
My Accidental Billionaire husband
They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, mine didn't.
I came back with a marriage certificate bearing a stranger's name, a ring worth more than my parents' love ever was, and a son whose father I've never seen, never known, never remembered.
I went to Vegas for a racing competition. I won. I celebrated. And somewhere between the victory and the sunrise, my life changed forever.
For six years, I've lived with the consequences of one reckless night. I built an empire. I raised my son. And I searched for the man who changed my life without even knowing it.
Then fate laughed in my face.
My sister married my ex-fiancé-the man I was promised to since childhood. The man I was supposed to become Mrs. Windsor for. The man who now wears my family name... and looks far too much like my child.
Every time I'm near him, the past presses closer. Every glance feels like a question I'm terrified to ask. I shouldn't notice him. I shouldn't feel anything. He is my sister's husband.
But some secrets refuse to stay buried.
Because the truth about Vegas isn't just in the ring on my finger or the child in my arms.
It's standing right in front of me.
And when it finally comes out, it won't just destroy a marriage, it will burn an empire to the ground.
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Chapter 3
~Katia~
"Do you know how hard I've been holding myself?" I didn't answer because all I wanted was to get laid. I could still feel the ache between my legs. He carried my bridal style and led me to his hotel room.
"Now, I can have you however I want because you are now my wife, princess." The room was dark, and I was feeling all sorts of things; I doubt I even remember my name at this point. He sent me launching onto a bed. His finger ran along my lips. His lips traced along my neck. It tickles, and it feels so good. My mind zigzags in pleasure and confusion.
"I love your body, wifey." He pulls up my dress, and now I am exposed. "I couldn't wait to get you here so I could taste you from the chopper. I want to make it memorable for you." His words shocked me like a live wire.
*
Morning slammed into me with cruel sunlight and a splitting headache. I woke up in a room I didn't recognize.
The room screamed money, expensive cologne, maybe. My head throbbed. My body... ached. I was naked under the sheets, tangled in them like I'd been tossed there, and beside me, a man lay asleep. A stranger, panic hit me like a punch to the chest.
I couldn't even look at him. I didn't want to. I didn't want to know what kind of face went with the body that had touched mine, claimed mine. I sat up too fast, and pain shot between my legs like a warning. I gasped and clutched the sheets tighter.
Everything down there was sore and swollen. The ache in my thighs was sharp, deep, and humiliating.
I scanned the floor, found my dress-crumpled and reeking of bar smoke and sweat-and yanked it on, wincing with every movement. My heels were on their sides by the door. I hobbled toward them like I was learning to walk again, forcing myself to stand tall even when I wanted to curl into myself and disappear.
What the hell happened last night?
I remembered the race. The victory. The roar of the crowd. I remembered heading to the bar to celebrate. I ordered one drink, then another, then... then two guys approached me.
Their faces were blurry. Everything after that? Blank, like someone hit the erase button on my memory. There was laughter, I think. Maybe a game of pool. A joke. Something about tequila. And then-nothing.
Just soreness. Just this stranger. Just a room I didn't know.
I found my purse by the couch, slung it over my shoulder, and didn't look back. I didn't want to wake him. I didn't want him to speak. I didn't want him to remember me, either.
I made my way to the parking garage, ignoring the way my legs trembled with every step, found my car, and drove back to my hotel like a ghost at the wheel.
When I finally made it to my suite, I didn't even stop to breathe. I stripped the dress off again, went straight into the bathroom, and turned on the shower like I could rinse off the confusion clinging to me.
The water hit my skin, and I almost jumped, like someone else's body had touched hardly every inch of mine, and I didn't even get the decency of a name.
My chest was tight, my eyes burned, and when I splashed water on my face, something cold clicked against my cheek. I froze and looked down at my left hand, and my stomach dropped into my feet.
I was wearing a ring.
Not costume jewelry. Not something cheap from a souvenir shop. This thing sparkled. It shone. It looked like commitment, permanence, and possibly a felony.
"What the fuck?" I whispered.
I yanked the shower curtain open and stepped out, dripping, breath shallow. My fingers trembled as I turned the ring around, trying to figure out if it was real. It looked expensive. Too expensive. But I didn't remember anything. Not a proposal. Not a chapel. Not even a kiss.
I threw clothes on, barely drying off, and rushed out of my room to find the guy. Any guy. But I remembered I don't remember anything; there was no trail to follow, no clue, not even a room number. I hadn't even checked what floor I was on this morning.
Even if I passed him in the lobby... I wouldn't recognize his face.
"My god," I whispered again, gripping my temple.
I remembered nothing.
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8.6
Seven nights with the devil to pay a debt. One truth that will burn the world down.
Sienna Blackwood was never part of the deal until her step-brother gambled with her life to save his own.
Now, she is collateral in a brutal game of revenge. The collector is Dante Moretti, a billionaire with a fifteen-year grudge and a thirst for Blackwood blood.
He doesn't want her money; he demands seven nights of her total surrender.
But in the shadows of a Manhattan penthouse, hatred turns into a lethal obsession. When a syndicate ambush forces them to flee, the contract becomes a race for survival across the Atlantic.
Hunted for the three-year-old secret heir in their arms, Sienna and Dante must navigate a world of blood oaths and forced alliances.
In a game where every kiss is a tactical error, Sienna must decide: is her step-brother's rival the monster who shattered her life, or the only man who can save it?

