From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress
I spent two years as the perfect, dutiful wife to Foster Baird. I was his unpaid PR consultant and his emotional punching bag, enduring his mother’s snide comments about my orphan background all for the sake of a "marriage" I thought was real.
But when I went to the City Clerk’s office to replace a damaged document, the clerk looked at me with genuine pity.
"There is no record of a marriage license for you and Foster Baird. Legally? You aren't married."
The betrayal went even deeper. I returned to our penthouse to find Foster’s mistress on our sofa, alongside a five-year-old boy who shared Foster’s exact features. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had a secret family that predated our entire relationship. He had even bribed a doctor to lie to me about being infertile just to keep me docile and focused on his business. When the mistress moved into my guest wing the next day, Foster demanded I act as their hostess and serve them dinner.
I watched them play happy family in the home I built, realizing I was never a wife—I was just "cheap labor" he intended to discard once his company stock stabilized. He thought I was a barren charity case with nowhere to go.
He was wrong. That same afternoon, I received a call from the executor of the Arthur Kensington estate. I wasn't a nobody; I was the long-lost biological daughter and sole heir to a five-billion-dollar fortune.
While Foster was busy planning my replacement, I was accessing the Kensington Trust. I didn't scream, and I didn't cry. I simply bought a fifty-million-dollar mansion and hired a team of forensic accountants to dismantle the Baird Group from the inside out. I crushed my old phone under my designer heel and looked at my new security detail.
"Let's get to work," I said.
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Chapter 6
Sunlight streamed into the penthouse kitchen, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was a beautiful Manhattan morning, the kind that usually made Celena feel hopeful.
Today, she felt nothing but a cold, clinical detachment.
She walked into the kitchen dressed in a sharp, charcoal suit. No apron. No house slippers.
The smell of burnt toast and greasy bacon hung heavy in the air. Ava was at the stove, wearing a frilly apron over a black lace slip. It was a caricature of domesticity.
Foster was reading the Wall Street Journal at the island. Leo was in his high chair, throwing scrambled eggs onto the floor.
"Morning," Ava chirped. "Hope you don't mind, I took over the kitchen. You looked tired."
Foster looked up, admiring Ava's backside. "Domestic goddess," he murmured.
Celena walked past them to the coffee machine. She poured herself a black coffee.
"I want her cup!" Leo screamed, pointing a sticky fork at Celena's mug. It was a custom ceramic mug, a gift from a friend years ago.
Ava turned, spatula in hand. "Oh, give it to him, Celena. It's just a mug. He likes the color."
Ava reached out to take the mug from Celena's hand.
Celena moved her hand back sharply. "No."
The single word hung in the air like a gunshot.
The kitchen went silent. Foster lowered his paper.
"It's hot coffee," Celena said flatly. "He'll burn himself. And it's mine."
"Just get him a juice, Celena," Foster grumbled. "Stop making a scene."
"I'm not the maid," Celena said, her eyes locking with his. "Ava is right there. She's the... motherly figure, isn't she?"
Foster blinked. He wasn't used to this tone. He was used to apologies.
Celena took a sip of her coffee, the heat grounding her. She checked her Cartier watch-a fake one Foster had given her for their first anniversary.
"I have a viewing," she said.
Foster sneered. "Enjoy your little house hunting. Don't buy anything tacky."
He thought she was going to look for furniture for the Hamptons house.
"I won't," she said.
She was actually going to sign the final closing documents at the title company.
As she turned to leave, she heard Ava whisper, loud enough to carry, "She's so cold. Poor Leo."
"She's just jealous," Foster replied, stroking Ava's arm. "Ignore her."
Celena grabbed the keys to the Porsche Panamera from the bowl. Foster thought it was his car. But he'd insisted the Porsche be leased through the company and, for tax purposes, had put her down as the primary driver on the corporate account. A convenience, he'd called it. Another form of control. Now, it was her escape.
"Don't wait up," she called out.
She walked out the door, the sound of Leo's tantrum fading as the heavy wood clicked shut.
In the elevator, she leaned her head against the cool metal wall and exhaled. A long, shuddering breath.
She wasn't jealous. She was liberated.
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7.7
A Whitmere Family Romance
Ten years ago, Sloane Hart ran from the only man she ever loved.
Not because she stopped loving him-
but because loving Rhett Whitmere meant risking everything.
Now she's back in Whitmere County, standing inside the luxury hotel he built from heartbreak, legacy, and a love he never let go of. Rhett is no longer the boy she left behind. He's a powerful CEO bound by family expectation, haunted by the past, and still hopelessly in love with the woman who shattered him.
Sloane only planned to stay long enough to complete a high-profile spa expansion.
She never planned to fall for him again.
But in a town that remembers everything, whispers turn into scandals, and old wounds reopen fast. When a dangerous betrayal threatens Rhett's empire and puts Sloane at the center of a storm, they're forced to face the truth they've both been avoiding:
Some loves don't fade.
They wait.
And this time, Rhett Whitmere isn't willing to lose her again.
