Secret Baby: The Billionaire CEO's Unwanted Love
Haylee always thought she belonged to the wealthy Bowen family.
But on the night of her birthday, her younger sister Cynthia handed her a crushing DNA report, sneered that she was taking her trust fund and fiancé, and shoved her violently off the yacht into the freezing Atlantic.
Washing ashore on a dark island, Haylee was brutally assaulted by a drugged stranger.
When she was finally rescued, she stared at a tiny television screen in absolute horror.
Her adoptive father was calmly declaring her mentally unstable and officially dead to the press.
Meanwhile, Cynthia was on screen flaunting a massive diamond ring from Haylee's own fiancé, inheriting everything that was rightfully hers.
Discarded like trash, stripped of her identity, and suddenly pregnant with a stranger's child, Haylee was forced to flee the country with nothing but a heavy silver signet ring she found in the dark.
She never understood how the family she had loved and trusted for years could erase her existence so ruthlessly.
"Are we going to see the bad people who bullied you, Mom?"
Five years later, Haylee stepped off a plane at JFK Airport, holding the hand of her genius five-year-old son.
She was no longer a helpless victim, but a top-tier medical director holding the key to a billion-dollar empire.
"We aren't running anymore," Haylee said softly, her voice laced with steel. "We're here to take everything back."
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Chapter 6
Kaylie clung to the lapels of Benedict's suit, her tears leaving wet marks on the expensive fabric.
"That little brat downstairs! His bodyguard shoved me!" Kaylie sobbed, her voice trembling with practiced victimhood.
Benedict's jaw tightened. The interruption shattered his focus on the scar. He let out a slow breath, forcing his rising temper down.
He stood up and stepped around the desk. "Are you hurt?" his voice was stiff, lacking warmth but laced with a heavy sense of obligation.
Kaylie leaned heavily against his chest. "My neck," she whimpered, pulling the collar of her blouse down slightly to show a faint red mark.
Sitting across the desk, Haylee felt a wave of intense disgust. She grabbed her bag, ready to walk out of this pathetic soap opera.
As Kaylie pulled her collar down, a silver chain slipped out from under her shirt.
A heavy metal ring dangled at the end of it.
Haylee froze. The air left her lungs in a violent rush.
It was the signet ring. The intricate crest. The heavy silver. The ring she had taken from that dark villa on the island. The ring she had worn against her chest every single day for six years, a silent, burning reminder of the night that had stolen everything from her. She had touched it for reassurance when Leo took his first steps, gripped it in her fist during every sleepless night of her PhD, felt its cold weight against her skin every single morning.
It had vanished on the day she arrived in New York—not on the flight from Zurich, but somewhere in the chaos between the airport and the city. She remembered touching it in the Maybach, remembered Leo handing her a warm towel as she wiped her hands, remembered the weight of it settling against her collarbone. By the time she reached the penthouse that night, her neck was bare. The string had been cut clean, not snapped. A professional theft, executed in a moment of distraction.
Her mind raced. Kaylie. Kaylie had been at the airport. Haylee had caught a glimpse of her through the lounge's frosted glass partition—a woman in a cream trench coat lingering near the VIP exit, watching, waiting—but Cynthia's meltdown had consumed all her attention. And when Haylee had stepped through the crowd to follow Bertram out, Kaylie had been there, bumping against her shoulder with a breathless false apology before vanishing into the terminal.
The realization hit Haylee like a physical blow. Kaylie was not just a thief. She had been tracking Haylee from the moment she landed.
Haylee's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke.
Benedict looked down at Kaylie, his eyes catching the ring. A look of deep, painful guilt washed over his face. He patted Kaylie's back, then looked coldly toward Haylee. "I will handle this, Kaylie. Don't worry." His anger was clearly directed at the woman who had caused a scene, dismissing the mention of the child downstairs as trivial nonsense.
His blind defense of this fraud snapped Haylee's control. He was protecting the very woman who had stolen her trauma.
Haylee stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"Mr. Keith," Haylee's voice was absolute ice. "Before you threaten a child, you should teach your fiancée to keep her hands out of other people's bags."
