Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground.
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Chapter 7
Vivian held the heavy black dress box against her chest with her good arm. She stood in front of Landon's desk, feeling like a prisoner waiting for the executioner's final words.
Landon walked around the mahogany desk. He looked incredibly pleased with her submission.
"Don't look so miserable, Vivian," Landon said, his tone dripping with fake magnanimity. "Once the wedding is over, you'll stay on as my assistant."
He leaned against the edge of the desk. "I'll move you into a nicer apartment in Back Bay. I'll increase your monthly allowance."
Vivian's stomach rolled. The bile rose in her throat, but she forced herself to keep her face completely blank.
"And," Landon continued, his eyes gleaming with sick generosity, "when I'm eventually tired of this arrangement in a few years, I'll make sure you're taken care of. There's a VP in equities who has always liked you. I wouldn't mind gifting you to him."
The word gifting struck Vivian like a physical blow to the head. The blood in her veins instantly turned to ice.
In Landon's eyes, she wasn't even a human being. She was a depreciating asset. A toy he could pass down to a subordinate to buy loyalty.
The sheer horror of his words burned away the last remnants of her grief. A strange, absolute numbness washed over her brain. The panic stopped. The fear stopped.
She looked at Landon. She didn't argue. She didn't scream.
"I will make sure everything goes smoothly tonight," Vivian said. Her voice was completely hollow, devoid of any human emotion.
Landon smiled, satisfied that he had finally broken her. He did not touch her. Instead, he looked at her with the cold, detached satisfaction of an owner admiring a caged animal. He gestured toward the door with his chin. "Go to the restroom and change," he ordered flatly.
Vivian turned around. The second her back faced him, the deadness in her eyes sharpened into a razor-thin focus.
She walked quickly down the hall and pushed into the women's restroom. She locked herself inside the handicap stall.
She dropped the black box onto the toilet lid. She pulled out her phone and dialed the encrypted number.
Alex Dunn answered on the first ring. "Miss Snow."
"Is the meeting still on for tonight?" Vivian asked, her breathing fast and shallow.
"Mr. Vance-Beaumont will be waiting for you at nine o'clock at the Ritz-Carlton Residences penthouse," Alex confirmed.
Vivian checked her watch. It was four in the afternoon. Five hours until she could escape this hell.
"I have one condition before I sign," Vivian said, gripping the phone tight. "I need Julian's legal team to take over the St. Agnes Orphanage land lease by tomorrow morning."
There was a one-second pause on the line.
"Consider it done," Alex replied smoothly.
Vivian hung up. She let out a long, shuddering breath. She looked at her pale face in the mirror.
She opened the black box. Inside was a blood-red, deep-V evening gown with a completely open back. It was designed to make her look cheap. It was designed to humiliate her in front of Boston's elite.
Vivian stripped off her clothes. Wincing as the fabric caught on her fiberglass cast, she pulled the red dress over her body.
She applied a coat of bright red lipstick, turning herself into the exact vulgar prop Landon wanted.
She walked out of the restroom. Gus was waiting by the elevators, his eyes sweeping over her with blatant disrespect.
Vivian lifted her chin. She stepped into the elevator, the countdown ticking in her head. Five hours.
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8.8
I woke up in a penthouse suite at the Pierre with a hangover from hell and a naked man who looked like he'd been carved from marble. Thinking he was a high-end escort I couldn't afford, I left my last hundred dollars and a petty note on the nightstand.
"Service was acceptable. Keep the change."
But when I rushed home to check on my dying father, I found the locks changed and my boyfriend, Chad, draped over my stepsister on the landing. My stepmother, Meredith, didn't even look up from her coffee as she handed me a legal folder.
She told me to sign away my inheritance or she'd stop paying for my father's life support. The hospital called seconds later, demanding fifty thousand dollars by the end of the day, or they'd pull the plug.
Meredith had already arranged my "payment": a dinner with Boris Gorsky, a predator who collected young women like trophies. I was being sold to a monster to keep my father alive, standing in a thrift-store dress while my family laughed at my ruin.
I didn't understand how my life had collapsed in twelve hours, or how my own blood could put a price tag on a man's life. I sat at that restaurant trembling, waiting for the man who would buy my soul.
Then the man from the hotel walked in. It wasn't Gorsky; it was August Sanders, the billionaire CEO of a media empire, and he was holding my hundred-dollar bill.
He didn't want an apology; he wanted a contract wife for a year. He slid a confirmation for a five-hundred-thousand-dollar hospital deposit across the table and handed me a fountain pen.
"Welcome to the firm, Mrs. Sanders."
I signed the paper with a shaking hand, knowing I was trading my freedom for my father's life. But as August handed me his black card, I realized I finally had the weapon I needed to destroy the people who thought I was nothing.
8.1
I was the "fallen princess" of New York, living in a charcoal silk cage while paying off my father’s millions in debt with my own body. My owner was Braxton Kensington, a man who looked at me with the same cold interest he gave a fluctuating stock graph.
One morning, a New York Times alert shattered the silence: Braxton was getting engaged to a billionaire socialite in the merger of the decade. When I demanded my freedom and the five-million-dollar severance promised in our contract, he just smirked and pointed to the fine print.
"In a court of law, an engagement is just an intention," he whispered, gripping my chin until it bruised. "Until I sign that marriage license, you belong to me."
He flicked a black AmEx at my feet like I was a tragic charity case, ordering me to buy a dress for his engagement gala. To save my dying mother from eviction, I took a secret translation job, only to realize my client was his new fiancée, Caroline. She dragged me to Braxton’s office to humiliate me, and after he hid me in a secret room to avoid a scandal, he branded me a "security risk" and froze every cent I had.
