One Night With The Possessive CEO
Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web.
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Chapter 7
Bridget sat frozen on the high stool, her eyes wide as she watched Jevon work. He moved around the kitchen with the fluid, precise grace of a Michelin-starred chef. He chopped fresh basil with terrifying speed, the blade a blur against the cutting board.
He tossed a slab of butter and minced garlic into a hot pan. The rich, savory aroma exploded into the air. Bridget's stomach, empty since the morning, let out a loud, embarrassing growl.
Jevon's hand paused over the stove. A smirk played on his lips, though he kept his back to her to hide it.
He reached up to the highest cabinet to grab a jar of black truffle paste. As his fingers wrapped around the glass, the muscles in his arm suddenly gave out-a lingering side effect of the massive dose of epinephrine he had taken hours ago.
The heavy glass jar slipped from his grasp.
Bridget saw it falling. Without thinking, she lunged off the stool, her hands shooting out to catch the jar before it shattered.
She managed to grab the truffle paste, but her elbow slammed hard into a tall glass bottle of organic ketchup sitting on the counter. The bottle tipped over. The cap popped off, and a thick stream of bright red ketchup splashed directly onto the front of Bridget's crisp white blouse.
Bridget looked down at the massive red stain spreading across her chest. She closed her eyes, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Jevon cursed under his breath. He turned off the stove and grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the kitchen. He dragged her down the hall and shoved her into the massive guest bathroom.
"Take it off and wash it right now, or the stain will set," he ordered.
Bridget clutched the doorframe, her face burning."No! I didn't bring any clothes!"
Jevon stared at her for a second. He turned around, walked into his master bedroom, and came back holding a brand-new, folded white dress shirt. He shoved it into her hands.
"Put this on. If you don't, I will come in there and take your blouse off myself."
Bridget slammed the bathroom door and locked it. Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her ruined blouse. She pulled Jevon's shirt over her head. The fabric was incredibly soft, but it was massive. The hem fell halfway down her thighs, making it look like a short dress. Worse, the collar smelled exactly like him-that intoxicating mix of cedarwood and heat.
She turned on the sink and started aggressively scrubbing her blouse under the cold water.
Suddenly, the smart home intercom on the wall chimed softly. Jevon glanced at the screen, his expression instantly darkening as he saw the feed from the private elevator lobby. With a heavy sigh of irritation, he tapped a button to unlock the door. A moment later, the heavy door swung open.
"Jervin! Open the door!" A loud and excited voice echoed in the apartment
Zane Sterling, Hollywood's biggest action star, strutted into the living room wearing dark sunglasses and a baseball cap. He kicked off his shoes, complaining loudly about the paparazzi chasing him from LA to New York.
Jevon walked out of the kitchen, holding two plates of steaming truffle pasta. His face was a mask of pure, murderous rage.
"Why didn't you knock?" Jevon snarled.
Zane smirked, tapping his phone. "Dude, you took forever to open up. I'm being chased by vultures out there."
At that exact moment, the guest bathroom door clicked open.
Bridget stepped out. Her legs were bare. She was wearing Jevon's oversized white shirt, clutching her wet, I really can't tell. She looked up and froze.
The living room went dead silent.
Zane slowly pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. His jaw dropped. His eyes darted from Bridget's bare legs to Jevon's furious face.
Bridget recognized the movie star instantly. The blood rushed to her head so fast she felt dizzy. She took a panicked step backward.
"Holy shit," Zane breathed out, a massive, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "Jevon, you dark horse. Who is this?"
Jevon slammed the plates onto the dining table. He crossed the room in three strides, planting his massive body directly in front of Bridget, completely blocking Zane's view of her legs.
"Zane. Shut your mouth," Jevon growled, the warning in his voice absolute.
Bridget peeked out from behind Jevon's broad back, her face scarlet. "I-I just spilled ketchup on my shirt!"
Zane leaned to the side to look at her, winking blatantly. "Sure you did, sweetheart. I totally believe you."
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9.7
For three years, I hid my identity as the sole heiress of a multi-billion dollar tech empire to live in a cramped apartment and support my boyfriend, Ben.
But the day before our engagement, I stood outside a meeting room and overheard him talking to his wealthy boss, Haylie.
"She's just a stepping stone," Ben laughed, his voice full of contempt. "A poor, ambitionless distraction while I work my way up to where I really belong."
He mocked the cheap silver ring he gave me, calling it a necessary prop to keep a naive fool happy.
He bragged about the multi-million dollar merger proposal he was presenting, planning to use it to secure his promotion and build a future with her.
He had no idea that I had secretly negotiated that entire deal using my real connections just to give him his big break.
I had sacrificed my family's comfort, my true identity, and my own career just to watch him rise.
I poured my heart and soul into our humble beginnings, only to realize he saw my love as a pathetic joke and me as disposable trash.
I calmly picked up a pen and voided the merger agreement, tearing my hard work into tiny pieces.
I went home, slid the cheap ring off my finger, and dropped it into his mug of cold coffee.
"Soon, you'll find out exactly who is nothing."
Walking out the door, I pulled out my phone and texted my billionaire father.
"I'm in. Announce the merger."
9.0
Ashlyn was supposed to be just a fragile college student, selling her rare blood to a vicious crime syndicate enforcer to keep his dying sister alive.
