Reborn Heiress: Divorcing The Ruthless Billionaire
Alondra spent three hours making soup for her husband, only to find him at the hospital tenderly holding another woman's hand.
"I'm four weeks pregnant, Gerard," the woman said softly.
Gerard coldly handed Alondra a divorce agreement, claiming their three-year marriage was just a placeholder because this woman had once saved his life.
Heartbroken, Alondra fled in her car, only to realize her brakes had been completely disabled.
She spun out of control and crashed head-on into a massive delivery truck.
As she lay trapped in the mangled wreckage with her ribs crushed and blood filling her mouth, Gerard's black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
He stared at her dying body through the window with a completely blank expression.
He didn't call an ambulance or even open his door.
He simply rolled up his tinted window and drove away into the rain.
A raw, suffocating hatred burned in her chest, hotter than the pain in her shattered bones.
She couldn't understand how the man she had loved and served so devotedly could just coldly watch her die like a piece of trash.
Opening her eyes again, Alondra gasped for air.
She had returned to the exact morning two years ago, right before she was supposed to deliver that pathetic soup.
When Gerard walked in and threatened her with divorce, she didn't cry or beg.
"I agree. Let's divorce," she said calmly, packing her bags to reclaim her true identity as a billionaire heiress.
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Chapter 4
The executives scrambled out of the boardroom like escaping mice.
At that exact moment, Alondra's black heels clicked against the polished marble floor of the Arnold Global ground-floor lobby.
She walked straight toward the VIP elevator bank. Two massive security guards stepped into her path, blocking the scanners.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the taller guard said, his face blank. "The system shows your access card was deactivated thirty minutes ago."
Alondra let out a cold laugh. Gerard was throwing a tantrum. It was pathetic.
She didn't argue. She took a step back, pulled her phone from her purse, and dialed Leland's direct line.
It rang four times before Leland answered. His voice was clipped and professional. "Mr. Arnold's office."
"Tell security to let me up, Leland," Alondra said.
"Mrs. Arnold," Leland sighed, sounding annoyed. "Mr. Arnold is in a very important meeting. He is not seeing anyone today."
Alondra didn't raise her voice. She simply read an address. "Apt 4B. 1290 Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn."
The line went dead silent. Leland stopped breathing.
Alondra continued, her tone freezing over. "Would you like me to describe the exact shade of the silk tie you wore that evening, Leland? Or perhaps I should just forward this address and Sarah Jenkins' name directly to Arnold Global's internal audit and compliance department. Come down here and get me. Now."
"I'll be right there." The line clicked dead.
Three minutes later, the VIP elevator doors slid open. Leland jogged out. His face was pale, and his suit jacket was unbuttoned.
He waved frantically at the security guards. "She's cleared. Let her through."
Alondra stepped into the elevator. Leland followed, keeping his distance. The doors slid shut.
Inside the small metal box, Leland stared at his shoes. He was sweating profusely.
"Keep your mouth shut about this," Alondra said, watching the floor numbers tick upward.
The elevator dinged at the top floor. Alondra stepped out first.
She walked down the long, carpeted hallway. Several secretaries looked up from their desks. Their eyes widened in shock, and they immediately started whispering to each other.
Alondra ignored them. She stopped in front of the massive, double mahogany doors of the CEO's office.
Leland rushed forward, trying to reach the intercom. "Let me announce you-"
Alondra shoved his hand away.
She grabbed the heavy brass handle. She took one deep breath, forcing down the phantom pain of crushed ribs from her past life.
She twisted the handle and shoved the doors open with all her body weight.
The doors banged against the walls.
Gerard was sitting behind his massive desk. His head snapped up. His sharp eyes locked onto her.
The initial shock on his face instantly morphed into dark, explosive anger.
Alondra stepped inside. She reached behind her back, pulled the doors shut, and twisted the deadbolt lock until it clicked.
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8.3
He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low."I need the money," I whispered, feeling so tiny in his arms."You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this."I moaned, looking away, couldn't help it,"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he pushed his tip in slowly."Fuck," he groaned. "So tight."He fucked me like he was claiming something. "Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster."Damien," I cried out his name as I came."That's it," he growled. After a long minute he pulled out slowly. "One night," he said again, almost like a reminder....weeks later, I walked through the quiet hall of my school. A massive portrait stared back at me.Damien BlackwoodPrincipal Benefactor and OwnerColumbia University.Same man who'd just taken my virginity for money. My stomach dropped. "Oh fuck... what have I done?"
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
8.5
Aileen transmigrated into a dark, unfinished novel as the villainous, abusive wife of a powerful billionaire.
The moment she opened her eyes, her husband's calloused hand was crushing her throat, and her six-year-old stepson was pointing a box cutter at her face, screaming for her to die.
A cold system voice suddenly exploded in her brain, forcing a mandatory mission: save the villainous father and son, or face immediate death.
