dragged the scent deep into his lungs.
It was him.
Easton stared at the small, crouched figure by the puddle. The Omega looked like a broken porcelain doll, abandoned in the trash.
Easton's leather dress shoes made a heavy, rhythmic thud against the wet marble as he walked down the steps. He didn't care about the rain ruining his suit. He didn't care about anything except closing the physical distance between them.
With every step he took, the chamomile scent wrapped tighter around his brain, drowning out his rational thoughts.
Alston heard the heavy footsteps approaching.
He froze. Panic spiked in his chest. He thought Mitch the security guard had come out to finally drag him off the property.
Alston scrambled to stand up. His numb fingers gripped the handle of his cheap umbrella so tight his knuckles ached.
He spun around, an apology already forming on his lips.
The words died in his throat.
He crashed straight into a wall of solid muscle.
Alston gasped and stumbled back. He looked up and found himself staring into a pair of dark, predatory eyes.
The man standing in front of him was massive. He wore a soaked, expensive suit, but he didn't seem to notice the cold. His eyes were a terrifying shade of dark gold, glowing with a raw, unfiltered intensity that made Alston's breath catch.
It wasn't just the man's size that was terrifying. It was the pressure in the air around him.
The heavy, suffocating weight of an Enigma's aura pressed down on Alston's shoulders. It was an involuntary release of pheromones-cedarwood mixed with the sharp, dangerous tang of gunpowder.
Alston's knees went weak. His Omega biology recognized the apex predator instantly. He took another step back, his heart hammering in his throat.
Easton stopped exactly one foot away from Alston.
He looked down at the pale, terrified face. He saw the raindrops clinging to Alston's eyelashes. He saw the faint purple bruise of exhaustion under his eyes.
Easton didn't speak. He couldn't. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid he would just lean forward and bite the skin right over Alston's pulse point. He just stood there, breathing in the chamomile, letting it heal the agonizing ache in his spine.
"I... I'm sorry," Alston stammered, his voice trembling. "I'm leaving right now."
Another violent gust of wind ripped down the street.
The wind caught the inside of Alston's umbrella. With a loud snap, the metal frame inverted. The umbrella was ripped from Alston's grip, tumbling away down the sidewalk.
Alston let out a small gasp. He squeezed his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders, bracing himself for the freezing downpour.
The rain never hit him.
A massive shadow fell over him.
Alston opened his eyes.
A massive, custom black umbrella was held steadily over his head.
Easton stood close enough now that the fabric of their coats almost touched. Easton's hand gripped the handle of the umbrella. The veins on the back of his hand stood out in thick cords. He was gripping the metal so hard his knuckles were white. He was using every ounce of his willpower to keep his free hand from grabbing Alston by the waist and pulling him flush against his chest.
Alston stared up at the man, completely bewildered.
The scent of cedar and gunpowder wrapped around him, warm and terrifyingly protective.
"Are you Braydon Hayden's mate?" Easton asked.
His voice was a low, gravelly rasp. It sounded like it was being dragged over broken glass. The suppressed madness in his tone made the hair on Alston's arms stand up.
Alston swallowed hard. He looked down at the pavement.
"Yes," Alston whispered. He gave a small, bitter nod, confirming the identity that brought him nothing but shame.
Easton's jaw tightened. A flash of pure, murderous jealousy ignited in his chest.
This perfect, beautiful creature belonged to that arrogant, abusive piece of garbage. Braydon didn't even know what he had. Braydon treated the only cure in the world like dirt on his shoe.
Easton reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket with his free hand.
He pulled out a folded, pure silk handkerchief.
He held it out toward the side of Alston's face, where a streak of dirty water had splashed onto his cheek.
Alston's eyes widened. He reached up quickly to take the fabric, not wanting this terrifying stranger to touch him.
Easton pulled the handkerchief back just an inch, avoiding Alston's fingers.
Instead, Easton stepped half an inch closer. He pressed the soft silk directly against Alston's cold cheek.
Alston sucked in a sharp breath.
He froze completely. He could feel the heat radiating from Easton's knuckles through the thin silk. The touch was incredibly gentle, but the Enigma energy behind it was overwhelmingly dominant.
