Jilted Heiress: Seducing My Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle
I stood in the center of the Pierre Hotel’s grand ballroom, a mute, smiling doll in a Dior dress. My job was to signal stability to investors while my fiancé, Clive Fitzpatrick, looked for any excuse to ignore me.
The night of our engagement, the world turned into a different kind of hell. I watched Clive disappear onto the terrace with another woman, his hand possessively on her waist. Distraught and drunk, I stumbled into a dark penthouse suite seeking sanctuary. I woke up the next morning to a gravelly voice and the smell of expensive tobacco. I hadn't slept with my fiancé; I had accidentally spent the night with his uncle, Bruno Fitzpatrick—the man Wall Street called the "executioner."
The humiliation was only the beginning. Clive didn't just cheat; he admitted he was only marrying me to steal my family's voting rights so I could "rot" in an apartment while he lived with his mistress. When I tried to protest, my adoptive mother, Claudia, dragged me into a private room and whipped me with a riding crop to remind me of my place. She held up a video of my frail, sick sister, Lucia, making it clear that my total obedience was the only thing keeping Lucia alive. I was a business asset to be traded, used, and beaten into submission.
I couldn't understand why everyone I was supposed to trust was so eager to destroy me. Was I really just a mannequin to be discarded once the merger papers were signed? The marks on my back burned, but the ice in my veins was colder. I was done being the victim of a mediocre man and a heartless mother.
Then Bruno offered me a way out. At the family dinner, right in front of my cheating fiancé, he proposed a lethal bet: if I could raise the company’s stock by ten percent in thirty days, he would give me his board veto—the ultimate power to crush Clive and Claudia forever. If I failed, I would owe him any favor he asked. I looked at the man who had ruined me and the man who wanted to own me, and I realized I had nothing left to lose. I wasn't going to be a doll anymore; I was going to be the one who burned the house down.
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Chapter 7
The Fitzpatrick Manor was less a home and more a mausoleum for the living. Stone walls, gargoyles, and enough ivy to strangle a small village.
Ivy took Clive's arm as they walked up the steps. Her grip was light, formal.
Inside, the air was stale, smelling of beeswax and old money.
The main hall was full of people. Aunts, uncles, cousins. The extended family. They were vultures in silk and velvet.
Catrina was there. She had changed into a gold dress that was even tighter than the red one. She was holding a martini glass, holding court with a group of younger cousins.
When she saw Ivy, her eyes narrowed. She whispered something to the girl next to her. They both giggled.
Ivy kept her head high.
Clive pulled her toward a corner, away from the main group.
"My father is going to ask about the merger papers," Clive hissed. "Your father still hasn't signed the asset transfer."
Ivy looked at him. "My father is waiting for the final valuation."
"Your father is stalling. Tell him to sign it, Ivy. Or this wedding is off."
He grabbed her wrist. His fingers dug in. It was a familiar pain. A warning.
Ivy looked down at his hand. Then she looked up at his face.
She thought of the jacket. She thought of the villa. She thought of Bruno.
"Let go of me," she said.
Clive blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I said, let go."
She leaned in closer.
"If you bruise me, Clive, I'll have to explain it to your mother. And then I might accidentally mention the withdrawals you've been making from the company operating account."
Clive's face went slack. He dropped her wrist as if it burned him.
"What… how do you know about that?"
Ivy didn't know. Not for sure. But she had seen papers on Bruno's desk in the hotel room. Just a glance. A spreadsheet with highlighted rows. Clive's name was on one.
"I know a lot of things," Ivy bluffed. "Like how Catrina's new apartment in SoHo was paid for by a shell company listed under Fitzpatrick Holdings."
Clive looked terrified. That was embezzlement. That was prison time. Or worse-disownment by Silas.
"What do you want?" he whispered.
Ivy smoothed her sleeve.
"First, stay away from me tonight. Second, get her out of here."
She nodded toward Catrina.
Clive looked at his mistress. Then back at Ivy.
"She's family. I can't just-"
"Figure it out. Or I go talk to your father."
Clive gritted his teeth. "Fine."
