Not her Biological Father
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She trusted him with everything.
But love was never part of the plan... and neither was death.
Seventeen-year-old Jessica Harts arrives at the University of Gold Coast full of dreams, brilliant, beautiful, and trusting. Andre Blake, her charming "school father," was everything she thought she needed: older, smart, respected... safe.
But behind the charm and quiet smiles was something darker.
Something he kept buried... until it consumed him. And what he promised himself he'd never do again happened a second time.
Only this time... it couldn't be undone.
Now Jess is dead.
And Andre is the only one who knows the truth.
The world believes it was an accident. The whispers say depression.
But someone else knows better... and they're watching.
But Andre? He thought his wealth would cover his tracks.
He thought silence could protect him.
Until Jess's older sister arrives... with questions he can't answer and eyes that saw straight through him. He was hiding something or worse lying.
Secrets don't stay buried.
Guilt doesn't stay silent.
Was it ever love?
Or something much, much darker?
Not Her Biological Father is a haunting billionaire romance thriller set on the golden coast of Australia. A story about twisted desire, broken trust, and the irreversible cost of crossing the line.
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Chapter 4
It was the weekend. My guy, Geoffrey showed up at my lodge.
"Bro, how do you feel now?. You good?"
"Yeah, I feel better" I replied
"Good, get dressed, let's hit the club."
I didn't argue. After all, I needed the escape.
At the club, music pounded, and lights flickered. I was drowning in the noise, the movement, the drinks.
Geoffrey and I went to the bartender's counter, he paid for some shots then stood up and told me he would be right back and left me there
My phone buzzed again.
"I'm sorry about what I said ... I'm just worried. You scared me. Say something, please. Tell me what's going on with you. I'm afraid for your mental health."
It was Jess
I stared at it for a long time. After hours, I replied simply:
"OK."
Then I had more drinks. Geoffrey returned with two girls.
"Pick one," he said. One of them-tall, caramel skin, curvy body, sat on my lap. I didn't ask her name.
Then Geoffrey disappeared again with the other girl.
She started grinding on me. I touched her thighs. She turned around, facing me. Her eyes, her lips, she was stunning.
"What's your name beautiful?"I asked curiously
"You just said it" she giggled
"When?" I asked
"When you called me beautiful " she smirked
I grinned a little.
I was tipsy, I pulled her closer and kissed her passionately, and she didn't resist, it became intense. My hands moved towards her boobs caressing them softly then she paused, stood up, and said "Follow me". I followed without thinking
We ended up in the male's bathroom. I placed her on the sink unit and kissed her passionately while slowly moving my hands to her b**bs, I unzipped her dress and placed my mouth on her n**ples I sucked her while she moaned slightly, I moved my other hand down her laps underneath her dress, she was dripping already I pushed my hand deeper in her and thrusted while sucking her, she was moaning uncontrollably, I stopped then pulled out my d*ck and rubbed it at the tips of her vagina then pushed it in slightly.
I thrust her gently then harder while she filled the air with her horny voices... "aahaan mmm" she let out as I kept thrusting her, I stopped for a few seconds I could see the hunger in her eyes. I moved my focus to her boobs twisting her left nipple tightly with one hand while fingering her cl*t with the other and placed my tongue on her right boobs sucking her like a hungry infant that was starved for days tilted my head sideways according to the momentum. I twisted my tongue in a circular motion around her nip*les and used my teeth interchangeably slightly biting them..
" Ahh-ah babe uhmm" At this moment my other hand was filled with p*ssy juice, I didn't mind I kept thrusting while adding an extra finger making it three.
"Put it in already " she said impatiently.. "Beg me" I responded
"Please baby, hmmm" she moaned. I took my mouth off her boobs and moved forward to kiss her while rubbing my dick and caressing her boobs with the other hand. I teased her by rubbing my cap on the surface before actually putting it in and continued.. She moaned loudly.. I didn't stop till we were both exhausted...
The moment it was over, Andre leaned against the cool wall of the bathroom, chest rising and falling as if he'd just run a marathon. The girl still half-dressed, reapplied her lip gloss in the mirror like it was just another night. Her body language was confident, casual, and practiced.
"That was fun," she said, zipping up her dress. "You look like you needed it."
Andre didn't reply. But in truth... he did like it.
He had enjoyed it. Maybe more than he was willing to admit. Her body had been soft, willing. Her kiss was fierce. Her hands had explored him like she knew exactly where he needed to be touched. There was something comforting in how unapologetic she was, how little she expected from him emotionally.
But his heart was still racing, but not from pleasure. His mind was a blur of thoughts jumping back to Jess, to her message.
The girl turned to him, smoothing down her top. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he said, too quickly. "I'm fine."
"You're quiet."
He nodded once. "I just... needed to get out of my head."
"Well, mission accomplished." She gave him a playful wink and grabbed her clutch. "I'll be at the bar if you feel like round two."
Andre didn't move. He waited until she left before finally straightening up and walking out, the pulsing club lights stinging his eyes like sunlight.
The music was louder now. The crowd had thickened. He weaved through bodies and strobe lights, numb to the beat.