But the dynamic shattered when Alex returned from a two-month disappearance. He stepped into the penthouse covered in dirt and blood, sporting a horrific, jagged knife wound slashed completely across his face.
Knowing exactly how to exploit his insecurities, Ashlyn played the role of the terrified victim to perfection. She screamed, pushed against his chest, and called him a terrifying monster. Humiliated and enraged by her blatant disgust, Alex violently smashed a marble table and kicked her out. He forced her out into a freezing, torrential rainstorm without a coat, vowing to kill her if she ever showed her face again.
What the ruthless enforcer didn't know was that her pathetic, trembling tears were a flawless, calculated lie. She wasn't a helpless, greedy girl. She was a cold-blooded corporate mastermind hiding from a family of elite assassins. She desperately needed his impenetrable penthouse fortress to stay alive, and she knew the only way to secure her place wasn't to ask for it, but to make him beg for her return.
Three days later, his sister's organs began to fail, and the hospital's blood bank ran dry.
"I'll pay you whatever you want. Just get here."
Listening to the desperate, broken voice of the monster over her burner phone, Ashlyn smiled coldly in the dark. The trap had snapped shut, and he had just handed her all the power.
8.7
Brought back from a humble life in Montana, Nora found out she was the true biological heiress of the ultra-wealthy Beaumont family.
But her biological parents didn't love her; they loved the fake daughter, Olivia, much more.
The moment she arrived, her father pushed an engagement termination agreement across his massive desk, forcing her to give up her wealthy fiancé so Olivia could have him.
Her mother looked at her with pure disdain.
"You should know your place. Don't reach for things that were never meant for you."
To break her spirit, they moved her into a cramped, dusty servant's room. They even ordered the butler to feed her cold kitchen scraps and gristle.
They wanted to humiliate her, to make her feel like a piece of trash rather than a daughter.
They expected her to cry, to beg, and to be absolutely crushed by the realization that her own flesh and blood saw her only as a liability to their reputation.
They thought the country girl would easily fold under their united front of cruelty.
But Nora felt no sting of betrayal, only the calculating clarity of a chess player.
She calmly signed the paper, pulled out the Beaumont family trust rules, and looked them dead in the eye.
"Since I am the legal heir, I demand what belongs to me. I'm taking the master bedroom."
8.4
Cari Butler woke up in a damp, smelly dorm room, realizing she had transmigrated into the body of a disgraced fake daughter who had just been kicked out of a wealthy family.
Before she could even process her reality, the real daughter's friends kicked her door open to mock her, flaunting a custom Tiffany necklace that supposedly cost a mere eighty cents.
Cari thought they were crazy, until she saw the news: a top Manhattan mansion had just sold for a record-breaking $3,500.
The entire world's currency value had shrunk by ten thousand times!
This meant the original owner's bank balance of $854,000 gave Cari the purchasing power of eight and a half billion dollars.
But a mysterious system froze her funds, forcing her to work demeaning gig jobs to unlock the money bit by bit.
While working as a hotel server for twenty cents a day, she caught her ex-boyfriend kissing up to the real daughter, mocking Cari for being a desperate beggar.
Even her snobby roommates laughed at her, claiming she couldn't afford a ten-cent iPhone.
What truly angered Cari wasn't the humiliation, but receiving a five-cent transfer from her poor biological brother, who was starving himself just to keep her fed.
Yet, the system strictly forbade her from giving her unlocked billions directly to her family.
Looking at the restrictive system and the arrogant elites who thought they owned the city, Cari's eyes turned icy cold.
"If I can't just hand them the cash,"
Cari sneered, pulling out her phone to outright buy the luxury hotel and fire everyone who wronged her.
"Then I will just buy the entire world and place it at their feet."
9.7
"Sign it. You're no woman if you can't give me an heir."
Niamh gave Marcus two years of her life, her unwavering loyalty, and her silent love. In return, the billionaire CEO served her divorce papers and a one-way ticket to the gutter.
Cast out into a rainy night with nothing but the clothes on her back and twelve dollars, Niamh’s story should have ended there.
Instead, she stumbled on a stranger in the rain.
In an attempt to save him, he kisses her senseless. He is the last Lycan King standing, and a man of terrifying power, yet he is haunted by a seven-century curse.
When the king has a taste of Niamh in the pouring rain, he knew he had to keep her for himself, even though she was human and it was against the laws of their kind not to mingle with humans.
The King needs her essence and Niamh realizes she could use her body to get what she wanted; revenge on Marcus and his mother for humiliating her and making her waste her time.
Now, the woman Marcus discarded is rising as a global conglomerate queen and a Divine Enchantress as assigned by the Moon Goddess.
While her ex-husband’s empire crumbles into bankruptcy and his body rots with a shameful curse, Niamh is learning that being "claimed" by the King is much more than the contract she'd initially made with him.
He wanted to use her as his cure. She wanted to use him for her revenge.
But in the Lumina Realm, the Goddess has other plans.
8.6
Marrying Theron Draix in a few days was a life long dream come true.
For seventeen years, I'd loved him, revolving my life around him, and in just three days, we should be married.
"Let's break up. I won't be attending the wedding," he said.
My life shattered in that instant.
Finding out he was in love with my adopted sister was worse. They had played me and controlled my emotions.
At the end, Mireya had killed me.
If I was given a second chance, I would never love Theron and never trust Mireya.