He turned and walked over to Catrina. Ivy watched. She saw the argument. Catrina's shocked face. The angry gestures.
Finally, Catrina slammed her drink down on a waiter's tray and stormed out of the front door.
Ivy let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
She had won.
"Well done."
The voice came from behind her. It was sharp. Cold.
Ivy turned.
Claudia Wallace stood there. Her adoptive mother.
She was wearing black. She always wore black. It made her look like a chic undertaker.
"Mother," Ivy said.
Claudia didn't smile. She reached out and pinched the soft flesh of Ivy's upper arm. It was a vicious, twisting pinch.
"Don't think you're clever," Claudia whispered. "I saw that. You're making a scene."
"I was handling it," Ivy said through the pain.
"You were risking the merger. If Clive calls off the wedding, we lose everything. And if we lose everything…"
Claudia's eyes bore into Ivy's.
"You know what happens to your sister."
Ivy froze. The victory evaporated.
"Don't," Ivy whispered.
"Then behave. Go upstairs and fix your hair. You look disheveled."
Claudia released her arm.
Ivy rubbed the spot. It would bruise.
She turned and walked toward the stairs. She felt small again. Helpless.
The front door opened. A gust of wind blew through the hall.
Silence fell over the room.
Bruno walked in.
He was wearing the suit. The grey suit.
He scanned the room. His eyes landed on Ivy on the stairs.
He winked.
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9.2
I realized my husband did not love me the moment he stepped over my broken heart to answer a text from his mistress.
Caleb was the "Architect," a feared Capo in New York, but he forgot that I was the one who funded his rise from the gutter with my inheritance.
He brought his assistant, Kimberly, into our private penthouse. She wore my silk robe, mocked my past trauma, and snapped my dead mother’s rosary right in front of my eyes.
When I lashed out in grief, Caleb didn't defend me.
He pinned me against the wall, comforting her while calling me "unstable" and "violent."
He gaslighted me, claiming I would be eaten alive without his protection. He thought I was just a fragile princess who would crumble without him.
He truly believed he was the king, forgetting that I was the one who built the castle.
I didn't cry. I simply wiped the blood from my arm and walked out the door.
He didn't know that I owned thirty percent of his laundering front and the land beneath his precious casino.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number of his deadliest rival, the Irish mob.
"The bank is closed, Caleb. I’m selling my shares to the enemy."
7.1
They ruined her face. Stole her child. Now she's back-and nothing will stop her.
Five years ago, Raina Carrington lost everything: her beauty, her family, and her newborn baby.
Now she's returned-unrecognizable, unbreakable, and with one goal in mind: to find her son and make them pay. But revenge is never simple, especially when it draws the attention of Leif Vexley-the most powerful and dangerous man in the city-who just might hold the key to her child's past.
Yet she's not the victim anymore.
She's the storm-and she's ready to strike.
7.8
She lost everything that day;
Her three years of marriage,
Her best friend's trust,
And her two weeks old baby.
...
"I want a divorce. I'm not in this marriage anymore." His voice dropped, as he moved closer.
'Divorce?' My world tilted.
"Yes, my lawyer will send you the papers to sign."
"No," I whispered, broken. "You can't be serious. Don't tell me you believed that lying bitch? This can't be happening. Not now. How could you bring this up today? We just buried my Papa a few hours ago, Lucian!" My voice was barely a whisper, alien even to my own ears, like my whole world was just, falling apart right there and then.
...
The price of Lyra Jones's love was everything.
She sacrificed her burgeoning career to become a devoted full-time housewife, only for her three-years marriage to Lucian White Jr. to explode in spectacular fashion.
On the very day of her father's funeral, a betrayal of shattering cruelty occurred: her childhood best friend, Aryan, delivered a fatal lie that cost Lyra her husband, her reputation, and tragically, her week-old pregnancy. Abandoned and utterly broken, Lyra fled.
Now she is back. Five years have passed, and Lyra has claimed her crown as the multibillion dollar CEO and Heiress of the Jones corporation.