At their booth, Geoffrey was already back with his shirt half-unbuttoned, a drink in one hand, and a girl on his lap.
"There he is!" Geoffrey beamed. "My guy! How was it?"
Andre gave a half-shrug, dropping into his seat. "Fine."
Geoffrey laughed. "Fine? You disappear with a goddess for thirty minutes and come back looking like someone just shot your childhood dog. What happened? She bites?"
"She talked a lot."
"That's a good thing, right?"
Andre didn't answer. His eyes drifted around the club. He watched people laugh, dance, make out, spill drinks, all tangled in moments that didn't feel real to him anymore.
Geoffrey leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Okay, serious talk, what's going on with you?"
"I told you. Long week."
"Don't give me that textbook answer. You're off, man. Like... scary off."
Andre looked at his drink. "I just needed a release."
"And?"
"It didn't help."
Geoffrey frowned. "So it's that girl?"
Andre didn't respond.
Geoffrey exhaled, finishing his drink and setting it down with a thud. "Man, you're in too deep. You need to let her go."
"Maybe I can't."
"Then drink until you do," he said, handing him another shot. "Forget her. Forget everything. Just for tonight."
Andre took the shot. It burned, but it didn't bring clarity. Just silence.
He leaned back in his seat, letting the music swallow him whole.
Somewhere across the room, the girl from the bathroom had already moved on dancing with someone else, smiling as if nothing had happened.
And Andre?
He liked the sex.
He enjoyed it.
The softness of her skin. The way she held eye contact. How she took control and didn't ask for permission or apologies. It wasn't romantic, but it was real. Physical. Free.
For the first time in weeks, he'd felt something other than guilt.
And he wanted to keep that going.
He went back on the club floor, where everything pulsed. The music had gotten louder, faster. The room was thick with sweat, perfume, and electricity.
Geoffrey handed him another drink the moment he reappeared.
"You good now?" he shouted.
Andre nodded, and for once, it wasn't a lie.
They joined a circle of dancers near the DJ booth. Someone had opened a bottle of champagne and was spraying it wildly. A girl in silver heels slipped and laughed like she didn't care. Her friends helped her up, screaming over the beat.
It was chaos.
Beautiful, drunken chaos.
Andre found himself dancing again, this time with a different girl. She wore glitter eyeliner and smelled like vanilla. Her hands wrapped around his waist like she already knew him.
He leaned into it.
He wasn't thinking about Jess right now. He was just enjoying the moment
Just bodies, bass, and blinding lights.
Across the room, Geoffrey was making a scene, hyping the DJ, taking selfies with strangers, even trying to dance and battle a guy twice his size.
Andre laughed harder than he had in weeks.
At one point, someone started a chant. A group gathered around the VIP booth shouting lyrics to a song they all knew by heart. The floor shook. A security guard tried to calm things down, but no one listened.
It was a mess.
A beautiful, blurry mess.
By the time the club lights dimmed in that unmistakable "we're closing soon" kind of way, it was past 4 a.m. Andre had lost count of his drinks. His throat was dry. His shirt was wrinkled from dancing. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd checked his phone.
He didn't want to.
"Bro," Geoffrey slurred, draping an arm around Andre's shoulders. "Tell me this wasn't the reset you needed."
Andre nodded, a tired grin tugging at his lips. "It was."
"See? I told you. Trust the process."
They stumbled outside together, laughter trailing behind them like perfume.
The air was cooler now. Quiet. The city is winding down.
They waited for their ride in silence, watching a couple argue on the sidewalk, then kiss as if nothing happened. Life was strange like that.
In the back of the cab, Geoffrey passed out with his mouth open. Andre stared out the window, watching the streetlights smear across the glass.
His head buzzed, but not just from alcohol.
He felt... good.
Not whole. Not clean. But lighter. Like the weight of everything had loosened its grip, if only it would stay longer than one night.
Back at the lodge, they stumbled into their room like dying zombies. Geoffrey mumbled something about a sandwich before face-planting into his mattress.
Andre took off his clothes one layer at a time. Kicked off his sneakers. Didn't bother with the lights.
He collapsed onto his bed, the world still spinning.
Somewhere in the dark, his phone buzzed again.
He ignored it.
For the first time in days... he let himself forget.
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9.5
I spent two years navigating the stratified air of Spencer Kensington’s world, thinking I was the woman he loved. I even ate instant ramen for months to afford a vintage camera lens for our anniversary. When I got a mysterious text about "Operation Blue Moon," I thought it was our private signal for a proposal.
Instead, I walked into a limestone fortress to find the Kensington and Van Der Woodsen Engagement Party in full swing. Spencer wasn't there for a romantic dinner; he was standing under a crystal chandelier, announcing his "business merger" with a blonde heiress.
When I confronted him in a service hallway, he didn't apologize. He offered to buy me a brownstone and keep me as his "side project" while his mother, Victoria, watched from the balcony like a queen.
"Vanessa is just furniture," he said, his voice full of a terrifying sincerity. "But you're the one I love. I can give you a life of ease."
When I refused to be his dirty little secret, the retaliation was instant and brutal. By the next morning, I was fired from my reporting job, my father’s nursing home funding was pulled, and I returned home to find my apartment condemned by the city. My entire life was piled in wet boxes on a rain-soaked sidewalk.
