His Secret Heir In Her Arms
I returned to New York with a broken suitcase and exactly three hundred and forty-two dollars in my bank account. My mother was dying in a public hospital, and the only treatment that could save her required a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit I didn't have.
While I was pleading with the billing department, I ran into my billionaire ex, Gannon Sharpe, and his cruel fiancée, Aleta. Without a second thought, Aleta slapped me so hard my lip split, kicking my belongings across the floor and calling me a gold-digging thief in front of the entire staff.
I looked at Gannon, the man I once loved more than my own life, hoping for a shred of mercy. Instead, he looked at me with pure revulsion and told me I belonged in the gutter. He believed the lies his grandfather told him—that I had abandoned him after his car crash and vanished with millions.
He had no idea I was the one who actually pulled him from that burning wreckage, or that I was currently skipping meals in a moldy motel just so our secret son could have formula. He called me "disgusting" and walked away, leaving me to rot.
I wanted to scream that I was the genius scientist who wrote his company’s core algorithms, and that the child he didn’t know existed was shivering with a fever only blocks away. But the ironclad NDA I signed to save my family kept me silent, even as Gannon looked at me like I was something he’d stepped in.
Desperate for health insurance to save my mother and son, I took a bottom-tier data entry job in the basement of Gannon’s own tower, intending to stay invisible. But when a billion-dollar error threatened to bankrupt his empire, I couldn't stop myself from hacking the system to fix the code.
Now, the man who hates me is standing in my cubicle, demanding to know how a "dropout" knows his most guarded secrets. Gannon is finally digging into my past, and he’s about to find out exactly what—and who—I’ve been hiding for the last four years.
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Chapter 3
Ivana stared at the button on his jacket. She couldn't look him in the eye anymore. The shame was a living thing, eating her from the inside out.
Aleta was smirking behind Gannon's shoulder.
Ivana reached down to grab her tote bag. As she did, the unpaid invoice from Dr. Evans fluttered out from the folder.
It landed right next to Gannon's shoe.
Gannon looked down. He saw the logo of the hospital. He saw the bold text: PAST DUE. And the number: $50,000.
Ivana lunged for it.
Gannon watched her scramble, his expression unmoving. He didn't step on it, but he didn't move out of the way either. He simply looked at the paper as if it were a piece of gum on the sidewalk-something beneath his notice, yet utterly revealing.
Ivana froze, her hand inches from his shoe.
She looked up at him. "Please," she whispered.
Gannon kicked the paper slightly, flipping it over so the total was obscured. It was a dismissive gesture, one that hurt more than if he had trampled it.
"Need money?" he asked. His voice dripped with disdain. But beneath the scorn, his eyes flickered with a dark calculation. If she had taken millions, why was she desperate for fifty thousand? The math didn't add up, and Gannon Sharpe hated unbalanced equations. But his anger was louder than his logic.
Ivana closed her eyes. If he knew she needed money for her mother, he might investigate. If he investigated Elena, he might find out about the time gap. About where Ivana had been. About Cohen.
She had to make him hate her. Hate was safe. Hate kept him away.
She forced her lips into a smile. It felt brittle, like cracked glass.
She pulled her hand back and stood up, dusting off her knees.
"Actually, yes," she said. Her voice shook, but she forced a tone of casual greed. "The millions didn't last as long as I thought. Europe is expensive."
Aleta gasped. "You have no shame!"
Gannon's face hardened. The muscle in his jaw jumped. He scanned her face, looking for the lie, but her mask was perfect.
"So you're back for a refill?" he asked.
Ivana shrugged. One shoulder. A casual gesture that cost her every ounce of her strength. "You have plenty, Gannon. You wouldn't miss a check or two."
The air around Gannon seemed to drop ten degrees.
He stepped back. He looked at her with such profound revulsion that Ivana felt physically sick.
"You are disgusting," he said.
The words slammed into her.
He turned to Aleta. "Let's go."
Gannon turned his back on her. He walked away, his stride long and angry. Aleta shot Ivana a triumphant glare and trotted after him, hooking her arm through his.
Ivana watched them go. She watched the man she had loved since she was twenty-two walk away, believing she was a monster.
She waited until they turned the corner.
Then, her legs gave out. She slid down the wall, clutching the dirty invoice to her chest.
She checked the paper. It was wrinkled, but legible.
She folded it carefully and put it in her pocket.
Her phone buzzed again. An automated text from the hospital billing department.
Payment required within 24 hours to proceed with treatment.
Ivana pulled herself up. She wiped her face. She had to fix this.
She walked back to the room, composing herself before she opened the door.
Elena was awake. Her eyes were cloudy.
"Did you pay?" Elena whispered.
Ivana nodded. She picked up a knife and an apple from the bedside table. "Yes, Mama. I worked out a plan. Don't worry."
Her hands were shaking so badly she almost cut her thumb.
Dr. Evans came back an hour later. He pulled Ivana into the hallway.
"I can't start the full dialysis without the deposit," he said gently. "I need that five thousand, Ivana. Today."
Ivana pleaded. "Give me forty-eight hours. Please."
Dr. Evans sighed. "Forty-eight hours. That's it."
Ivana sat on the bench in the hallway. She opened her banking app again.
$342.
A text came in from Mrs. Higgins, the neighbor she paid to watch Cohen in the motel room.
He needs more formula. And I need my pay for last week.
Ivana stared at the screen. Cohen. Her sweet, innocent boy who had Gannon's eyes and Gannon's allergies.
She couldn't let him starve.
She transferred $300 to Mrs. Higgins.
