He Held The Sun, Then Lost It
7 / 10.0
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Five years. Four hundred million dollars. And the wedding dress was never mine.
I found out on a Tuesday—a C-list actress draped in my custom Vera Wang, hanging off my fiancé's arm. Six months of French lace. Six meters of Italian silk. Every stitch a promise I had made to myself: someone finally chose me for me.
He locked the doors of that boutique. Froze my cards. Threatened my friends. Told the world I was just a delusional former assistant who didn't know her place.
The internet called me crazy, a liar, a desperate woman who couldn't take a hint. His name trended everywhere. My accounts got suspended before I could say a word.
What he never knew: his empire ran on my capital. His patents were mine. His executive assistant had been feeding me evidence for months—emails, recordings, a paper trail of fraud stretching back years.
I dialed the encrypted phone. A voice said, "I've waited five years."
"Then wait three more days," I said. "I'm going to tear his head off."
He Held The Sun, Then Lost It Chapter 1
Five years. Four hundred million dollars. And the wedding dress was never mine.
I found out on a Tuesday—a C-list actress draped in my custom Vera Wang, hanging off my fiancé's arm. Six months of French lace. Six meters of Italian silk. Every stitch a promise I had made to myself: someone finally chose me for me.
He locked the doors of that boutique. Froze my cards. Threatened my friends. Told the world I was just a delusional former assistant who didn't know her place.
The internet called me crazy, a liar, a desperate woman who couldn't take a hint. His name trended everywhere. My accounts got suspended before I could say a word.
What he never knew: his empire ran on my capital. His patents were mine. His executive assistant had been feeding me evidence for months—emails, recordings, a paper trail of fraud stretching back years.
I dialed the encrypted phone. A voice said, "I've waited five years."
"Then wait three more days," I said. "I'm going to tear his head off."
Chapter 1
Claudia Sims POV
Five years. Four hundred million dollars. And the wedding dress wasn't mine.
I discovered it on a Tuesday—Bianca Burks, a C-list actress with a talent for attaching herself to powerful men, wearing my custom Vera Wang on the arm of my fiancé. Six months of hand-embroidered lace from Calais. Six meters of ivory silk from Lake Como. Every stitch a promise I had made to myself: someone finally chose me for me.
I could have walked away that day. Instead, I stood in that boutique and let him lock the doors. I let him freeze my cards, threaten my friends, and tell the world I was nothing but a delusional former assistant who had gotten above herself.
I let him believe he had won.
He never knew I was the founder of a nine-billion-dollar empire. He never knew his company had been built on my capital, my patents, my silent sacrifice. He never knew his executive assistant had been feeding me evidence for months—emails, recordings, a trail of fraud stretching back years.
He thought he was the king of his own little kingdom.
He was wrong.
When the moment finally came, I didn't just leave him. I dismantled him piece by piece—starting with his media empire, and ending with a courtroom where his own words, recorded in secret, condemned him to twelve years in federal prison.
Some people say revenge is a dish best served cold. I waited five years to serve mine.
And it was delicious.
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He Held The Sun, Then Lost It of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
8.2
Ten years as childhood friends and three as husband and wife ended in her husband's betrayal, and her brothers' indifference. Diagnosed with mid-stage stomach cancer, Roselyn saw the truth of her life.
She walked away from everything, rising from an overlooked office worker to a leading figure in the tech world.
She outplayed her husband into signing divorce papers. When they met again, he begged, "I was wrong... take me back. I'd give you my stomach if I could."
Her once arrogant brothers pleaded too, but she felt nothing. After all, love that arrived too late meant nothing to her now-she simply didn't care anymore.
As they stood desperate, a man stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. "Why waste time on them? Look at me instead."
8.0
When gifted cellist Vivienne Aurel inherits her late father's catastrophic $4.2 million debt, she expects to lose everything. She doesn't expect the debt to be bought by Caspian Vane, the most feared private equity magnate in New York. Caspian doesn't want to ruin her; he wants her to work exclusively for him as the artistic director of his new cultural foundation for eighteen months. Forced into his world under a binding agreement, Vivienne prepares to fight against a cold, transactional cage. But as the intense, quiet proximity between them begins to blur the lines of their contract, she discovers a terrifying truth: the man who now owns her future has been watching her from the shadows long before she ever knew his name.
7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
7.9
He holds my face firmly between two hands. "Sienna, I'm not going to have you for the first time one of Maren's guest rooms when you're intoxicated."
"You're not?"
"No. It will be in my bed, and I'm going to take my time with you." His gaze falls to my lips. "Fuck Sienna, I'm going to take all night."
***
Sienna has been in love with her Alpha since she could remember.
He's rough, dangerous and the epitome of raw sex appeal. The problem is, he is her best friend, and strictly off limits.
Tradition mandates he marry a woman of noble birth, and that is not her.
She knows this is for the best, until she becomes his mistress, and things start to change. As she falls for her best friend, she must reconcile a deadly secret she has been keeping from him for years, that could change everything.
Onyx has sacrificed everything to become Alpha. So, not marrying for love shouldn't be such an issue.
His entire life he has denied his feelings for his best friend, until he is forced to take her as his mistress to grant her protection.
With threats growing against them, and when his prospective wife candidates start showing up murdered, he make some difficult decisions.
**Dual POV, friends-to-lovers, Alpha, mates, 18+**
7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
