Jilted Heiress: Rising From The Ashes
I stood in the center of my Manhattan penthouse, staring at the empty satin hanger where my custom Vera Wang gown should have been. It was a masterpiece of silk and pearls that had taken six months to perfect for my wedding to the billionaire heir, Boston Travis.
Then my phone buzzed. Boston’s voice was a flat line, devoid of the love he’d promised me for four years.
"The wedding is off, Florrie. I’m marrying your sister, Asia."
He told me Asia was dying of Stage 4 cancer and her "final wish" was to be a bride—wearing my dress. He had sent his security team to my home with a spare key to steal the gown, claiming it was Travis property since his family accounts paid the bill. My stepmother texted me minutes later, demanding I vacate my own beach house so the "dying" girl could have a honeymoon.
When I tried to protest, Boston snapped at me.
"How could you be so heartless? She’s your sister. Have some compassion."
They expected me to play the part of the discarded woman while they paraded my life around as a PR stunt. I realized then that Asia hadn't just taken my dress; she had spent her entire life stealing my father's love and my peace, always playing the fragile angel while I was cast as the villain.
I didn't cry. I sat at my desk, opened my contacts, and relabeled Boston Travis as "TARGET."
If they wanted a tragic story, I would give them a massacre. I reclaimed my mother’s multi-million dollar trust, seized the deed to the beach house, and walked into Asia’s hospital room with a lit sparkler to expose the truth behind her "terminal" illness.
As I slapped Boston in the hospital lobby in front of a dozen recording iPhones, I realized I didn't need a husband. I needed a clean slate—and I was going to burn their empire to get it.
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Chapter 3
The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh.
Florrie didn't stand up. She remained seated on the velvet sofa, her back straight, one arm draped casually over the backrest. Her other hand rested on Buster's neck. The Doberman sat at attention beside her, a statue of black muscle and menace.
Boston stepped out first. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Florrie. For a second, he faltered. He was used to seeing her soft, pliable, eager to please. He wasn't used to this sharp-edged woman in a power suit.
Genevieve followed him out. She immediately pulled a lace handkerchief from her bag and pressed it to her nose.
"God," Genevieve muttered, her voice muffled. "It smells like dog in here. And... is that whiskey?"
"It's called 'freedom', Genevieve," Florrie said. Her voice was cool, echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged room. "I know you're not familiar with the scent."
Genevieve stiffened. She lowered the handkerchief, revealing a mouth puckered in disapproval. "Is this how you greet us? After everything you've put my son through?"
"Put him through?" Florrie raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't the one who cancelled a wedding via phone call three hours ago."
"It was a mercy," Genevieve snapped. "My son is a saint for sparing you the embarrassment of a loveless marriage."
Boston stepped forward, trying to regain control of the room. "Florrie, we're just here for the ring. Let's not make this a production."
He started to walk toward the hallway, presuming he could just waltz into the bedroom.
Buster let out a sound that was less like a growl and more like a tectonic plate shifting. It was deep, vibrating through the floorboards. He bared his teeth-white, sharp, and very close to Boston's groin level.
Boston froze. He took a hasty step back.
"Control your animal," Boston demanded, though his voice cracked slightly.
"He is controlled," Florrie said calmly. "He's trained to protect me from intruders. And right now, you aren't a guest, Boston. You're a trespasser."
She gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit."
It was a command. Not a request.
Boston glared at her, his jaw working. But he sat. Genevieve remained standing, hovering behind him like a vulture in Chanel.
"The ring," Boston repeated. "Where is it?"
"It's safe," Florrie said. She pointed a manicured finger at the document on the coffee table. "But first, we have some paperwork."
Boston looked down. He saw the title: SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT.
He scoffed. "Settlement? We weren't married, Florrie. There's no divorce. You get nothing. That's how breakups work."
"Read it," Florrie said.
Boston picked up the papers with two fingers, as if they were contaminated. He scanned the first page. His eyes widened. He flipped to the second page. His face began to turn a shade of red that clashed with his tie.
"The maternal trust?" he choked out. "The beach house? Are you insane?"
"It's a fair price," Florrie said.
"For what?" Genevieve shrieked. "For being a glorified girlfriend for four years? You should be paying us for the exposure!"
Florrie ignored the mother. She kept her eyes locked on the son.
