Married To My Mysterious Ex-Con Husband
My father bailed a violent ex-con out of prison just to force me into a marriage with him. I stood in a filthy Bronx hallway, my Vera Wang gown dragging through the grime, knowing this was the price for my mother’s life. If I didn't marry the man behind the steel door, the wire transfer for her hospital ventilator wouldn't go through the next morning.
The man, a scarred giant named Dock, treated me with cold contempt, telling me he didn't touch things he didn't want—and he didn't want a "Jacobson." I thought I had hit rock bottom, tied to a criminal while my family lived in luxury. But the nightmare was just beginning.
When I tried to return my wedding dress to pay for rent, my sister Janie and stepmother found me. They laughed as security dragged me out of the boutique, calling me a "charity case." When I finally crawled back to our family manor to beg for the money my father had promised, Janie revealed the horrific truth. She had liquidated my mother’s medical trust to fund a waterfront real estate project.
"Get out and let your mother rot," she screamed, throwing a glass of ice water in my face before having guards dump me in the dirt. I knelt on the gravel, wet and bleeding, realizing my own flesh and blood had signed my mother's death warrant for a profit. I had nothing left—no money, no home, and a husband who was supposed to be a monster.
I didn't understand why they hated me so much, or how I would survive the night. But then, a black car screeched to a halt in front of me. Dock pulled me inside, his eyes burning with a lethal coldness I’d never seen in a common thug.
As he wiped the blood from my hands, he picked up a encrypted phone and gave a single command.
"Initiate Project Titan. I want the Jacobson Group insolvent by Friday."
I looked at the man I thought was a broke felon, realizing I hadn't just married a stranger—I had married the most dangerous man in the city, and he was about to burn my family's world to the ground.
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Chapter 4
"Oh my God!" Janie shrieked. She pointed a manicured finger at Dock. "It's him! It's the rapist! Call the police!"
Dock didn't even flinch. He didn't look at her.
He walked to the counter.
Brenda, the clerk who had been so smug a minute ago, took a step back. She looked at Dock's scars, at the dangerous set of his shoulders, and she went pale.
"Don't... don't hurt me," she squeaked.
"The dress," Dock said.
He picked up the garment bag from the counter.
"You can't take that!" Brenda stammered. "She didn't pay the cleaning fee! It's damaged!"
Dock looked at the bag. Then he looked at Brenda.
"Damaged," he repeated.
"Yes! It's... it's ruined!"
Keira tugged on the back of Dock's jacket. "Dock, please. Let's just go. I don't want the money anymore. Please."
She was terrified. If the police came, they would arrest him. He was an ex-con. They wouldn't ask questions.
He turned to her. His eyes softened, just a fraction.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured.
He turned back to the counter.
A man in a suit came rushing out from the back office. The Manager.
"What is going on here?" he demanded. "I'm calling 911!"
Dock reached into his back pocket.
Keira's heart stopped. Was he reaching for a weapon? A knife?
He pulled out a card.
It was black. Metal.
He slapped it onto the glass counter. The sound was sharp, decisive.
Clack.
The Manager looked down.
He froze.
His eyes bulged. He looked from the card to Dock's face, trying to reconcile the scruffy, scarred man with the piece of titanium on the counter.
It was an American Express Centurion card. The Black Card.
But not just a normal one. It had a specific geometric pattern on the edge.
"Swipe it," Dock said.
"Sir... I..." The Manager was shaking.
"Buy the dress," Dock said. "And the one in the window. And that one." He pointed to a gown that probably cost ten thousand dollars.
"Is this... is this yours?" the Manager whispered.
Dock leaned over the counter. He got right in the Manager's face.
His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Does it matter?"
The Manager went white. He looked like he was going to vomit.
He started to stammer, "But Mr. P-"
Dock's eyes went dead cold. It was a look that promised consequences far worse than a 911 call. The Manager's mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked.
"Swipe. The. Card."
"Yes! Yes, sir! Immediately!"
The Manager scrambled to the machine. His hands were shaking so badly he dropped the card twice.
"He stole it!" Janie yelled from the back. "He stole that card! Arrest him!"
