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 4
The world tilted on its axis. The black spots in Ivana's vision grew larger, merging into a dark tunnel.
She reached out blindly for the bus stop sign, her fingers slipping on the hot metal. Her knees buckled, and she slid down to the curb, sitting on the concrete that was hot enough to fry an egg.
People walked past her. A man in a suit stepped around her legs, muttering about junkies.
Ivana wasn't a junkie. She was a mother. She was a scientist. She was starving.
Inside the Maybach, the air was a crisp sixty-eight degrees. Gannon sat in the back seat, a file open on his lap. He wasn't reading it.
He was watching the woman on the curb through his sunglasses.
She looked like a broken doll. Her face was pale, a stark contrast to the angry red mark on her cheek where Aleta had slapped her.
"Drive," Gannon said.
His driver, a burly man named Thomas, hesitated. "Sir? She looks... not good."
"She's acting," Gannon snapped. "She's a con artist, Thomas. That's what she does."
But he didn't look away.
He saw her hand trembling as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a small tin of mints.
Her fingers were clumsy. The tin slipped. It clattered onto the sidewalk and rolled, falling through the grate of a storm drain.
Ivana stared at the grate. Her shoulders slumped. It was a posture of absolute defeat.
Gannon felt a twinge in his chest. A sharp, annoying prick of conscience.
She put her head between her knees.
"She's going to pass out," Thomas said quietly.
Gannon cursed under his breath. He threw the file onto the empty seat next to him.
"Unlock the doors."
The lock clicked.
Gannon didn't get out. He couldn't. If he touched her, he might strangle her. Or worse.
"Get her," he ordered.
Thomas got out. A wave of heat rushed into the car.
Ivana felt hands on her arms. Strong, firm hands. She was too weak to fight.
"Come on, miss," a voice said.
She was lifted up. The world spun.
Next thing she knew, she was being lowered onto soft leather. The door slammed shut. The noise of the street vanished, replaced by the hum of the engine and the soft whir of the air conditioner.
She blinked, trying to focus.
She was in a car. A very expensive car.
She looked to her left.
Gannon was pressed against the far door, as if her poverty was contagious.
"Drink," he said.
He pointed to a bottle of Evian in the cup holder.
Ivana stared at the water. Her throat was sandpaper.
She reached for it. Her hand shook so much she couldn't unscrew the cap.
Gannon made a noise of impatience. He snatched the bottle from her, twisted the cap off with a sharp crack, and shoved it back into her hand.
She drank. She drank until she choked, water spilling down her chin and onto her hoodie.
Gannon watched her. His expression was unreadable behind the sunglasses.
"Slow down," he said.
Ivana lowered the bottle. She wiped her mouth.
"Thank you," she rasped.
Gannon didn't respond. He looked out the window.
Her stomach let out a loud, prolonged growl. It was a monstrous sound in the quiet cabin.
Ivana wrapped her arms around her midsection, her face burning.
Gannon turned back to her. He lowered his sunglasses.
"Skipping meals to save for your next Chanel bag?" he asked.
Ivana didn't answer. She didn't have the energy to fight him.
Gannon opened the center console. He pulled out a small, rectangular box.
He tossed it into her lap.
"Eat. I don't want you dying in my car. The paperwork would be a hassle."
Ivana looked at the box. La Maison du Chocolat.
Her heart stuttered.
It was the truffle collection. Specifically, the raspberry ganache ones.
They used to buy a box every Friday night. They would sit on his roof deck, sharing them one by one.
She looked at him. Did he remember? Or was this just his standard car snack?
She opened the box. The smell of rich dark chocolate wafted up.
She took one. She popped it into her mouth.
The sugar hit her bloodstream almost instantly. The tart raspberry, the bitter cocoa. It tasted like memories. It tasted like four years ago.
She ate another. And another.
Gannon watched her lips move. He watched a speck of chocolate adhere to the corner of her mouth.
His eyes darkened. He looked away abruptly, shifting in his seat.
"Where are you staying?" he asked.
Ivana swallowed. "A motel. In Bushwick."
Gannon scoffed. "Classy."
He tapped on the partition glass. "Thomas, take us to Bushwick."
Ivana leaned back against the headrest. The sugar was helping. The dizziness was receding.
"Why?" she asked softly. "Why did you pick me up?"
Gannon didn't look at her. "Because you were making a scene. And it reflects poorly on the company if my former... whatever you were... dies on the street."
Whatever you were.
The words stung, but she accepted them.
Her phone rang.
It was loud in the silence.
She looked at the screen. Mrs. Higgins.
Panic surged. If she didn't answer, Mrs. Higgins might leave. But if she answered...
She pressed the green button, intending to put it to her ear quickly.
But her thumb slipped. She hit the speaker button.
"Mommy?"
Cohen's voice filled the car.
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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.