
Claimed By My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle
Abigayle was the proud heir to the Pena Group, living a perfect life and engaged to Jeffery Sullivan.
But the morning after a charity gala, she woke up drugged in a hotel room, blinded by paparazzi cameras. Her fiancé and her best friend stood at the foot of the bed, throwing a forged pregnancy report at her face to publicly frame her for cheating.
The betrayal was only the beginning of the slaughter. Before she could even clear her name, the Sullivan family ruthlessly bankrupted her family's company overnight. Her father was rushed to the ICU with a heart attack, her brother was run off the road into a coma, and violent repo men raided her penthouse. Just as she was thrown out into the freezing rain, Jeffery's terrifying uncle, Donovan Sullivan—the very mastermind who engineered her family's ruin—stepped in. He offered to cover the life-saving medical bills, but only if she agreed to become his personal plaything.
Abigayle's blood turned to ice. She couldn't understand how the people she trusted most could plot such a vicious, coordinated destruction just to break an engagement. How dared the man who destroyed her entire family stand there playing the savior, trying to buy her body with her own stolen wealth?
Facing a $100,000 hospital deadline and abandoned by everyone she knew, she didn't shed another tear.
"I will never beg him."
Clutching her last diamond bracelet, she hailed a cab straight to the biggest pawnshop in the Diamond District. The Sullivans thought they had buried her, but her counterattack was just beginning.
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Chapter 6
The repo boss loomed over Abigayle, his massive frame blocking out the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The stench of his unwashed body and cheap cologne made Abigayle's stomach churn.
He reached down, his thick, dirty fingers grabbing the lapels of her black trench coat.
With a brutal yank, he hauled her up from the floor, pinning her back against the cold marble wall.
Abigayle was forced onto her tiptoes.
The glass cuts on the soles of her feet tore open further, fresh blood sliding down her heels and pooling on the hardwood floor.
"Let's see what you're hiding under here," the boss sneered, his hot breath fanning across her face as his hand moved toward the buttons of her coat.
Abigayle didn't scream. She didn't beg.
She locked her eyes onto his, her jaw tight, and drove her right knee upward with every ounce of explosive force she had left.
Her knee connected solidly with his groin.
The boss let out a high-pitched, guttural shriek.
His hands instantly released her coat as he doubled over, clutching himself, his face turning a mottled purple.
Abigayle hit the floor. Ignoring the agonizing pain in her feet, she spun around and sprinted toward the open double doors of the penthouse.
She only made it three steps.
Two of the other repo men tackled her from behind.
The heavy weight of their bodies slammed her face-first onto the floor.
The rough wood scraped the skin off her cheekbone, sending a sharp sting through her face.
She thrashed wildly, kicking her legs and twisting her torso like a trapped animal.
She sank her teeth into the forearm of the man holding her right shoulder.
The man cursed loudly, ripping his arm away, and delivered a vicious backhand slap across her face.
The blow made Abigayle's ears ring, black spots dancing in her vision.
The boss, still wheezing, limped over to where she was pinned.
His eyes were bloodshot with rage. He grabbed a fistful of her wet hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him.
"I'm gonna ruin that pretty face," he hissed, spit flying from his lips.
He grabbed the collar of her trench coat and pulled hard.
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as three buttons popped off, scattering across the floor.
"Stop! Please!" Thaddeus cried out.
The old butler dragged his battered body across the floor, desperately wrapping his arms around the boss's thick ankle.
The boss looked down in disgust.
He raised his steel-toed boot and brought it down hard on Thaddeus's chest.
Thaddeus let out a weak, agonizing grunt as the breath was forced from his lungs. He collapsed onto the hardwood floor, curling inward before going completely limp.
"Thaddeus!" Abigayle shrieked, the sound tearing her vocal cords.
The last thread of her sanity snapped.
She twisted violently, her hand blindly sweeping across the floor until her fingers wrapped around the heavy base of a solid brass sculpture that had fallen from a side table.
With a scream of pure rage, she swung the brass statue upward, aiming directly for the boss's skull.
The boss reacted just in time.
He caught her wrist mid-swing. His massive hand clamped down on her delicate bones and twisted sharply.
The sickening sound of cartilage grinding made Abigayle gasp.
Her fingers went numb, and the heavy brass statue slipped from her grasp, crashing onto the floor and leaving a deep dent in the wood.
The boss dropped his weight onto her, pinning her completely. His hand reached for the edge of the towel hidden beneath her torn coat.
Despair, cold and absolute, finally washed over her. Her struggles weakened, hot tears finally spilling over her eyelashes.
Just as his filthy fingers brushed her skin, a heavy, synchronized sound of boots marching down the hallway vibrated through the floorboards.
Outside the open doors, the screams of the remaining repo men erupted, followed by the heavy thuds of bodies being slammed into the walls.
The men pinning Abigayle froze. The boss stopped, his head snapping toward the entrance.
A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette stepped into the doorway, blocking the light from the corridor.
Donovan Sullivan stood there.
He looked like a god of war stepping onto a battlefield. His custom suit clung to his muscular frame, and the aura of pure, unadulterated violence radiating from him instantly dropped the temperature in the room to freezing.
Behind him, Kevin Rich and four heavily armed security contractors flooded the room, their weapons drawn and leveled at the repo men.
Donovan's dark, lethal eyes scanned the room.
They locked onto Abigayle-pinned to the floor, her coat torn, her cheek bleeding, tears tracking through the dirt on her face.
Donovan's pupils dilated into black voids.
He slowly reached up with one hand and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
He stared dead at the repo boss still hovering over Abigayle, his voice a quiet, terrifying rumble.
"Death wish."
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8.7
Brought back from a humble life in Montana, Nora found out she was the true biological heiress of the ultra-wealthy Beaumont family.
But her biological parents didn't love her; they loved the fake daughter, Olivia, much more.
The moment she arrived, her father pushed an engagement termination agreement across his massive desk, forcing her to give up her wealthy fiancé so Olivia could have him.
Her mother looked at her with pure disdain.
"You should know your place. Don't reach for things that were never meant for you."
To break her spirit, they moved her into a cramped, dusty servant's room. They even ordered the butler to feed her cold kitchen scraps and gristle.
They wanted to humiliate her, to make her feel like a piece of trash rather than a daughter.
They expected her to cry, to beg, and to be absolutely crushed by the realization that her own flesh and blood saw her only as a liability to their reputation.
They thought the country girl would easily fold under their united front of cruelty.
But Nora felt no sting of betrayal, only the calculating clarity of a chess player.
She calmly signed the paper, pulled out the Beaumont family trust rules, and looked them dead in the eye.
"Since I am the legal heir, I demand what belongs to me. I'm taking the master bedroom."

