He's The Last To Know Her Power
"I want a divorce."
I was eight months pregnant. He didn't know.
For three years, I fixed every SEC filing he signed. Caught every error. Kept his billion-dollar firm clean. He never once asked what I did all day.
When he said those three words over dinner, I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I just smiled and said, "Okay."
Then I went upstairs, unlocked my study—the room he never entered—and pulled out a lease for a Brooklyn apartment. Incorporation papers for my own firm. And a folder full of evidence that could send his company up in flames.
He thought he was divorcing a wife.
He was actually firing the only person keeping him out of federal prison.
Now his partners want to sue me. His mother is panicking. And he's been sitting in a hospital waiting room for seven hours—just for a chance to hold our daughter.
He spent three years not seeing me.
Now? He can't look away.
My name is Nora Kidd. And I'm just getting started.
Chapters
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Chapter 1
"I want a divorce."
I was eight months pregnant. He didn't know.
For three years, I fixed every SEC filing he signed. Caught every error. Kept his billion-dollar firm clean. He never once asked what I did all day.
When he said those three words over dinner, I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I just smiled and said, "Okay."
Then I went upstairs, unlocked my study—the room he never entered—and pulled out a lease for a Brooklyn apartment. Incorporation papers for my own firm. And a folder full of evidence that could send his company up in flames.
He thought he was divorcing a wife.
He was actually firing the only person keeping him out of federal prison.
Now his partners want to sue me. His mother is panicking. And he's been sitting in a hospital waiting room for seven hours—just for a chance to hold our daughter.
He spent three years not seeing me.
Now? He can't look away.
My name is Nora Kidd. And I'm just getting started.
Chapter 1
Nora POV:
The Wakeman Holdings compliance audit was due in six hours.
I was eight months pregnant. My husband didn't know.
And I'd just found the error—a material omission on page 23 of the Q2 filing that would have triggered a full SEC investigation. Colton had signed his name to it. Three weeks ago. Without reading it.
I corrected it. Added the missing disclosure. Logged the revision in my private file—the forty-seventh one I'd fixed in three years.
Then I walked downstairs.
He was at the dining table. Mahogany. Crystal chandelier. A plate of seared branzino that cost more than what my mother spent on groceries in a week.
"I want a divorce."
Three words. Delivered between bites. He didn't look up.
I set down my fork. My hand found my stomach under the table—the curve I'd hidden beneath cashmere sweaters and strategic draping. She kicked. Hard.
"I agree."
His fork stopped mid-air. "What?"
"I said I agree."
Colton's face went through three expressions: confusion, irritation, and something I'd never seen before. A flicker of fear. It disappeared fast.
"Just like that? No questions?"
I stood. Smoothed my napkin. Looked at the man I'd spent three years propping up—fixing his compliance failures, remembering his mother's birthday, laughing at his investors' jokes. The man who'd never once asked what I did all day.
"Your lawyer can contact mine."
I walked toward the hallway. Paused at the threshold.
"Oh, and Colton?"
He turned.
"The Wakeman filings. You might want to get ahead of those."
His face went white. "What does that mean?"
But I was already walking away.
In my study, I locked the door. My hands were shaking—not from fear. From the adrenaline of finally saying it out loud.
Three years. Three years of being invisible. Three years of fixing his mistakes while he took the credit. Three years of hiding prenatal vitamins in empty supplement bottles.
My phone buzzed. Amira.
"All set. Kidd Forensic Consulting is live. And Nora—the Wakeman files are everything we needed. If he tries anything, we have enough to trigger a full SEC review."
I looked at the locked door. On the other side, Colton was probably already calling his family's lawyer, trying to figure out what I knew.
He had no idea.
Not about the baby. Not about the files. Not about the forty-seven corrections I'd documented.
And he definitely didn't know about the file I'd left on his desk. The one he'd find tomorrow morning. The one that proved his mother's family trust was built on a foundation of regulatory omissions.
I pulled out my phone. Opened the photo I'd taken that morning—the ultrasound. Her profile. The slope of her nose. The curl of her tiny fist.
Iris. I'd named her months ago.
Tomorrow, I would walk into a mediation room and watch Colton's face as Amira laid out exactly what I had. Next week, I would move into my Brooklyn apartment. Next month, I would hold my daughter and give her my name.
But tonight?
Tonight I would sleep in this house one last time. The wolf in silk sheets. Counting down the hours until the man in the other room discovered exactly how much he'd just lost.
He wanted a divorce.
He had no idea what he'd just agreed to.
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9.1
"Someone will hear," I whispered, the words breaking into a tremor.
His family and the entire Castillo group were gathered just down the hall.
Smack.
My gasp tangled in my throat.
"No, they won't." His palm landed again, sharp and claiming. Smack. "Do you want to know why?"
All I could manage was a desperate, breathless sound.
"Because you'll stay quiet." His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Won't you, Abigail?"
He rubbed the spot where he'd struck, the heat of his touch spreading like fire under my skin. Pins and needles rushed through me, making my breath hitch. I bit down hard on my lip, fighting the sound clawing its way up my throat.
"Good girl." His praise slid over me like sin, a command and a reward all at once.
*****
Abigail swore off love the night she caught her boyfriend tangled up with the neighbor's daughter. Relationships were nothing but heartbreak-until he came along.
One touch from her new employer's grandson, Christian Castillo, awakens a hunger she thought she'd buried forever. She knows it's forbidden. She knows it can't last. But desire has a way of burning through reason, and with Christian, surrender feels inevitable.
