Fired By The Father Of My Child
Six years ago, Breanna was shoved into a pitch-black hotel suite by her own uncle.
She was forced to endure a brutal night with a drugged stranger just to keep her grandmother's ventilator running.
Nine months later, she gave birth in a cold underground clinic.
But her uncle immediately snatched the crying newborn from her trembling hands, coldly announcing the baby had died.
For six years, Breanna lived in agonizing grief, working as a lowly hotel cleaner just to survive.
But a cruel setup threw her directly into the path of Elliot Finch, the arrogant billionaire from that dark night.
He did not recognize the woman whose life he had completely ruined.
Instead, he looked at her like she was rotting garbage, had his guards drag her into a wet alley, and mercilessly got her fired.
"If I ever see your face again, I will make sure you cannot get a job cleaning toilets."
Breanna was suffocating from the injustice, stripped of her dignity and her family's only lifeline.
Yet, when she instinctively protected a traumatized little boy from bullies, she discovered he was Elliot's son.
The boy clung to her neck, crying and desperately begging his father to let her stay.
But Elliot just threw a massive check at her chest, violently accusing her of brainwashing a sick child for a meal ticket.
Looking at the toxic disgust in his eyes, something inside Breanna finally broke.
She picked up the check, ripped the millions into tiny shreds, and let them rain down on his expensive shoes.
"Keep your dirty money."
She turned her back on the crying boy and the stunned billionaire, deciding she would no longer be their victim.
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Chapter 8
Elliot didn't say a word. He stepped forward, ignoring the gasps of the crowd, and grabbed Breanna's uninjured left wrist.
His grip was a steel trap.
"Put the boy in the car," he ordered his men without looking away from Breanna.
He dragged her toward the center SUV and shoved her roughly into the back seat. The doors locked with a heavy clunk. The convoy sped away.
The air inside the SUV was suffocating. Elliot sat on the far side of the leather bench, eyes closed, but murderous rage radiated from every inch of the cabin.
Cole pressed tightly against Breanna's side. He held her bleeding right hand carefully in his two small palms, his lower lip trembling, eyes rimmed with red.
Breanna ignored the throbbing pain. She used her left hand to stroke Cole's soft hair, offering a silent, reassuring smile.
Elliot's eyes snapped open. Seeing his son hold this manipulative woman's hand made his stomach twist with violent, irrational sickness.
Twenty minutes later, the convoy pulled into the underground bunker of the Finch family's private hospital.
They rode up to the top floor in silence and entered a massive, sterile VIP suite.
A nurse approached Cole to check the small scratch on his cheek. Cole violently pushed her away, screaming, until Breanna knelt down and held his other hand. Only then did he let the nurse clean the cut.
Another doctor stepped toward Breanna with a bandage.
"Get out," Elliot commanded. His voice was quiet, but it echoed off the walls. "All of you. Out."
The medical team scrambled out. The heavy door clicked shut.
Elliot slowly walked toward Breanna. He backed her up until her shoulders hit the cold wall. He placed both hands on the wall beside her head, trapping her in his shadow.
"How long did it take you?" Elliot whispered, his breath hitting her face. "How long did you stalk my family to find out where my son goes to school?"
Breanna's chest heaved. "I didn't know he was your son. I was in the park looking for a job. It was a coincidence."
Elliot let out a dark, cruel laugh. "There are no coincidences in Manhattan. Only calculated moves."
He leaned an inch closer. "Using a six-year-old boy with an emotional disorder as your stepping stone to my wallet. You are the most disgusting creature I have ever met."
Tears of pure, burning rage filled Breanna's eyes.
Cole sensed the danger. He jumped off the examination bed and ran over. He wedged his small body between Elliot's legs and pushed hard against his father's knees.
"Stop it!" Cole screamed. "Don't be mean to her!"
Elliot stared down at his son. The sight of his own blood defending this woman made the vein in his neck throb.
He grabbed Cole by the back of his jacket, lifted him effortlessly, and handed him to the bodyguard outside the door. "Take him to the scan room."
The door shut again.
Elliot reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a leather checkbook. He clicked a pen and wrote a number so large it would make a Wall Street banker sweat.
He ripped the check out and threw it directly at Breanna's face.
The paper hit her cheek and fluttered to the floor.
"Take it," Elliot sneered. "Take it and leave New York tonight. If I see you within a hundred miles of my son again, I will bury you."
Breanna looked at the check on the floor. The ultimate insult. A price tag on her dignity.
She slowly bent down and picked it up. She looked Elliot dead in the eye.
She grabbed the edges of the thick paper—but she didn't rip it.
Instead, she held it up between them. The paper trembled in her fingers—not from weakness, but from the effort of holding back. Her injured palm throbbed. A thin line of blood seeped through the bandage and stained the corner of the check.
"Your money," she said, her voice shaking with absolute defiance, "cannot buy my soul."
