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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 8
Alaia tightened her grip on the metal letter opener hidden up her sleeve. She took a deep breath, forcing the cold, calculating look off her face. She let her shoulders slump, softening her features into a mask of pure vulnerability.
She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
The assistant immediately tried to step inside, but Alaia blocked the threshold with her body, her eyes wide and fearful.
The assistant frowned, looking down his nose at her. "Mr. Darrius is waiting in the car downstairs. You are to come with me immediately."
Alaia didn't snap at him. Instead, her eyes instantly welled up with tears. Her lower lip trembled. "Is... is my father here? Did he see the news? Is he here to help me?"
Her voice cracked perfectly. The assistant's eyes flashed with deep contempt, but his rigid posture relaxed. He bought the act completely. She was just a broken, hysterical girl.
"Follow me," he ordered.
Alaia sniffled, grabbing a coat and following him to the elevator.
They descended to the underground parking garage. A massive, black stretch Lincoln was idling in the darkest corner. The bodyguard opened the rear door.
Alaia slid into the backseat. The heavy, suffocating stench of expensive cigar smoke hit her lungs. Darrius Dudley sat in the shadows, his face hard and unforgiving.
He didn't look at her. "You made a spectacular fool of yourself tonight," Darrius spat, his voice dripping with disgust. "You dragged the Dudley name through the mud for a worthless actor."
In her past life, Alaia would have cried and begged for his understanding. Tonight, she just wanted to stab him.
But she needed him. She forced a sob from her throat and threw herself across the seat, grabbing his tailored sleeve.
"Dad, I'm so sorry!" she wailed, letting huge, fat tears roll down her cheeks. "Austen lied to me! I didn't know what to do! I was so scared!"
Darrius yanked his arm away, brushing his sleeve as if she had soiled it. But the pathetic display fed his massive ego. His harsh glare softened just a fraction.
"Stop crying," Darrius commanded. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "The video showed Gabriel Alvarado. How did you get in his car?"
Alaia's heart went cold. There it was. The old fox didn't care about her broken heart; he smelled the money and power attached to Gabriel's name.
She wiped her eyes, playing dumb. "I... I don't know him. He just saw me crying and gave me his coat. We didn't even speak."
Darrius scoffed, clearly not believing her. "Pack your things. You are moving back to the estate tomorrow. The family will handle your PR from now on."
Alaia knew exactly what "handle" meant. He wanted to lock her up, monitor her, and use her as bait to lure Gabriel into a business deal.
But she needed to be inside that toxic house. She needed to reclaim the twenty percent stake in Apex Properties her mother had left her.
She nodded meekly, keeping her eyes glued to the floorboards. "Okay, Dad. I'll be good."
Darrius smirked, satisfied with his absolute control. He gestured to the door. "Get out."
Alaia stepped out into the exhaust-filled garage. The Lincoln sped away. The second the taillights disappeared, the tears vanished from her face. Her expression turned to stone.
She went upstairs and packed a single suitcase, taking only her crucial documents and a few modest dresses.
The next morning, the Dudley family driver picked her up and drove her to the sprawling, opulent estate in Beverly Hills.
Alaia walked into the grand foyer. Her stepmother, Devona Gutierrez, was sitting on a velvet sofa sipping tea. Devona's eyes flicked over Alaia, flashing with undisguised hatred.
Her half-sister, Asia Henson, was lounging nearby, blowing on her freshly painted nails. Asia smirked. "Congratulations, Alaia. You're the biggest joke on the internet today."
Alaia kept her head down. She didn't fight back. She walked over and spoke in a soft, defeated voice. "Aunt Devona. I'm sorry for the trouble. I'll stay out of your way."
Devona blinked, caught off guard by the total surrender. She forced a tight, fake smile. "Just go to your room."
Asia rolled her eyes, bored by the lack of a fight.
A maid led Alaia up the stairs to the smallest, most isolated guest room at the end of the hall.
The door clicked shut. Alaia dropped her suitcase. She walked over to the window, looking down at the perfectly manicured rose garden.
Her fingers brushed against her chest. "Let the games begin," she whispered.
You may also like
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.