Fake Marriage Ruined, She Married The Tycoon
Five years of a fake marriage to a billionaire.
Christi thought she was a wealthy wife-until City Hall told her the truth.
No marriage license. No legal rights. Nothing but a lie.
Her husband cheated on her for four years.
His entire family mocked her, used her, and planned to trap her with a baby.
She was ready to ruin them all.
Then a secret changed everything:
Her late parents were DARPA elites. She is the sole heir to $50 billion.
There's only one catch-marry Cornelius Gregory, Wall Street's ruthless paralyzed tycoon.
She signs the contract in an instant.
Freeze their accounts. Destroy the Rivera family.
The game is over for them.
And the queen has just arrived.
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Chapter 4
Christi pushed open the frosted glass door of the VIP waiting room at the Manhattan West Private Clinic. She wore an old, seemingly cheap but well-tailored trench coat, deliberately looking small and out of place in the luxurious room.
Jensen was sitting on the plush velvet sofa, typing rapidly on his phone. When he heard the door, he immediately dropped the phone and manufactured a look of deep, exhausted affection.
He stood up and reached out to hug her. "Where were you last night? You didn't come back to the estate. You know how worried my mother gets." His tone carried that familiar, subtle layer of guilt-tripping.
Christi expertly twisted her shoulder, dodging his embrace. She made her eyes wide, forcing her breathing to become shallow and erratic. She let her body tremble visibly.
She reached into her cheap handbag, pulled out her phone, and slammed it onto the glass coffee table. The screen displayed the high-definition photo of him kissing Fallon.
Jensen's pupils contracted to pinpricks. The color drained from his face for a fraction of a second, but his narcissistic brain instantly kicked into survival mode.
He stepped closer, grabbing Christi's shoulders tightly. "Christi, look at me. This is a misunderstanding. Fallon was drunk from the gala. She tripped, and I caught her. It's just business etiquette."
Christi laughed internally, but outwardly, she let two perfectly timed tears roll down her cheeks. "Do you think I'm stupid, Jensen?"
Jensen's grip tightened, his fingers digging painfully into her collarbone. He adjusted his silk tie with his free hand. "You're stressed. You've been acting paranoid lately. Are you sure you're taking your anxiety meds? If this gets out, it ruins the family stock. It ruins the life I provide for you."
Christi forced her shoulders to shake harder. She grabbed the hem of her coat, twisting the fabric in her fists, playing the role of the terrified, dependent woman perfectly.
Seeing her physical submission, a flash of arrogant triumph crossed Jensen's eyes. His voice softened into a sickeningly sweet purr. "I'll make it up to you, baby. What do you need?"
Christi looked up, her eyes red. She kept her voice meek, trembling. "I need security. I want an independent trust account in my name."
Jensen frowned instantly. His hand dropped from her shoulder. He never allowed her to have financial independence. That was how he controlled her. "We share everything, Christi. You don't need-"
Christi immediately reached for the phone on the table. "Maybe I should ask Gilda about this 'business etiquette'. Or the New York Times."
Jensen's jaw clenched. He was in the middle of a massive C-round merger. A scandal right now would cost him billions.
"How much?" he hissed through his teeth.
Christi looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. She held up her fingers. "Six million."
Jensen almost choked. Six million was exactly the budget he had set aside to buy Fallon a high-end piece of jewelry at tonight's auction.
"That's just a fraction of your bonus from last year," Christi whispered, her voice cracking. "Is my peace of mind not worth that much?"
Jensen stared at her. He calculated the risk. He firmly believed Christi was too stupid and too cowardly to actually leave him. Giving her the money would shut her up until the merger was done.
He pulled out his checkbook, his fingers stabbing aggressively at the paper. He wrote out a six-million-dollar cashier's check and tore it out. "Keep your mouth shut."
Christi took the check. She inspected the signature and amount carefully. Then, right in front of him, she tapped the screen of her phone and hit 'Delete' on the photo.
Jensen let out a heavy breath, adjusting his cuffs. "I have a board meeting. Do your checkup." He turned and practically ran out of the room.
The second the door clicked shut, the pathetic, trembling look vanished from Christi's face. Her features turned to ice.
She reached into her bra and pulled out the physical SD card. She had only deleted the cloud copy.
She took a photo of the check and dialed her private assistant, Mia Stone. "Mia. Route this into an offshore account and wash it into my personal ledger. Keep it off the Rivera radar."
In the upper corner of the room, the security camera silently rotated, zooming in on her face.
Miles away, in the Apex building security room, Cornelius watched the monitors. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest as he watched his 'poor, helpless' fiancé extort six million dollars in under five minutes.
He pressed the intercom button. "Leo. Call the Bvlgari flagship on Fifth Avenue. Tell them a very important guest is about to arrive. Give her whatever she wants."
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8.1
Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
9.0
Once a pampered princess, Alaina now clutched a deactivated American Express card, staring out at Central Park. Her family’s fortune was gone, her life, over.
Her family's Hamptons estate, a four-generation legacy, was seized by Dyer Capital. The name hit her: Hardin Dyer, the poor boy she’d once scorned, had returned.
Hardin marched in, serving a divorce agreement. He'd orchestrated her family's downfall for revenge, giving her 24 hours to vacate his property. Penniless, her father faced prison, needing $50 million. Her mother forced her to beg Hardin, who sneered, offering the money for her body. Alaina ripped up the contract.
