His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Healer
Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work.
But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room.
He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar.
When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves.
But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him.
The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune.
Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret.
Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised.
Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows.
At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox.
But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress.
"How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.
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Chapter 3
The morning sun pierced through the gap in the heavy curtains, striking Elizbeth directly in the eyes.
She groaned and shifted on the narrow velvet sofa. Her neck was stiff, and a dull ache radiated down her spine.
She sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. The sound of running water echoed from the master bathroom.
A moment later, the bathroom door swung open. Carlton walked out. He had a white towel wrapped low around his waist. Droplets of water clung to his broad chest and slid down the deep ridges of his abs.
Elizbeth's breath hitched. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She quickly averted her eyes, staring hard at the floor, her heart suddenly beating entirely too fast.
A sharp knock sounded at the bedroom door.
"Sir," Judi's voice called out clearly from the hallway. "The elder Mr. Wilkinson is coming up the stairs."
Carlton's head snapped toward the door. Panic flashed in his dark eyes. He moved instantly.
He crossed the room in three massive strides and grabbed Elizbeth by the upper arm.
"Hey!" Elizbeth yelped as he hauled her off the sofa.
He practically threw her onto the center of the king-sized bed. She bounced against the mattress, completely disoriented.
Carlton jumped onto the bed next to her. He grabbed the thick duvet and yanked it up, covering them both up to their shoulders. He pulled her body flush against his bare, damp chest.
The double doors of the bedroom swung open.
Jacob Wilkinson stepped into the room. He leaned heavily on a silver-headed cane, his sharp, calculating eyes scanning the space.
The cold, ruthless expression on Carlton's face vanished instantly. It was replaced by a soft, affectionate smile.
Carlton wrapped his heavy arm around Elizbeth's waist, pulling her even closer. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
Elizbeth's entire body went rigid. Her muscles locked up.
Carlton's fingers dug into her waist under the covers, pinching her hard. It was a silent, painful warning.
Elizbeth gasped slightly from the pinch. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a shy smile. She looked at the old man.
"Good morning, Grandfather," she said, her voice tight.
Jacob's sharp eyes lingered on their tangled bodies. The tight lines around his mouth relaxed into a satisfied nod.
He walked slowly toward the side of the bed. "How did you both sleep?" he asked, his voice rough like sandpaper.
Carlton ducked his head. He pressed his warm lips against Elizbeth's forehead, letting them linger there.
"Everything was perfect, Grandfather," Carlton murmured, his voice thick with fake adoration.
The feel of his lips on her skin sent a violent shiver down Elizbeth's spine. A bitter, sour feeling rose in the back of her throat.
Jacob reached into his tweed jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, square velvet box and set it gently on the nightstand.
"Take good care of your wife, Carlton," Jacob instructed. He tapped his cane on the floor once, turned around, and walked out of the room.
The heavy doors closed. The loud click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.
The warmth vanished from Carlton's face in a fraction of a second. His eyes turned back to ice.
He let go of Elizbeth as if she were covered in acid. He threw the duvet off his body and rolled out of the bed, putting as much distance between them as possible.
The sudden loss of his body heat was a stark reminder of the act. The warmth had been a lie, and the cold that replaced it felt more honest, yet somehow more brutal. A bitter wave of humiliation washed over her, and she had to fight the sting in her eyes.
Carlton grabbed a dry towel and aggressively rubbed his wet hair. He glared at her.
"Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice dripping with disdain. "And don't get used to the acting. Remember exactly why you're here."
Elizbeth clamped her teeth together. She pulled the duvet up to her chest, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the fabric. She refused to let a single tear fall while he was looking.
Carlton walked into the closet. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit. He didn't even glance at the velvet box on the nightstand.
He grabbed his watch from the dresser, strapped it to his wrist, and walked out of the bedroom without looking back.
After Carlton left, Elizbeth sat alone in the massive, empty bed. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the velvet box, her chest heavy with a suffocating weight. She knew she couldn't stay in this hostile room without the one thing that brought her comfort. Slipping out of the master bedroom, she hurried down the hall to the guest room.
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9.3
Alyssa Gregory slept with Benton Steele, a recently disgraced and bankrupt heir, just to humiliate him.
She threw a massive check at his bare chest, treating the former prince of Wall Street like a cheap escort.
But Benton didn't take the charity.
Instead, he manipulated her anger, tricking her into signing an ironclad contract that surrendered absolute control of her entire trust fund to him.
When her abusive mother found out she had funded a penniless outcast, she slapped Alyssa across the face.
Her mother froze all her bank accounts, locked her inside her bedroom, and arranged to sell her off to a degenerate politician.
Desperate to escape, Alyssa climbed down her balcony, falling fifteen feet and shattering her ankle on the stones below.
Stripped of her money and freedom, she dragged her broken body to a VIP club just to publicly declare that Benton belonged to her.
She thought she was the boss, playing a rebellious game with a broken man.
But when Benton effortlessly carried her away from the club and locked her inside his rundown apartment, the terrifying calculation in his dark eyes shattered her illusion.
How could a man stripped of his entire empire still radiate such suffocating, violent power?
"You bought me," Benton whispered, his massive frame trapping her against the sofa. "That means I have to take care of you."
Physically trapped and completely broke, Alyssa stared into his consuming eyes, her mind racing to find a way to turn the tables.
