His Trophy Wife Is A Predator
I married the CEO of the powerful Powers Corporation, and everyone saw me as the perfect trophy wife. They assumed my days were filled with nothing but shopping on Fifth Avenue.
But this prestigious family was a house of cards. My husband's siblings were spoiled, useless children threatening to bring the entire empire down with their stupidity.
His brother, Braden, was a parasite who mistook his trust fund for "freedom." His sister, Chelsea, was a brainless socialite being used as a pawn in a public scandal by a con artist.
Even the family's ruthless Chief of Staff, a man meant to be their shield, looked at me with utter contempt, viewing me as just another problem to be managed.
They all saw a fragile doll. They had no idea that their weakness was an insult to the family name, and I was not going to stand for it.
It was time to discipline the children. The first lesson began at 3,000 feet, when I kicked my brother-in-law out of a plane mid-flight. His rehabilitation—and my takeover of this family—had just begun.
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Chapter 4
The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private dining room.
Hazel sat perfectly straight at the head of the long mahogany table. A flawless, traditional English breakfast was laid out before her.
She picked up her heavy silver knife and fork. She sliced into a roasted tomato with the rigid, elegant posture of someone attending a royal banquet at Buckingham Palace.
The dining room doors flew open with a violent crash.
Chelsea stormed into the room. She was wearing a custom haute couture dress, her face twisted in absolute fury.
She slammed her Birkin bag onto the empty chair next to her.
"Do you have any idea what they are saying about us online?!" Chelsea screamed, waving her phone.
Hazel did not look up. She calmly brought a piece of tomato to her lips, chewing slowly, completely ignoring the tantrum.
Chelsea's face turned purple. She marched right up to the head of the table.
"Are you deaf? Caryn is destroying our family's reputation and you are just sitting here eating!"
Hazel slowly placed her silver fork down.
The soft clink of the metal against the fine bone china instantly silenced the room.
Hazel lifted her chin. She looked at Chelsea with the exhausted patience of someone dealing with a toddler.
"Where exactly," Hazel asked smoothly, "did Caryn get her pregnancy ultrasound done?"
Chelsea blinked. The anger drained from her face, replaced by sudden confusion.
"At... at a private clinic downtown," Chelsea stammered.
Hazel let out a soft, mocking hum.
"And why," Hazel continued, her eyes locking onto Chelsea's, "would a woman who claims to be carrying the heir of a multinational CEO come crying to you, instead of hiring a top-tier shark lawyer?"
Chelsea's eyes darted to the floor. Her fingers nervously twisted the expensive fabric of her dress.
"Because... we are best friends," she whispered defensively.
Hazel picked up a crisp white linen napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth.
"You think she was asking for your help," Hazel said, her voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "She was only using you as a free megaphone to broadcast her lies to the Powers family."
The words hit Chelsea like a physical slap to the face.
Her breath hitched. A sudden rush of memories flooded her brain-the way Caryn always made sure they were in public when she cried, the way she always asked Chelsea to post photos of them together.
Chelsea's skin turned a sickly pale white. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She had been played.
Hazel watched the realization hit the girl. She calmly picked up her knife and sliced a piece of bacon.
"Her ultimate goal," Hazel stated methodically, "is to force a public confrontation at the Hampton charity gala this weekend."
Chelsea's chest began to heave.
The humiliation burned hot in her veins. The one thing she hated more than anything in the world was being treated like a brainless, rich idiot.
Hazel reached across the table and pushed a glass of ice water toward her.
"Drink. Think," Hazel ordered.
Chelsea didn't touch the glass. She stared at Hazel, her breathing ragged.
"Why are you telling me this?" Chelsea asked, her voice shaking with suppressed rage.
Hazel leaned back into her tall chair. She looked down her nose at the girl.
"Because I will not allow anyone to use such vulgar, low-class tactics to insult my family."
The words "my family" hung heavy in the air.
It was a declaration of absolute sovereignty. For a brief second, Chelsea felt a strange, terrifying wave of security wash over her.
Chelsea ground her teeth together. She snatched her Birkin bag off the chair.
She spun around and marched toward the door, her high heels stabbing the floor with murderous intent.
Right as she reached the doorway, Chelsea stopped.
She didn't turn around. She kept her back to the room.
