Jilted Bride's Comeback: A Billionaire Queen
My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away.
After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future.
Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me.
I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call.
"Total genius move," he boasted to friends.
His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding.
Heartbroken, I feigned belief.
I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies.
He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency.
After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first.
He even tried to cut me off financially.
How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster?
His betrayal poisoned every memory.
I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty.
His audacity left me reeling.
But I wouldn’t be his victim.
Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed.
I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter.
I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom.
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Chapter 4
Chloe didn’t let Ethan out of her sight for the rest of the evening.
She guided him through the crowd, her hand firmly on his arm, her laughter a little too loud whenever they passed near Ava.
Ava watched them go, a small, bitter smile on her lips.
He remembered her allergy. Interesting.
But it changed nothing.
She finished her (white) wine and told Maya she was ready to leave.
As they were waiting for a cab, Ava heard it.
Giggles. A familiar, breathy moan.
Coming from the alleyway beside the gallery.
She knew that sound. It was Chloe.
And then Ethan’s deeper murmur.
Ava’s blood ran cold. Maya grabbed her arm. "Don't."
But Ava couldn't stop herself. She took a step closer, peering into the shadows.
Ethan had Chloe pressed against the brick wall. His hands were under her dress.
They were oblivious, lost in their public display of private lust.
Ava felt sick. Not jealous, just… disgusted. The sheer, brazen disrespect.
She clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms, then turned away.
"Let's go," she said to Maya, her voice tight.
A car pulled up. Ethan’s car.
He was behind the wheel, Chloe in the passenger seat, her dress slightly askew, lipstick smudged.
"Need a ride?" Ethan called out, his voice casual, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just been feeling up his new girlfriend against a dirty wall.
Maya started to say no, but Ava surprised them both.
"Sure," Ava said, pulling open the back door. "Thanks."
Maya shot her a bewildered look. Ava just gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head.
She needed to see this through. She needed every last drop of disgust to fuel her escape.
The car ride was tense. Chloe prattled on about the art, about some influencer party she was going to next week. Ethan drove, his eyes meeting Ava’s in the rearview mirror occasionally. There was a strange glint in them.
"So, Ava," Ethan said, his tone too smooth. "Chloe tells me you're a graphic designer. Freelance, right? Must be tough, finding clients."
"I manage," Ava said.
"Yeah, well, Ethan’s startup is killing it," Chloe chimed in. "He’s going to be huge."
"We’re doing okay," Ethan said, but he was smirking. He loved the praise.
Then, his tone shifted. "You know, Ava, it's funny. I was thinking… before this whole amnesia thing… were we happy? Or were things… strained?"
Ava met his eyes in the mirror. "What do you think, Ethan?"
He chuckled. "That’s the problem. I don’t remember."
The car suddenly swerved.
Ava lurched forward, bracing herself.
A sickening crunch of metal. The screech of tires.
They’d hit something. Or something hit them.
Ava’s head snapped back, then forward, hitting the front seat. Pain exploded behind her eyes.
Darkness. Then blurry lights.
Shouting. Sirens.
Ava’s head throbbed. She tasted blood.
She was slumped in the back seat. Ethan was groaning in the front. Chloe was screaming.
"My leg! Oh god, my leg!"
Paramedics were suddenly there, pulling open doors.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" one asked Ava.
"My head," she managed. "And my… my arm." A sharp pain shot through her left arm when she tried to move it.
They were pulling Ethan out. He looked dazed.
Chloe was still wailing about her leg.
A paramedic was assessing Ava. "Possible concussion. We need to immobilize your arm."
Another paramedic was with Ethan. "Sir, can you tell me what happened?"
"I… I don't know," Ethan stammered. "The other car… came out of nowhere."
They had Ethan on a backboard. Chloe was on another one, still crying.
There were only two ambulances.
"We need to prioritize," one paramedic yelled over the chaos.
Ava tried to sit up. "Please," she said, her voice weak. "My arm… I think it’s broken. And my head…"
Ethan, from his backboard, looked over at her. His eyes were wide, scared.
Then he looked at Chloe, who was now sobbing hysterically.
"Take Chloe first!" Ethan shouted, his voice surprisingly strong. "Her leg looks really bad! She needs help now!"
The paramedics exchanged a look.
"Sir, we assess based on…"
"No! Take her!" Ethan insisted. "Please! She’s… she’s really hurt."
Ava watched, a cold knot forming in her stomach.
He was choosing. Publicly.
The paramedic attending to Ava sighed. "Okay. We'll take the female from the front passenger seat and the driver. We'll call for another unit for you, ma'am. It might be a bit of a wait."
Ava stared at Ethan. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
He chose Chloe. Over her. Even now.
The ambulance doors slammed shut. The sirens wailed, fading into the distance.
Leaving Ava alone, in the wreckage, waiting.
The pain in her arm was excruciating. But it was nothing compared to the cold, hard certainty in her heart.
