Discarded Wife: The Secret Billionaire Heiress
I spent three years playing the role of a submissive, small-town wife for Evertt Baker, trading my true identity for a quiet life in a Manhattan penthouse. I thought my devotion would be enough to build a real home, but I was just a placeholder in his grand design.
The illusion shattered at 2 AM when Evertt walked in smelling of Chanel No. 5-the signature scent of his mistress, Adda. Without a word of apology, he dropped divorce papers on the table, demanding I sign them immediately so he could finally be with the woman he truly loved.
He looked at me with pure disgust, flicking a five-million-dollar check toward me as if he were paying off an incompetent employee. He told me it was more money than anyone from my "trailer park" background would ever see and ordered me to hurry because Adda was waiting in the car downstairs. He didn't care that I had spent years nursing him through illness and tolerating his family's insults; he only cared about his own convenience.
The sheer arrogance of his payout and the blatant disrespect of bringing his mistress to our home was the final blow. I realized that the man I loved never actually saw me, only the submissive shadow I had forced myself to become.
I signed the papers with a fluid scrawl he didn't bother to check, then I fed his millions into the office shredder. I pulled a hidden, encrypted device from a kitchen drawer and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.
"Brother," I said, my voice finally steady. "Come get me. The game is over."
Evertt thought he was discarding a penniless nobody, but he was about to find out that he had just declared war on the Stafford empire.
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Chapter 7
Kiley's bedroom had been transformed into a war room. Blueprints covered the Persian rug. Financial spreadsheets were taped to the silk wallpaper.
Bradley leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "You know, you could just fire everyone. We have the money to pay out the severance."
"No," Kiley said, tracing a line on the HVAC schematic. "If I just fire them, I don't find the rot. I need to know who enabled Goss. I need to know how deep it goes."
She pointed to a section of the hotel layout. "The Ballroom. The acoustics are terrible because they used cheap insulation in the walls during the last renovation. That was a Baker Corp construction job."
"You learned acoustics?" Bradley raised an eyebrow.
"I had a lot of free time, Bradley," Kiley said, her voice tight. "While Evertt was out at 'business dinners' with Adda, I wasn't just sitting around. I was managing my own shadow portfolio, refreshing my engineering certifications, and studying architectural diagnostics. I kept my mind sharp so my heart wouldn't kill me."
Keegan walked in, tossing an apple in the air. "Evertt really is an idiot. He had a Ferrari in the garage and treated it like a Honda Civic."
"He didn't want a Ferrari," Kiley muttered. "He wanted a mirror."
Liam knocked on the open door. "Miss Stafford, the car is ready. An Audi A8, as requested. Low profile."
"Good." Kiley grabbed her briefcase. She paused. "Liam, did Evertt's office call?"
"Three times this morning," Liam smirked. "I told them the GM is currently conducting a 'spiritual cleansing' of the office and cannot be disturbed."
Kiley laughed. "Perfect. Let him sweat."
"Before you go," Isam's voice boomed from the hallway.
The patriarch walked in. He was holding a black velvet case. It was old, the fabric worn in places.
Kiley's breath hitched. "Grandfather's cello."
Isam placed it gently on the bed. "You haven't played in three years. Since the... accident."
He looked at her left hand. There was a faint, thin scar running across her palm. Evertt believed it was from a broken wine glass he had dropped during a drunken argument years ago-a convenient lie Kiley had let him believe. In reality, the glass had merely aggravated an older, far more significant injury she had sustained years prior, one she never spoke of.
"The doctors said the hand is healed physically," Isam said softly. "The stiffness is in your head."
Kiley touched the velvet case. She could almost hear the deep, mournful resonance of the wood. "I can't, Dad. Not yet."
"Take it with you," Isam commanded. "Put it in your office. Let it remind you of who you are. You are a virtuoso, Kiley. Not a victim."
Kiley nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Okay."
She picked up the case. It was heavy, but it felt right. Like a limb she had forgotten she had.
Downstairs, the brothers walked her to the car.
Keegan slipped a small canister into her pocket. "Pepper spray. Military grade. If Goss gets handsy-and he will-blind him."
Bradley handed her a sleek black credit card. It had no numbers, just the Stafford crest. "Infinite limit. If the hotel needs something, buy it. Don't ask for permission."
Kiley hugged them both. "I'll make you proud."
"You already do," Bradley said.
She got into the backseat of the Audi. As the car pulled away from the safety of the estate, Kiley watched the trees blur past. She touched the scar on her hand.
