
Claimed By The Arrogant Billionaire
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Eva Brooks, a 25-year-old woman, was set up by her best friend. Her fiancé broke up with her and demanded compensation for allegedly cheating on him.
Eva had a one-night stand with the richest CEO in Dominic City, Ethan Owen. He was arrogant and offered her a job as his secretary.
As his secretary, Ethan couldn't shake his fondness for Eva. He became obsessed with her, worrying that she was cheating on him.
He broke up with his fiancée to become engaged to Eva, but will his fiancée let him go? Will Eva accept a relationship with her boss?
Claimed By The Arrogant Billionaire Chapter 1
Eva's POV:
It was a bright Saturday morning. A ray of sunlight seeped into the room and landed on my face.
I woke up in bed with a throbbing headache. When I shifted my hand, I was stunned to touch another person lying next to me.
"What? Who are you!" I gasped, sitting up immediately.
The man had a sharp jawline, full brows, and thin lips.
I looked at my body and was stunned to find myself naked in bed with him.
"Who the hell are you!" I yelled, before the events of the previous night hit me hard.
Layla Parker had invited me to celebrate her birthday at the hotel. Layla came from a rich family. She was 24 years old, fair-skinned, and my best friend from college.
Though Layla came from a wealthy family, I came from a struggling home. She promised I would have fun at her party, even when I didn't want to go. I agreed, and now I was in bed with an unknown man.
"I should be the one asking you what the hell you're doing on my bed. This is a VIP suite. How did you get in here, miss?" asked the handsome man as he shifted away from me. I was stunned by his masculine physique—broad chest, chiseled abs, and six-pack.
"Don't drool at me like that. Get up and get out!" he barked. I refused.
"I am a virgin. I am not a prostitute, and you slept with me. Is this how you take responsibility for your actions? How did we end up entangled in this bed?" I sobbed, unable to believe I had sex with an unknown man. He ignored me, pulled the bedsheet away from my body, and wrapped it around himself.
When he went into the bathroom, the sound of running water filled my ears. The entrance door swung open, and Layla walked in with Jacob Stone, my fiancé.
"So this is what you do, Eva. You hook up, after everything I did to support you," Jacob accused me, standing at the door with Layla.
"No, Jacob. I don't know what happened. Layla, you invited me to your party. How did I end up with that stranger in the bathroom?" I asked my best friend, needing her help.
Layla wore a short blue dress and black shoes, and she clung to Jacob's arm like she was his girlfriend.
"Jacob, I don't know what Eva is saying. She came to my party and told me she was looking forward to meeting a rich guy in this luxury five-star hotel—the Owen's Hotel. I honestly don't know how she got here until I asked the security men," Layla lied, and Jacob believed her.
"I cannot believe you would do this, Eva. After everything I did to feed you, sponsor you—this is how you repay me. It's over between us," Jacob said, glaring at me.
"You never let me touch you, and now you gave your body willingly to another man. I want back all the money I spent on feeding and clothing you for the five years we dated. Fail to do that, and I will have you arrested. Trust me," Jacob said. He pulled his hand away from Layla and walked out of the hotel room.
Layla glanced at me and smiled. "Do you think you deserve a rich man like Jacob? Look at you, Eva. A poor woman like you cannot climb to the top of the ladder of wealth and power in this Dominic City. Return to the slum where you belong, and don't worry about Jacob—I will take care of him." Layla smirked and walked out, slamming the door with a deafening sound.
Tears flooded down my cheeks as I sat on the bed, speechless. "Where would I get the money to pay Jacob now?"
Jacob had promised to marry me after I graduated, and now Layla had ruined everything—after I graduated this year.
Wiping the tears off my cheeks, I knew crying didn't solve anything. But I wouldn't just leave. I needed an explanation from the man in the bathroom.
How dare he use me, knowing I was intoxicated, and yet act like I had taken advantage of him?
I waited for the man to get out, grabbing my clothes from last night that I saw sprawled on the floor—a green dress I had worn to Layla's birthday party.
A knock on the entrance door startled me again. I quickly used the green dress to cover my chest and shield my nakedness.
A tall man in a black suit entered the room. Seeing me using the green dress to shield my chest, he lowered his head and apologized, "I am sorry, miss. Where is Mr. Owen?"
"Mr. Owen? Who?" I asked, confused. The bathroom door opened, and the handsome man who had taken care of me stepped out.
"Leave, Pete. I will call for you later," he said.
"Okay, boss," the tall man in black replied. My eyes widened. This handsome stranger was a boss. Who was he, and why did the tall man call him boss?
But the man ignored me and went to get his clothes ready.
"Mr. Owen, you cannot take advantage of me without an explanation. I was drunk last night, and I bet you were drunk too," I said, my tone accusing him as he wore his shirt and buckled it.
Turning to face me with his sharp green eyes, he replied, "I wasn't drunk. But how do I know you were drunk, when you came into my room, offered yourself to me, and kissed me first? Do you need me to replay the footage to see what you did?"
"No, I…" I was lost for words. "I would never do that. You are accusing me wrongly," I said, my voice quivering, as I didn't remember doing any of that.
"I see," Mr. Owen smirked, walked over, and picked up his phone.
"Have a look," he said, playing a video from last night on his phone.
In the video, I couldn't believe my eyes. I barged into his room, rushed to the bed, mounted him, and started kissing him.
"I don't remember doing that. That's not me. And how do you have the video on your phone?" I asked accusingly. He smirked.
"Don't play dumb with me, young lady. I own this hotel and the Owen's Group in Dominic City. If anyone needs compensation between us, it's me. You took advantage of me, and I only helped you when I sensed you were drugged. If I hadn't slept with you, who knows what damage would have happened to your body? So you should compensate me," he smirked, and my jaw dropped.
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Claimed By The Arrogant Billionaire of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels

