No Heir For The Cheating Billionaire
Hadley married into the Jacobson family, a ruthless Wall Street empire. Her prenuptial agreement was absolute: she wouldn't touch a penny of the family wealth until she produced an heir.
But one rainy night, she used a copied keycard to enter a secret Tribeca penthouse, only to find her husband tangled in bed with a famous actress.
When she slapped the divorce papers in front of him, Cleveland didn't apologize.
"The party who files walks away with nothing. You will die in this position."
He tore the documents to pieces. To protect his flawless public image, he forced Hadley to attend family galas, smirking coldly while his grandfather publicly humiliated her for her "barren" stomach. When Hadley finally fought back and confronted his mistress, Cleveland snapped. With a single phone call, he froze her bank accounts, revoked her access to their home, and left her stranded in a cold parking garage.
She had given up her independence for a man who treated her like a useless breeding machine. He thought he could erase three years of her life in an instant, confident that his money made him invincible.
But Cleveland didn't know she was holding the ultimate weapon to destroy his precious legacy. As he received a frantic call about his mistress and rushed to his SUV, Hadley finally screamed the agonizing secret she had hidden for years.
"I can't give you an heir! It's over!"
Watching his taillights disappear into the dark, Hadley prepared to burn his empire to the ground.
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Chapter 6
The gravel crunched under the tires of the Lincoln as it pulled up to the sprawling, brightly lit Jacobson family estate in the Hamptons. Before the driver could even open the door, flashes of light erupted from the manicured hedges. Paparazzi.
Cleveland got out and pulled Hadley from the car, his grip on her arm painfully tight. "Smile," he muttered under his breath.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, dipped her dramatically, and pressed his lips to hers. It looked passionate, a perfect photo-op. In this ruthless family, power was everything, but a flawless, devoted public image was the armor that protected that power. He would never let his rivals, especially Arron, catch him slipping or expose his private indiscretions to the world. To Hadley, it felt like a sickening violation, a cold, calculated performance designed only to maintain his pristine facade.
Inside the grand foyer, the air was thick with the scent of old money and simmering resentment. Theodore Jacobson Sr., the family patriarch, sat enthroned in a velvet armchair by the massive fireplace, an eagle-headed cane resting in his lap.
Cleveland led Hadley over to him. The old man's eyes, sharp and unforgiving, bypassed Hadley's face and went straight to her flat stomach.
"Still no news?" Theodore Sr. boomed, tapping his cane on the marble floor for emphasis. The nearby relatives fell silent, listening. "The trust has stipulations, Cleveland. A timeline. If the soil is barren, sometimes you have to find a new field to plow."
A few of the cousins snickered. The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot flush that spread across Hadley's chest. Her fingers clenched into fists inside the folds of her gown, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn't have children. It was a secret, agonizing truth that made his words feel like a public flogging.
Cleveland didn't defend her. He just smiled obsequiously. "We're working on it, Grandfather. I'm sure we'll have good news for you this year."
Hadley felt like she was suffocating. "Excuse me," she murmured, "I need some air."
She escaped the crowded room and walked down a long, cool hallway, pushing open a set of glass doors that led to the estate's conservatory. The night air was a relief. She leaned against the cool glass, breathing deeply, trying to stop the world from spinning.
"Tough crowd."
A voice from the shadows made her jump. Arron, Cleveland's cousin and chief rival, stepped out from behind a display of orchids. He held two glasses of champagne.
"My condolences," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "The old man can be a brute."
Hadley didn't take the glass he offered. "What do you want, Arron?"
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a plain white envelope. He handed it to her. "A gift."
She hesitated, then took it. Inside were a dozen high-resolution photographs. Cleveland and Seraphina at a restaurant. Cleveland and Seraphina leaving a hotel. Cleveland and Seraphina on a private jet. At the bottom was a copy of a wire transfer receipt for ten million dollars-the purchase of a penthouse in Seraphina's name.
"Leak these to the press," Arron whispered, moving closer. "The scandal will tank the stock. The board will have to remove him. I'll use my family's votes to back your divorce settlement. You'll get everything you want."
He wanted her to be his weapon. A pawn in his own power grab.
Hadley looked from the photos in her hand to the predatory smile on Arron's face. He was no better than Cleveland. Just a different kind of snake.
She stuffed the photos back into the envelope and shoved it hard against his chest.
