He Chose The Nanny, I Chose Revenge
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Clara came home from a fourteen-hour board meeting to the sound of a piercing scream in the playroom.
When she rushed in, she found her husband, Chadwick, kneeling on the floor in a panic.
But he wasn't looking at their five-year-old son, Leo, who had a massive bleeding welt on his forehead.
Instead, Chadwick was trembling as he held the nanny's daughter, Autumn, who barely had a microscopic scratch.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick snapped, carrying the nanny's daughter away and leaving his bleeding son behind.
From that moment, the nightmare only escalated.
Chadwick ordered Clara to cook a three-hour meal for the nanny's kid, threw away Leo's favorite toys because Autumn sneezed, and even secretly took the nanny and her daughter on Leo's promised Disney trip.
The final humiliation came at the Met Gala.
Right before their sponsor speech, Chadwick received a frantic call from the nanny claiming Autumn was having a panic attack.
He abandoned Clara in front of hundreds of flashing cameras, sprinting out of the ballroom.
Clara stood completely alone, the humiliation eating through her veins like acid.
She couldn't understand how a father could call the nanny's kid his "little princess" while watching his own son cry.
Why was he treating his own flesh and blood like garbage just to play savior to another woman's child?
Suddenly, the blinding camera flashes were blocked by a massive shadow.
Erasmo Chase, the heir to New York's largest financial dynasty, stepped out of the darkness and shielded her.
"A man like that is unworthy of your grief, Ms. Best," he whispered, pressing a silk handkerchief into her trembling hand.
Looking at the sharp profile of the powerful man beside her, Clara's shock hardened into a lethal, cold fury.
She was going to dump her family's shares, crash the board, and make Chadwick lose absolutely everything.
He Chose The Nanny, I Chose Revenge Chapter 1
Clara pushed open the heavy oak door of her Manhattan penthouse.
She kicked off her four-inch heels, letting her bare feet sink into the plush runner.
She dropped her Birkin bag onto the marble entryway console and rubbed the tight space between her eyebrows. Fourteen hours of grueling board meetings for the family foundation left a dull pounding at the base of her skull.
A loud, heavy thud echoed from down the hallway.
It came from the playroom.
A second later, a sharp, piercing scream ripped through the quiet apartment.
Clara's stomach dropped. Her heart kicked against her ribs.
She didn't bother grabbing her shoes. She sprinted down the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
She shoved the half-open glass door of the playroom.
Her momentum stopped. A sea of sharp plastic Lego bricks covered the floor, blocking her path.
Her five-year-old son, Leo, sat on the edge of the rug. His small arms were wrapped tightly around a red toy fire truck.
A massive, angry purple welt was already forming on his forehead, right where he had hit the edge of the wooden bookshelf. His eyes were wide and swimming with tears, but his jaw was clamped shut. He was trying so hard not to cry.
In the center of the room sat Autumn, the nanny's five-year-old daughter, exactly the same age as Leo.
Autumn was pointing at her own knee and wailing at the top of her lungs. There was a microscopic red scratch on her skin.
Before Clara could step over the Legos, the heavy mahogany door of the adjacent study flew open.
Chadwick rushed into the room.
He didn't even look at Clara. He didn't look at Leo.
His eyes locked onto the crying little girl in the center of the room.
His eyes flickered to Leo's bleeding forehead for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths, before he forced his gaze away and rushed to Autumn.
Chadwick's knees hit the carpet with a heavy thud as he slid to a stop in front of Autumn.
"Where does it hurt? Show me," Chadwick demanded. His voice shook. His hands were actually trembling as he reached out to cup the little girl's calf.
Autumn didn't hesitate. She threw her arms around Chadwick's neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
She rubbed her snot and tears directly into the lapel of his custom Tom Ford suit.
Clara stood frozen in the doorway. A cold, unnatural chill washed over her skin.
She stared at her husband. The sheer panic radiating from his body was entirely disproportionate to the situation.
Clara forced air into her lungs. She carefully stepped over the scattered blocks and knelt beside Leo.
She reached out and gently tilted her son's chin up. The welt on his forehead was hot to the touch.
Leo flinched. He looked past his mother, his lower lip trembling as he watched his father hold another child.
"What happened, Leo?" Clara asked. She kept her voice low and steady.
Autumn heard the question. She pulled her face out of Chadwick's neck.
"He pushed me!" Autumn screamed, pointing a chubby finger at Leo. "He wanted my toy!"
Chadwick's head snapped around.
His eyes narrowed as they landed on his five-year-old son. The panic in his expression instantly morphed into cold anger.
"What is wrong with you?" Chadwick snapped. "We do not put our hands on girls. We do not bully people smaller than us."
Leo gripped the red fire truck tighter. His knuckles turned white.
"She took it!" Leo yelled back, his voice cracking. "She scratched me!"
