His Unwanted Wife, The Nation's Hero
On our wedding anniversary, I came home to find my husband, Jace, celebrating with another woman in our living room.
She was wearing my mother's necklace-the only thing recovered from the explosion that killed my parents. Jace laughed, calling it a "cheap piece of junk," and tried to write me a check to buy a new one.
His family called my parents' ashes "garbage" and "unsanitary." When I confronted them, Jace sided with his mother, ordering me out of the penthouse I secretly owned. He let his friends publicly humiliate me, calling me a gold-digging leech with no background.
But that wasn't the worst of it. When a gunman stormed the restaurant we were in, Jace shoved me directly into the line of fire to shield his mistress.
The shotgun blast tore through my arm. As I lay bleeding on the marble floor, I stared at the man who had just used me as a human shield, his face pale with terror as he protected her.
In that instant, every ounce of love I ever had for him died. The pain in my arm was nothing compared to the cold, hollow void that consumed my heart.
He thought he was sacrificing a quiet, useless wife to secure his future. He had no idea he had just declared war on Captain Cilla Henson, West Point valedictorian and the most lethal operator of the Eagle Task Force.
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Chapter 1
The heavy brass handle of the Manhattan penthouse door felt cold against Cilla's palm.
She pushed the door open, stepping into the foyer.
Today was her wedding anniversary. She had spent the entire afternoon preparing, convincing herself that the recent distance between her and Jace was just a phase.
Before she could even take off her coat, the sound of bright, ringing laughter drifted from the living room.
It was a woman's laugh.
Cilla's stomach dropped. The muscles in her jaw tightened instantly.
She slipped off her coat, hanging it on the rack with slow, deliberate movements. She took a deep breath, forcing her heart rate to steady.
"Oh, Jace, it's absolutely stunning. The vintage cut is so unique," the woman's voice cooed.
It was Carolyn.
Cilla's blood turned to ice water in her veins. She walked briskly down the hallway, her low heels making no sound on the imported marble floor.
She stepped into the living room. Her eyes immediately locked onto Carolyn's neck.
Resting against Carolyn's collarbone was a silver pendant, shaped like a teardrop with a subtle, intricate engraving on the back.
Cilla's chest seized. Her lungs forgot how to pull in air.
That was her mother's necklace. The only thing recovered from the explosion that took her parents' lives.
Jace stood next to the marble kitchen island, a relaxed smile on his face. He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured it into two crystal flutes.
He didn't even look up to acknowledge Cilla's presence.
Cilla closed the distance between them in three long strides.
"Take it off," Cilla said. Her voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.
Carolyn gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a perfectly practiced gesture of shock. "Oh! Cilla, you're home early. I'm so sorry, we were just..."
Jace finally turned around. His smile vanished, replaced by a deep frown.
"What is wrong with you?" Jace demanded, setting the champagne bottle down hard. "You walk in here and immediately start ruining the mood. Have some manners."
Cilla pointed a rigid finger at Carolyn's chest. "I said, take that necklace off right now."
Carolyn's eyes welled up with tears instantly. Her lower lip trembled as she looked up at Jace, shrinking her shoulders to appear smaller.
"Jace, I... I didn't know it was hers," Carolyn whispered, her voice cracking.
Jace stepped squarely in front of Carolyn, using his broad shoulders to block Cilla's view.
"Stop acting crazy, Cilla," Jace said, his tone dripping with condescension. "It was just sitting in a dusty box in the guest room. It's a cheap piece of junk. Carolyn liked it, so I gave it to her."
A harsh, bitter laugh scraped its way out of Cilla's throat.
"A cheap piece of junk?" Cilla repeated, her fingernails digging into her own palms until the skin nearly broke. "That is the recovered property of a fallen CIA operative. It was my mother's."
Jace blinked. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but his pride quickly swallowed it. "Don't pull that CIA card, Cilla. It was a tragic accident, not some movie plot. That was years ago. Don't be dramatic," Jace scoffed. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket and pulled out his checkbook.
He grabbed a pen from the counter and started scribbling.
"Here," Jace said, ripping the check free and holding it out to her. "Buy yourself a new one. Buy ten. Just stop embarrassing yourself in front of our guest."
Cilla stared at the piece of paper. The sheer disrespect made her vision blur at the edges.
She slapped her hand upward, striking Jace's wrist.
The checkbook flew out of his grip. The loose check fluttered through the air, landing on the floor like trash.
Carolyn let out a high-pitched shriek and scrambled to hide completely behind Jace's back.
In that split second of chaos, Cilla lunged forward.
Jace realized what she was doing. He reached out, his large hand aiming to clamp down on her wrist to stop her.
Instinctively, Cilla flinched away from his touch, her body reacting to the sudden aggression. She stumbled back a half-step, her shoulder dipping just enough so that his large hand grabbed nothing but empty air.
She reached around his torso and grabbed the silver chain resting on Carolyn's neck.
With one sharp, violent yank, Cilla pulled.
The metal clasp snapped with a sharp click.
Cilla closed her fist around the pendant, the cold metal biting into her skin.
Carolyn clutched her neck, letting out a dramatic sob. "She hurt me! Jace, she choked me!"
Jace's face turned a dark, furious red. "You are an unreasonable, psychotic woman!" he roared.
Cilla stood her ground. She looked at the man she had married.
The man she had quietly supported, the man whose company she had built from the shadows.