She wasn't going to the hotel to play music. She was going to play the reaper.
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9.8
Blurb (Synopsis)
Outspoken florist Elara Vance thought she was storming a billionaire's empire to reclaim her mother's stolen legacy. Instead, she walked into a trap-and walked out bound by a marriage contract.
As Elara and the cold, calculated Julian Vane clash in a world of opulence and deceit, a dangerous attraction ignites. But in the Vane family, secrets are deadlier than scandals. When the price of honor becomes their very survival, Elara must decide if the man she's forced to marry is her greatest enemy-or her only hope.
9.7
For three years, I endured being treated like a walking ATM and a maid by my husband's family, biting my tongue to keep the peace.
Then, my husband's buddy suddenly dropped off a nine-year-old boy at my front door.
The crumpled note from my husband casually explained it was his illegitimate son, blaming me for being barren and demanding I raise the kid as our own.
My mother-in-law was absolutely thrilled, parading the boy around as the true heir at the dinner table.
"Some trees just don't bear fruit, no matter how much water you give them," she sneered.
My brother-in-law cheered, and my drunk father-in-law demanded I cook a feast to celebrate.
They actually expected me to continue paying the mortgage, buying the groceries, and cleaning up their endless messes, all while raising the living proof of my husband's betrayal.
I looked at the parasites who had drained me dry for years, acting like they were doing me a favor by letting me stay in a house that my money paid for.
I didn't scream, and I didn't cry.
I simply called my lawyer to file for an immediate divorce, froze every single bank account and credit card they relied on, and drove off to my grandmother's secluded cabin in the woods.
Let them see how long they survive without my money.
8.7
Ada was eight months pregnant, sitting peacefully in her husband's Manhattan estate, looking at a baby nursery catalog.
Suddenly, her husband's mistress, Jacklyn, walked in, threw an ultrasound photo on the table, and locked the door.
Before Ada could process the betrayal, Jacklyn dragged her to the top of the marble staircase and threw herself backward just as Desmond walked through the front doors.
"She pushed me, Desmond! She tried to kill our baby!"
Desmond looked at Ada with absolute hatred.
He ignored Ada's breaking water and her agonizing screams for help, leaving her to miscarry on the freezing floor while he rushed Jacklyn to the hospital.
He sent Ada to a brutal federal prison for three years, where she was tortured and left with a body covered in horrific scars, mourning the baby she was told died at birth.
When Ada was finally released, Desmond destroyed her cousin's company to force her back to his estate as a lowly maid.
But when Ada saw Jacklyn's three-year-old son, her world stopped.
Right in the center of the little boy's palm was a faint crescent moon birthmark.
It was the exact same mark Ada had kissed on her own lifeless baby's tiny hand before the doctors took his body away.
How did her dead child become Jacklyn's little prince?
Looking at the woman who stole her life and the husband who threw her in hell, Ada clenched her scarred hands and swore she would tear their world apart to get her son back.
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
7.5
I run my family's political dynasty with an iron fist. From my father’s Senate votes to my own calculated engagement, every move is mine to control.
Then, in a single evening, my ambitious stepmother made her play. She used our housekeeper as a spy and orchestrated a scandal involving my fiancé and stepsister, designed to shatter my reputation and power.
They thought they could break me. Within twelve hours, the spy was dead on the marble floor of my foyer. My fiancé’s family was blackmailed into silence. My stepsister was exiled to a Swiss boarding school, and I stripped my own father of his authority for his weakness.
As for my stepmother, Bronte, I had her declared mentally unstable and forcibly taken to a remote facility in Montana, completely cut off from the world.
Everyone saw a cold-hearted coup, but they didn't know the secret I held. I had proof that Bronte had systematically orchestrated my brother’s death years ago, all to position her own son to inherit everything. This wasn't about power; it was vengeance.
But winning the war at home has put me on a much deadlier board. Now, I'm preparing for a dinner with Eldridge Marsh—the most dangerous man in Washington—who wants to decide if I'm a player he can use, or a threat he needs to destroy.
9.7
Elena Whitmore always knew falling for her brother's best friend was a mistake. But one stolen night with Grayson Hale changed everything, and cost her more than she ever imagined.
When he vanished without a word, she buried the past and built a life no one could touch. A life that included a daughter Grayson has never known.
Five years later, he's back. Wealthier. Colder. Determined to uncover why she disappeared, and why she's engaged to a man she doesn't love.
As old sparks ignite and buried truths begin to surface, Elena must decide if protecting her secrets is worth sacrificing the only man she ever loved.