"Quiet!" the Manager roared at Janie. "Not another word, Miss Jacobson!"
Janie's jaw dropped.
The machine beeped. Approved.
The receipt printed.
Dock took the card and shoved it back into his pocket like it was a gum wrapper.
"Pack them up," he said.
"Yes, sir. Right away. I'll have them delivered to..."
"We'll take them," Dock said.
He grabbed the garment bag.
He turned to Brenda. She was trembling.
"You," Dock said.
"Me?"
"I don't like your face. Or your attitude."
He looked at the Manager.
"Fire her."
"Done," the Manager said instantly. "Brenda, get your things. You're gone."
"But..." Brenda started to cry.
"Now!" the Manager screamed.
Dead silence filled the boutique.
Dock turned to Keira. He put his hand on the small of her back. His touch was warm, firm.
"Let's go."
He guided her out the door, past a stunned Janie and Geraldine.
They walked out onto 5th Avenue.
The wind hit Keira's face.
She stopped. She pulled away from him.
She stared at him, her eyes wide with horror.
"What did you do?" she whispered.
He looked at her, his face impassive.
"I bought the dresses."
"With a stolen card!" Keira hissed, looking around for police. "You stole a Black Card! Do you know how much trouble were in? That's grand larceny! That's... that's federal!"
Dock looked at her. He saw the genuine terror in her eyes.
He sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"It's not stolen," he said.
"Don't lie to me! I saw the manager's face! He was terrified!"
"It's a clone," Dock said smoothly. The lie came easily. "I have a friend. From inside. He makes them. It's linked to a dummy corporate account in the Caymans."
Keira's knees went weak.
"A clone card? You're a hacker?"
"Something like that," he said. "The bill goes to a shell company. It's untraceable."
"Oh my God," Keira breathed. "We're criminals."
"Technically," he said, gesturing to the three massive dress bags now on the curb. "I'm the criminal. You're just the accessory."
He started walking.
"Come on. I'm hungry."
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Sophie Esinberg is on the verge of losing everything she has worked so hard to build. When her best friend offers her a risky, ride-or-die opportunity, Sophie reluctantly agrees, even though it pulls her into a world she despises: wealth, privilege, and glamour.
Everything goes according to plan until she meets Raymond Reynolds. He is charming, infuriating, and captain of the U.S.A Football Team. And oh, he is also the boy who broke Sophie's heart seven years ago.
As unresolved feelings resurface and time draws them back together, Sophie and Raymond struggle to move on from a past that refuses to stay buried. Facing love again means confronting their deepest fears and the truths that once tore them apart. For both of them, healing may require risking their hearts one more time.
8.1
When the private elevator pinged. That was the moment Eleanor's two-and-a-half years as a billionaire's perfect fake girlfriend abruptly ended.
Julian was terminating her services early because his real first love was moving into the penthouse tomorrow.
His assistant stood by the marble counter, bracing for a screaming match. He handed over a brutal non-disclosure agreement.
He slid a five-million-dollar check across the table, fully expecting her to cry, beg, or throw the money back in his face.
"Miss Palmer... Giselle is moving in tomorrow," he warned.
Instead, Eleanor calmly borrowed his Montblanc pen, signed her name three times without hesitation, and slipped the money into her planner.
"Congratulations to Mr. Caldwell-Prentice on finally getting what he wants," she smiled flawlessly.
They all thought she was just a high-end, emotionless mercenary who felt absolutely nothing for the men she served.
They didn't know she was actually Cara Love, the last surviving heir of the ruined Love Foundation, living under a fake name to avenge her dead father.
For years, she swallowed her burning hatred, playing the perfect emotional substitute to buy dark web intel and hide her unnatural, rapid-healing body from a ruthless medical syndicate.
But now, a tech billionaire client had just uncovered her true identity, and her burner phone flashed with a terrifying emergency alert.
The syndicate had found her.
Eleanor grabbed her suitcase and ordered the private jet back to New York.
The facade was over; it was time to face the deadly storm.
8.0
For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world.
But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle.
The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch.
When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son.
"Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing.
And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down.
I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile.
