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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 7
The repo boss scrambled backward, his hands held up in a pathetic gesture of surrender.
"Hey, man, I'm just doing my job," he stuttered, his eyes darting to the guns pointed at his men. "The bank ordered the-"
He didn't get to finish the sentence.
Donovan closed the distance in three massive, terrifying strides.
His expensive leather shoe slammed against the floor before his hand shot out, grabbing the thick fabric of the boss's work shirt.
With a display of terrifying core strength, Donovan lifted the two-hundred-pound man entirely off his feet with one arm.
Donovan's face was a mask of absolute, icy fury.
He pulled his right arm back and drove his fist directly into the center of the man's face.
The crunch of the nasal bone shattering was deafening.
Blood exploded from the boss's nose, splashing across his dirty shirt. He screamed, a wet, gargling sound of agony.
Donovan didn't drop him. He slammed the man's massive body against the marble wall, shaking the entire room.
Then, Donovan raised his long leg and delivered a brutal, calculated kick to the side of the man's knee.
Crack.
The joint snapped backward at a horrifying, unnatural angle.
The boss collapsed to the floor like a sack of wet cement, howling and clutching his ruined leg.
The other repo men, trembling in terror, were swiftly struck in the back of the head with the butts of the security team's rifles. They dropped like stones and were dragged out into the hallway by Kevin's men.
Donovan stood over the weeping boss.
He slowly lifted his foot and placed the heel of his handmade Italian leather shoe directly over the boss's right hand-the same hand that had tried to tear Abigayle's coat.
Donovan shifted his weight, pressing down.
The sound of individual finger bones popping and crushing under the pressure filled the silent room.
The boss passed out from the sheer pain, his head lolling to the side.
"Crush the rest of the hand," Donovan ordered Kevin without looking away. "Make sure he never works in this city again. And for that hand... ensure he understands the price of touching what's mine."
Kevin nodded sharply, grabbing the unconscious man by the collar and dragging him out, leaving a smear of blood on the floorboards.
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Donovan shrugged off his dark suit jacket.
He turned and walked slowly toward Abigayle, who was still sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, trembling violently.
He crouched down in front of her.
With movements that were shockingly gentle compared to the violence he had just unleashed, he wrapped his warm, heavy suit jacket around her shaking shoulders.
The fabric was still radiating his body heat, carrying the sharp, masculine scent of cedar and expensive tobacco.
Abigayle flinched, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Donovan reached out. His large, calloused thumb gently brushed against her cheek, wiping away the smear of blood near her mouth.
The heat of his skin sent a strange, phantom shiver down her spine.
Abigayle jerked her head away from his touch.
"Who are you?" she rasped, her throat raw. "Why did you do that?"
Donovan let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest.
He didn't answer. Instead, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly off the floor.
"Put me down!" Abigayle gasped, instinctively grabbing his broad shoulders to steady herself.
"Stop moving," Donovan commanded, his voice vibrating against her chest. "My medical team is already treating your butler in the hallway. He will live."
He carried her across the ruined living room and set her down gently on the only piece of furniture left intact-a large leather sofa.
Abigayle sank into the cushions, pulling his jacket tightly around her neck.
Donovan didn't step back.
He leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on the armrests on either side of her, trapping her completely within the cage of his arms.
He stared down at her, his dark eyes burning with a possessive fire that made it hard for her to breathe.
"Abigayle Pena," Donovan declared, his voice a low, absolute command. "From this second forward, you, and your entire family, belong to me."
Abigayle froze.
The sheer arrogance of his words snapped her out of her shock.
A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped her lips.
"Are you insane?" she spat, glaring up at him. "I don't need your charity. Get out of my house."
Donovan leaned in closer, his face inches from hers.
"I am the only man in this city who can pull you out of the hell you just fell into," he whispered, his breath brushing her lips.
He looked at her not like a victim, but like a prize he had already claimed.
"Pena Group is dead," she fired back, her hands balling into fists in her lap. "We have nothing left to sell. So whatever you want, the answer is no."
You may also like
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.