8.0
"Just ninety days, Viv. Then I have to marry her."
"And what am I supposed to do when the clock runs out?"
He's the meticulous, sterile CEO destined for a cold corporate marriage. She's the fiery, turpentine-scented artist who lives for chaos. Josh Sterling has been Vivian Rossi's safe harbor and secret heartbreak since they were ten.
But with his wedding just three months away, decades of tension finally explode. Terrified of losing their friendship but helpless against the attraction, they make a devastating bargain: 90 days. Friends with benefits. No feelings. No future
It was supposed to be a temporary goodbye to the 'what-ifs.' But as the days bleed into weeks, their arrangement becomes a seductive torture. Viv is forced to watch the man she loves prepare to marry another, and Josh must confront a terrifying truth, the only person who has ever truly seen him is the one he's set to abandon.
90 days with the man i can't have is a searing, high-emotion contemporary romance. When time runs out, duty and desire will clash, demanding the ultimate sacrifice.

7.7
My bank account was four hundred dollars in the red when my brother called me screaming from the most exclusive club in Manhattan. He said he was going to be killed or arrested, and I was the only one who could save him from the mess he’d made.
When I arrived at The Onyx, I found my brother on his knees, accused of assaulting a high-profile socialite. But instead of begging for my help, he pointed a shaking finger at me and screamed, "It was her! My sister set the whole thing up because she wanted money!"
The man watching the chaos from the shadows was Adrian Clemons—the billionaire CEO of the company where I worked as a lowly assistant. He didn't look at me with pity; he looked at me with a profound, exhausted disgust, as if I were a stain on his expensive rug.
To save his own skin, my brother didn't just lie; he offered me up like a piece of tradeable property. "She'll do anything," he pleaded with the billionaire. "She’s clean, she’s obedient. Just don't send me to jail!"
Adrian didn't call the police. Instead, he made a cold, terrifying business proposal: "Lend her to me for one year. I wipe your debt, and the cops stay away." My brother didn't even blink before he snapped, "Done. Take her."
I was whisked away to City Hall in a silent Rolls Royce, signing a marriage license before I could even process the betrayal. I wasn't a bride; I was a "human asset" bought to help a cold-blooded monster secure his inheritance.
The moment my hand accidentally brushed his during the signing, he recoiled as if I were contagious, his face turning a ghostly, panicked white. He made it clear that I was nothing more than a prop, a girl from the slums meant to spite his elitist mother.
As the heavy iron gates of the Clemons estate slammed shut behind me that night, I realized I hadn't just saved my brother. I had entered a golden cage owned by a man who hated my touch, but owned my life for the next three hundred and sixty-five days.

9.5
Carolina Navarro was married off to Maximo Castillo, a man ruined by a plane crash that left his face scarred and his heart sealed shut.
Once charismatic and destined for everything, Maximo lost far more than his looks; he lost trust, tenderness, and the life he thought was his. Now he wanted only a wife and an heir.
Carolina gave him vows under pressure, never expecting anything more than a loveless arrangement. But as their bitterness collided and their loneliness deepened, one question refused to fade.
Could something real rise from the wreckage they both carried?

8.3
For three years, I was the perfect, invisible wife to Bart Brown. On our third anniversary, I stood in the kitchen for four hours, preparing his favorite meal with imported truffles, only to receive a cold text command.
"Crysta fainted again. Get to the hospital. Now."
My rare Rh-negative blood was the only thing the Brown family valued. Bart didn't want a wife; he wanted a walking blood bank for his "sick" best friend, Crysta. While I was fainting from chronic anemia, Crysta was smirking in her hospital bed, clutching Bart's hand and mocking my "peasant" lifestyle.
Even his mother treated me like a servant, demanding I vacuum the floors after I'd already offered my veins for the hundredth time. When I finally reached my breaking point and signed the divorce papers, they didn't let me go quietly. They filed a false police report, accusing me of stealing a multi-million dollar diamond necklace just to watch me crawl.
I didn't understand how a family could be so heartless. I had cooked their meals, cleaned their house, and literally bled for them, yet they were determined to ruin my life the moment I stopped being useful. Did they really think I was a nobody with nowhere to go?
Standing outside the hospital with a bruised wrist and nothing to my name, I didn't cry. I simply took off my cheap wedding ring and dialed a secure line I hadn't touched since the day I married him.
"It's me, Dad," I whispered as a fleet of black Maybachs rounded the corner. "The extraction is a go. I'm coming home."

9.3
Ginny was chained to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, bleeding and betrayed by the two people she trusted most.
Her fiancé, Brant, and her adopted sister, Coretta, had just slashed her face open. Brant coldly admitted she was nothing but a disposable key to a vault, right before he tossed a lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
As Ginny burned alive in the roaring inferno, the heavy iron doors were violently smashed open. Bedford Parks—the notoriously ruthless, germaphobic "monster" of Silicon Valley whom Ginny had always feared—charged straight into the flames. Ignoring the blistering heat, he shielded her charred body with his own. A massive steel beam collapsed, snapping his spine.
"I love you."
He coughed up blood, whispering his final words against her blackened skin before dying to protect her.
Hovering as a ghost, Ginny's soul screamed in agonizing realization. She had spent her life terrified of Bedford, yet he was the only one who truly loved her, while her supposed family laughed at her gruesome murder.
Suddenly, a blinding white light swallowed the warehouse.
Ginny gasped for air, opening her eyes to find herself sitting in the back of a luxury Maybach. She was eighteen again, wearing the humiliating clown makeup Coretta had tricked her into wearing on the day she was brought back to the wealthy Steele estate.
Ginny stared at her reflection, her dark eyes turning cold and sharp.
This time, she would tear her betrayers apart piece by piece, and she would protect her "monster."