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 7
Braden sat on the edge of his unmade bed, his chest heaving as if he were suffocating. His thumb swiped aggressively across his phone screen, his bloodshot eyes locked onto the photo Chelsea had just posted. The image of Hazel sitting at the head of the table-radiating that untouchable, terrifying authority-made his stomach churn. But it wasn't just fear anymore. It was the caption. It was the comments. Everyone was bowing to her. His own sister had publicly defected, leaving him entirely isolated in a house that suddenly felt like a tomb. A sickening mix of ultimate betrayal and absolute humiliation clawed at his throat. He felt a massive, existential threat closing in on him, erasing his very identity. This woman was using some kind of dark witchcraft to brainwash his sister and steal his family. The agonizing sting of being replaced and forgotten finally boiled over, violently burning away the lingering terror that had paralyzed him since yesterday.
He threw his phone against the wall. He stormed out of his bedroom and stomped down the stairs, hunting for her.
He found Hazel in the main living room. She was sitting in a velvet armchair, calmly reading a thick, leather-bound book.
"You manipulative bitch!" Braden roared, his voice cracking with hysteria. "You're trying to steal everything from us!"
Hazel slowly closed the heavy book.
She lifted her eyes. The temperature in the room plummeted. She looked at him with the cold, dead eyes of an executioner.
The look pushed Braden over the edge. He lost his mind. He lunged forward, swinging his fist blindly at her face.
Hazel didn't even stand up.
She merely shifted her torso to the left. Braden's fist hit empty air.
Before he could recover his balance, Hazel's hand shot out. She grabbed his wrist with terrifying precision. She used his own forward momentum, twisting her body and yanking his arm downward.
An irresistible, mechanical force pulled Braden forward. He tripped over his own feet and crashed hard onto the floor.
Hazel moved like lightning. She stood up, her long leg sweeping out in a brutal arc. Her shin slammed into the back of his knee.
Braden let out a sharp cry of pain as he collapsed onto the expensive Persian rug.
Before he could even draw a breath, Hazel was on top of him.
She dropped her weight onto his back, driving her knee with bone-crushing force right between his shoulder blades. She grabbed his right arm, twisting his wrist backward at an angle that defied human anatomy. With a brutal, fluid motion born of classical, centuries-old grappling techniques, she used her entire body as a mechanical lever, trapping his shoulder and elbow in an inescapable, agonizing joint lock.
A blinding, agonizing pain shot through Braden's elbow and shoulder.
He let out a pathetic, pig-like squeal. He slammed his left hand against the rug, tapping frantically in a desperate plea for mercy.
Hazel did not let go.
Instead, she arched her hips slightly. The joint popped with a sickening crack.
Braden screamed louder, tears bursting from his eyes.
Hazel leaned down. Her red lips hovered just inches from his ear.
"I can freeze every single cent of your trust fund with one phone call," she whispered. Her voice was as smooth and cold as polished marble.
Braden stopped struggling. His body went completely rigid. The raw, animalistic terror in his eyes confirmed he knew she wasn't bluffing.
Hazel pressed her knee deeper into his spine.
"Three years of gambling debts. Four destroyed sports cars. Two NDAs paid out to silence your messes," she listed, her voice dripping with venom.
She pulled his arm a fraction of an inch tighter.
"Without the Powers name shielding you, you are less than the garbage rotting in the gutters of this city."
Every single word stabbed directly into Braden's fragile ego. The illusion of his independence shattered into a million pieces.
Hot, humiliating tears rolled down Braden's cheeks and soaked into the Persian rug.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed, his voice breaking. "I'm nothing. I'm sorry."
He completely surrendered. His spirit was broken.
Hazel stared at the back of his head for three long seconds. Once she was certain the rebellion was entirely dead, she released his arm and stood up.
Braden collapsed flat against the floor, gasping for air like a dying fish.
Hazel smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on her loungewear. Her movements were slow and elegant.
"You will be awake at six o'clock tomorrow morning," she commanded, looking down at him. "Your rehabilitation begins."
Braden didn't dare argue. He nodded his head against the rug, too weak to even speak.
Hazel turned her back on him. She didn't spare him a second glance as she walked toward the staircase.
Braden lay on the floor, his cheek pressed against the damp fibers of the rug, watching her walk away. His entire body trembled uncontrollably. A suffocating cocktail of blinding physical pain, absolute humiliation, and an unprecedented, primal terror violently gripped his heart. As her elegant silhouette disappeared up the stairs, the crushing reality of his existence finally settled over him. He wasn't a rebel. He wasn't a threat. He realized, with a sickening drop in his stomach, that inside the walls of this grand estate, he was nothing more than a pathetic, easily broken stray.
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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.