"For my silence," Florrie said softly.
Boston went still. "What are you talking about?"
Florrie picked up her phone. She tapped the screen a few times.
A voice filled the room. It was Boston's voice. Slurred. Drunk.
"...the SEC is a joke. My dad cooked the books in '19, and nobody noticed. I just moved the debt to the shell company in the Caymans. It's easy. Just gotta keep the auditors looking at the left hand while the right hand steals..."
Boston's face drained of color. He looked like he was going to be sick.
"That was private," he whispered. "I was drunk. That's inadmissible."
"In court? Maybe," Florrie said, shrugging. "On Twitter? On the front page of the New York Post? It's very admissible in the court of public opinion, Boston. Imagine what happens to Travis Global stock if that clip goes viral tomorrow morning."
Genevieve lunged forward. "Give me that phone, you little bitch!"
Buster barked. A single, thunderous sound that shook the windows. He lunged, snapping his jaws inches from Genevieve's hand.
Genevieve screamed and fell back onto the sofa, clutching her chest.
"Buster, heel," Florrie said quietly. The dog instantly sat back down, licking his chops.
"He's protection trained, Genevieve," Florrie said, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Don't make sudden movements."
Boston was staring at the agreement now with terrified intensity. He knew she had him. The Travis family was currently trying to close a massive merger with a European bank. A scandal about fraud and tax evasion would kill the deal instantly. It would cost them billions.
"This is blackmail," Boston hissed.
"It's a business transaction," Florrie corrected. "You taught me that. Everything is business. Even marriage."
She leaned forward. "Sign the papers, authorize the full transfer of my mother's trust back to my control, and give me the deed to the beach house. Do it now, and the recording disappears."
"I can't just transfer the trust," Boston pleaded. "The assets are tied up. My father will kill me."
"Your father will be in prison if I release this," Florrie countered. "Choose."
Boston looked at his mother. Genevieve was gasping for air, looking old and defeated. He looked back at Florrie. He saw no mercy in her eyes. Only math.
He pulled a gold pen from his pocket. His hand shook as he uncapped it.
"You're a monster," he whispered.
"I learned from the best," Florrie said.
He signed. He pressed the pen down so hard it nearly tore the paper.
He pushed the document back toward her. "There. Are you happy?"
Florrie picked up the papers. She checked the signature. It was valid.
"Happy?" She looked at him, really looked at him. "No, Boston. I'm not happy. But I am solvent."
She placed the papers in a folder.
"Now," she said. "There's one more thing."
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9.8
I married an S-class Alpha to save my family's bankrupt company.
But my husband, Braydon, treated me worse than a stray dog.
When my heat cycle triggered early, the fever was agonizing. I crawled to our master bedroom, crying and begging him for just one temporary bite to save my life.
Instead, he locked the door from the inside.
"Go back to your room. I told you I didn't want to deal with you this weekend."
Through the crack under the door, I smelled the cheap perfume of his mistress. While I was dying in the hallway, forced to inject a toxic black-market suppressant that made me vomit blood, he was sleeping with her in our bed.
Days later, a drunk Braydon pinned me to the floor, trying to violently force a permanent mark on my neck just to assert his dominance.
When I fought him off, he blamed me for provoking him and casually tossed a credit card at me to buy my silence.
"Go buy whatever you want. Just tell the clinic you slipped in the shower."
Staring at the man who was supposed to protect me, my heart went completely cold. Why did I ever think this monster would change? This wasn't a marriage anymore; it was a cage, and the animal inside it was trying to kill me.
I quietly pressed the record button on my phone, capturing every single word of his twisted bribe.
Then, I pulled out a matte black business card and called the terrifying Enigma CEO who had been waiting for me in the shadows.
9.6
Haylie waited nervously at the Wall Street charity gala for her boyfriend Bryan, but a spiked drink hit her hard, leaving her stumbling into a VIP lounge.
There, Chester Steele, the ruthless CEO of Steele Industrial, found her—drugged and vulnerable. What started as a frantic claiming in the shadows ended with him whispering she was his.
But moments later, a security alert shattered everything: data breach traced to Haylie's terminal. Chester's fury exploded. He saw her brush past a Logan Group rival on footage and dumped her in the rain, firing her as a corporate spy.