This was it. The absolute end.
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7.4
My mother was dying and desperately needed a half-million-dollar deposit for an experimental heart surgery by tomorrow.
I swallowed my pride and begged my wealthy husband, Garrick, to save her life.
Instead of helping, he laughed coldly and threw a thick stack of divorce papers right in my face.
"A hen that can't lay eggs gets slaughtered," he sneered, ruthlessly poking my flat stomach.
He revealed that his secretary, my supposed friend Lacey, was already pregnant with his heir.
To him, our three years of marriage was just a business transaction, and now that my family was bankrupt, I was nothing but damaged goods.
He flicked a humiliating five-thousand-dollar check at me as his final act of charity, then locked me out of our townhouse into the freezing, pouring rain.
I had spent years enduring agonizing hormone treatments for a fertility issue that wasn't even my fault, only to be discarded like trash when I needed him the most.
Was my dignity, my absolute devotion, and my mother's life really worth nothing to him?
Driven by pure, reckless desperation, I threw myself directly into the path of a moving Rolls-Royce Phantom on Fifth Avenue.
It belonged to Holden Tillman, the ruthless patriarch of the Tillman empire—and the uncle Garrick lived in absolute terror of.
I thought I was walking into my death, but instead, I became his fiancée, ready to make Garrick and Lacey pay for every tear I shed.
9.3
Elara Voss never imagined that a single mistake could turn her life upside down. A brilliant marketing strategist with ambition as sharp as her wit, she thrives on control, until the day she crashes her rival's luxurious wedding, causing a scandal that will haunt her in high society.
Enter Dante Cross: the notorious billionaire, charmingly arrogant, and impossibly handsome, the bride's brother. In a moment of impulsive defiance, he proposes an outrageous solution to save face: a marriage neither of them wants... but both are forced to accept.
Thrown together in a world of glitz, power, and unspoken secrets, Elara and Dante clash at every turn. Sparks ignite as pride battles attraction, and the closer they get, the more dangerous their connection becomes. With hidden rivalries, family secrets, and unexpected betrayals swirling around them, Elara must navigate a game of social intrigue and decide if love is worth risking everything.
Will their forced union survive the chaos, or will the very secrets that brought them together tear them apart forever?
8.1
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8.1
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
7.9
I woke up in a burning warehouse, twelve years after my supposed death. My body had been reset to its physical prime, the deep burn scar on my wrist completely gone.
Through the smoke, my eldest son, Kennard, rushed blindly into the flames. He was screaming the name of the very woman who had orchestrated this trap—Brittnie.
When I tackled him out of the way of a falling steel beam, he didn't recognize my youthful face. Instead, he pinned me to the concrete and nearly crushed my windpipe.
"How much did she pay you to carve up your face to look like a dead woman?"
He hissed the words at me, treating me like a sick corporate spy. For a decade, a bizarre narrative "script" had brainwashed my son, forcing him into pathetic devotion to Brittnie. She had drained his wealth, turned my daughter against him, and hollowed out our family empire.
Whenever Kennard tried to resist her, the mind control punished him with agonizing migraines, driving him to smash his own hands against the wall just to cope with the pain.
Hearing him quietly sobbing outside my locked door, my heart shattered. How could this invisible force torture my brilliant son and turn my family into puppets for a D-list actress?
I dragged him to the hospital for a DNA test.
When the results confirmed my maternity at 99.999%, the cold billionaire collapsed to the floor, weeping in my arms like a lost child.
I wiped his tears and smiled ruthlessly. It was time to take back my empire and burn Brittnie's life to the ground.
8.7
"Sign the papers and leave. My true love is coming home, and this house no longer has room for a placeholder like you."
For three years, Lia Leighton was the perfect, invisible wife to Julian Cohen-the cold-blooded titan of the Port Harcourt business world. She was the one who nursed his wounds, managed his scandals, and endured his family's cruelty, all while he treated her like a piece of furniture he'd forgotten he bought.
But on their third anniversary, instead of a celebration, Julian hands her a cold ultimatum. His "White Moonlight"-the woman who broke his heart years ago-has returned, and Lia is being discarded like yesterday's news.
Julian expects Lia to beg. He expects her to cry for the meager settlement he's tossed at her feet. After all, she's just a penniless orphan he rescued from the gutter... right?
He couldn't be more wrong.
Without a single tear, Lia signs the papers, leaves her wedding ring in the dust, and vanishes.
When she resurfaces, she isn't the quiet wallflower Julian threw away. She is the glamorous, untouchable CEO of the Leighton Global Empire-the very woman who now holds Julian's entire financial future in her hands.
As Julian's world begins to crumble, he realizes too late that he didn't just lose a wife; he lost the most powerful woman in the city. But when he finally falls to his knees to beg for mercy, Lia only offers a cold, devastating smile.
"Mr. Cohen, I don't negotiate with exes. Stay in your lane."