Easton slowly wiped the mud away from Alston's skin. His golden eyes tracked the movement, memorizing the shape of Alston's cheekbone.
A violent shiver ripped through Alston's body. The physical proximity was too much. The pheromones were too strong.
He jerked his head back, breaking the contact.
"Thank you," Alston choked out, his voice panicked.
He didn't wait for a response. He spun around and practically ran toward a yellow cab that had just stopped at the corner to let a passenger out.
Easton didn't move to stop him.
He stood perfectly still under the black umbrella, watching Alston scramble into the back of the cab. He watched the taillights fade into the gray rain.
Easton looked down at his hand. He was gripping the silk handkerchief so tightly his fingers ached.
He slowly lifted the silk to his face and pressed it against his nose.
The fabric was soaked with the scent of chamomile and rain.
Easton closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A slow, dark smile curved the corners of his mouth.
Every cell in his body was screaming to drag the Omega into the shadows and mark that scent as his own.
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9.0
Adaline Poole thought she had escaped her family's toxic corporate grip by moving to London and adopting a stray cat named Monty.
But when she returns to her empty apartment, her father delivers a chilling ultimatum: he has kidnapped the cat and will euthanize it by morning unless she accepts an arranged marriage with Barron Cooke, a notoriously elusive billionaire.
Her entire family becomes complicit in her sale. Her mother demands she secure their elite status, and her brother secretly spies on her social media to feed Barron her every move. Horrified to discover Barron is a thirty-three-year-old "fossil" twelve years her senior, Adaline resorts to sabotage. She goes to a Soho club, takes a scandalous photo with a frat boy, and sends it to the old billionaire to disgust him into canceling their upcoming dinner.
But her rebellion backfires horribly when the frat boy spikes her drink with a powerful narcotic. As her body burns with a terrifying, feverish heat, she collapses in a dark corridor. Stripped of her phone and betrayed by her bloodline, she is left utterly defenseless as a predator approaches to drag her away.
Suddenly, the heavy fire door is kicked open by a towering, terrifyingly handsome stranger who effortlessly neutralizes her attacker.
"Please... help me," Adaline begs, deliriously throwing her burning body into his arms.
She has absolutely no idea that the handsome savior she is clinging to is Barron Cooke himself.
7.9
For ten years, I was the invisible backbone of the Silver Creek Pack.
I cooked the books to hide Alpha Ethan's gambling debts. I ghostwrote the peace treaties that kept our borders safe. I warmed his bed every night, waiting for the bite that would mark me as his Luna.
On the night of our tenth anniversary, I didn't get a ring.
I got replaced.
Ethan walked into the gala with Ashley, a wealthy heiress dripping in gold, clinging to his arm.
When I tried to speak to him, he didn't just ignore me. He used an Alpha Command—a biological weapon that hijacked my free will.
"Go to the kitchen," he ordered, forcing my knees to hit the floor in front of the entire pack. "Ashley is sensitive to the smell of stress. You're ruining her night."
He humiliated me in the house I helped build. He wore the crown I polished for him, thinking I was nothing more than a glorified housekeeper he could discard at will.
He forgot that while he held the title, I held the passwords.
I didn't go to the kitchen. I went to the office.
I initiated a permanent wipe of the cloud backups, reformatted the local servers, and deleted ten years of financial strategies.
Then, I snapped the mate bond and walked out into the rain.
Three days later, I walked back into the conference room.
Ethan laughed, thinking I was there to beg for my job back.
I threw a foreclosure contract onto the table.
"I'm not here to serve drinks, Ethan. I'm the new owner of your debt. Get out of my chair."
7.2
Leila never believed in fairy tales - especially not the kind sealed with signatures instead of kisses.
When a carefully structured contract binds her to billionaire Damian Black, it's supposed to be simple: public appearances, flawless smiles, and zero emotional attachment. A calculated arrangement designed to protect reputations and secure power.
But high society is watching.
Whispers follow her into every ballroom. Rumors trail behind every step she takes beside him. They call her an outsider. A contract wife. Temporary.
What they don't see is the silent tension unfolding beneath polished smiles.
