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 7
Breann Carlson sat in her penthouse living room. The view of Central Park was obscured by the rain.
She held a glass of Pinot Noir in one hand and her phone in the other.
A photo appeared on the screen.
It was grainy, taken through a telephoto lens.
It showed Gannon's Maybach stopped on a street in Brooklyn. It showed a woman getting out.
Breann zoomed in.
She recognized the hoodie. She recognized the posture.
Ivana.
Breann's grip on the wine glass tightened. The stem snapped.
Red wine spilled over her white silk robe and onto the cream carpet. It looked like a gunshot wound.
She didn't flinch.
She dialed a number.
"Silas," she said. Her voice was calm, sweet.
"Hey, Bree," Silas Vance answered. He was Gannon's best friend, and Breann's useful idiot.
"I'm worried about Gannon," she said. She let a tremor enter her voice. "He... he's been acting strange. I think the stress of the wedding is getting to him."
"What happened?" Silas asked.
"I think... I think he went to see her. Ivana."
Silas was silent. "She's back?"
Breann sniffled. "Yes. I'm so scared, Silas. She hurt him so badly last time. If she's back for money..."
"Don't worry, Bree. I'll look into it. I won't let her near you guys."
"Thank you, Silas. You're the best."
She hung up.
Her face went blank. She dropped the broken glass onto the floor.
She typed a message to another number. An unlisted one.
Find out where she is staying. And find out if she brought the brat.
She looked at the photo of Ivana again.
"You should have stayed dead," she whispered.
Back in the motel room, Ivana peeled off her wet clothes. The room smelled of mildew and stale cigarettes. She leaned the black umbrella against the wall. It looked like an alien object in the shabby room.
She went into the bathroom. The tiles were cracked.
She turned on the shower. The water sputtered, then came out lukewarm.
She stepped in.
As she washed the city grime off her skin, she looked at her left arm.
On the inside of her wrist, extending up her forearm, was a scar.
It was jagged. Ugly.
It wasn't a clean cut. It was a tear.
The glass from the windshield had sliced her open as she dragged Gannon's unconscious body through the window of the burning car.
The doctors had stitched it up, but the nerves were damaged. Sometimes, when it rained, it ached.
Like tonight.
She traced the scar with her soapy finger.
Hampton had told Gannon that Ivana had fled the scene. That she had left him to die. That the paramedics found him alone.
Ivana had been in the second ambulance, drifting in and out of consciousness from blood loss. But Hampton had been thorough. He used her vulnerable status-her visa was expiring, and her sponsorship was tied to the company-to erase her presence. He paid off the EMTs, buried the police report, and deported her record before she even woke up from surgery. To the world, and to Gannon, she had simply vanished.
She turned off the water.
She dried herself with a scratchy towel.
She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her laptop. It was an old model, heavy and slow.
She logged into Skype.
Mrs. Higgins answered.
Cohen was eating a bowl of oatmeal. He looked up and beamed.
"Mommy! Look! Bunny is eating too!"
He held up a tattered stuffed rabbit.
Ivana smiled. It hurt her face.
"Hi, baby. Is Bunny hungry?"
"Yes! He likes oats."
Ivana watched him. He had Gannon's nose. The exact slope.
Mrs. Higgins stepped into the frame. "He's been good. But we're almost out of the special lotion for his eczema."
"I know," Ivana said. "I'm working on it."
She hung up after five minutes. She couldn't bear to watch him any longer. Every second she wasn't with him felt like a failure.
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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.