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 4
Boston stood up, adjusting his jacket. He looked like he wanted to burn the suit he was wearing just because it had touched her furniture.
"The ring," he demanded, extending his hand. "Give it to me. We're leaving."
Florrie didn't move to get the ring. Instead, she reached into the folder again and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
She slid it across the glass table.
It wasn't a legal document. It was an invoice.
TO: Boston Travis
FOR: Reimbursement of Custom Vera Wang Bridal Gown
AMOUNT: $1,000,000.00
Boston stared at the number. His brow furrowed. "A million dollars? The dress cost fifty thousand. I saw the bill."
"That was the retail price," Florrie said, her voice smooth as silk. "This invoice includes the 'Expedited Retrieval Fee' and the 'Used Goods Depreciation'."
"Used goods?" Boston looked confused.
"Asia is wearing it," Florrie said, a look of utter disgust crossing her face for a fraction of a second. "Once she puts her traitorous body in my dress, it's contaminated. It's trash. I can't wear it. I can't sell it. So you're paying for the replacement value. Plus emotional damages."
"You are disgusting!" Genevieve shrieked from the sofa, finding her voice again. "My niece is dying, and you talk about her like she's... she's a contagion!"
"She's been poisoning my life since she was born," Florrie said. "Now she's just doing it with more flair."
She looked at Boston. "Pay it. Or I add it to the lawsuit."
Boston looked at her. He took a deep breath, and suddenly, the anger in his eyes shifted. It cooled. It morphed into something slimier. Something that looked disturbingly like admiration.
He chuckled. A dry, humorless sound.
"You know," Boston said, tilting his head. "I never knew you had teeth, Florrie. I always thought you were just... soft. Pretty. Decorative."
He took a step toward her. Buster growled low in his throat, but Boston stopped just out of biting range.
"This fire..." Boston gestured to her suit, her hair, her eyes. "It's sexy. Much sexier than the weeping victim I expected to find."
Florrie felt her skin crawl. "Don't."
"Listen," Boston said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Asia... she really is dying. Three months. Six at the most. Once she's gone... I'll be a widower."
He smiled. It was the smile of a wolf looking at a lamb chop.
"Why don't we keep this channel open?" he suggested. "You keep the money. Keep the beach house. And when Asia passes... you can come back. We can try again."
Florrie stared at him. Her brain struggled to comprehend the sheer depravity of what he was suggesting.
"You want me to wait for my sister to die so I can be your second choice?"
"Not second choice," Boston corrected smoothly. "My permanent choice. Asia is just... an obligation. A PR move. You know I don't love her like I love you. In the meantime... I'll need comfort. I'll need a friend. A secret companion."
He winked. He actually winked.
"You could stay at the beach house," he added. "I could visit on weekends. It would be our little secret."
The nausea hit Florrie again, but this time, it was hot. It was a volcano erupting in her stomach.
She looked at the glass of whiskey Cherry had poured earlier. The ice had melted, leaving a layer of cold water at the top.
She stood up slowly. She picked up the glass.
Boston smiled, thinking she was raising a toast to his brilliant plan.
"To us," he said, reaching out.
Florrie threw the contents of the glass.
She didn't aim for his face. That would be too dramatic. Too cliché.
She aimed lower.
The ice water hit the crotch of his charcoal trousers with a splash.
Boston gasped, jumping back. The cold liquid soaked instantly into the expensive wool, creating a dark, spreading stain right between his legs.
It looked exactly like he had wet himself.
"What the hell!" Boston yelled, batting at his pants. "Are you crazy?"
"That," Florrie said, her voice vibrating with rage, "is for suggesting I be your whore."
Genevieve scrambled off the sofa. "You assault my son! I'm calling the police!"
"Call them!" Florrie shouted. She pointed a finger at Genevieve. "And I'll show them the bruises on my soul from your family's abuse for the last ten years!"
She turned back to Boston. He was looking down at his pants, humiliated. The stain was undeniable. He couldn't walk out of the building like this without looking like a toddler who had an accident.
"Get out," Florrie said. Her voice was low, dangerous. "Get out of my house. Get out of my life. If I ever see you again, Boston, I won't use water. I'll use acid."
"Buster!" she commanded. "Escort!"
The dog barked, a savage sound, and took a step forward.
Boston and Genevieve stumbled backward toward the door.
"You'll regret this!" Boston shouted, trying to cover his crotch with his hands. "You'll die alone, Florrie! No one wants a damaged, bitter woman!"
"I'd rather die alone than live with you!" Florrie screamed back.
She grabbed the invoice from the table. She crumpled it into a ball and threw it at him. It hit him in the chest.
"Don't forget to pay the bill!"
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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.