Discarded Fiancée: The Tech King's True Queen
I returned to New York for my welcome-home party, expecting a warm embrace from Edwin, my devoted fiancé of twenty years.
Instead, his first words to me were a cold, public warning to stay away from his new girlfriend, Kacy.
He stood in my family's hotel, shielding a girl I had never even met, and painted me as a vicious, jealous bully.
"She is very sensitive, Kaitlyn. Her background is tough. Please, be gentle with her. Don't upset her."
He humiliated me in front of our entire elite circle, allowing them to mock me as the aggressive, discarded ex while he carried her away like a fragile princess.
For twenty years, I had been his loyal shadow, fixing his mistakes and loving him unconditionally.
I couldn't understand how decades of deep devotion could be instantly erased by a few crocodile tears and a manipulative damsel act.
He was absolutely certain I would throw a tantrum, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his attention.
But he was wrong.
He didn't know that Everett Rowe, a billionaire tech mogul, had been patiently waiting five years to marry me.
He also didn't know that during my three years abroad, I wasn't just studying art—I became "K.B.", the ruthless Wall Street predator who could swallow his family's empire whole.
I calmly pulled out my phone, ignored the mocking whispers around me, and typed a single message to Everett.
"Yes. I'll marry you."
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Chapter 6
Kaitlyn Barton POV:
"I'm coming over."
The words sank into me, a promise of reinforcement, of rescue. The trembling in my limbs stilled, replaced by a strange, newfound strength. I ended the call, my thumb moving with a decisiveness I hadn't felt in years. My gaze swept over Edwin’s apoplectic face and the sea of curious, judgmental onlookers, and for the first time, I felt nothing but a cool, distant calm.
Then, a shift rippled through the crowd. Like the parting of the Red Sea, a path cleared from the grand entrance of the ballroom. A presence, powerful and impossible to ignore, was moving through the room.
A man, tall and broad-shouldered in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, walked with a steady, unhurried pace. He moved as if he owned the space, as if every person in it was merely a part of the scenery. His handsome face was impassive, but his dark, intense eyes were locked on me, and me alone.
The cacophony of whispers died down, silenced by the sheer force of his aura. This was a man accustomed to command, to having rooms fall silent when he entered. It was an authority that wasn't demanded, but simply was.
I saw Edwin’s eyes widen, his jaw going slack. He recognized him. I could see the dawning horror on his face. This wasn't some random man; this was Everett Rowe, the tech titan whose face graced the covers of business magazines Edwin pretended to read.
A toxic mix of jealousy and confusion flooded Edwin's expression. *How could Kaitlyn know him?*
Everett stopped in front of me. He didn't spare a glance for Edwin or anyone else. His world, in that moment, had narrowed to me. He raised a hand, his touch impossibly gentle as he brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek.
My skin, cold with shock and adrenaline, tingled at the warmth of his fingers. It was a simple, tender gesture that felt more intimate than any touch Edwin had given me in years.
Then, he shrugged out of his suit jacket. Without a word, he draped it over my bare shoulders, enveloping me in its warmth. The fine wool was heavy, a comforting weight that shielded me from the prying eyes and the chill of the air-conditioned room. It smelled of him—a clean, subtle scent of cedarwood and something uniquely his.
For the first time all night, I felt safe. I felt seen. It was a warmth that asked for nothing in return.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes asked the question for him: *Are you ready to leave?*
I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Everett’s hand settled on my shoulder, a firm, protective weight. He turned me, and together, we began to walk away, leaving the wreckage of my old life behind.
Edwin finally snapped out of his stupor. "Stop! Kaitlyn, you can't go with him!"
Everett didn't break his stride. He merely glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes cold and sharp as chips of ice. The look was filled with such profound dismissal, such utter contempt, that Edwin’s words died in his throat.
The mood in the room had shifted entirely. The pity and scorn directed at me were gone, replaced by awe and a dawning understanding of the power dynamics at play.
"Oh my god, that's Everett Rowe of Rowe Technologies."
"What is he doing with Kaitlyn Barton?"
"Looks like Edwin Brown picked a fight with the wrong guy."
I saw Kacy's face. It was pale, her carefully constructed composure crumbling. Everett Rowe was a variable she could never have predicted, a force of nature far beyond her manipulative grasp.