She didn't return for closure; she returned for retribution. And she will not rest until Lucian is stripped of his empire and Aryan is exposed to the world.
They thought they buried the wife. Now, can they survive the CEO?
Start reading now to witness the most ruthless corporate revenge of the year.
8.8
I spent three years hating Damien Castillo, the ruthless mafia Don who kidnapped me from my engagement party and ruined my reputation.
But in the end, it was my perfect fiancé, Julian, and my sweet half-sister, Sophia, who slipped the deadly poison into my wine.
As the venom burned through my veins in that freezing cellar, I watched Julian smile. He and Sophia had orchestrated my brutal death. She had been sleeping in his bed all along, intentionally miscarrying his bastard child just to frame me as 'impure' and strip me of my family's protection. My own father used me as a political pawn, letting them throw me away like garbage.
And Damien? The monster I had fought and despised for years marched straight into a suicide ambush for me. He was riddled with bullets, turning his body into a human shield just to buy me a few more seconds of life.
"Touch her and you die."
I died in that blood-soaked basement, clutching his lifeless body, suffocating on my own blind trust. Why did I ever believe the golden boy who betrayed me? Why did I fight the only man who truly loved me?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of copper and mold was gone, replaced by the scent of Cuban cigars and black silk.
I was back in 1928, on the exact night Damien stormed my engagement party and locked me in his penthouse.
This time, when the ruthless Don approached me, I didn't scream or run back to my killers. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.
9.0
I died on the cold delivery table, bleeding out while the heart monitor flatlined.
Through the blinding surgical lights, I heard my husband Damon's cold, final order to the doctors.
"The child is the priority."
He didn't care about my life. To him, I was just a vessel to produce an heir, a tool to fulfill his prenuptial clause and secure his billionaire empire.
While I took my last agonizing breath, he was already planning his future with his fragile, theatrical mistress, Jasmin.
In my past life, when he first brought her into our home claiming she was a helpless victim, I shattered.
I screamed, threw vases, and played the hysterical wife perfectly.
My desperate pleas for his affection only gave him the exact weapons he needed to ruin my reputation, isolate me, and ultimately force me onto that fatal delivery bed.
Until my very last moment, the suffocating pain in my chest wasn't just physical.
I couldn't understand how the man I loved could treat my death like a simple business transaction.
Why was my absolute devotion rewarded with a carefully calculated execution?
But then, my eyes snapped open.
I was sitting on the edge of my king-sized bed, exactly three years before my death.
From downstairs, I heard Damon's voice echoing in the foyer, bringing Jasmin into our home for the very first time.
This time, the scream building in my chest turned to ice.
I didn't cry or throw a fit.
Instead, I calmly swallowed a secret birth control pill, smiled at his mistress, and dialed the most ruthless divorce lawyer in Manhattan.
7.1
To survive a forced one-year marriage contract with the ultra-wealthy Chavez family, Averi Marsh disguised herself as a pathetic, ugly duckling.
She caked her flawless skin in muddy yellow foundation, wore thick glasses, and played the part of a trembling, uneducated orphan.
The entire family treated her like literal garbage.
The youngest brother publicly swore he would rather cut off his own hand than marry a piece of trailer park trash.
Her nominal fiancé, Clarke, looked at her with cold disdain, allowing his glamorous companion to humiliate Averi by forcing her into a neon pink clown dress.
At a high-society party, a socialite shoved her into an infinity pool, laughing as the heavy fabric dragged her to the bottom.
They all wanted to see the poor girl broken, humiliated, and driven out of their pristine world.
What they didn't know was that beneath the hideous sweaters was a breathtaking, lethal predator.
They had no idea she was 'Spectre', the undefeated underground racing god who had just humiliated the arrogant Clarke on the track.
They didn't know she could shatter a bully's wrist in seconds or bankrupt their wealthy friends with a single text message.
But when the chlorinated pool water washed away her ugly makeup, the family's ambitious second son caught a glimpse of her true, flawless face.
The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
The Chavez family thought they were torturing a helpless sheep, but they were about to realize they had locked themselves in a cage with a wolf.