9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."

9.3
He was supposed to be my brother. The cold CEO everyone feared. The man who controlled the entire country's business world.
But one night, he looked at me and calmly destroyed everything I thought I knew.
"We're getting married."
I laughed, but he didn't.
Now every door in my life is closing, every choice is disappearing, and the one man I'm not supposed to love refuses to let me go.
Because to Lucien Hale, this was never forbidden. It was inevitable.
And the most terrifying part? The closer I get to him, the harder it becomes to run.

9.2
Arla was supposed to marry Clinton Freeman, the perfect fiancé who had promised to love her and protect her five-year-old son.
But instead, the cold steel of a dagger pierced her chest.
As she collapsed onto the freezing basement floor, she watched her adoptive sister Blair laugh.
"Look at her," Blair sneered, kicking her son's small, blue, lifeless body.
Clinton stood there, calmly wiping the bloody blade on a pristine handkerchief.
In her dying moments, the horrifying truth became clear. Her fiancé and her adoptive family had been plotting all along to steal her massive trust fund.
To break her, they had secretly tortured her child. Clinton had watched Blair pierce the little boy's arms with sewing needles, rewarding him with candy to keep him silent.
Arla's lungs burned with the taste of copper and ash.
She couldn't understand why the family she trusted could be so monstrous, or why they had to brutally murder an innocent child just for money.
The darkness swallowed her whole, drowning her in suffocating hatred and absolute despair.
Then, she gasped for air.
The concrete floor was gone, replaced by the silk sheets of a hotel penthouse suite.
Arla had been reborn to the exact night six years ago—the very day Blair first dragged her son into the dark attic.
This time, she picked up a solid silver letter opener, ready to burn them all to the ground.

9.2
Lainey spent her last life destroying herself for Larry, only to become the woman he discarded most cruelly. He never loved her, never wanted her, and made no secret that his first love still owned his heart.
On their wedding day, he abandoned Lainey at the altar for that woman, then later used Lainey as nothing more than a stepping stone for his company's rise. In the end, he even had her kidney ripped from her.
Reborn at the very moment everything began, Lainey called off the wedding without hesitation. But after losing her, Larry begged desperately.
Lainey shot him a cold look, then turned and walked straight into the arms of a powerful, aloof man, who stared down at Larry with pure contempt. "She's my wife now."

8.9
My family's company went bankrupt, and my biological father was lying in the ICU, kept alive by machines that cost tens of thousands a day.
I thought it was just a tragic business failure, until I caught my mother in bed with my stepfather.
They had secretly transferred all our assets months ago, deliberately bankrupting the company and leaving my father to die.
To pay the hospital bills, my stepfather forced me to a private club, trying to sell me to a sleazy investor.
When I refused, he slapped me across the face, and my mother just looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"Be realistic, Jaelynn. A woman's body is a tool. Use it to get what you need."
Later, right before my father's emergency surgery, my stepfather signed a Do Not Resuscitate order and froze the medical accounts.
"If you don't get on your knees and spread your legs for him, I will tell the hospital to pull your father's plug."
Standing in the freezing rain, covered in mud and blood, I stared at the astronomical hospital bill in my hand.
My own family had plotted to murder my father and sell me to the highest bidder. The betrayal shattered every ounce of sanity I had left.
I didn't cry or beg them anymore.
Instead, I pulled out a water-stained, gold-embossed business card.
It belonged to Dolph Valentine, the most ruthless billionaire in New York and my ex-fiancé's uncle.
If they wanted to destroy my life, I was going to sell my soul to the biggest monster of them all and drag them straight to hell.