The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe.
It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.
7.9
Valerie Ashford, a girl who had just turned twenty-one, was introduced by her father to his business associates at a grand party, where she met a frightening, cold-blooded man.
That man was none other than her father's business partner, the CEO of a major corporation. He was taken with Valerie and had wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
For Rovano Morvane, whatever he desired was absolute and he had to have it, even by the worst means possible.
That night Valerie vanished without a trace and Rovano became the prime suspect, yet the Ashford family could not prove their allegations.
"P-please, I don't want to die, sir..." Valerie whispered so softly that Rovano had to bend down even lower.
"Didn't you just say you didn't care whether you were kidnapped or not? So shut your mouth." Rovano ordered.
Cold, Valerie felt the other side of the folding knife pressed against her cheek.
Rovano was going to mark Valerie.
It felt like something was missing if Rovano didn't take out his psychopathic urges on someone.
And this time, for the first time, he wanted a girl: Valerie Ashford.
Would Valerie's life end here?
9.5
He's vulgar. He's cruel. He's childish.
A proud, entitled, sexist fuck-boy who has no iota of regard for girls and only sees them as nothing less than a mere conquest object for his sick, twisted sexual fantasies.
He's all shades of red.
I know that. Very well. More than anyone else.
And yet...
He's all I can think about. He's taken up every single space in my head for free, and I'm beyond obsessed at this point. Every day I think about him. I can't help it. I crave his attention like I need it to survive, I burn his touch, I ache for his... mmm!
I shouldn't want him. I know I shouldn't. Especially since he's the son of the very man who broke my family apart.
But as I said, I can't help it.
He's just like poison... like sin... so deadly... and yet feels so right... so... sweet!
His name is Devin Sinclair.
And if I'm to be honest... I'm not so sure how much longer I can resist him for.
....
Following the devastating scandal that broke her family apart, Tamara Hamilton moved to Palmridge to escape all the unending assault she received, hoping for a fresh start.
But that was nothing more than just a fairytale. There she meets Devin Sinclair, the popular, egotistical fuck-boy, who happens to be the son of the very man who broke her family, who soon became her deadly obsession after one unprecedented incident, throwing her life off course.
Now she's fighting her newfound obsession... resisting him as much as she can. But deep down, she knows. His mere presence set her whole body on fire. His touch makes her feel things she wasn't allowed to feel. And every minute of the day, she thinks about him.
She knows. She knows she can't keep resisting forever. She knows that her walls will come crashing down... sooner or later.
But she hoped never.
Only time will tell.
...
NB: This book explores themes of enemies-to-lovers, forbidden student-professor age gap and bisexual romance. It is rated 18+ as there will be explicit, graphic content between chapters.
Please, read at your own discretion.
Due to the nature of this book, there will be frequent POV changes of these characters between chapters.
Happy reading : )
7.2
Five years ago, I was sentenced to prison for a car accident that left Blaire Lowe fighting for her life in the ICU.
The day I was finally released, I thought the nightmare was over, but it had only just begun.
Carson Long, the man who once loved me, was waiting. He didn't see a victim of a tragic accident; he saw a monster who deserved to rot.
He made sure I knew that freedom was a lie. He turned my life into a living hell, dragging me through the halls of the hospital to witness the ruin I had caused, forcing me to watch as those who once knew me spat on my name and treated me like filth.
When he demanded I pay for my sins by destroying my own face, I didn't hesitate. I carved a jagged scar into my cheek just to satisfy his cold, relentless hatred, hoping it would finally be enough to earn his mercy.
But he wasn't satisfied. He dragged me to his estate, stripped me of my dignity, and turned me into the house's lowest servant, forcing me to scrub cobblestones until my knees bled and my body gave out.
Why did he hate me so much that he wanted me to suffer every second of my existence? Why was he so determined to see my soul crushed into dust, even when I had nothing left to give?
I looked at the trash I was forced to eat, and in that moment, I realized that as long as Carson held the leash, I would never be free.
I picked up a piece of moldy bread, my eyes hollow, and decided that if living meant becoming his dog, I would find a way to end the game on my own terms.