Forever Yours, Almost is a slow-burn, second-chance romance filled with family legacy, small-town secrets, emotional tension, and a love worth fighting for
9.4
**Fortune between Us** is a fast-paced, dramatic tale of ambition, love, and power in the glamorous world of billionaires. Isabella Carter, a brilliant and determined strategist, navigates high-stakes corporate intrigue, rivalries, and sabotage while forging a complex, slowly unfolding romance with the enigmatic Alexander Blackwood. As secrets, betrayals, and crises threaten to unravel everything, Isabella must rely on intelligence, courage, and intuition to survive-and thrive-in a world where wealth, influence, and desire collide.
8.8
I was the despised adopted daughter of the Sanders family, hiding behind heavy gothic makeup and enduring their daily disgust.
The day my adoptive father died in a severe car crash, my adoptive mother and stepsister didn't even bother to call me.
Instead, while his body was still warm, my mother filed a multi-million dollar life insurance claim.
"I am not feeding a useless freak for another day. Pack your trash and get out."
She kicked me out into the freezing rain, but that wasn't the worst of it.
My stepsister Cornelia stole my greatest secret. Five years ago, I saved the life of Fidel Vaughan, a ruthless billionaire heir, from a burning estate.
Cornelia claimed my identity, accepted a million-dollar reward, and secured a marriage proposal from him, burning my only proof to ashes.
They thought I was just a helpless, pathetic high schooler they could discard and replace.
But when I hacked the police files, I discovered my father's crash wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit, and the Vaughan Group had hijacked the traffic cameras to cover it up.
I washed off the ugly black makeup, shedding the disguise of a pathetic outcast.
I am Spectre, the world's most elusive hacker and underground doctor.
I intercepted the billionaire heir's heavily armed convoy in the dead of night. They thought they could steal my life and murder my father, but now, I hold the needle that controls Fidel Vaughan's sanity, and I will make them all pay.
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."
7.5
I had been a "decoration piece" for Kenton Parker for three years, a contract wife bought to pay off my father's gambling debts. I lived in a cold penthouse, making his coffee and answering his phones, while he treated me with the clinical indifference of a stranger.
On our third anniversary, I waited alone at the city's most exclusive restaurant, only to see a news alert flash on my phone. Kenton wasn't coming. He was caught on camera at a hospital, looking at his "friend," ballerina Blanca Donovan, with a raw, frantic worry he had never once shown me, not even when I fell down a flight of stairs.
I finally snapped and filed for divorce, citing his "irreversible erectile dysfunction" just to destroy his massive ego. I thought I was free, but Kenton retaliated with a cruelty that left me breathless. He froze every bank account I owned and had his secretary smash the last photo I had of my mother. He reminded me of the five-million-dollar penalty in my contract-money I didn't have.
"You don't get to leave until I say so," he roared, dragging me into his office. He used my father's life as a leash, forcing me to play the part of a doting wife at his family's Hamptons estate to please his sick mother. He wanted to starve me out until I crawled back to his side.
I couldn't understand how a man could be so heartless. He didn't want my heart, yet he refused to let me go, treating my life like a line item in a corporate merger. He wanted to keep me as his prisoner while he spent his nights with another woman.
But Kenton made one fatal mistake. He thought I was just a broke, submissive secretary with nowhere to turn. He didn't know that I was "Vee," a world-renowned art restorer with a secret legacy and a six-figure commission waiting for me.
As we shared a bed in the Hamptons and he pulled me against his chest, whispering that I was "his," I didn't feel comfort. I felt the cold, hard spark of a woman who was finally ready to burn his contract to the ground.
7.4
Ardella caught her fiancé Braden cheating with an actress in a downtown VIP room.
It was supposed to be a simple business marriage to save her family's bankrupt company.
But instead of supporting her, her uncle and aunt demanded she get on her knees and apologize to the cheating fiancé.
They didn't care about her dignity; they only cared about the merger capital.
Her cousin publicly mocked her, and her uncle threatened to permanently hide the police file revealing who murdered her father if she ruined the deal.
To make matters worse, Ethelbert Stone, the terrifying billionaire who raised her—and the man she was desperately trying to escape—publicly claimed he didn't know her.
Yet, moments later, he trapped her in his car, his eyes filled with a sick, possessive rage, reminding her that every inch of her belonged to him.
She was completely cornered by a cheating fiancé, a parasitic family, and an obsessed former guardian.
They had drained her father's trust fund dry and now wanted to sell her off to cover their debts.
They really thought she was just a helpless pawn they could manipulate and discard at will.
But they were dead wrong.
Ardella calmly wiped her hands after throwing scalding tea at her aunt's feet, staring down at her greedy family.
"The headline tomorrow will read: Price Group Bankrupt, Fails to Sell Niece to Cover Debts."
She backed up the video of her fiancé's betrayal to ten different servers and sent a text to her private investigator.
Tonight, at the elite society dinner, she was going to blow the scandal wide open and drag them all down with her.