"Thank you," Chelsea muttered under her breath.
Before Hazel could reply, Chelsea stormed out of the villa, slamming the door behind her.
Hazel picked up her teacup. She held the delicate porcelain up to the sunlight, admiring the amber color of the Earl Grey tea. A cold, satisfied smile touched her lips.
By the wall, the butler stood frozen. His jaw was slightly open. He couldn't believe the most explosive temper in the family had just been weaponized and redirected so easily.
Hazel turned her head and met the butler's eyes.
"Prepare my study," she commanded. "I have documents to review."
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9.6
Brenda Vincent thought her biggest nightmare was catching her boyfriend cheating with her roommate on her own sofa.
But her life truly derailed after a drunken night led her into the bed of Bryon Reeves, the ruthless billionaire CEO and older brother of the student she tutored.
Trying to pay off the most dangerous man in New York with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill was her first mistake.
Fleeing the hotel, she accidentally rear-ended his custom Maybach. Bryon used the massive repair bill to blackmail her into being his fake date, parading her at a gala just to make his sister-in-law jealous.
When Brenda finally snapped and fled the humiliation, only to be rescued by his biggest corporate rival, Bryon's twisted possessiveness turned completely destructive.
"If you feel kidnapped, call the police. But your teaching license will be permanently revoked."
He didn't just threaten her. He systematically dismantled her life, using his influence to force the university to freeze her tenure and suspend her without pay.
Brenda couldn't understand why this terrifying man was going to such extreme lengths to ruin a simple tutor who just wanted to be left alone.
Now, stripped of her career, her income, and her independence, she was forced into the sprawling Reeves Manor.
Hearing the heavy mahogany door lock from the outside in her signal-jammed bedroom, Brenda's panic slowly morphed into a cold, clinical rage.
She was trapped, but she refused to be his helpless pawn.
9.3
They say you can't have it all. I'm about to prove them wrong-or destroy myself trying.
When my struggling mother married billionaire Richard Stone, I thought I was gaining a family. Instead, I found three stepbrothers who became my obsession, my downfall, and my salvation.
Dominic, the eldest, cold and commanding, who kisses me like he's claiming his kingdom and looks at me like I'm the only thing he can't control.
Julian, the charming playboy who hides a vulnerable soul beneath his perfect smile, making me feel like I'm the only woman he's ever truly seen.
Asher, the brooding artist who paints me like I'm his muse and touches me like I'm his masterpiece, seeing parts of my soul I didn't know existed.
They're forbidden. They're dangerous. They're everything I shouldn't want.
But when I discover my father didn't die by suicide that he was murdered by the very man who now calls himself my stepfather, these three powerful men becomes my unlikely allies.
First it was a forbidden attraction, now it's an arrangement that defies every rule.
The rules are simple:
I'll give each of them a chance.
I'll take everything they offer.
And in the end, I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life:
Choose one of them. Choose all of them. Or choose myself.
9.6
For five years, I was Barron Santana's elite bodyguard and loyal shadow. I stood between him and bullets, giving him my youth and my entire heart.
But last night, the CEO announced his engagement to a flawless socialite on national television.
Heartbroken, I got blackout drunk and ended up crashing on the couch of Cassidy Gross, a billionaire tech CEO who saved me from a bar creep.
When I showed up late to work, Barron locked me in his freezing office. He pinned me against the glass, smelling Cassidy's cologne on my clothes.
"Are you already looking for your next meal ticket?"
He snarled the words, treating me like a cheap whore. When I defended myself, he pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his fingers, acting as if my very touch contaminated him.
Then, he coldly ordered his assistant to draft my termination papers.
Five years of risking my life for him, thrown away like garbage just because of his twisted ego.
Devastated, I ran out and collapsed in the hallway, sobbing uncontrollably until a kind coworker gently pulled me into his arms to comfort me.
I didn't know Barron had followed me out.
Seeing me clinging to another man, his legendary control completely shattered, replaced by a dark, violent possessiveness.
But it was too late. I was done playing his obedient dog, and it was time to take Cassidy up on his offer.
8.4
I had just been brutally fired from my corporate firm, stripped of my career and dignity in a matter of minutes.