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Kaylie stiffened against Benedict's chest. Panic flashed in her eyes. She turned her head, her voice trembling. "Who is she? Why is she attacking me?"
Benedict stepped in front of Kaylie, shielding her. His gray eyes locked onto Haylee, dark and warning. "Dr. Mathews. Watch yourself."
Haylee didn't back down. She took a step closer, her eyes burning into Kaylie. "That ring," Haylee said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You didn't find it. You didn't inherit it. You stole it off my neck the day I arrived in New York. And you've been wearing stolen evidence around your throat like a trophy ever since."
Kaylie's face went chalk white. Her hand flew to her chest, covering the ring in a desperate, guilty reflex. "I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered, but her voice cracked, and her eyes darted to Benedict in naked terror.
Then, her eyes rolled back. She let out a choked gasp and collapsed backward into Benedict's arms, clutching her chest as if she couldn't breathe.
"Sam! Get the medic!" Benedict barked, catching Kaylie's dead weight.
He glared at Haylee over Kaylie's shoulder. "Get out. Your onboarding is done for today."
Haylee stared at him. He was blindly protecting the woman who stole her trauma, her evidence. A bitter, suffocating anger twisted in her gut.
She didn't say another word. She turned on her heel and walked out, her spine perfectly straight.
As the elevator doors closed, Haylee's hand drifted up to her bare collarbone. The old scar throbbed. The ring was gone, but she had seen it. She knew who had it. And Kaylie had just made the worst mistake of her life—she had shown her stolen prize to the one person who would burn the world down to get it back.
She rode down to the lobby. Leo was waiting, his small face serious. He looked at her pale face.
"What happened?" Leo asked.
Haylee crouched down and straightened his collar. Her eyes were dark and lethal. "Nothing. Just ran into a rat that likes to steal."
She took his hand and walked out of the building. The war had just gotten personal.
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8.9
I returned to New York for my welcome-home party, expecting a warm embrace from Edwin, my devoted fiancé of twenty years.
Instead, his first words to me were a cold, public warning to stay away from his new girlfriend, Kacy.
He stood in my family's hotel, shielding a girl I had never even met, and painted me as a vicious, jealous bully.
"She is very sensitive, Kaitlyn. Her background is tough. Please, be gentle with her. Don't upset her."
He humiliated me in front of our entire elite circle, allowing them to mock me as the aggressive, discarded ex while he carried her away like a fragile princess.
For twenty years, I had been his loyal shadow, fixing his mistakes and loving him unconditionally.
I couldn't understand how decades of deep devotion could be instantly erased by a few crocodile tears and a manipulative damsel act.
He was absolutely certain I would throw a tantrum, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his attention.
But he was wrong.
He didn't know that Everett Rowe, a billionaire tech mogul, had been patiently waiting five years to marry me.
He also didn't know that during my three years abroad, I wasn't just studying art—I became "K.B.", the ruthless Wall Street predator who could swallow his family's empire whole.
I calmly pulled out my phone, ignored the mocking whispers around me, and typed a single message to Everett.
"Yes. I'll marry you."
8.4
Elia was an orphan from the rust belt, taken in by the wealthy Chapman family in New York.
To them, she was just a shameful charity case.
The parents shoved her into a dusty storage closet, treating their other daughter Geri like a delicate princess, and mocked Elia as uneducated trash.
When Elia secured her own admission to Manhattan Elite Prep, Geri's jealousy turned vicious.
Geri orchestrated a massive smear campaign, posting anonymously on the school forum that Elia was a violent dropout who sold her body to a sugar daddy to pay tuition.
In the cafeteria, the school's elite dumped dirty milk on Elia's food.
They called her a whore and told her to go back to the streets, while Geri watched from afar with a victorious, innocent smile.
They thought she was just a helpless stray dog who would easily break under their high-society cruelty.
They had no idea she was actually "L", the dark web's most feared hacker, and "The Surgeon", a genius medical anomaly.
They also didn't know she was currently tracking a dying Wall Street billionaire who had stolen her only necklace in a dark alley.
What made these arrogant rich kids think they could destroy a girl who played with international firewalls for fun?
Instead of crying, Elia calmly pulled out her phone.
