Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon’s Unplanned Wife
My family arranged my marriage to Silas Thorne, a Wall Street titan. There was just one problem: everyone, including my powerful new husband, believed I was a crippled, helpless girl from the countryside.
On the day of my physical therapy, my father called, not to ask how I was, but to demand I give up the marriage for his illegitimate daughter, Chloe.
"You can barely walk without a limp," he sneered. "You are going to embarrass the Vance family."
My new husband treated me with cold duty, carrying me like a fragile doll but refusing to share a bed, citing my ‘soft tissue injury’ as a pathetic excuse. The rejection was humiliating. To make matters worse, Chloe tracked me down while I was shopping, eager to mock me in public.
"Silas doesn't value you," she said, flashing a cheap ring from my father. "You’re just a crippled placeholder."
They all saw a weak girl they could push around, completely blind to the fact that my limp was a carefully crafted lie.
So I took the unlimited black card Silas gave me and bought a fifty-seven-million-dollar pink diamond, crushing her in front of New York’s elite. When I returned to our penthouse, Silas was waiting for me, a dangerous smirk on his face.
"I heard," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that you bought a star with my money today?"
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Chapter 7
The morning sun reflected harshly off the glass skyscrapers of Manhattan.
Evelyn rolled her wheelchair into the formal dining room.
Silas was already seated at the head of the long table, dressed in an immaculate navy suit.
He was reading the Wall Street Journal.
"Good morning," Evelyn said stiffly.
Silas lowered the newspaper. He gave her a brief nod.
The silence between them was suffocating.
Carson approached silently and placed a plate of Eggs Benedict and a cup of black coffee in front of Evelyn.
Silas reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket.
He pulled out a heavy, matte-black card made of anodized titanium.
He slid the American Express Centurion Card across the polished mahogany table. It stopped right next to Evelyn's coffee cup.
"Our marriage was arranged too quickly," Silas said, his voice completely flat. "We didn't have time to purchase a wedding ring."
He looked at her, his expression unreadable.
"Take this. It has no limit. Buy whatever ring you want. Buy whatever else you want."
Evelyn stared at the black card.
She raised an eyebrow. She didn't push it back.
She reached out, her index finger tapping the metal surface once, before she picked it up.
"Thanks," she said coolly.
Silas checked his Patek Philippe watch. He stood up, buttoned his jacket, and walked out to his waiting car.
The moment the front door clicked shut, Evelyn pulled out her phone.
She dialed Harper's number.
"Get dressed," Evelyn said the second Harper answered. "We are going to slaughter Fifth Avenue today."
Harper screamed with delight through the speaker.
At 1:00 PM, the Thorne family Maybach dropped them off in front of the luxury boutiques.
Evelyn sat in her wheelchair, pushed by Harper. She radiated an aura of absolute authority.
They hit Chanel and Dior first.
Evelyn pointed at racks of haute couture. She didn't look at price tags.
She handed the black card to the stunned sales associates, who immediately began scrambling to assist her, without blinking.
Within an hour, two massive bodyguards were struggling to carry the mountain of shopping bags.
Finally, they arrived at the global flagship store of Harry Winston.
The doorman saw the bodyguards and the Maybach. He practically ripped the heavy glass doors open.
The boutique manager, a slick man named Mr. Davis, rushed forward.
"Mrs. Thorne! Welcome. Please, right this way to our VIP suite."
The VIP room was a sanctuary of velvet and gold.
Crystal flutes of vintage champagne and a silver tray of Beluga caviar were waiting for them.
Mr. Davis brought out a velvet tray carrying three massive diamond rings.
"These are our finest five-carat pieces, madam," he said proudly.
Evelyn picked up a cushion-cut diamond. She held it up to the specialized lighting.
She didn't smile.
"The table percentage is slightly off," Evelyn said, her voice clinical. "And there is a microscopic feather inclusion near the girdle. It disrupts the light return."
Mr. Davis started sweating immediately.
He realized instantly that the woman in the wheelchair was not an ignorant country girl. She was an apex connoisseur.
Evelyn tossed the multi-million dollar ring back onto the tray like it was a piece of plastic.
"These are mediocre," Evelyn stated. "Silas Thorne's wife will not wear something I can find in a mall. Go to your vault. Bring me something real."
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9.3
Camila Damien has spent years avoiding Eric Sylvester-the ruthless CEO whose cold reputation precedes him. But when a career-making promotion forces them together on a billion-dollar pharmaceutical project, avoidance becomes impossible. Eric can't shake the feeling that he's seen her before. The mysterious woman in his wallpaper. The missing pieces of a night he can't remember. And now, the brilliant scientist who challenges him at every turn. But Camila is hiding something darker than career ambitions. Three weeks of her life is gone. Stolen by a drugging incident she can't remember and a saboteur she can't identify. As corporate espionage, toxic family ties, and a dangerous conspiracy close in around them, Camila and Eric must decide: trust each other with their carefully guarded hearts, or lose everything, including their lives. In the high-stakes world of pharmaceutical giants, where betrayal comes from those closest to you and the truth is buried in forgotten memories, love might be the most dangerous risk of all.