Clara grabbed Leo's left hand and turned it over.
Three deep, bleeding half-moon indentations dug into the back of his hand. Nail marks.
On the nightstand beside Leo's bed, a small framed photo showed him hugging a fluffy white Samoyed — Snowball, the dog his father had reluctantly allowed two years ago. The dog had been Leo's constant companion, but lately, Chadwick had been muttering about allergies and "unnecessary mess."
Clara stood up. She held Leo's bleeding hand out toward her husband.
"Look at his hand, Chadwick," Clara said. Her voice was ice. "Look at your son's head."
Chadwick's eyes flicked to the blood on Leo's hand. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting away for a fraction of a second.
He reached up and adjusted his expensive right cuff.
"Boys get scraped up. It builds character," Chadwick said. His voice was louder now, defensive.
He stood up, lifting Autumn effortlessly into his arms.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick said, turning his back on them.
He walked out of the playroom, carrying the nanny's daughter against his chest.
Clara stood in the middle of the room. She pressed her fingernails into her palms until the skin stung.
Leo finally broke. A loud sob tore from his throat.
He dropped the fire truck and buried his face in Clara's stomach, his small shoulders shaking violently.
Clara dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her lips to the top of his head.
She stared at the empty doorway. The shock in her chest was slowly hardening into something sharp and dangerous.
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He Chose The Nanny, I Chose Revenge of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.2
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
8.6
I woke up choking on rotting air in an alien jungle, surrounded by giant bioluminescent ferns and a three-eyed, armor-plated beast charging straight at me.
Before the monster could tear me apart, I was saved by a squad of men with metallic wings and laser rifles, but my nightmare was just beginning.
When they brought me back to their high-tech military base, every soldier we passed stopped dead, staring at me with a feverish, starving hunger that made my skin crawl.
In the medical wing, a manic doctor bypassed all protocol, pulling out a wicked silver needle to forcibly extract my blood, looking at me not as a patient, but as a winning lottery ticket.
Even their highest-ranking commander, a giant, scarred Admiral, immediately tried to claim me, demanding I be moved into his personal bedroom for "protection."
I didn't understand why I was being treated like a caged miracle, nor why a simple, accidental touch of my hand could bring my winged protector to his knees and silence his feral instincts.
"In the Aethel Empire, there are no females," my protector whispered, his icy blue eyes filled with raw desperation. "You are the only one."
The portal that brought me here was fading, trapping me in a universe of eighty billion shapeshifting Alpha males. Looking at the terrifying devotion in his eyes, I realized my life as an ordinary human was over, and to survive this, I had to tame the beasts.
7.6
To pay for her father's life support, Haleigh sold herself into a marriage with Fabian Blackburn, a ruthless billionaire in a deep coma.
But on her wedding day, she caught her boyfriend cheating with her stepsister, laughing about how they would steal the inheritance the second Fabian stopped breathing. Cornered and desperate, Haleigh secretly underwent IVF using her comatose husband's frozen sperm to secure the family trust.
Weeks later, a miracle happened. Fabian woke up.
But instead of gratitude, he treated her like trash. He threw annulment papers at her face, completely disgusted by the arranged marriage.
"If you try any dirty tricks to get pregnant, I will personally drag you to a clinic and have that bastard scraped out of you."
Terrified, Haleigh hid her positive pregnancy test and desperately tried to hack her way to enough cash to escape. But while using his computer, she accidentally opened a highly classified folder.
Inside was a medical file and a photo of a severely disabled girl who looked exactly like Fabian.
Before she could process it, Fabian walked in. Seeing the screen, his cold mask shattered into pure, unhinged madness. He lunged across the room, lifting her off the floor by her throat, completely ignoring her desperate gasps for air.
"Lock her in the basement," he roared to his guards. "No food. No water."
Curled on the freezing concrete, clutching her newly pregnant belly, Haleigh didn't understand what she had just seen that turned him into a murderous monster.
But she knew one thing: if she didn't escape this terrifying estate, both she and his unborn heir would die in the dark.
8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.
9.1
I drowned in freezing pool water, the mocking laughter of the elite Savage family echoing in my ears.
When I opened my eyes, I was an eight-year-old orphan again, right on the day those monsters came to adopt me.
Terrified of repeating my hellish past, I ran down the hallway and desperately grabbed the shirt of a random, dumpy IT guy, begging him to take me instead.
I thought I had chosen a weak, boring suburban dad to hide behind.
But I was completely wrong.
My new mom greeted me with a ceramic tactical knife hidden in her apron.
My clumsy dad sliced dinner ribs with the terrifying precision of a seasoned hitman.
My ten-year-old brother was a dead-eyed sociopath who immediately calculated my bone density.
They were a family of lethal underworld monsters, yet they frantically pretended to be a normal, pathetic household just for me.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.