To survive the system's strict Out-Of-Character warnings, Aileen had to keep playing the role of the deranged, hateful wife.
She was despised by everyone. Her husband threatened to drag her to an asylum, and her terrified stepson scrubbed the floor with his own pajamas just to avoid her wrath.
Things escalated when the novel's original female lead publicly framed Aileen in Central Park, throwing herself onto the grass and clutching her pregnant belly.
"She pushed me. She tried to hurt the baby!"
Archer rushed over, shoved Aileen aside with absolute disgust, and looked at her with the eyes of a murderer.
Aileen felt a bitter wave of exhaustion. She had discovered the original owner's hidden antipsychotic pills; the woman wasn't just evil, she was severely mentally ill and completely broken by this loveless marriage.
Yet, no one cared, and her husband would always choose to believe his childhood sweetheart's fake tears.
Since everyone in this world was convinced she was an unpredictable lunatic, she decided to give them exactly what they expected.
Aileen turned her back on the ridiculous scene, a cold smile forming on her lips.
She was going to stage a massive, undeniable psychological breakdown, using her "insanity" as the perfect shield to play the system and rewrite her fate.
8.0
Arletta Lee was dragged out of rural Pennsylvania to be a sacrificial bride for the comatose billionaire heir, Josue Mcconnell.
The moment she stepped into the massive estate, she became the prime target of a vicious, greedy family.
Josue's stepmother and half-brother viewed her as cheap trash. They didn't just want her gone; they wanted Josue dead.
Kyler broke into her room at night reeking of bourbon, and later sneaked into the medical wing with a lethal synthetic neurotoxin aimed right at Josue's IV line.
His jealous cousin even tried to permanently disfigure her face with a thermos of boiling water.
"She's just a cheap good-luck charm the old man bought. We can throw her out with the trash whenever we want."
They relentlessly bullied her, thinking she was just a helpless, terrified country girl who would quietly take the blame for their murder plot.
But what the arrogant Mcconnell family didn't know was that her pathetic, trembling demeanor was entirely manufactured.
They thought they had trapped a frightened rabbit in a den of wolves.
In reality, Arletta was a brilliant underground surgeon.
Using ancient neural acupuncture hidden in a simple wooden hairpin, she flawlessly turned their traps against them, locking Kyler away and winning the ruthless patriarch's absolute protection.
As the supposedly brain-dead billionaire finally twitched and locked his fingers in an iron grip around her hand, Arletta smiled coldly.
It was time to wake him up and let him tear this rotten family apart.
8.4
Three years ago, Collette was framed in a vicious drug and sex scandal by her half-sister. Her father didn't ask a single question before banishing her to the gutters of Europe.
She clawed her way back to New York for revenge, willingly becoming a disposable, cheap toy for the city's most dangerous billionaire, Hartwell Lara, just to use him as her weapon.
But Hartwell’s heart belonged entirely to his delicate future wife, Isabell. When Collette nearly died of severe pneumonia on a freezing balcony, Hartwell left her bleeding and alone to patiently peel apples for Isabell. Isabell then barged into Collette's hospital room, maliciously tore her life-saving CFDA design sketch to shreds, and brutally slapped her own face.
"Collette... why are you being so mean to me?!"
Isabell screamed, collapsing to the floor just as Hartwell violently pushed the door open. His dark eyes locked onto Collette, filled with the same absolute, chilling disgust her father had shown three years ago.
Why was she always the one thrown away like garbage? Why did her own blood family destroy her, and why did the man she surrendered her dignity to trample her last hope for a liar?
Staring at her ruined life's work beneath Isabell's designer shoes, the tiny crack of warmth Hartwell had left in Collette's heart froze completely. She didn't bother to explain or beg. She just smiled her signature empty smile, ready to burn the Norris family and the Lara Empire to the ground.
7.4
I opened the door to my penthouse, only to see my stepsister's limited-edition Louboutins discarded on the foyer rug.
Walking into the master bedroom, I caught my fiancé and my stepsister tangled naked in my bed.
When I went back to the family estate to settle the score, my father didn't even care.
Instead, he and my stepmother demanded I take my stepsister's place to save the family's reputation.
"You will marry the seventy-year-old billionaire next month. We can't ruin your sister's life," my father ordered.
Looking at their hypocritical faces, the last shred of my family affection died completely.
They really thought I would just accept being their sacrificial pawn while they stole my mother's legacy.
So, I pinned them down with a blackmail video of the affair, extorted my father for my shares, and walked out into the freezing night.
To numb the betrayal, I went to an underground club, slept with a terrifyingly powerful stranger, and left a red lipstick note on his forehead.
"Your technique sucks. Keep the change."
Then, I vanished abroad without a trace.
Five years later, I returned to New York with my three children, ready to take back everything that was mine.
But I didn't expect that the "cheap gigolo" from that night was actually Kendall James, the most ruthless corporate titan in the city.
And he had just spotted my five-year-old son—his exact miniature replica—standing right beside me.