9.1
For three years, June played the perfect, submissive wife to billionaire Augustus Pruitt, hoping a child would finally warm his cold heart and secure their marriage.
But when she cautiously suggested they have a baby, he looked at her with pure, unfiltered disgust.
"A woman who schemes her way into a marriage doesn't get to carry my blood."
He sneered, leaving immediately to lavish his mistress with diamonds. The nightmare only escalated from there. Augustus bought the one painting June desperately wanted—a piece she had secretly created herself—just to gift it to his mistress. He publicly outbid June at the gallery, mocking her lack of wealth, and left her to collapse in the freezing rain. When the storm gave her a severe 104-degree fever and she nearly died on their staircase, he didn't even stay by her hospital bed. Instead, he sent an assistant with a box of jewelry to buy her silence, then forced her to attend a family dinner where his mother and sister viciously mocked her barren womb and background.
Looking at Augustus, who sat there casually cutting his steak while his family tore her apart, the last flicker of hope in June's chest sputtered and died.
She finally understood that her three years of bleeding devotion were nothing but a pathetic joke to them.
She dropped her silverware, the sharp clatter silencing the entire room. She wasn't going to be their punching bag anymore. It was time to finalize the divorce papers, reclaim her hidden identity as the world-renowned artist 'mr.sun', and make them all regret it.
9.2
Nica caught her boyfriend, Chris, and her best friend, Ella, in a shocking betrayal. Chris was kissing Ella while caressing her close, and Ella only smirked at Nica as if she had won. Nica got pissed off and swore she would not let their betrayal go unpunished. What happens next? Read the story and find out for yourself.
9.7
For three years, I played the role of a devoted, naive wife to billionaire Conrad Whitney. I hid my true identity and foolishly believed in our fairy tale.
Then he handed me a harsh divorce agreement, ordering me to sign and walk away with absolutely nothing. He was leaving me to marry Cindy, the fragile woman he claimed had saved him from a fire.
He expected me to cry and beg. Instead, he watched coldly as Cindy and her family illegally transferred my father's trust fund. When I confronted them at the hospital, Conrad shielded her, calling me a greedy, toxic viper. He mocked me, completely blind to the fact that Cindy was a fraud. He truly believed I was just a pathetic, useless housewife who would be utterly destroyed without his money and status.
I looked at the man I had actually dragged out of that burning debris with my own soot-covered hands. My trauma, my sacrifices, and my love had all been reduced to a joke by his sheer arrogance and a few fake tears from a manipulative liar.
I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly signed the papers, drugged his wine, and left a crumpled one-dollar bill on his unconscious chest with a sticky note mocking his terrible service.
Then, I picked up my encrypted phone. It was time for the world's top surgeon, Dr. Hades, to return, and for Conrad to finally see the god he had just thrown away.
8.0
After years of a freezing, loveless marriage, my billionaire husband Israel finally threw me out to make room for his new lover, Ayla.
Before I even packed my bags, he ordered a crew to shred the Dogwood tree in our backyard and pour thick concrete into the crater, claiming it was a symbol of my infidelity.
He didn't know that buried beneath those roots was the urn containing the ashes of our unborn baby.
Stripped of everything, I tried to rebuild my shattered life by securing a supporting role in an indie film.
But Israel bought the entire production studio just to cast Ayla as the lead, demanding I act as her pathetic stepping stone.
When I refused, he cornered me on set with a sickening audio recording.
"We want one million dollars. This will ruin Karen forever."
It was my own parents. They had forged my medical records, planning to sell a story to the tabloids that I was a violent, delusional schizophrenic.
Israel smiled coldly, threatening to lock me in a padded room on an involuntary psychiatric hold unless I signed an unpaid contract to serve Ayla unconditionally.
My own flesh and blood had sold me out to a ruthless monster for cash.
Staring at the extortion contract, the last shred of desperation and love in my chest burned away into cold, gray ash.
To survive a monster, you have to become one.
I picked up his pen, violently signed my name, and prepared to rip his precious Ayla to shreds on camera.
8.9
Seraphina, a broke single mother of triplets, snuck into a billionaire's charity gala just for the free food, desperate to fund her daughter's urgent heart surgery.
But her genius five-year-old son secretly hacked the gala's raffle system, thrusting them directly under the spotlight. The untouchable billionaire host, Donovan Vance, froze when he saw the star-shaped birthmark on her wrist—the exact same mark from a dark hotel room five years ago.
Cornered, Seraphina was forced into a five-million-dollar marriage contract to appease Donovan's dying father and secure his corporate empire. She swallowed her pride, took the money to save her daughter, and moved into the penthouse. But Donovan's obsessive childhood friend, Gwendolyn, immediately targeted her. She humiliated Seraphina for her poverty and violently grabbed her in the foyer.
"I dare you to get a DNA test. When the world finds out they're not his, he'll throw you into the street himself!"
Gwendolyn's vicious threat made Seraphina's blood run cold. She was suffocating in sheer panic. She didn't even know if Donovan was actually the father. If a test proved he wasn't, she would be destroyed, and her daughter would lose her only lifeline.
But to her absolute horror, Donovan's father overheard the threat and ordered a legally binding paternity test that very day to permanently silence all doubts. With the medical team arriving and nowhere left to run, the terrifying secret Seraphina had buried for five years was about to be dragged into the light.