Every ounce of warmth she had ever felt for him evaporated, leaving nothing but a hollow, freezing void in her chest.
"Apologize to her," Jace ordered, pointing a finger at Cilla's face. "Right now."
Cilla didn't say a word. She turned on her heel and walked toward the front door.
Her steps were even, measured, and completely resolute.
"If you walk out that door, don't expect a single cent for your living expenses!" Jace yelled down the hallway.
Cilla paused with her hand on the doorknob.
She looked over her shoulder, her lips curling into a smile that held absolutely no joy.
She pulled the door open and slammed it shut behind her.
The heavy thud echoed in the hallway.
Cilla stepped into the private elevator and pressed the button for the lobby.
She opened her fist and looked at the silver teardrop resting on her palm.
Her chest rose and fell in a deep, shaky breath.
She was done playing the quiet, useless wife. It was time to bring her parents' ashes home.
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8.0
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He's the meticulous, sterile CEO destined for a cold corporate marriage. She's the fiery, turpentine-scented artist who lives for chaos. Josh Sterling has been Vivian Rossi's safe harbor and secret heartbreak since they were ten.
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It was supposed to be a temporary goodbye to the 'what-ifs.' But as the days bleed into weeks, their arrangement becomes a seductive torture. Viv is forced to watch the man she loves prepare to marry another, and Josh must confront a terrifying truth, the only person who has ever truly seen him is the one he's set to abandon.
90 days with the man i can't have is a searing, high-emotion contemporary romance. When time runs out, duty and desire will clash, demanding the ultimate sacrifice.
7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.
9.8
Blurb (Synopsis)
Outspoken florist Elara Vance thought she was storming a billionaire's empire to reclaim her mother's stolen legacy. Instead, she walked into a trap-and walked out bound by a marriage contract.
As Elara and the cold, calculated Julian Vane clash in a world of opulence and deceit, a dangerous attraction ignites. But in the Vane family, secrets are deadlier than scandals. When the price of honor becomes their very survival, Elara must decide if the man she's forced to marry is her greatest enemy-or her only hope.
7.5
Five years ago, Alisson Ford's adoptive family drugged her and offered her to a repulsive old investor to save their failing company.
She escaped the trap, only to accidentally stumble into the bed of Jake Yates, the most terrifying and powerful billionaire in the city.
Months later, while she was painfully giving birth to triplets in a freezing basement, her adoptive sister Bella tracked her down. Bella violently snatched Alisson's firstborn son to pass off as her own ticket into the Yates family. Then, Bella smiled as her men poured gasoline over the mattress and set the room on fire, leaving Alisson and her two remaining newborns to burn alive.
Shielding her fragile babies with her own blistering skin in the roaring inferno, Alisson's despair turned into absolute, blood-soaked hatred. She couldn't fathom how the family she had trusted for years could steal her flesh and blood and condemn her to such a horrific death.
Five years later, Alisson returns to the city as a powerful trauma specialist. She steps right into Jake and Bella's grand engagement banquet, watching coldly as her five-year-old daughter runs straight up to the untouchable billionaire and hugs his leg.
"You are a bad daddy! You abandoned Mommy and us, and now you are going to marry an ugly old witch!"
8.0
Tim Mercer has always been alone.
Awkward in conversation and uncomfortable in crowds, he spends most nights inside his small apartment with only his cat and the glow of a television for company.
Until the night the power goes out. Bored and curious, Tim pulls an old Ouija board from a dusty closet and asks the darkness if anyone is there.
Something answers. She calls herself Serenity, a beautiful woman trapped between worlds. At first, she is gentle. Comforting. Everything Tim has ever wished someone could be, but every night she visits, Tim grows weaker.
Serenity isn't looking for love, she's feeding.
7.5
I had been a "decoration piece" for Kenton Parker for three years, a contract wife bought to pay off my father's gambling debts. I lived in a cold penthouse, making his coffee and answering his phones, while he treated me with the clinical indifference of a stranger.
On our third anniversary, I waited alone at the city's most exclusive restaurant, only to see a news alert flash on my phone. Kenton wasn't coming. He was caught on camera at a hospital, looking at his "friend," ballerina Blanca Donovan, with a raw, frantic worry he had never once shown me, not even when I fell down a flight of stairs.
I finally snapped and filed for divorce, citing his "irreversible erectile dysfunction" just to destroy his massive ego. I thought I was free, but Kenton retaliated with a cruelty that left me breathless. He froze every bank account I owned and had his secretary smash the last photo I had of my mother. He reminded me of the five-million-dollar penalty in my contract-money I didn't have.
"You don't get to leave until I say so," he roared, dragging me into his office. He used my father's life as a leash, forcing me to play the part of a doting wife at his family's Hamptons estate to please his sick mother. He wanted to starve me out until I crawled back to his side.
I couldn't understand how a man could be so heartless. He didn't want my heart, yet he refused to let me go, treating my life like a line item in a corporate merger. He wanted to keep me as his prisoner while he spent his nights with another woman.
But Kenton made one fatal mistake. He thought I was just a broke, submissive secretary with nowhere to turn. He didn't know that I was "Vee," a world-renowned art restorer with a secret legacy and a six-figure commission waiting for me.
As we shared a bed in the Hamptons and he pulled me against his chest, whispering that I was "his," I didn't feel comfort. I felt the cold, hard spark of a woman who was finally ready to burn his contract to the ground.