"I fight my own battles," she said, her voice cold as steel. "Find another fool to do your dirty work."
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8.0
Elva used a spare key card to quietly enter the hotel penthouse, only to find her boyfriend of two years panting heavily on the king-sized bed with her own cousin.
Instead of showing remorse, her cousin shamelessly mocked her background, while her ex aggressively lunged at her to destroy the photographic evidence she had just captured.
"You think you can just walk away? Warren already made the deal. By next week, you're being shipped off to marry that fifty-two-year-old crippled freak from the Ramirez family!"
Her ex spat the words to threaten her, and the nightmare only escalated when Elva returned to her uncle's estate, where Warren confirmed he was indeed selling her off for a business connection.
Her family eagerly joined the abuse, threatening to permanently freeze her late mother's trust fund and even plotting to secretly drug her morning milk so she couldn't fight back when the groom's family arrived.
They looked at her like a pathetic, orphaned burden they could bleed dry, fully expecting her to drop to her knees, cry, and accept her miserable fate without a single word of defiance.
But they had no idea that just hours ago, Elva had already signed a marriage certificate with Bronson Ramirez, the undisputed billionaire king of the dynasty, and she was stepping into the living room ready to watch their greedy world burn.
8.7
Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies.
Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul.
When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway.
"Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?"
But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity.
Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files.
But tonight, he returned.
When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared:
"We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."
Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation.
I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows?
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow.
I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.
8.5
After four years of marriage, my wealthy husband Brad handed me a $50,000 severance check outside the Manhattan Family Court.
He linked arms with his mistress, Jenna, who flaunted the diamond ring that used to be mine.
"Just take it, Hayley. Take the money and get out of our lives," he sneered, looking at me with absolute disgust.
I tore the check into pieces, but my nightmare was just beginning.
To access my grandfather's trust fund, I had exactly seventy-two hours to get legally married, so I desperately proposed a one-year contract marriage to a poor insurance salesman I met in a dive bar.
When Brad found out, he and his arrogant family cornered me at their estate.
Brad mocked my new husband for being a penniless, money-grubbing parasite, while my former mother-in-law slapped me hard across the face, knocking me to the ground.
"You are trash, just like your mother," she spat, watching my knee bleed onto the sharp gravel.
Jenna gleefully kicked my phone away, shattering the screen and cutting off my only lifeline.
Lying there in the dirt, I stared at the broken glass in absolute despair.
I didn't understand why four years of quiet devotion had earned me nothing but cruel betrayal and endless humiliation from the people I once called family.
Just as I thought I had completely lost, a black Lincoln Navigator slammed to a halt at the gates.
My "penniless" new husband stepped out, radiating a terrifying, righteous fury that made the entire Patton family freeze in horror.
9.5
I was in a Zurich boardroom signing a contract worth fifty million dollars when I saw the photo that ended my marriage.
It was an Instagram notification from the woman I paid to scrub my toilets.
The caption read: "My little prince deserves the world."
The photo showed her son holding a custom-made porcelain doll with diamond-dust eyes. It was the only one in the world, commissioned specifically for my daughter, Lily.
I cancelled the deal and flew home immediately.
When I arrived at my daughter's school, I found the housekeeper wearing my vintage Chanel coat and driving my car.
My husband, Austyn, didn't run to greet me. He ran past our crying daughter to comfort the housekeeper's son.
"Don't you dare touch my son!" he screamed at me, protecting the boy while our daughter scraped her knees on the pavement.
He looked at me with pure hate, confident that he could take half my assets in a divorce.
He forgot that I wasn't just a wife. I was the Duchess of the Miller Syndicate, the most powerful crime family in New York.
I pulled out my phone and froze every account he had.
"You want a divorce?" I asked, signaling my security team to step forward.
"Take off the suit, Austyn. I paid for it."
"You are leaving this marriage exactly how you entered it. With nothing."
9.3
A billionaire's daughter, Stacy Thompson, a 24 yrs old young lady who has grown to be cold and stubborn, distant from her Dad , David Thompson ever since her mother died. Her dad's priority remains protecting what he had left, His daughter no matter what and Hires a top bodyguard, Isaiah Wright, trained since birth. Stacy meets this defiant bodyguard who becomes a key to opening all the feelings, mysteries and answers that had been buried for so long.
8.1
Pretty Devil
8.1
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.