Balance: $42.
She hadn't eaten in two days. Her stomach cramped, a sharp, twisting pain.
She walked out of the hospital. The midday sun was blinding.
She couldn't afford a car. She couldn't even afford the subway if she wanted to eat something later.
She walked to the bus stop.
The heat radiated off the sidewalk. The air shimmered.
Ivana stood by the metal pole. Her head felt light. Black spots danced in her vision.
She swayed.
A black car pulled up to the curb. It was sleek, silent, and massive. A Maybach.
The window was tinted so dark it looked like a mirror.
Ivana didn't pay attention. She was focusing on breathing. In. Out.
The window rolled down.
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8.9
I sold myself into a loveless marriage for $500,000 just to afford my little niece's life-saving surgery.
But my new husband, Kash, despised me, completely convinced I was a shameless gold-digger after his assets.
At 2:00 AM, he called to demand I fulfill my end of our twisted bargain: giving him an heir.
He forced me to sign a supplementary agreement surrendering all custody rights before I was even pregnant, treating me like a rented womb he bought at auction.
When my niece's condition suddenly worsened and I desperately begged him for a $50,000 advance, he hurled a black credit card directly at my face, leaving a stinging red welt.
"Take the money and get out," he sneered, his eyes filled with absolute disgust.
He immediately set up real-time transaction alerts to track my every purchase, waiting to catch me on a selfish shopping spree.
He thought I was a parasite, completely unaware that every single penny went straight to the pediatric intensive care unit.
Even my abusive former guardians cornered me at the fertility clinic, loudly mocking me for selling my body while my niece was dying.
I endured the degrading contracts, the cold IVF appointments, and Kash's relentless contempt, suffocating under the weight of his cruel assumptions.
Why did he have to strip away my dignity when he already owned my life on paper?
But as I clutched the hospital receipt that finally secured my niece's surgery, the fear inside me died.
With a new career starting tomorrow and a high-powered lawyer suddenly stepping in to audit my stolen inheritance, I was done playing the helpless victim.
I was going to show my arrogant husband exactly what happens when you push a desperate woman too far.
9.3
Mark & Alex
9.3
Mark Windsor, Australia's most feared and respected CEO, has built walls as high as his empire. After losing his parents, the only warmth left in his life comes from Mary Smith, the woman who cooks his meals and feels more like home than family ever did.
When Mary's son Alex visits the estate, Mark doesn't expect the sharp-tongued, smiling graduate to unsettle him. Alex doesn't expect to fall for the man who owns the house he lives in or the company he refuses to work for.
Forced proximity, secret glances, late-night conversations, and quiet meals slowly turn into something dangerous. When Alex finally joins Mark's company on his own merit, love becomes a risk neither of them can afford.
In a world where reputation matters more than truth, Mark and Alex must decide if love is worth the fall.
9.2
I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it-she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future.
"Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother's trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead.
I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent-or finish me off for good.
I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything.
I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it.
"I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing."
He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father's entire empire.
9.7
She was supposed to tutor his children.
Not steal his heart.
After a brutal breakup and one very bad night, Hannah Milton becomes a live-in tutor at the powerful Walton estate-where rules are strict, emotions are buried, and falling in love is absolutely forbidden.
Benjamin Walton is older, untouchable, and completely off-limits. He's built his life on control, but Hannah's wit, warmth, and chaos threaten everything he's worked to protect.
As desire ignites and secrets surface, one woman inside the house is determined to destroy Hannah before love can win.
Because some loves aren't meant to happen...
until they do.
9.8
"I didn't marry you for love, Elara. I married you for the land."
Five years ago, Elara Sterling wore a gold mask and shared a night of forbidden passion with Silas Vane, the "Ice King" of Seattle. Then, she vanished.
Now, she's back-not as a socialite, but as a struggling mother desperate to save her son. But Silas isn't the man she remembers. He's cold, powerful, and he just bought her father's debt.
The terms of the "Sterling Clause" are simple: Marry him for one year, and her debts are erased. But there's a catch. Silas doesn't just want the Sterling Port; he wants the son he never knew he had.
As Elara steps into a world of vipers and corporate sabotage, she must decide: Is she a wife, a prisoner, or the only woman powerful enough to melt the Ice King's heart?
In the game of power, love is the ultimate hostile takeover.
8.3
I arrived at the mansion with nothing but the clothes on my back, expecting to work off my debt, but I quickly realized I was just inventory.
The air in the hallway was kept at a freezing temperature, a deliberate choice to preserve the art and remind girls like me that we were nothing more than furniture.
Inside the room, the sounds of a Hollywood starlet and a powerful man echoed through the walls, followed by the sight of discarded silk and cold, hard cash scattered across the marble floor.
When I accidentally stood in the way, I was tripped, mocked as trash, and left to bleed on the cold floor while the security guards watched with dead eyes.
Even when I begged for my passport, Chadwich Carey didn't see a human being; he saw a stain on his pristine, expensive reality that needed to be erased.
He crushed my fingers in the door, dragged me into the dark, and eventually used me to satisfy a drug-fueled hunger that no one else could touch, only to discard me back into the rain like garbage.
I sat in the freezing Bronx alley, shivering in his oversized shirt, realizing that he never intended to give me my freedom.
He thought he had broken me, that I was just another nameless girl to be silenced, but he was wrong.
I am not a box to be packed away or a hand to be severed.
He taught me that in this world, money and violence are the only languages that matter.
I will learn them both, and when I return, I won't be begging for my passport; I’ll be taking everything he owns.