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 5
The storm finally broke over Manhattan three days later.
Thunder rattled the windows of the Hayden penthouse. Lightning flashed, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor of the small guest bedroom.
On the narrow twin bed, Alston screamed.
His body arched off the mattress, his spine bowing as a violent muscle spasm ripped through his abdomen. His skin was burning, slick with a thick layer of feverish sweat.
His heat had triggered early.
The air in the small room was thick and suffocating. The usually subtle scent of chamomile had mutated. It was now heavy, sickeningly sweet, and laced with the intoxicating smell of fermented honey. It was the biological distress signal of an Omega in agonizing need of an Alpha's bite.
Alston collapsed back onto the damp sheets, gasping for air. His lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass.
He rolled onto his side, his trembling hand reaching blindly for the nightstand.
His fingers brushed against the cold plastic of the syringe. He had bought it hours ago from a shadowed alley in Queens. The black-market suppressant was a murky, yellowish liquid.
Another cramp hit him, harder this time.
Alston's hand jerked. His fingers knocked against the syringe.
It rolled off the edge of the nightstand and dropped to the floor, bouncing once before rolling underneath the heavy oak dresser.
"No," Alston sobbed, his voice cracking. "No, please."
He tried to lean over the edge of the bed to reach it, but his arms gave out. He fell onto the carpet, his knees hitting the floor hard.
The biological craving for an Alpha was tearing his mind apart. His body was screaming for the one person who was supposed to protect him.
Alston dragged himself across the floor. He used his elbows to pull his dead weight forward, crawling out of the guest room and into the dark hallway.
He needed Braydon. He just needed a temporary bite to break the fever.
He dragged himself toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
As he got closer, he saw a thin sliver of yellow light glowing beneath the door.
Braydon was home. He had come back from the Hamptons early because of the storm.
A desperate surge of hope flared in Alston's chest. He pushed himself up against the heavy oak door, his sweaty palms smearing against the wood.
He raised his fist and pounded weakly on the door.
"Braydon," Alston rasped, his throat raw. "Braydon, please. Help me."
Inside the room, the sound of rustling sheets stopped.
Heavy footsteps crossed the floor.
"Go back to your room, Alston," Braydon's voice barked through the wood. It was thick with sleep and extreme irritation. "I told you I didn't want to deal with you this weekend."
Alston's legs gave out completely. He slid down the door, his forehead resting against the cold wood.
"Please," Alston begged, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat. "My heat... it's early. I dropped the medicine. I just need a bite. Just one bite."
Silence stretched on the other side of the door.
Then, a loud, metallic click echoed in the hallway.
Braydon had thrown the deadbolt. He had locked the door from the inside.
The sound of that lock turning hit Alston harder than a physical blow. It shattered the last pathetic piece of hope holding his heart together.
Then, Alston smelled it.
Seeping through the crack under the door was the unmistakable, cloying scent of artificial rose perfume.
Emelia was in there. Braydon had brought his mistress into their marital home, into their bed, while his husband was dying in the hallway.
The sheer, suffocating humiliation of it burned away the haze of the fever.
Alston bit down on his own forearm. He bit down so hard his teeth broke the skin. The sharp, piercing pain of his own teeth tearing into his flesh shocked his system, giving him a split second of clarity.
He let go of his arm. Blood trickled down his wrist.
He didn't cry anymore. His eyes were wide, staring blankly at the locked door.
Alston turned around. He dragged himself back down the hallway, his fingernails scraping against the hardwood floor. He crawled back into the guest room and collapsed next to the dresser.
He reached his bloody hand underneath the heavy wood. His fingers brushed the plastic syringe.
He pulled it out.
He didn't have the strength to find an alcohol wipe. He didn't care about the air bubbles.
Alston ripped the cap off with his teeth. With the last ounce of his strength, he grabbed the fabric of his sweat-soaked pants and viciously tore it aside, exposing the pale, trembling skin of his thigh. He jammed the thick, dull needle straight into the muscle.
He pushed the plunger down, forcing the burning, acidic liquid into his bloodstream.
The pain was unimaginable. It felt like liquid fire racing through his veins.
Alston's vision went completely black, and he slumped sideways onto the floor, losing consciousness.
Across the city, in the sterile, soundproof basement of the Marks Tech building.
Easton Marks sat in a leather medical chair.
His private physician was wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his bicep. The monitors next to the chair were beeping frantically.
"Your Enigma fluctuations are critical, Mr. Marks," the doctor said, his voice tight with panic. "If you don't find a compatible anchor to stabilize your pheromones, your nervous system is going to start shutting down."
Easton ripped the blood pressure cuff off his arm. He threw it across the room.
He stood up, his chest heaving. He walked over to the reinforced glass wall that looked out into the underground garage.
Suddenly, a massive, invisible weight slammed into Easton's chest.
He staggered forward, his hands slapping against the glass to catch his balance.
His heart skipped a beat, then started hammering at a terrifying speed. His Enigma instincts flared to life, violent and screaming.
He could feel it. The biological tether.
Somewhere in the city, the perfect chamomile scent was being suffocated. The Omega was in excruciating pain. The distress signal was so strong it was bypassing physical distance, hitting Easton's Enigma receptors directly.
Easton's eyes snapped open. The irises were entirely swallowed by the dark gold of a predator ready to kill.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial for his assistant.
"Monitor all emergency medical dispatches around the Hayden penthouse," Easton ordered, his voice a lethal, vibrating growl.
"Sir," the assistant replied instantly. "No ambulances dispatched. But the Hayden building's security logs show Braydon Hayden entered the penthouse an hour ago. With a female guest."
The image formed in Easton's mind instantly.
Braydon had locked his Omega out while he screwed his mistress. Alston was suffering through a heat cycle alone, dying on the floor.
A terrifying, guttural snarl ripped from Easton's throat.
He pulled his fist back and slammed it directly into the reinforced glass.
The bulletproof glass spider-webbed under the sheer force of the blow. Blood dripped from Easton's split knuckles, splashing onto the pristine white floor.
Easton stared at his bloody hand. A slow, dark, terrifying smile spread across his face.
A primal, dark ecstasy burned in his blood. The prey was isolated, and his biology was screaming to claim what was rightfully his.
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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.