Reborn Heiress: The Wall Street Titan's Bride
Alaia Dudley spent her life playing the devoted partner, completely unaware that her fiancé Austen was sleeping with another woman.
She thought the worst he could do was break her heart, until she found herself pinned to a cold operating table.
Austen held her down with a cruel smirk while a scalpel sliced through her sternum.
They cracked her chest open while she was still fully conscious.
The agonizing pain of her heart being cut out burned into her nerve endings.
She realized then that to him, she was never a lover—just a spare organ, a boring piece of wood to be discarded the second his true love needed it.
She died in excruciating agony, choking on her own blood while the man she loved walked away with her heart.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand why she had to suffer so brutally.
Why did she waste her life begging for a monster's attention? Why did they get a happy ending while she was carved up like an animal?
But then, ice-cold water flooded her lungs, and Alaia violently broke the surface of her bathwater.
Her trembling fingers touched her smooth, flawless chest. No scars. Her heart was still beating.
The date on her phone glared back at her: it was exactly five years ago.
Tonight was the exact night Austen first took his mistress to a hotel room.
This time, she wouldn't just expose them. She would use Wall Street's most terrifying tyrant as her personal weapon to strip them of everything they had.
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Chapter 5
Gabriel stopped right in front of Austen. His towering frame cast a heavy, suffocating shadow over the actor. Austen's knees buckled slightly, his legs trembling under the sheer weight of Gabriel's presence.
Gabriel didn't waste a single word. He pulled his right arm back and drove his fist forward.
The punch cut through the air with a vicious swoosh. His knuckles connected dead center with Austen's stomach.
A sickening, hollow thud echoed across the balcony. Austen let out a strangled, agonizing grunt. His eyes bulged out of his head, and his body folded in half like a snapped twig.
The sheer force of the blow lifted Austen off his feet for a fraction of a second before he stumbled backward. He collapsed onto the hard marble floor, clutching his stomach, his mouth wide open as he violently dry-heaved.
Evelyn screamed, scrambling backward until her back hit the glass doors. She curled into a tight ball, terrified that Gabriel was going to hit her next.
Gabriel's face remained entirely blank. He didn't even look at Austen writhing on the ground. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a fresh silk handkerchief, and meticulously wiped his knuckles. He rubbed the fabric over his skin as if he had just touched a disease.
When he was done, he dropped the expensive silk directly onto Austen's sweating face. The disrespect was absolute.
Alaia stared down at Austen. Seeing him broken on the floor offered a tiny fraction of relief to the burning hatred in her chest, but it wasn't nearly enough.
She walked over and stood over him. She looked down, her voice terrifyingly calm and steady.
"That was just the interest," Alaia said softly.
She pointed a finger at Austen, then shifted it to Evelyn. "I swear to God, I will strip you both of everything. Your reputations, your money, your careers. You will have nothing left, and you will never recover."
Austen groaned, unable to speak. He glared up at her, his eyes filled with toxic venom. Evelyn just kept shivering in the corner.
Alaia had said what she needed to say. She turned her back on them.
A sudden gust of autumn wind swept across the balcony. The thin silk of her red dress offered no protection against the chill. Alaia's shoulders involuntarily shivered.
Suddenly, a heavy weight dropped onto her shoulders. The rich, masculine scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne wrapped around her senses.
Alaia gasped and turned her head. Gabriel had picked up his suit jacket and draped it over her.
The fabric still held the heat of his body. The oversized jacket swallowed her frame, wrapping her in an aggressively dominant, yet completely secure, cocoon.
Gabriel didn't look at her. He casually adjusted his pristine cuffs.
"There are cameras out there," Gabriel said, his voice flat and commanding. "Don't walk out looking like a discarded victim."
Alaia froze for a second. Then, a genuine, sharp smile touched her lips. She reached up and pulled the lapels of the heavy jacket tighter around her chest.
She didn't say thank you. She just gave him a single, respectful nod. She turned and walked toward the glass doors, her heels clicking with absolute authority.
She pushed the doors open. The banquet hall was still packed. Hundreds of eyes snapped toward her. But this time, there were no smirks. No pity.
When they saw who was walking mere inches behind her, the chaotic whispers instantly morphed into collective gasps of pure shock. It wasn't just that the heavy, oversized suit jacket draped over her shoulders was clearly a man's-it was that Gabriel Alvarado himself was acting as her silent, invincible shield. His terrifying, predatory aura cleared the path before them, and no one needed to guess whose bespoke jacket she was wearing. The ownership was undeniable. Alaia walked through the crowd like a queen inspecting her territory. She ignored the stares, keeping her chin high as she marched straight toward the hotel exit.
Gabriel walked a few paces behind her. He moved with a slow, predatory grace, acting as her silent, invincible shield. The crowd instinctively parted, terrified of getting too close to him.
Alaia pushed through the hotel's front doors. The crisp Los Angeles night air hit her face.
The driveway was a war zone. Dozens of paparazzi had swarmed the entrance, blocking the stairs.
Blinding white flashes erupted like strobe lights. Microphones were shoved aggressively toward her face. Reporters screamed questions about the video, their voices overlapping in a chaotic roar.
Alaia didn't flinch. She stopped at the top of the stairs and swept her cold gaze over the mob. The sheer intensity in her eyes made the front row of reporters fall silent for a split second.