9.4
I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.

8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.

7.9
Allyson was the most hated actress in Hollywood, forced to wear a cheap, tearing gown after America's sweetheart, Joanne, stole her S-tier role.
During a red carpet disaster, Allyson tripped and fell—straight into the arms of the untouchable megastar, Byron Estes.
The internet exploded, accusing Allyson of faking the fall to seduce him. Drowning in bad press and desperate to pay her agency's termination fee, she signed a reality TV contract. She was forced to play the desperate, clingy villain, acting as a pathetic stepping stone for Joanne and Byron's highly anticipated on-screen romance.
"You could throw yourself at Byron a hundred times, and you'd still never make it into his bed," Joanne mocked.
What Joanne and the furious public didn't know was that three years ago, when Byron was in a horrific crash, Joanne had abandoned him. It was Allyson who stayed.
Even more absurd? Allyson and Byron were actually secretly married, bound by a multi-million dollar NDA.
Determined to play her villainous role and get paid, Allyson memorized a book of cringe-inducing pickup lines, ready to disgust her secret husband on live television.
"The stars are in the sky. But you... are in my heart."
She expected the ice-cold superstar to push her away in disgust. Instead, when another male guest got too close to her, Byron completely shattered his untouchable facade, his eyes burning with a lethal, undeniable possessiveness that sent the internet into absolute chaos.

9.2
She loved him until she lost herself.
Now, behind locked doors and shattered glass, she must learn to breathe again.
When she first met Lloyd, he was magnetic and intoxicating. The kind of man who turned every head when he entered a room, who spoke in promises sweet enough to taste. With him, she felt chosen, cherished, and safe.
But safety was an illusion, and love became a weapon.
And slowly, piece by piece, he dismantled her until nothing of the woman she once was remained.
Now institutionalized after a breakdown, she begins to piece together the brutal truth of what really happened in the shadows of their love story. Memories sting like open wounds: the manipulation disguised as tenderness, the apologies that blurred into threats, the desperate hope that tomorrow he'd be the man she fell for again.
Yet beneath the grief and the shame, a quiet rebellion stirs, a vow to reclaim her voice, her freedom, and her life. Because this is not just a story of how she fell apart. It is a story of how she rises.
Haunting, raw, and achingly intimate, Boys like him peels back the glittering mask of a toxic love affair to reveal the kind of darkness that hides in plain sight, and the unbreakable strength it takes to escape it.

8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?

8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.