Within seconds, she breached the school's server, locking every screen in the building onto a blood-red skull.
As Geri's own recorded voice plotting the fake rumors blasted through the PA system, Elia grabbed her bag, stepping back into the shadows to reclaim what was hers.
9.2
Arla was supposed to marry Clinton Freeman, the perfect fiancé who had promised to love her and protect her five-year-old son.
But instead, the cold steel of a dagger pierced her chest.
As she collapsed onto the freezing basement floor, she watched her adoptive sister Blair laugh.
"Look at her," Blair sneered, kicking her son's small, blue, lifeless body.
Clinton stood there, calmly wiping the bloody blade on a pristine handkerchief.
In her dying moments, the horrifying truth became clear. Her fiancé and her adoptive family had been plotting all along to steal her massive trust fund.
To break her, they had secretly tortured her child. Clinton had watched Blair pierce the little boy's arms with sewing needles, rewarding him with candy to keep him silent.
Arla's lungs burned with the taste of copper and ash.
She couldn't understand why the family she trusted could be so monstrous, or why they had to brutally murder an innocent child just for money.
The darkness swallowed her whole, drowning her in suffocating hatred and absolute despair.
Then, she gasped for air.
The concrete floor was gone, replaced by the silk sheets of a hotel penthouse suite.
Arla had been reborn to the exact night six years ago—the very day Blair first dragged her son into the dark attic.
This time, she picked up a solid silver letter opener, ready to burn them all to the ground.
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.
8.6
Genevieve was heavily pregnant, holding the legal papers that would transfer her massive family trust fund to her loving husband, Clinton.
But as she approached his study, she heard a familiar giggle. Through the cracked door, she saw her cousin Carolynn sitting on his desk, her skirt hiked up, while Clinton smirked and poured bourbon.
"Once she signs those papers, we don't need her anymore," Clinton laughed coldly. "The kidnapping is staged for tomorrow. She and the brat disappear permanently."
Genevieve gasped, and he spotted her. When she frantically tried to run, her trusted housekeeper blocked the stairs. Clinton dragged her back, beat her mercilessly, and locked her in a freezing, underground cellar.
Denied any medical help, she endured agonizing hours of labor alone in the dark, only to deliver a stillborn child. Clinton then walked in, ruthlessly tossed her dead baby's tiny body into a pile of dirty rags, and brutally strangled her.
As her lungs burned and the world faded to black, her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She had given him everything. How could they be so monstrous as to murder her and her innocent child just for money?
Opening her eyes again, the freezing cellar was gone.
She was standing in an emerald silk gown at an elite charity gala—the exact night their original kidnapping plot began, a month before she even announced her pregnancy.
This time, the naive socialite was dead, and she was going to make them pay in blood.
9.1
Isabella thought she had the perfect life as the wealthy Conrad family heiress, complete with a loving childhood sweetheart.
Until she woke up drugged in a hotel bed, blinded by paparazzi flashes, as her fiancé pointed a shaking finger at her, screaming that she had drugged and seduced him.
"She threatened to ruin Kaylie if I didn't sleep with her!" he yelled to the cameras.
Kaylie, the newly discovered biological daughter, stood in the doorway weeping perfectly.
Within hours, Isabella's adoptive father publicly severed all ties, froze her assets, and kicked her out into a violent thunderstorm.
Fleeing the city, her car's brakes suddenly failed.
As Isabella lay dying in the crushed metal of her Porsche, Kaylie strolled up with a pristine umbrella and a genuine smile.
"The mechanic was quite expensive, but cutting the brake lines was worth every penny," Kaylie laughed.
Isabella coughed up blood, her heart turning to ice. Her twenty years of family, love, and loyalty had been nothing but a cruel joke, destroyed by a calculated frame-up.
She died suffocating on absolute betrayal and unadulterated hatred.
Then, she gasped for air.
She wasn't dead. She was sitting in the driver's seat of her car, staring at her flawless reflection in the rearview mirror.
It was exactly four years ago—the day the real heiress first arrived.
A chilling smirk curled the corner of Isabella's mouth. This time, she was going to rip their lives apart from the inside out.