Marrying The Broke Billionaire In Disguise
Flora Sawyer was backed into a corner by a wealthy, married doctor who relentlessly harassed her at the hospital.
Desperate for a way out, she signed a prenuptial agreement in a rundown diner to marry a complete stranger.
Josiah Vance claimed to be a bankrupt, failed IT programmer. He offered to be her legal shield, and in return, she let him sleep on her cramped apartment couch.
But the nightmare only escalated. Grant, her wealthy tormentor, cornered them at a dinner party.
He poured red wine all over Josiah's cheap thrift-store shirt, mocking him as a pathetic parasite living off a public nurse's meager salary.
The entire room laughed, watching Flora's new husband endure the ultimate public humiliation.
They didn't know that to help Josiah start over, Flora had just emptied her entire life savings of fifty thousand dollars, leaving herself with exactly eighty-four dollars.
Watching the man who had offered her a lifeline be treated like garbage, something inside Flora completely snapped.
She couldn't understand why money gave these arrogant people the right to crush others. Her chest burned with a fierce, undeniable rage.
She stepped directly in front of Josiah, shielding him with her own body, and slammed a stack of papers onto the table.
"My husband might be broke, but you are the real parasite."
What Flora didn't know was that the silent, bankrupt man standing behind her was actually a trillionaire, and his game to destroy her enemies had already begun.
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Chapter 3
The air in the hospital's underground archive room smelled of bleach and rotting paper.
Flora stood between two towering metal shelves, shoving thick medical files into boxes. The fluorescent light above her flickered, casting long, erratic shadows across the concrete floor.
The heavy iron door groaned open.
Grant Holloway stepped inside. He wore a custom-tailored navy suit. A slick, arrogant smile stretched across his face, making Flora's stomach heave with instant nausea.
Grant reached behind him and pushed the door shut. The heavy metal deadbolt clicked into place. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the cramped space.
Flora's spine hit the cold metal of the filing cabinet behind her. The clipboard in her hands slipped from her sweaty fingers and clattered to the floor.
"You ignored my text last night," Grant said, taking a slow step toward her. "Playing hard to get only works for so long, Flora."
"Back up, Grant," Flora snapped. Her voice shook, but she forced herself to stand tall. She raised her left hand, shoving the cheap silver ring into his line of sight. "I'm married."
Grant stopped. He looked at the ring. A harsh, barking laugh erupted from his throat.
"That?" Grant sneered. "That piece of vending-machine trash? You expect me to believe a cheap piece of tin changes anything?"
He lunged forward. His large, rough hand reached out, aiming for her cheek.
The smell of his expensive cologne hit her face. Panic seized her throat, choking her.
Then, Josiah's voice echoed in her head. I am your legal shield.
A violent surge of adrenaline ripped through Flora's veins. She didn't think. She just reacted.
Flora planted her feet, twisted her hips, and swung her right hand with every ounce of strength she possessed.
Her palm connected with Grant's left cheek. The crack of flesh on flesh was deafening.
Grant's head snapped to the side. He stumbled back, his expensive leather shoes slipping on the linoleum. A bright red handprint instantly bloomed across his jaw. His eyes widened in pure, unadulterated shock.
Outside the archive room, standing in the dim hallway, Eleanor Holloway froze.
She had been looking through the blinds of the small window in the door. The insulated thermos in her hand slipped. It hit the carpeted hallway floor, spilling scalding hot coffee everywhere. Eleanor didn't flinch. Her skin turned to ice.
Inside, Grant touched his burning cheek. His shock morphed into ugly, twisting rage.
"You crazy bitch," Grant spat, taking a threatening step forward.
Flora didn't back down. Her chest heaved. Her eyes burned with a fierce, terrifying light. She pointed a trembling finger at the locked door.
"Get out," Flora screamed, her voice tearing her throat.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. The head nurse was doing rounds.
Grant froze. He adjusted his silk tie, his hands shaking with fury. He glared at Flora, his eyes promising violence.
"This isn't over," Grant hissed.
He spun around, unlocked the deadbolt, and ripped the door open.
Grant stepped into the hallway and stopped dead.
Eleanor stood there. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just stared at him with eyes so dead and empty they looked like glass.
All the blood drained from Grant's face. "Eleanor, wait-"
Eleanor turned her body, avoiding him like he was a rotting corpse. She stumbled backward, then turned and ran down the long, sterile corridor.
Flora stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She watched Eleanor's retreating back. A heavy, suffocating wave of guilt crashed into her, instantly followed by a fierce, undeniable sense of liberation.
Grant shot Flora one last venomous look before sprinting after his wife.
The hallway fell dead silent.
Flora's knees gave out. She slid down the doorframe until she hit the floor. She stared at her stinging right hand, her whole body trembling.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the sudden vibration startling her.
She pulled it out with trembling fingers. The screen lit up with a text from an unknown number, though the tone was unmistakably familiar.
Heard things got heated at work. Hope you're okay. Stand your ground.
Flora's breath caught. Her heart slammed against her ribs. It was Josiah. How did he know? Had someone in the hallway texted him? Or had he been waiting outside?
She stared at the glowing screen, a strange mix of apprehension and comfort washing over her. She swallowed hard, forcing her shaky legs to straighten as she stood up. She bent down and began picking up the scattered medical files, the words of his text echoing in her mind.
She knew slapping Grant had just painted a massive target on her back. He would ruin her for this.