I stood in a CVS with my last sixty dollars, swallowing a Plan B pill dry while watching a news report about Braxton demolishing my family’s last legacy. He didn't just want my body; he wanted to erase my entire existence and leave me with nothing.
The cruelty was breathtaking, but Braxton forgot that a woman with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous player in the game. I reached out to the only man he truly feared—his billionaire half-brother and the boy whose heart I broke years ago, Ansel Neal.
"Coffee isn't enough," Ansel replied to my message in seconds. "Dinner. Our old spot. 8 PM."
As I walked into the club to meet Braxton's greatest rival, I knew the game wasn't over. I was just changing the rules.
9.1
Alysia lay on the freezing operating table, moments away from donating her kidney to her brother's fiancée.
But as the anesthesia set in, a violent shock tore through her brain, awakening agonizing memories of a thousand brutal deaths across a thousand past lifetimes.
She suddenly realized her family's true plan. Her brother and his fiancée weren't just taking her organ; they were secretly plotting to declare her mentally unfit post-surgery to steal her entire trust fund.
When Alysia abruptly stopped the procedure and exposed the fiancée's kidney failure as the result of severe drug abuse, her family's reaction was chilling.
Her father didn't care about the truth or the law. He ordered his bodyguards to lock Alysia up until she agreed to the surgery, while her brother threatened to freeze her assets and seize her late mother's penthouse.
"You have no heart, Alysia. You don't deserve the Kent name," her aunt spat in disgust.
For lifetimes, she had kept her head down, taking the blame and sacrificing everything for a family that viewed her as nothing more than a disposable blood bag and a financial pawn.
The resignation that had clouded her eyes for so long vanished, replaced by the absolute, zero-degree cold of a glacier.
Ripping the IV from her hand and leaving her family in stunned silence, Alysia walked straight out of the hospital.
She had exactly forty-six hours to find a husband to secure her inheritance, and she knew exactly which ruthless billionaire CEO to target to help her burn the Kent family to the ground.
9.0
On their seventh wedding anniversary, Kiley's billionaire husband, Aden, slid a thick stack of papers across the restaurant table.
It was a petition for divorce.
He was leaving her for his college sweetheart. Thanks to a ruthless prenup, Kiley was being thrown out with absolutely nothing.
That very night, their young son Jules was rushed to the ER, bleeding profusely. The doctor's diagnosis was a death sentence: acute leukemia.
When Kiley frantically called Aden for help, he dismissed the emergency as a simple nosebleed.
"I'm not paying for this. Deal with it," Aden sneered, the sound of his mistress giggling in the background.
To force Kiley to sign the divorce papers, Aden froze all her credit cards and canceled their son's health insurance. He refused to pay a single cent for the chemotherapy.
Even Kiley's adoptive parents sided with the wealthy Aden, calling her a burden and telling her to stop fighting him.
Driven to the brink of despair, with a dying child and no money, Kiley didn't understand how a father could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.
Until a news article on a friend's phone caught her eye.
It featured a fallen 9/11 firefighter hero from the ultra-wealthy Whitfield family. The man in the photo looked exactly like Jules, down to the very bone structure.
Kiley's mind raced back to the fertility clinic and the anonymous sperm donor.
Could this dead billionaire hero be her son's biological father?
Looking at her sleeping, fragile boy, Kiley wiped her tears and crushed the divorce papers in her hand.
She was going to find the Whitfield family, save her son, and make Aden lose everything he held dear.
8.4
For three years, Sophia Carter was the perfect wife to billionaire CEO Alexander Kingsley. She loved him quietly while he treated her like a stranger.
When his first love suddenly returns, Sophia is falsely accused and thrown out of the Kingsley mansion with nothing but humiliation.
The divorce shatters her heart-but it also frees her.
What Alexander never knew was that Sophia was never ordinary. She was the hidden heiress of a powerful empire.
Three years later, she returns-richer, stronger, and untouchable.
Now the man who once discarded her is desperate to win her back.
But this time, the woman he abandoned is no longer the same girl.
And revenge has never looked so beautiful.
9.8
Adeline's stepmother had secretly drugged her for years, turning a child genius into a drooling, mentally disabled laughingstock just so her stepsister could steal her life.
But when her greedy father sold her off to Griffin Herring—a violent, untouchable billionaire psychopath—to save his company, things took a deadly turn.
Before the wedding, Griffin attacked her in a dark alley, nearly snapping her neck before stealing her grandfather's silver necklace.
That necklace held a micro-drive with her family's deepest secrets, and without it, she had nothing.
Back at the estate, her situation only worsened. Her stepsister Damaris paraded around in the Herring family's diamond engagement gifts, trying to force-feed Adeline wet dog food on an Instagram live stream.
When Adeline's calculated "clumsiness" ruined the video, her furious father locked her in a damp, rusted basement.
"Give her to the psycho," her stepmother hissed through the door. "Let him lock her away forever."
Listening from the shadows, Adeline's fists clenched until her palms bled.
Her supposed mental fog wasn't a tragedy—it was a calculated assassination of her mind. They had destroyed her childhood and were now throwing her to a monster just to keep the billions.
The dull, empty look in Adeline's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a razor-sharp, chilling clarity.
She pulled a thin surgical needle from her messy bun and picked the heavy iron padlock in ten seconds. It was time to break into the billionaire's penthouse, take back her necklace, and tear them all apart.