She didn't rip it. She didn't need to. She let the check hang in the air between them—an accusation, not an acceptance.
Then she let it fall.
The paper drifted down and landed at Elliot's feet.
The room went silent. Elliot stared at the check on the floor, then at the blood seeping through Breanna's bandage. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
She had made her point without lifting a finger.
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8.8
I discovered I was pregnant with twins from my marriage to Ell Steele, the ruthless CEO of the Steele Group. But he saw me as a gold-digging nobody, unworthy of his heir.
He stormed into our penthouse with his lawyer, slamming down abortion consent forms and a divorce NDA, offering five million to terminate and vanish. "You're not fit to carry my child," he spat, gripping my jaw.
I refused the abortion, signed the zero-payout divorce to keep my company insurance for my dying mom's ICU bills, but stayed on as an admin assistant. Brittany, his mistress, spilled coffee on my reports, got me demoted to the dusty sub-basement sorting old files.
She framed me for attacking her, security dragged me out, slamming me into doorframes that cramped my belly. Trapped in a sabotaged freight elevator, I nearly miscarried in the dark, gasping for air while Ell rescued me—only to find my prenatal pills and rage.
At the gala, I warned Brittany the Angel's Tears necklace—Georgina's flawed design—was cracking. She accused me of theft; Ell ordered me stripped and searched publicly. It snapped anyway, shattering the diamond, but he blamed me, firing and blacklisting me on the spot.
Beaten down, humiliated, body aching from their cruelty—how could my husband, who I once loved, destroy me without a shred of doubt? What made him so blind to my pain?
Dragged from our home in the rain, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up. The butler bowed: "Madame Aura, your suite awaits." As Ell watched from his Maybach, I initiated the hostile takeover—time to bankrupt them all.
8.2
My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away.
After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future.
Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me.
I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call.
"Total genius move," he boasted to friends.
His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding.
Heartbroken, I feigned belief.
I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies.
He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency.
After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first.
He even tried to cut me off financially.
How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster?
His betrayal poisoned every memory.
I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty.
His audacity left me reeling.
But I wouldn’t be his victim.
Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed.
I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter.
I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom.
9.6
To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall.
My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent.
He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced.
I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower.
Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator.
"I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts."
I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa.
Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift.
He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time.
But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise.
Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires?
And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique?
I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap.
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.
7.5
For three years, I was trapped in a paper marriage to a billionaire I had never met, until my father forced me to finally visit his hotel suite.
But when I walked in, I found my husband, Bryton Lott, heavily drugged by my own father. Stripped of all reason, Bryton violently pinned me down and took my innocence, making me a pawn in my father's sick scheme to force a pregnancy and save his bankrupt company.
After escaping his feral grip, I overheard Bryton call my father. He called me a useless, invisible wife, vowing to hand me divorce papers the second he saw my face. The nightmare didn't end there. When I brought a priceless antique jade bracelet to my mother's birthday, she slapped me across the face in front of the entire elite crowd. My stepsister publicly accused me of selling my body. Hiding in the shadows, I even heard my mother admit she wished I was dead, only keeping me around to exploit my marriage.
I had played the obedient, impoverished daughter for years, enduring their endless abuse just to protect my grandmother's legacy. Why did my own flesh and blood treat me like a sacrificial lamb to be sold and destroyed?
The last thread holding my heart together completely snapped. I left the multi-million dollar bracelet on the cold stone sill and walked out into the freezing night. Snapping my everyday SIM card in half, I pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and activated my true identity as the underground world's top operative, "King."
"Run a full hostile intelligence sweep on Apocalypse Corp."
8.6
To escape an abusive ex who blacklisted her from every job in the city, Annabelle fled to New York with nothing but her late grandfather's secret marriage token.
Destitute, she was unexpectedly taken in by the ultra-wealthy Barrera family.
Meeting their sweet, handsome nephew, Davion, she naturally assumed he was her arranged fiancé.
Seeing that Davion already had a girlfriend he loved, Annabelle felt a deep sense of guilt about the secret contract.
Sitting in his passenger seat one morning, she confessed her true identity and offered to help him secretly break the marriage alliance.
But Davion just looked at her in sheer panic.
"What engagement?"
Before Annabelle could explain, his phone accidentally went on speaker.
A low, terrifyingly calm voice echoed through the car.
It was Jasper Barrera—the ruthless, cold-blooded head of the family, and the terrifying tyrant Annabelle had accidentally offended in the estate's greenhouse just days ago.
He had heard every single word of her plan to break the sacred family trust.
Davion's face went completely ashen as he hastily pulled the car over, his hands shaking violently on the steering wheel.
"Anna," he whispered, looking like he had just seen a ghost. "Who do you think you are engaged to?"
That was when the horrifying realization crushed the air out of her lungs.
She wasn't engaged to the sweet nephew. She was engaged to the monster.