Hours later, her father had a heart attack. Desperate, she became "Lexi," a club girl enduring humiliation. In the Viper Room, Hardin's lackeys demanded she lick whiskey off his shoe for $10,000. Hardin watched. Outside, her brother Ashton's hand was threatened for a $3 million debt. Spirit shattered, Alaina returned, knelt on broken glass, offering to sign. But Hardin declared her family "dead," offering $10 million for her body, commanding her to use her mouth.
In a furious act of defiance, Alaina threw whiskey in his face, snatched the check, and fled. Yet, when he finally took her, a searing, foreign pain and blood on the sheets revealed a shocking truth: he had never touched her three years ago. Why had he let her believe such a monstrous lie?
8.0
My wedding was tomorrow. I was a crisis counselor who had finally found peace with my loving fiancé, Dexter, and my best friend, Barbara.
A late-night call about a forced marriage led me to a hotel penthouse, where I found them naked in bed together.
It was all a cruel, three-year "savior game." They were bored heirs, and I was their project. They destroyed my career, caused me to lose our baby, and put my mother in the hospital.
They forced me to be a bridesmaid at their wedding-the one that should have been mine.
In front of hundreds of guests, they exposed my traumatic past and then tried to marry me off to a drunken stranger as a joke.
As I stood there, broken, a text from Barbara arrived.
"Your mother saw the livestream. She had a heart attack. She's not going to make it."
With nothing left, I ran to the 20th-floor window and jumped. They thought they had erased me. But my death was just the beginning.
7.4
Alaya woke up in the sterile hospital room to a devastating reality: her six-month-old baby was gone, lost in a horrific car crash.
But as the memories crashed into her, she realized she had been reborn. She was back three years before her ultimate death, back to the moment she remembered lying bleeding on the asphalt while her husband, Hardy, shielded his mistress from the freezing rain.
When Hardy finally showed up at the ward, he coldly dismissed the crash as a mere accident and immediately left to comfort his young lover. To make matters worse, Alaya secretly checked her medical files and found a terrifying detail: someone had intentionally slipped beta-blockers into her system, a lethal drug for her transplanted heart. And Hardy didn't care about her dead baby or her irreversible infertility. He only coldly confirmed with the doctor that her heart was still viable.
A horrifying suspicion made Alaya's blood run cold. Why was her husband so obsessed with protecting her transplanted heart while treating her like garbage? And why was his perfectly healthy mistress secretly racking up massive bills at an advanced cardiac hospital?
Realizing she was nothing but a vessel in a twisted, deadly game, Alaya didn't shed another tear.
She packed her belongings, left her flawless diamond wedding ring on the cold marble table, and vanished from their penthouse.
When Hardy finally tracked her down, she threw a thick stack of documents onto the table.
"Sign the divorce papers," she said, her eyes completely dead.
7.0
Elliana and her six-year-old daughter Clara were trapped in a horrific, bloody car crash.
A private medical helicopter bearing her husband's family crest touched down on the wet asphalt, but the paramedics ran straight past her crushed SUV.
They rushed to the sleek sports car that had rear-ended them.
Sitting inside were her husband Devontae's mistress and her daughter, suffering from nothing more than a minor scratch and a panic attack.
Trapped under twisted metal, Elliana dialed her husband's number with bloody fingers, begging him to save their dying child.
"Stop being so dramatic, Elliana," Devontae snapped impatiently over the phone. "I am sick of you using Clara to play the victim. Kyle needs to get to the hospital immediately."
He hung up, and the helicopter lifted off into the night sky, leaving Elliana and Clara in the absolute dark.
Elliana watched her daughter's tiny hand drop lifelessly.
In absolute despair and suffocating hatred, she dropped a lighter into the pooled gasoline, letting a wall of fire consume them both.
As the flames blistered her skin, she felt a profound, agonizing injustice.
She had hidden her brilliant talents and played the submissive, perfect wife just to protect his fragile ego, but her endless sacrifices had only bought them a fiery grave.
Why did her devotion end with her child bleeding to death in the cold rain while the mistress flew away to safety?
Opening her eyes, Elliana violently gasped for air in her massive velvet bed.
She stared at the glowing date on her phone screen.
It was exactly six months before the crash.
The phantom pain in her crushed legs reminded her of the hell she had just crawled back from.
She got out of bed, her eyes as cold and sharp as broken glass.
This time, she would send them all to hell first.
8.1
For three years, I swallowed every humiliation to warm my billionaire husband's frozen heart.
But at his birthday banquet, the obsidian cufflinks I spent three sleepless nights carving were crushed into worthless powder.
Carly, the woman he truly loved, had intentionally tripped and slammed into my arm.
When the velvet box fell, I dropped to my knees on pure instinct. My bare hands were deeply sliced by the jagged shards, warm blood dripping onto the pristine marble floor.
But Dominic didn't even spare a single glance at his bleeding wife.
He protectively cradled Carly, his voice thick with concern as he asked if she was hurt.
He let the entire ballroom laugh at me, calling me a piece of trash that wasn't even fit to touch the hotel carpet.
When I later confronted him about the secret estate where he hid her, he nearly broke my jaw.
"A toxic bitch like you deserves to rot in a loveless marriage."
I finally understood. My marriage was just a cruel prison designed to torture me for a debt I supposedly owed.
I didn't shed a single tear. I went back to the penthouse, signed the divorce papers waiving all my assets, and walked barefoot into the freezing New York storm.
To survive, I took a job as the personal executive assistant to his biggest enemy on Wall Street.
But when I showed up at an industry dinner wearing a stunning designer suit next to another man, the cold tyrant who had thrown me away completely lost his mind.