I couldn't understand how one family could have the power to erase a person’s existence in a single night. How could the man who kissed me yesterday watch his mother leave me homeless and penniless today?
Standing in the rain next to my ruined belongings, a black SUV pulled up and Mayor Julian Sterling stepped out. He didn't offer me pity; he offered me a deal.
"The Kensingtons are panicked," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "And panicked people make mistakes. You have a reason to watch them burn. I want to see what you know."
I took his hand, knowing he was just as dangerous as the people I was fighting, but I was done being the victim. This wasn't just a breakup anymore; it was a war.
8.0
I sat on the edge of the examination table, the crinkle of the sanitary paper sounding like thunder in the sterile room. The doctor didn't even look at me as he confirmed the news: the pregnancy was over. My husband, Keyon, didn't answer my call. He just sent an automated text: "In a meeting."
When I returned to our cold mansion, I found his iPad glowing with a message from his "muse," Katina. He was throwing her a secret gala tonight-on our third wedding anniversary. He told her he couldn't wait to escape the "boring" and "draining" atmosphere I created at home.
Keyon didn't stumble in until 3 AM, smelling of Katina's perfume with a smear of red on his collar. When I handed him the divorce papers, he laughed in my face. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" with no skills and no future, promising I'd be back in three days begging for a subway ticket. He even bet his friends ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't survive a week without his name.
He had his assistant cancel my credit cards and block my gate access before I even reached the end of the driveway. He wanted me to starve. He wanted me to crawl. He sat in his office, mocking the "desperate" woman who pawned her three-million-dollar wedding ring for scrap metal just to pay for a meal.
I stood on the rainy curb, watching the man I had protected for three years treat my life like trash. He didn't know about the ultrasound I just threw in the bin. He didn't know that while he was calling me "dull," I was the one secretly writing the code that kept his billion-dollar empire from collapsing.
As I slid into a cheap Uber, I opened a hidden, encrypted app on my phone. The screen refreshed to a dashboard for an account Keyon didn't know existed. The balance was ten figures long-the accumulated wealth of "Solaris," the world's most elusive tech genius. Keyon thinks he just evicted a parasite, but he's about to find out he just declared war on the only person who can hit "delete" on his entire life.
7.6
When Christine Woods collapses into a hospital bed from unbearable pain, her husband's response is colder than the IV dripping into her veins: "Stop pretending to be sick."
That same night, a single social media post shatters her marriage--Neil Caffery, intimate with the first love he once claimed was dead.
Three years of marriage. Three years of neglect, indifference, and quiet self-deception.
In that moment, Christine finally understands the truth: she was never a wife--only a substitute.
Not wanting to live as a substitute any longer, she divorced her husband.
After divorce, Christine started her new life, achieving success both in career and love.
Seeing her so radiant and successful, her scumbag husband beg her to come back.
"Hazel, I know I was wrong. Please come back."
However, before Christine could respond, the country's richest man kicked him and held Christine's waist, "Who are you? Stop pestering my wife!"
His voice was cold, his presence imposing.
Christine looked at him and snorted, "When did I agree to marry you?"
"Baby, are you still angry about last night? I promise, I will be gentle next time." The man said, looking at her playfully.
Christine hit his chest playfully, her face turning red.
9.0
I was the poor girl from Appalachia the wealthy Copeland family adopted out of "charity," bringing me to a life of New York luxury I could never have imagined.
But it was all a lie. I wasn't their daughter. I was a living, breathing blood bank for their precious child, Bridgette, whose life had been secretly saved by my bone marrow.
Once I was no longer useful, they decided to throw me away. On the night of Bridgette's lavish engagement party, she and her fiancé framed me. They drugged my water, lured me to a hotel suite, and tore my designer gown to stage a scene.
Her fiancé stood over me, his face twisted in disgust. "Did you really think spreading your legs would make me forget where you came from? You're just a trashy hillbilly."
Outside on Fifth Avenue, my adoptive parents screamed at me in front of the press, calling me a disgrace. My sister wept, accusing me of trying to destroy her perfect life out of jealousy.
They expected me to crumble, to become the pathetic scandal they could discard like garbage. They thought they were dealing with a scared, helpless girl from the mountains.
But they made a fatal mistake. The soul of that poor girl was already gone. And I, the top-tier operative known as Glacier, had just woken up in her body.
7.8
On the day she married, Alina unknowingly took the place of the Hayes family's daughter and became Kellan's wife, the richest man in town who was rumored to be disfigured.
Everyone mocked their doomed marriage, expecting misery and disgrace.
Instead, Alina revealed brilliance no one expected-a renowned jewelry master, financial genius, and medical prodigy.
The woman the Hayes family ignored was actually the heiress they should have treasured.
As regret consumed them and her ex begged for another chance, Kellan stood beside her, now devastatingly handsome.
"Alina and I are perfect together. Stay away from my wife."
7.6
For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk.
The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for.
"You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip."
My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father.
I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth.
But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app.
They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move.
"Get dressed. We're going to a party."