Bryan answered her desperate call with ice: "It's over." Reporters swarmed her door, branding her a traitor. Arrested at the office by FBI agents, she watched smug coworker Erin wave goodbye.
Thrown in a cell, chained and grilled with fake evidence—offshore accounts in her name—Haylie learned the worst: charges now included her sick father, Ernest, framed for laundering the leak money. Plead guilty or he dies in prison.
Innocent and raging, she couldn't fathom who planted it all—the gala bump, the logs, the forgeries. Why her? Who hated her enough to destroy her life?
Chester burst in, posting unlimited bail but forcing her signature on a slave contract: live in his penthouse, serve him 24/7. As she collapsed in his arms, trapped in his gilded cage, Haylie vowed silently—she'd uncover the real traitor and make them pay.
9.7
For three years, I was the dutiful wife of billionaire Ervin Valdez.
On our third wedding anniversary, he came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, pinned me down, and brutally mocked me.
His mistress, Sylvia, had even sent me a fake ultrasound report to force me out of the picture.
In Ervin's eyes, I was just a vicious, calculating liar who used a pregnancy to trap him into marriage.
He didn't care that I had actually lost that baby, nor did he know the trauma of my gambling father selling me to a dark club where I was assaulted by a stranger.
When I finally handed him the signed divorce papers, giving up all assets, and left the penthouse with nothing but an old suitcase, he just sneered.
"She is playing a game of hard to get. She won't last three days before she comes crying back."
He froze all my bank accounts, let his mistress humiliate me in public, and waited coldly for me to starve and beg.
He thought my entire existence relied on his wealth, completely confident that I would inevitably surrender to his control.
But he was wrong.
I calmly opened my old laptop, bypassed the complex encryptions, and looked at the dozens of unread emails from top-tier global brands begging for my return.
I resurrected my hidden identity as the legendary jewelry designer "R," and walked straight into the top design firm in Manhattan.
"It is time to find myself again."
9.2
He became crippled because of me,but I ran away from the man I loved...and fell into the arms of his father.
One reckless night with a stranger should have ended there, until I learned the stranger was Lucien Sinclair, the self-made billionaire CEO of the Sinclair Empire.
My ex-boyfriend's father.
Now I'm trapped in a contract marriage with a devil, who forces me to watch my past and present collide under the same roof.
And betrayal? It's my daily dose...especially when my best friend steals my husband right before my eyes.
Then the nightmare turns fatal.
I'm pregnant... with twins.
One child belongs to the father.
The other belongs to the son.
No matter who I choose......someone I love will burn.
8.7
They killed her once. Now, she's back to collect the debt.
Thrown back in time to the single night that shattered her life, Jane King is no longer the powerless charity case of the billionaire Norman family. She's a ghost with a ten-year grudge and a perfect memory of every sin they committed. The timid girl is gone, replaced by a woman with nothing left to lose and a ledger that can only be balanced in ruin.
Her audit begins tonight. With the cold precision of a master strategist, she dismantles the heirs, staging their downfall as tragic accidents. But her bloody work doesn't go unnoticed. From a balcony above, the enigmatic and dangerous Hudson Ellison watches the victim become a predator. He's the only one who sees the monster she's become, and he doesn't want to cage it-he wants to crown it.
He offers a dangerous alliance and the keys to an empire. But in a game of secrets and lies, when you partner with a wolf, you risk becoming the prey.
7.5
When Alessia Romano's ex-husband destroys her family's company to drag her back to him, she refuses to beg. But refusing comes at a cost she never expected.
Billionaire Adrian Virelli pays off every debt and saves Romano Industries from ruin. The price is simple. Three years of her life, living under his roof as his daughter's nanny.
Adrian is cold, controlled, and completely off limits. Alessia tells herself she feels nothing.
But when she discovers a hidden room filled with portraits of a woman wearing her face, the truth hits harder than any betrayal she has ever known
She was never the woman he wanted. She was only a replacement.
She walks away. Then his ex-wife returns, and the danger that follows is nothing like Alessia expected. Someone wants her dead, Adrian nearly dies saving her life, and when he finally opens his eyes again, he remembers nothing.
His ex-wife is standing at his bedside, ready to rewrite every memory he has left.
And Alessia is running out of time to make the man she loves remember that he loved her too.