Damian Black is controlled, strategic, unreadable - a man who doesn't allow weakness. Yet Leila begins to notice the subtle shifts. The possessive glances. The quiet approval in his voice. The rare moments when his composure falters... just for her.
And Leila is far from fragile.
As jealousy simmers, rivals test boundaries, and past secrets threaten to surface, the line between pretense and reality begins to blur.
What happens when a marriage built on conditions starts to demand something real?
In a world where power is currency and vulnerability is dangerous, can a contract survive the slow burn of genuine emotion?
A billionaire romance filled with tension, rumors, emotional push-and-pull, and undeniable chemistry.
8.2
For two years, I was the Alpha's secret wife, a duty he resented. But the positive pregnancy test in my hand was a miracle, a blessing from the Moon Goddess. This baby, our heir, was supposed to be the bridge that finally mended our broken mate bond.
That night, he left without a word. I saw on a gossip site that he'd gone to pick up his ex-lover, Isadora. Reaching for him through our bond, I wasn't met with his usual coldness, but with her emotions bleeding through him-triumph and smug possession.
The next morning, I went to his office, ready to tell him about our baby, believing our child could fix us. But I stopped when I heard him talking to our Pack Healer about me.
The healer said I looked fragile, that he should care for his mate. My husband laughed.
"You seem to care for her more than I do," Demetri said, his voice dripping with ice. "Do you want me to give her to you? Take her. She's of no use to me."
My world shattered. I wasn't just unloved; I was a thing to be discarded. I looked down at the pregnancy report, the proof of the life inside me, and made a vow. He would never know about our child, and I would sever our bond myself.
8.0
They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, mine didn't.
I came back with a marriage certificate bearing a stranger's name, a ring worth more than my parents' love ever was, and a son whose father I've never seen, never known, never remembered.
I went to Vegas for a racing competition. I won. I celebrated. And somewhere between the victory and the sunrise, my life changed forever.
For six years, I've lived with the consequences of one reckless night. I built an empire. I raised my son. And I searched for the man who changed my life without even knowing it.
Then fate laughed in my face.
My sister married my ex-fiancé-the man I was promised to since childhood. The man I was supposed to become Mrs. Windsor for. The man who now wears my family name... and looks far too much like my child.
Every time I'm near him, the past presses closer. Every glance feels like a question I'm terrified to ask. I shouldn't notice him. I shouldn't feel anything. He is my sister's husband.
But some secrets refuse to stay buried.
Because the truth about Vegas isn't just in the ring on my finger or the child in my arms.
It's standing right in front of me.
And when it finally comes out, it won't just destroy a marriage, it will burn an empire to the ground.
7.5
Daisy spent her birthday cooking a perfect dinner, waiting in their massive penthouse for her billionaire husband, Emmett.
Instead of coming home, a breaking news alert flashed on her screen: Emmett was at the hospital, protectively shielding his old flame, Eryn. When Daisy rushed to the VIP ward, Emmett physically blocked her to comfort a crying Eryn, completely forgetting it was his wife's birthday.
Heartbroken, Daisy demanded a divorce and fled. In response, Emmett ruthlessly froze all her bank accounts and trust funds, leaving her penniless in the freezing Manhattan rain. When she cornered him with divorce papers at a public funeral, a heavy metal cart slammed into her, tearing her calf wide open. Bleeding onto the marble floor, she begged him to sign. Instead, Emmett violently ripped the bloody papers to shreds.
"Unless I am dead, you are my wife," he snarled, locking her inside a room.
Daisy risked her life to escape through a window, dragging her bleeding leg to a dingy motel. But the real nightmare began when Eryn called. The tragic car crash that killed Daisy's adoptive parents ten years ago wasn't an accident—the brake lines were cut. And Emmett, the man she loved, had been using his vast corporate empire to protect the murderers all along.
Why did Emmett bury the police report? What was the deadly secret behind her true identity and the antique "Venus" necklace? Staring at her blood-stained hands in the cracked mirror, the terrified wife died. Daisy grabbed her coat and limped out into the dark, heading straight for the Navy Yard to burn his empire to the ground.