Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground.
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Chapter 3
Ayla sat in the driver's seat of her parked Porsche, her fingers hovering over the steering wheel.
She had just dialed her best friend Chloe's number when a text message popped up on her screen.
It was from Axel.
If you don't show up to the Silicon Valley Innovation Summit tonight, I will freeze every credit card and trust account tied to your name within sixty seconds.
Ayla stared at the glowing words. Her breathing hitched.
She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. She needed cash to hire a ruthless divorce lawyer. If he cut her off now, she would be paralyzed.
She shifted the car into drive and forced herself to turn the steering wheel toward San Francisco.
By evening, Ayla stepped out of a black town car in front of the Moscone Center.
She wore a minimalist, custom-tailored black evening gown that clung to her curves, looking every bit the untouchable billionaire's wife.
Axel was already waiting at the entrance of the VIP red carpet lane.
The second he saw her, his face transformed. The angry tyrant from the morning vanished, replaced by a mask of overwhelming, sickening devotion.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her waist.
His fingers dug into her ribs so hard a sharp pain shot up her spine.
"Smile," Axel whispered directly into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Don't you dare ruin the company's stock rating for next week."
The heavy double doors to the red carpet swung open.
A wall of blinding camera flashes exploded in their faces. Reporters screamed their names.
Ayla's facial muscles shifted instantly. She flashed the flawless, untouchable smile she had perfected as a top-tier PR strategist.
Axel stopped right in the middle of the red carpet.
He reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a custom velvet Cartier jewelry box.
A collective gasp rippled through the press line.
Axel opened the box, took out a blinding, multi-million-dollar diamond necklace, and stepped behind Ayla to fasten it around her neck.
The cameras fired like machine guns. Reporters shouted praises about the Farrell CEO's legendary love for his wife.
Axel leaned in and kissed her cheek. Ayla smiled for the lenses, but her stomach violently cramped with nausea.
They walked off the carpet and entered the massive, glittering ballroom.
Within seconds, Axel was swarmed by a group of Wall Street investors.
Ayla immediately stepped backward, retreating into the shadows near the edge of the room. She grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and watched Axel play the crowd.
From across the room, she noticed something.
A faint vibration buzzed in the breast pocket of Axel's tuxedo.
Axel pulled out his private phone. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes darkened with a specific kind of hunger.
He offered a quick, charming apology to the investors and turned away, walking briskly toward the staff corridors at the back of the venue.
Ayla set her champagne glass down on a high-top table.
She knew the layout of the Moscone Center perfectly. She had designed the PR security routes for this exact event.
She slipped through the crowd, staying completely out of sight, and followed him.
She navigated through the noisy, chaotic kitchen hallways until she reached the dimly lit VIP lounge sector.
At the end of the corridor, one of the heavy lounge doors was left slightly ajar.
Low, breathy laughter echoed from the crack in the door.
Ayla slowed her steps. She pressed her back against the cold wall and slid closer, peering through the narrow gap.
Inside the lounge, Axel had a woman pinned against the back of a leather sofa. He was kissing her aggressively.
The woman was wearing a plunging red evening gown.
It was Kristal. The brilliant, beautiful Director of Overseas Operations for the Farrell Group.
Kristal giggled and pushed Axel back slightly. She ran her manicured fingers down his jawline.
"You were a little too convincing on the red carpet out there," Kristal complained, pouting her lips.
Axel let out a dark, mocking laugh. "It's just PR for the old fossils on the board. Ayla is nothing but a prop."
Outside the door, Ayla felt like a sledgehammer had just caved in her ribs.
It wasn't just the physical betrayal. It was the complete, utter destruction of her human dignity.
Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely grip her phone.
She pulled it out, switched it to video mode, and held the lens up to the crack in the door.
She recorded ten seconds of them tangled together on the sofa. Clear, undeniable proof.
Ayla hit stop. She slipped the phone back into her clutch.
She didn't kick the door open. She didn't scream.
She turned around and walked back down the hallway, her footsteps completely silent.
When Ayla stepped back into the blinding lights of the ballroom, the pain in her chest was gone.
Her eyes were dead, filled with nothing but cold, calculating murder.
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9.7
Luna Elena Frost was never chosen, only assigned.
Bound to Alpha Alaric Ashbourne through a cold contractual marriage, she endures three years as a Luna in name only. He never comes home, never defends her, and never looks at her, while his heart belongs to another woman.
At his grandmother's funeral, Alaric publicly dissolves their marriage, humiliating Elena before the entire pack. In that moment, she finally understands the truth. She was never wanted.