As we neared the exit, two men in dark suits materialized, forming a discreet but impenetrable barrier between us and the swarming reporters. I was tucked against Everett’s side, shielded from the flashing cameras and shouted questions.
For the first time, I knew what it felt like to be truly protected.
The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside. A black Bentley was waiting at the curb, the engine purring softly. The door was opened for us, and Everett guided me inside.
The heavy door closed, shutting out the chaos of the world. Inside, it was warm and silent. Everett handed me a bottle of water without a word. Then, he reached into a leather portfolio beside him and pulled out a document.
He passed it to me, his voice calm and gentle, a stark contrast to the storm we had just weathered.
"This is what I've prepared for you. You can use it anytime."
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9.5
The disgraced daughter of the Patton family is back from the countryside.At the news, everyone spurned her with contempt!
A good-for-nothing young lady, a crude village wench, a vicious devil...
Until one day--The world-famous life-saving medical sovereign is her.The enigmatic top forensic specialist is her.The grandmaster hacker hunted across the globe is also her.
One hidden identity of the young miss came to light after another.Shocked and dumbfounded, the crowd fell to their knees to beg for forgiveness.
In an instant, Evie was cornered by the mysterious powerhouse.Hartwell's voice lured and mesmerized:"Darling, you have countless secret identities. Would you mind taking on one more, being my wife!"
7.9
I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash.
But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love.
When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages.
"Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting."
Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance.
"The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!"
My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost.
And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead.
The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt.
When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.
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.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
7.1
For six years, I played the pathetic, wolfless Omega to honor the dying wish of the late Alpha who protected me.
But on our sixth anniversary, my fated mate, Alpha Kian, was photographed looking tenderly at his mistress.
When he finally stormed into our penthouse, he didn't apologize. Instead, he threw a fifty-million-dollar check onto the bed.
"Take the money and accept my rejection obediently, or I'll show you what happens when you defy an Alpha."
To force my compliance, he terminated all trade agreements with my best friend's pack, pushing them to the brink of bankruptcy. He accused me of blackmailing his grandfather into our marriage, entirely blind to the fact that his beloved mistress was actually a banished, feral Rogue.
I had spent six years swallowing my pride, drinking toxic herbs to suppress my true White Wolf scent, and enduring his absolute disgust just to keep his pack safe.
Why did I bleed for a man who despised my very existence?
I looked at the blood money, and the suffocating sorrow in my chest was instantly replaced by white-hot fury.
I didn't take a single cent. Instead, I submitted the rejection papers myself, dropped my pathetic disguise, and walked out into the freezing rain.
A towering warrior with a black umbrella dropped to one knee before me in the mud.
It was time to stop hiding and return home as the billionaire heir of the legendary Silvermoon Pack.
9.2
I was a broke freelance copywriter, tortured for three sleepless nights by an impossible corporate client.
Needing to vent, I typed out a wild, highly inappropriate rant mocking the brand's stiff heritage.
But in my exhausted, sleep-deprived blur, I accidentally sent the massive block of text to the wrong chat.
The recipient wasn't my friend. It was Emerson Beard, the elite, ruthless brand consultant I was supposed to desperately network with.
I waited for the professional execution, terrified of the massive five-figure penalty fee hanging over my head.
Instead, he didn't block me. He critiqued my unhinged draft.
He saved my career through late-night, encrypted phone calls, his deep, commanding voice becoming my only lifeline.
But when I heard a woman with a sultry French accent knocking on his hotel door during our call, my ugly jealousy flared.
I yelled at him and hung up, completely humiliating myself.
I thought I was just a pathetic, annoying workaholic interrupting his romantic getaway.
But he texted back to clarify he was entirely single, and in the process, realized I was actually twenty-five, not a fresh-out-of-school teenager like he had assumed.
The cold, distant mentor instantly vanished.
In his place was a man radiating a raw, aggressive, and predatory energy that bled right through the screen.
"Texting is too inefficient. The full integration requires face-to-face communication."
He dropped a location pin for an ultra-exclusive Manhattan club, demanding I meet him to save my contract.
Wearing a desperately bought emerald silk dress, I pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping right into the trap of a man who had just taken off his leash.