7.3
Elara Valente has lived her life under her father's control, a mafia princess trapped in luxury. But when she meets Luca, a humble baker who sees her for who she truly is, her world begins to change.
Secret meetings, stolen moments, and forbidden attraction ignite a slow-burning romance-but danger lurks at every turn. With a strict father, an arranged marriage, and watchful cousins, Elara must choose: follow her heart, or obey the world she was born into.
7.6
Overnight, Ella lost her family, her home, and her entire life. Discarded by the foster system, she was left shivering in the freezing mud outside her ruined estate.
That was when Javier Shepherd appeared. The terrifyingly cold, powerful billionaire pulled her from the dirt, threw her into a massive glass penthouse, handed her an unlimited black card, and vanished overseas, leaving her in the hands of a cruel caretaker.
The caretaker treated Ella like garbage, feeding her cheap, processed meals while using the black card to buy designer bags. The toxic food triggered a severe allergic reaction. Ella collapsed in the dark hallway, her throat swelling shut, gasping for air while the caretaker locked the door and turned up the TV. She almost died on that cold hardwood floor.
When Javier found out, he ruthlessly destroyed the caretaker and sent her to prison. He guarded Ella's hospital bed with terrifying intensity and even moved into her apartment to stop her panic attacks. Yet, when Ella finally broke down crying over her dead parents, his eyes turned to ice.
"Losing emotional control over a juvenile past is an inefficient waste of energy."
He sneered, treating her grief like a bad financial investment. Ella was completely bewildered. Why did this dangerous man protect her so fiercely, yet hate her past so deeply?
It wasn't until his cousin visited the hospital that the cruel truth was revealed. Javier wasn't saving her out of kindness. He had been obsessed with Ella's mother—his family's adopted daughter who ran away years ago. To him, Ella wasn't a person to be loved. She was just a replacement asset, a ghost of the woman he never got over.
8.4
To save my toxic family's bankrupt company, I was sold for fifty million dollars to marry Arch Rush III, a notoriously ruthless and paralyzed billionaire.
Because of my severe face blindness, I couldn't even recognize my new husband. I was just a cheap, replaceable pawn. Yet, while my own parents physically abused me and treated me like livestock, my terrifying new husband actually protected me.
But entering the Rush family estate was like stepping into a snake pit. His aristocratic relatives mocked my cheap clothes and even tried to disfigure me with boiling tea.
To further humiliate me in front of a world-renowned neurologist, his grandmother pointed a bony finger at me.
"Go massage his muscles, this is your daily duty now."
Arch glared at me with a lethal warning, but I had no choice. Trembling, I pressed my hands into his thigh.
My heart instantly dropped. Beneath his expensive suit, there was no soft, withered flesh. The muscle contours were tight, dense, and incredibly firm.
How could a man completely paralyzed from the waist down have the legs of an athlete?
Before I could process the terrifying truth, my strong fingers dug into a nerve cluster. Under my touch, his "dead" muscle violently twitched.
The doctor dropped his pen in absolute shock, and I realized I had just accidentally exposed the ruthless billionaire's deadliest secret.
8.7
On the night of her engagement, Lila Hart discovers that her fiancé isn't just cheating-he's selling her to the cruel Alpha of the Silvermoon Pack to settle a debt.
Dragged into the arms of Damien Blackwood, a ruthless billionaire Alpha feared across the werewolf world, Lila vows to escape. But Damien isn't what he seems-behind his icy exterior lies a dangerous secret... one that ties Lila to him in ways neither can deny.
9.5
I married Clive Harrington, the coldest billionaire in Manhattan, under a strict contract that forbade any emotional burdens. When I needed a high-risk surgery to save my sight, I checked into the clinic alone, hiding the procedure from a husband who saw me as nothing more than a legal asset.
I thought I could handle the darkness in silence. But while I was blind and bandaged in my hospital bed, my biological mother called, screaming that if I didn't produce a Harrington heir by the end of the fiscal year, she would cut off the life-saving treatments for my disabled sister.
I was crawling on the cold hospital floor, desperately feeling for a cane I had dropped, when I touched a pair of expensive leather shoes. It was Clive. He was supposed to be in London closing a multi-million dollar deal, but there he was, watching his "contract wife" groveling in the dark like a beggar.
He didn't walk away in disgust. He carried me to a five-thousand-dollar-a-night VIP suite and sat by my bed, listening in chilling silence as another voicemail from my mother filled the room, calling me a "useless broodmare" who was only worth the trust fund disbursements my marriage secured.
I expected him to remind me of Clause 34B or hand me divorce papers now that I was "damaged goods." Instead, I felt his thumb brush a stray tear from my cheek, his presence shifting from a statue of ice into a predatory shield.
"I thought I was just currency to you," I whispered, my voice trembling behind the gauze. "Just an investment."
Clive didn't answer with words. He picked up his phone and called his head of legal with a single, terrifying command: "Kill the Douglas family’s credit lines. Every debt, every lien—trigger them all. If they want a war, I’ll give them a massacre."
As he leaned down to kiss my bandaged forehead, I realized the contract was dead. My husband wasn't protecting an asset anymore; he was hunting the people who had dared to touch what belonged to him.