Before they could surge forward again, the screech of heavy tires ripped through the night. Four massive, black Cadillac Escalades slammed on their brakes, blocking the driveway.
A dozen men in black suits with earpieces poured out of the SUVs. They moved with military precision, shoving the paparazzi back, physically ripping a clear path through the mob.
Mitch Donovan, Gabriel's personal driver, stepped out of the center Maybach and respectfully pulled open the rear door.
Gabriel walked past Alaia, stopping right beside the open car door. He turned his head, his blue eyes locking onto hers.
"Get in," he ordered. Two words. Absolute authority.
Under the blinding flashes of a hundred cameras, Alaia ducked her head and slid into the backseat of the Maybach, stepping right into the center of Gabriel's world.
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8.7
I was trapped in a greasy diner by my own mother.
She was forcing me to marry my abusive cousin because he had paid her twenty thousand dollars.
To escape, I used a contract marriage app and begged a complete stranger to marry me at City Hall that very day.
Ethan drove a cheap Ford and wore a plain suit. I thought he was just an ordinary guy needing a fake wife.
When my mother found out, she brought thugs to destroy my flower shop—my only home and livelihood.
To protect Ethan from her endless extortion, I shielded him and screamed that he was bankrupt and drowning in credit card debt.
My mother fled in disgust, and Ethan took me into his apartment for the night.
But out of trauma and habit, I locked my bedroom door, muttering that he must be old and desperate.
He stormed out into the freezing night, leaving me terrified that I had ruined my only lifeline.
I didn't understand why he was so furiously offended, completely unaware that my "broke" husband was actually the most ruthless billionaire in New York, and I had just trampled his massive ego.
The next morning, his face was a mask of ice as he dragged me back to City Hall to annul the marriage and get rid of me.
"Annulment. Now," he demanded.
But the clerk just popped her gum and slid a pink paper across the counter.
"State law changed. Mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period."
7.9
Valerie Ashford, a girl who had just turned twenty-one, was introduced by her father to his business associates at a grand party, where she met a frightening, cold-blooded man.
That man was none other than her father's business partner, the CEO of a major corporation. He was taken with Valerie and had wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
For Rovano Morvane, whatever he desired was absolute and he had to have it, even by the worst means possible.
That night Valerie vanished without a trace and Rovano became the prime suspect, yet the Ashford family could not prove their allegations.
"P-please, I don't want to die, sir..." Valerie whispered so softly that Rovano had to bend down even lower.
"Didn't you just say you didn't care whether you were kidnapped or not? So shut your mouth." Rovano ordered.
Cold, Valerie felt the other side of the folding knife pressed against her cheek.
Rovano was going to mark Valerie.
It felt like something was missing if Rovano didn't take out his psychopathic urges on someone.
And this time, for the first time, he wanted a girl: Valerie Ashford.
Would Valerie's life end here?
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.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
7.6
Cassie was sold to a terrifying billionaire as a substitute bride.
To protect herself, she glued a grotesque, fake burn scar to her face.
Her adoptive family and her ex-fiancé had stolen her massive trust fund, locked her in an asylum for years, and finally threw her to the wolves. They expected the ruthless Dane Frederick to torture and kill her the moment he saw her ruined face.
At her ex's grand engagement party, her family publicly humiliated her. They mocked her cheap clothes, laughed at her scarred cheek, and even raised their hands to beat her, fully believing she was a helpless freak with no one to rely on.
"Get on your knees and apologize, and I'll write you a check so you don't starve on the streets."
But they didn't expect the billionaire to kick down the doors, wrap his coat around her, and bankrupt their entire bloodline overnight.
Yet, as Cassie stood in the dark and peeled off her fake silicone scar to reveal her flawless face, a deeper terror gripped her.
Tracing her stolen funds, she uncovered a name that made her blood run cold: The Syndicate.
It was the exact nightmare organization that had locked her in the asylum. Why were they controlling her family? And why did the billionaire look at her with such desperate, hidden nostalgia?
Cassie opened her encrypted laptop and dropped into the Dark Web.
She wasn't just a discarded bride. She was the legendary hacker "Nyx," and she was going to burn them all to the ground.
9.3
For three years, Dara endured endless humiliation to be the perfect wife to billionaire Donavon Monroe.
But on their third anniversary, which was also her birthday, Donavon coldly threw divorce papers on the dining table.
He wanted her gone for his returning childhood sweetheart, completely ignoring the blistering burn on Dara's hand—a cruel injury intentionally caused by his brother just hours ago.
When Dara tearfully reminded him how she had bled and almost died to save his life three years ago, Donavon looked at her with pure disgust.
"I have zero interest in looking at the ugly scars you picked up in whatever slum you crawled out of."
He accused her of fabricating a savior complex just to secure a ring, perfectly content to let his mother and brother treat her like a glorified maid.
Dara's heart completely shattered.
She had sacrificed her life and dignity for a ruthless capitalist who viewed her as nothing but disposable trash.
With her last shred of pride, she signed the papers, ready to leave this suffocating nightmare forever.
But that night, a freak lightning storm struck the estate.
When Dara opened her eyes the next morning, she felt incredibly heavy and her center of gravity was completely wrong.
She looked in the mirror and saw Donavon's cold, chiseled face staring back at her in absolute terror.
They had swapped bodies.
Now, she held the absolute power of the Monroe empire, and Donavon was finally going to experience his family's vicious abuse firsthand.