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 8
The next morning, the sky over Long Island was a bleak, heavy gray.
Alston drove his beat-up sedan through the massive wrought-iron gates of the Hayden family estate. The tires crunched over the pristine white gravel driveway.
His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached. On the passenger seat rested a crumpled copy of the divorce agreement.
He was done. The revelation of Emelia's pregnancy had severed the last pathetic thread of loyalty he held for his marriage.
A stiff, silent butler escorted Alston to the glass-enclosed sunroom at the back of the mansion.
Genevieve Hayden, Braydon's mother, stood among the blooming white rose bushes. She wore a flawless Chanel suit and held a pair of silver pruning shears.
She didn't turn around when Alston entered.
"You have a lot of nerve showing up here unannounced on a Tuesday, Alston," Genevieve said coldly. Snip. A perfect white rose fell to the floor.
Alston took a deep breath. He walked over to the wrought-iron patio table and placed the crumpled divorce papers on the glass surface.
"I want a divorce," Alston said. His voice shook slightly, but he forced himself to stand tall.
Genevieve finally stopped pruning. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the papers on the table. She didn't look angry. She looked profoundly bored.
She set the shears down and picked up a porcelain teacup.
"Are you stupid, or just having a temper tantrum?" Genevieve asked, taking a sip of her tea. "Did you forget who is keeping your family's pathetic little manufacturing company afloat?"
Alston dug his thumbnails into his fingers. "Braydon got his mistress pregnant. That violates the morality clause in the Omega Protection Act. I have the right to leave."
Genevieve laughed. It was a sharp, cruel sound.
"The Omega Protection Act is for people who can afford lawyers, Alston," she sneered. "Alphas have mistresses. It is a biological reality. Your job was to give me a grandson with a 96% genetic match. You failed."
She walked up to Alston. She reached out and patted his cheek. The physical contact was demeaning, like she was petting a disobedient dog.
"If you file those papers," Genevieve whispered, her eyes turning hard, "I will pull the credit lines on your father's factories tomorrow morning. Your family will be on the street by Friday."
Alston felt the blood drain from his face. The air in the sunroom suddenly felt too thin to breathe.
"You can't do that," Alston choked out.
"I can do whatever I want," Genevieve replied smoothly. "In fact, you are going to call a press conference this Friday. You are going to stand next to Braydon, smile for the cameras, and deny these ridiculous rumors about a mistress."
She picked up the divorce papers and tore them in half, dropping the pieces onto the floor.
"Go home, Alston. And learn your place."
Alston stumbled backward. The sheer, crushing weight of the capitalistic violence pressing down on him made his chest cave in. He was trapped. There was no legal way out.
He turned and ran out of the sunroom, gasping for air.
At that exact moment, in the Marks Tech boardroom in Manhattan.
Easton sat at the head of the table. Braydon stood at the projector, confidently presenting the final numbers for the European merger.
Braydon was smiling. He looked incredibly satisfied with himself, riding the high of whatever he had done the night before.
As Braydon paced near the head of the table, Easton inhaled.
The scent hit him.
It wasn't chamomile. It was the sickening, artificial stench of rose perfume, layered heavily over Braydon's natural Alpha scent.
Braydon had gone straight from his mistress's bed to the office.
A wave of pure, violent nausea rolled through Easton's stomach. The absolute disrespect. The sheer audacity of this pathetic Alpha, parading around covered in another Omega's scent while Alston was suffering.
Easton's vision tinted red.
He picked up the heavy metal laser pointer resting on the table.
He gripped it in both hands. His Enigma strength flared.
Snap.
The thick metal cylinder broke cleanly in two. A jagged edge of the broken metal sliced deep into the pad of Easton's thumb.
The loud crack echoed like a gunshot.
Braydon stopped mid-sentence. The entire room of executives froze in terror.
Easton didn't flinch. He didn't look at his bleeding thumb. He slowly raised his eyes and locked them onto Braydon.
"Your projections are garbage," Easton said. His voice was a deadly, quiet whisper that made the hair on the back of Braydon's neck stand up.
"Sir?" Braydon stammered, his confident smile vanishing. "The data is solid. We ran the models-"
"The models are flawed because you are incompetent," Easton interrupted, his voice rising in volume, laced with a crushing Enigma pressure. "You missed a five percent variance in the offshore accounts. You are careless. You are sloppy. And you are a liability to my company."
Braydon's face turned beet red. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the sheer weight of Easton's aura forced him to look down at the floor.
Easton pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser on the table and slowly wiped the blood from his thumb.
"Redo the entire portfolio," Easton ordered coldly. "And get out of my sight."
Braydon swallowed hard, gathered his files with shaking hands, and practically ran out of the room.
Easton tossed the bloody wipe into the trash.
He pulled out his phone beneath the table and typed a heavily encrypted message to his private legal team.
Get me a detailed, unredacted report of all business dealings and financial leverage between the Hayden family trust and the Lindsey manufacturing factories. I want every single document on my desk immediately.
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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.