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 5
Ayla dragged her exhausted body out of a yellow cab in Manhattan.
She had taken a red-eye flight straight from San Francisco. She walked up to the door of a luxury apartment building and knocked.
Chloe swung the door open, wearing silk pajamas. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Ayla's ripped dress and smeared makeup.
Chloe immediately pulled her inside and locked the door.
Sitting on Chloe's plush living room sofa, Ayla held a mug of hot tea. The warmth seeped into her freezing hands as she gave Chloe a brutal, condensed version of the summit.
"That absolute sociopath!" Chloe screamed, throwing a velvet throw pillow across the room. She grabbed a first-aid kit and gently applied an ice pack to the massive purple bruise on Ayla's lower back.
Ayla didn't wince. She opened her laptop on the coffee table.
"I need to move my money," Ayla said, her voice completely detached.
She logged into the portal for her offshore Swiss bank account, where she had hidden a small personal fund before the marriage.
The page loaded.
A massive red warning banner flashed across the screen: ACCOUNT FROZEN BY PRIMARY TRUSTEE.
Ayla's fingers dug into the edge of the laptop.
She had underestimated his cruelty. Axel had mobilized his legal team in the middle of the night to cut off her financial oxygen.
Chloe's phone suddenly rang. It was her father, a senior partner at one of Manhattan's top law firms.
Chloe answered it. As she listened, the color drained from her face. She hung up slowly.
"Ayla," Chloe whispered, her voice shaking. "Axel just sent a blanket warning to the top ten firms in the city. Anyone who takes your divorce case is declaring war on the Farrell Group."
Chloe swallowed hard. "He also flagged my bank accounts. The fifty grand I tried to wire you this morning was blocked."
Ayla closed her eyes. Her chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice. The sheer, suffocating weight of Axel's power was closing in on her from all sides.
"I'll sell my cars," Chloe said desperately. "I can get cash by tomorrow-"
"No," Ayla snapped, opening her eyes. "If you do that, he'll destroy your father's firm. I won't drag you down with me."
Ayla stood up. The exhaustion in her eyes was gone, replaced by a terrifying, cold clarity.
She walked into Chloe's guest closet and pulled out a sharp, tailored black business suit. She pulled her hair back into a tight, severe ponytail.
She walked back to the laptop and opened a hidden, encrypted partition on her hard drive.
Row after row of data appeared. It was the raw strategy files, crisis management blueprints, and media manipulation codes she had built for the Farrell Group over the last three years.
She compressed the files and uploaded them to a secure, untraceable cloud server.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," Ayla said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "He forgot that the most valuable asset in his company is in my head."
She needed a new host. A corporate leviathan big enough to swat the Farrell Group like a fly.
As the sun rose over the Manhattan skyline, Ayla walked out of Chloe's apartment carrying a small velvet pouch.
She walked into a high-end pawnshop in Lower Manhattan.
She pulled the Cartier diamond necklace Axel had put on her last night and slammed it onto the glass counter.
The pawnshop owner, a shrewd man with a jeweler's loupe, recognized her face from the tabloids. He smirked and offered her a fraction of the price.
Ayla leaned over the counter. Her eyes were dead.
She rattled off the exact cut, clarity, and the hidden serial number engraved on the clasp, proving she knew exactly what the stones were worth on the black market.
Ten minutes later, Ayla walked out of the shop with two hundred thousand dollars in untraceable cashier's checks.
Her phone buzzed. A voicemail from Axel.
Ayla pressed play.
"If you come back to the estate right now and apologize to Kristal on your knees, I'll pretend this little tantrum never happened," Axel's voice oozed with arrogant condescension.
Ayla didn't even blink. She tossed the phone directly into a sidewalk trash can.
She walked into a corner bodega, bought a cheap burner phone and a prepaid SIM card.
She dialed an encrypted number for an elite Wall Street headhunter.
"This is Spin Doctor A," Ayla said into the receiver. "I'm back on the market."
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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."