Before I could even process the loss, I was handed a brown envelope that shattered my reality. My billionaire sister, who had ruthlessly cut me out of her life fifteen years ago, had committed suicide.
She left behind a fifteen-year-old son I never knew existed, a $300 million trust, and a $3 million stipend for me to act as his guardian. But her suicide note contained a terrifying, desperate warning scrawled in tearing ink.
"DO NOT INVESTIGATE MY DEATH. Accept what I've given you. Protect my son. Forget I existed."
I met the boy, Elon. He crashed his bike into me on the street, bleeding and crying, begging me not to abandon him. Pity and fifteen years of guilt overwhelmed me. I sat in the sprawling office of her elite estate lawyer and signed my life away to protect this innocent, grieving child.
Why did my sister suddenly reach out after a decade and a half of cold silence? What kind of monster was she running from that drove her to such a desperate end? I thought I was honoring her final wish by taking the boy in.
But as the elevator doors were closing, I caught their reflection in the polished steel.
My terrified, weeping nephew stopped crying instantly. He turned and exchanged a chilling, imperceptible nod with the lawyer.
That silent look said everything. The first move was complete.
I hadn't just inherited a child. I had walked straight into a meticulously planned trap.
7.9
On my eighteenth birthday, the celestial pact hiding my aura finally expired. I stood on the rotting steps of the trailer, watching my foster family celebrate my eviction like they’d won the lottery. Brenda threw a liability waiver at me to sign, ensuring I’d never ask for a dime of their welfare checks again. Worse, her daughter Regina stood there smirking, flaunting the heirloom emerald bracelet she’d stolen from my secret stash—unaware it was a spiritual artifact soaked in fifty years of blood magic. "Consider it payment for room and board, freak," Regina sneered, forcing the silver band over her wrist. They thought they were discarding a burden. They didn't realize I was the only dam holding back a tidal wave of their own bad karma. As I signed the papers, voluntarily severing our ties, the air pressure plummeted. The bracelet began to constrict like a snake, turning Regina’s flesh a necrotic purple as the protection I offered vanished. Before they could scream, a matte black helicopter bearing the Sterling Industries crest descended onto the muddy lawn, blowing their plastic lawn chairs into the neighbor's yard. A man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped out, ignoring the filth to bow before me. He looked at my terrified foster family and announced, "We are here to retrieve the Sterling heiress." I smiled at Regina, whose arm was already beginning to rot, and whispered, "Keep the bracelet. You'll need it to pay for the amputation."
7.2
I was dying in a rusted warehouse, paralyzed in a wheelchair while the man I loved and my own stepsister watched with smiles on their faces. The air smelled of old oil and damp concrete, and my vision was fading into a milky haze.
Dillon, the man I’d sacrificed everything for, smoothed his custom suit and pulled out a syringe filled with a clear, lethal neurotoxin. Beside him, my stepsister Bianca toyed with my mother’s sapphire ring—the one they’d just pried off my hand while I was too weak to even make a fist.
She leaned in and whispered that my father’s trust fund was already offshore and that they’d sent my husband, Kade, to the wrong coordinates to ensure he’d only find my corpse. Dillon slid the needle into my vein with the chilling efficiency of a man who had done this before.
"This will stop your heart in thirty seconds," he said, sounding as bored as if he were explaining a tax form. Ice flooded my chest, and my lungs seized, fighting for oxygen that wasn't there. As the warehouse lights blurred into white streaks, an explosion echoed in the distance. Kade had come for me, but he was too late.
I died staring at the ceiling, my heart giving one last violent kick of pure, unadulterated hatred. I had been such a fool, believing Dillon’s lies and running away from the only man who actually cared for me. I died with a single thought: if I ever get another chance, I will drag you both to hell with me.
Then, there was nothing. And then, there was air.
I sat up gasping, my silk pajamas drenched in cold sweat. The rusted beams were gone, replaced by a vaulted ceiling and the glittering Manhattan skyline. I grabbed the digital clock on the nightstand—it was five years ago, the exact night I first tried to run away with Dillon.
The bedroom door slammed against the wall, and Kade Mullen stood in the doorway, looking dangerous, furious, and very much alive. I looked at my shaking hands, then at the man I had once hated. This time, I wasn't going to run. I was going to make sure Dillon and Bianca lost everything.