But the Moon has not abandoned her.
A forgotten night resurfaces. Her long-silent wolf begins to awaken. And secrets buried within her bloodline start to surface, drawing danger from every direction.
Cast out by the pack that once used her, Elena must flee, survive, and uncover her true power.
Only then does the Alpha realize his mistake.
By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
8.9
Sienna Jones only wanted a one week escape in Miami but woke up one morning legally married to a stranger who happens to be Eric Macmillan, a British Billionaire heir.
Before Sienna can process the disaster she accidentally signed up for, the internet has crowned her the mystery wife of a billionaire.
Now, stuck navigating lawyers, paparazzi, angry parents, and a marriage they never meant to happen, can Sienna and Eric keep things civil until they quietly annul it?
7.6
I spent three years as the hidden mistress of Wall Street tyrant Damon Vaughn. Our no-strings arrangement meant I was his to command, a secret he kept locked away in the dark.
Then I saw the Instagram post. It was Damon, raising a champagne glass with his perfect high-society fiancée, the caption hinting that wedding bells were just around the corner.
I ended it that night, leaving his black card on his nightstand and blocking his number for good. But a man like Damon doesn't accept being told no. He retaliated by buying the entire building my tech startup was in. He cornered me on the street, slamming his fist into my car's hood, his face a mask of terrifying rage.
He was a possessive monster, planning his perfect marriage while refusing to release me from my cage. The humiliation of being his disposable secret burned hotter than my anger.
To finally break him, I lied about having a blind date. But the lie became a terrifying reality when my mother forced me into that exact date. Now, Damon has kidnapped me, and as he shoves me out of his car in front of the restaurant, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper meant only for me.
"Remember who you belong to."
7.8
I was Grayson Warren’s "broken doll," a disgraced socialite kept on a short leash to pay off my family’s debts. To the world, I was a fragile liability; to Grayson, I was a pet he could humiliate for sport, forcing me to play the role of a mentally unstable girl while I secretly gathered evidence against his empire.
The cruelty peaked when Grayson forced me to break three years of sobriety in front of his investors, mocking my struggle before making me kneel on a golf course to scrub his shoes. He treated my life like a game, literally betting my sanity against a corporate board seat while he soft-launched a new relationship with a high-profile PR queen.
When the pressure triggered a massive panic attack, Grayson abandoned me in a private clinic just so he wouldn't miss a dinner reservation. Even my own mother turned against me, threatening to leak my psychiatric records and brand me a "violent delusional" if I didn't beg for Grayson’s forgiveness. I was trapped between a man who owned my debt and a mother who valued her estate over my daughter’s life.
I realized then that they would never let me go; they would only break me until there was nothing left. They thought they had erased my soul, but they forgot I was the only witness to the night my true love, Felix, was murdered. I was done being the victim.
I faked a suicide jump off the Queensboro Bridge to go off the grid, then crashed Grayson’s elite gala in a dress that signaled his downfall. Just as Grayson tried to physically crush me one last time, the room went silent. Felix Law, the man the world thought was dead for three years, walked out of the shadows with a federal warrant in his hand.
"Take your hands off her, Warren."
The game didn't just change; it ended. Felix was back from the dead, and this time, we were burning the empire to the ground together.
7.2
For three years, I was imprisoned by Anderson Hopper, the monster who forced me to watch my fiancé, Kendall, plummet into a freezing river.
But when I saw the morning news, I realized Kendall wasn't dead. He had returned as Eben Gill, a ruthless tech billionaire.
I risked my life to escape and find him, only to be met with eyes full of absolute hatred.
He publicly humiliated me, dragged me to the exact bridge where he "died," and sneered at the C-section scar on my stomach.
"Anderson Hopper's bastard," he spat, completely unaware that the baby was actually his—the very child Anderson had murdered in the operating room to break me.
To make matters worse, Anderson used Kendall's dying mother as a hostage to force me back into my cage.
I knelt on the freezing asphalt, begging the man I loved to just visit his mother, while he coldly ordered his driver to run me over.
I had lost my baby, my freedom, and my dignity, all to protect him from Anderson's blackmail. Why was I the one being tortured and treated like a traitor?
"Don't think your little kneeling stunt earned you my forgiveness."
He whispered those cruel words before walking away without looking back.
Staring at his cold, retreating figure, the last shred of my love finally turned to ash.
That night, under the cover of a torrential storm, I bypassed the estate's laser grids and walked out into the dark.
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."