Then her world shatters. Her employer is murdered, and the blame lands squarely on her shoulders. With prison looming and her only lifeline being a man who refuses to forgive her, Abigail is trapped between ruin and a marriage she never chose.
But she won't go down quietly. Someone is pulling the strings, and she's determined to expose the truth-even if it costs her freedom, her heart, and the man she can't stop craving.
A story of love, betrayal, and the courage to fight for forgiveness-and for the truth.
*****
A steamy, suspenseful billionaire romance about love, betrayal, and redemption.
8.3
For three years, my billionaire husband Bronson treated me like a fragile glass doll. The media said he worshipped me, but his love felt more like a suffocating collar as we struggled with infertility.
The day I finally got a positive pregnancy test, I wanted to surprise him. Instead, I opened his hidden safe and found a commercial surrogacy contract.
He had secretly bought another woman to carry his child, and she was already seven weeks pregnant.
When I confronted him and threw my wedding ring on his desk, his perfect husband mask shattered. He claimed he did it to "protect" my weak body. When I demanded a divorce and walked out, he systematically cut off my air supply. He froze my credit cards, drained my personal trust fund, and blacklisted me across the entire entertainment industry.
"She'll last forty-eight hours before she's crying on her knees."
Standing penniless in the freezing rain, I pressed a hand to my flat stomach. If he found out about the baby inside me, he would use it as an unbreakable chain to lock me in his cage forever. I couldn't let him win.
With nowhere left to run, I called an old co-star who had mysteriously vanished from Hollywood years ago.
Gardner Whitfield wasn't an actor anymore; he was a ruthless corporate predator. He slid a contract across his desk, offering to forge me steel wings to tear Bronson apart.
"Sign this, and you become my exclusive property for five years."
Without hesitating, I picked up the pen.
7.6
Due to my family's expectations and obligations, I married Colton in place of my half-sister, Shirley.
Eight years later, Shirley, who avoided an arranged marriage, returned to the country, and my husband Colton asked for a divorce.
Coincidentally, as my mother was critically ill, I rushed to the hospital, only to unexpectedly collide with my secret admirer.
Upon learning about my divorce, he began courting me with genuine determination.
After the divorce, I restarted my career and worked diligently to achieve my career goals with newfound support. He offered unwavering support and encouragement, helping me steadily progress.
Meanwhile, Colton, who had once insisted on divorcing me, began to regret his decision.
8.3
Imogen Montgomery was the perfect billionaire heiress, deeply in love and ready to marry her fiancé, Clark Ellis.
That all ended the night her cousin Kathleen ripped the sapphire pendant from her neck and pushed her into a pool of toxic chemicals to die.
Two years later, Imogen's eyes snapped open. But she didn't wake up in a hospital. She woke up tied to a stained mattress, trapped in the battered body of Briana, a teenage girl from the slums who had just been sold to a local trafficker.
After violently fighting her way out of a cheap motel, she discovered the horrifying truth. Kathleen had taken over the Montgomery Group. She had locked Imogen's grieving parents away in a psychiatric facility as prisoners.
And worst of all, Kathleen was now flaunting her stolen wealth online, preparing to marry Clark.
A wave of pure, white-hot rage boiled in her blood. Kathleen had murdered her, stolen her family, and was playing the perfect grieving cousin. How was she supposed to fight back? She was just a runaway nobody now. If she tried to expose the truth, Kathleen's security would shoot her dead in the street.
She needed a weapon. She needed a shield. She needed the one man Kathleen feared.
Covered in mud and blood, Briana intercepted Clark's car in the freezing rain. She was going to infiltrate his home as his vulgar, unhinged fake mistress, and she would drag Kathleen straight down to hell.
8.8
My fiancé, Knox, was the man I’d spent ten years building a life with, the one I’d poured my family’s fortune into. But then I found the lockbox. Inside, a photo of him smiling, his arm around a heavily pregnant woman, marked: *To my only wife Deana.*
I’d been looking for a charger in our Boston penthouse closet when I stumbled upon it. The faded Polaroid showed Knox, younger, beaming, with a heavily pregnant stranger. Its timestamp: "Ten years ago"—the exact year I funded his Ivy League PhD.
Flipping the photo, I saw Knox’s familiar handwriting: *To my only wife Deana and our upcoming miracle.* My world crumbled. The man I’d loved had a wife, making me the unwitting mistress. My opulent life was built on his lies.
His text, "Baby, I'm coming home to *our house*," twisted into a cruel joke. My tears froze. A decade of sacrifices, of family alienation—all for a man who used my money and trust—shredded in my mind. The fragile woman in me vanished; my eyes turned cold and clear. I relocked the box, smoothed the rug, and applied crimson lipstick. Practicing a flawless smile, I whispered, "Welcome home, my sweet liar."
7.4
My husband, Rodger Hayes, was a renowned chief negotiator, famous for his integrity and firmness within the circle.
When my son and I were kidnapped, with three hostages at the scene, the kidnappers agreed to release only one.
Among the women and the boy, Rodger should have chosen to save the boy first.
Yet, I heard him saying in Spanish fluently, "Release the woman in white."
His first love, Jolene Chapman, was freed, while my son, Jacob Hayes, died from a gunfire.
Later, Rodger explained the situation flatly. "The kidnappers chose to release Jolene."
I cradled Jacob's ashes and smiled sadly.
Rodger didn't know that I was fluent in Spanish, as I had been a special forces member.
His lies crumbled before me.
My phone vibrated, and I confirmed the encrypted message.
"Falcon returns to base."