But as she looked at her red palm, she didn't regret a single thing.
Outside the small window at the end of the hall, thunder rumbled in the dark clouds, signaling a storm.
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7.1
Belle Triston, a pediatrician with a brilliant career faked her relationship with a billionaire. She didn't like Gabrielle Rolland's arrogance at all, but she had to become a surrogate mother to give birth to Gabrielle's offspring in order to fulfill her mother's last wishes before she died.
Their relationship was complicated because Gabrielle was married to a famous actress, Fleura Delacour. Belle and Gabrielle made an agreement that their relationship would only be professional. But unexpected things happened. Fleura's affair with her co-star left a deep wound in Gabrielle's heart. When his heart was wounded and bleeding, Belle was there to heal his wounds. Their relationship was no longer as simple as they thought when hearts started playing in it. When Gabrielle realized that he loved Belle and wanted to be with her, Fleura came and begged him for a second chance. Gabrielle had to choose, while his heart couldn't choose. Belle knew Fleura's biggest secret and she wouldn't just keep quiet. She would fight for her baby and her love for Gabrielle.
8.2
When she left the cold, controlling man she loved five years ago, Isabella left behind more than just a shattered marriage. Now that she has returned to the city as a prosperous businesswoman, she has a little son who is actually the CEO's heir.
Alexander, the strong CEO she previously married, promises to discover her secrets when he learns of her return. However, what he discovers shocks him: a woman who is no longer weak and submissive, and a child who bears his blood.
Isabella and Alexander are drawn back into a perilous game of love, power, and retaliation as adversaries circle and secrets come to light. Will pride ruin their second opportunity, or can they confront the truth?
9.0
I was a wolfless Omega, forced into a humiliating contract with Alpha Declan just to keep my mother's life support running.
Four years ago, he publicly rejected me as his Fated Mate, treating me like a shameful secret.
But one night, I unlocked his tablet and discovered the sickening truth.
He already had a "Chosen Mate," Karly, and a secret daughter named Ava.
While I was fed gray nutrient paste like a stray dog, he was parading them around as his perfect family.
He even moved them into the master suite and tossed out the last wooden toy belonging to my dead son.
Worse, I found out my own stepbrother was Karly's spy, helping them keep me in the dark.
The week I was hemorrhaging in the hospital, terrified of losing my baby, Declan wasn't fighting a border war. He was buying Karly diamonds in Paris.
The week my mother suffered a massive stroke, he abandoned her to take his secret daughter skiing.
I was entirely alone, a convenient shield for his lies.
But the absolute betrayal burned away my lingering grief, leaving behind a freezing, unbreakable clarity.
I didn't just want a divorce anymore; I wanted to burn their entire world to ash.
So, I slipped a forged termination agreement into his stack of Pack contracts.
Blinded by his own arrogance, the Alpha signed my freedom without even looking.
Holding the legal key to my cage and a folder full of his treacherous secrets, I sped out of the manor and dialed an encrypted number.
"It's time. Unleash hell."
9.2
Arla was supposed to marry Clinton Freeman, the perfect fiancé who had promised to love her and protect her five-year-old son.
But instead, the cold steel of a dagger pierced her chest.
As she collapsed onto the freezing basement floor, she watched her adoptive sister Blair laugh.
"Look at her," Blair sneered, kicking her son's small, blue, lifeless body.
Clinton stood there, calmly wiping the bloody blade on a pristine handkerchief.
In her dying moments, the horrifying truth became clear. Her fiancé and her adoptive family had been plotting all along to steal her massive trust fund.
To break her, they had secretly tortured her child. Clinton had watched Blair pierce the little boy's arms with sewing needles, rewarding him with candy to keep him silent.
Arla's lungs burned with the taste of copper and ash.
She couldn't understand why the family she trusted could be so monstrous, or why they had to brutally murder an innocent child just for money.
The darkness swallowed her whole, drowning her in suffocating hatred and absolute despair.
Then, she gasped for air.
The concrete floor was gone, replaced by the silk sheets of a hotel penthouse suite.
Arla had been reborn to the exact night six years ago—the very day Blair first dragged her son into the dark attic.
This time, she picked up a solid silver letter opener, ready to burn them all to the ground.
7.7
I trusted the wrong people in my past life.
My supposed lover and my sweet sister conspired against me, locking me inside a burning warehouse to die.
But the man I had spent my life hating, my ruthless captor Damien Sterling, rushed straight into that inferno and burned alive just to try and save me.
In my past life, I was utterly blind. I believed Julian's forged documents and Scarlett's fake affection. I even tried to assassinate Damien with a silver dagger they provided, breaking the heart of the only man who truly loved me. I died choking on thick ash, realizing too late who the real monsters were.
Why was I so incredibly foolish? Why did I let their vicious manipulation turn me into a weapon against the one person who would sacrifice absolutely everything for me?
Opening my eyes again, the phantom smell of smoke vanished.
I was sitting in the bloody water of Damien's bathtub, right after my staged suicide attempt.
When my sister sneaked into my penthouse suite and handed me the dagger to kill him again, I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed her hand tightly and plunged the sharp blade directly into my own shoulder.
"Please don't kill me, Scarlett!"
This time, I will ruthlessly ruin them both, and I will never let Damien go.
9.7
Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire.
But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men.
Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her.
Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped.
Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust.
"If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector."
Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell.
She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100?
Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack.