SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND
For two years, Rivera Royce lived in Italy with a man she thought was her husband. Her real husband, Reagan Royce was in prison in Italy and the man she lived with was her husband's best friend, Luke Ivan. On the day that her husband was released from prison, Luke finally broke the news to her. When Reagan Royce reappears, everything changes. He seems cold, distant, controlling, cruel, and impossible to trust, yet she feels drawn to him. But Reagan carries a burden Rivera cannot see. Will their love survive the multiple tests that will come or has she really fallen for his best friend Luke who she spent the past two years with?
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Chapter 7
"What did he mean that you took the fall for me?" Rivera asked again.
"You'll never let this go, will you?" Reagan dragged a hand through his hair as if restraining something violent inside him.
He didn't like that she was digging through things he had warned her to drop.
But seeing her with Luke that way awoke something in him that he could barely restrain. How dare he?
"Listen to me carefully. Whatever Luke implied means absolutely nothing."
"More lies. I saw your face. Why do you treat me like a child?" she sighed.
"You think this is some romantic sacrifice and noble gestures?" he snapped.
"I don't know what to think! One minute I'm a contract wife, the next I'm a liability you want to hide, now, this?"
"You're not the center of this. Don't flatter yourself," he said coldly. The words hurt more than she expected.
"Then why won't you let me leave?" her ego spoke.
"Because you don't understand the kind of world you married into. If you did, you wouldn't be standing here arguing with me."
She folded her arms. "Explain it."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because knowledge isn't power. Far from it, knowledge is exposure. You think Luke is on your side. That's your mistake. He's protecting his own guilt."
"You're speaking in riddles."
"Let me de-mystify it for you. If you walk away, people will ask questions. And questions lead to names and names lead to graves."
"You're exaggerating."
"No, I'm simplifying," he said flatly. It was obvious he was trying to scare her into submission and obedience.
"If no one would tell me why I should stop, then I won't," she stubbornly replied.
Reagan stared in her green defiant eyes. He had never fancied a submissive woman, but God, he wished that just this once, she'd listen to him even if she had no reason to.
Just then, Rivera heard a car drive towards the mansion. The house staff moved with unusual urgency and chaos, whispering to each other, running back and forth.
Rivera frowned. Something felt different.
Minutes later, the sharp click of heels echoed through the hallway.
She heard a woman's voice. "I don't need an announcement. He knows I'm here."
The voice didn't belong to a maid. It sounded too sharp and confident.
The woman finally stepped in. For the first time since Rivera met him, Reagan looked truly disoriented and almost vulnerable.
"Clara," he murmured, his voice low, almost stunned.
She was tall, elegant and dressed in a tailored cream coat that hugged her slender figure and probably cost more than Rivera's entire college tuition.
Her dark hair was sleek and her makeup flawless. She looked like she belonged in this world of wealth and power.
"So it's true. You're back," she said, her gaze fixed on Reagan. Rivera could detect a note of disappointment in her voice.
"Clara, this isn't the place."
"You disappeared for two years. I find out through a gossip column that you're back in the country and married and you think this isn't the place?"
Reagan's gaze flicked briefly towards Rivera before returning to Clara.
"Let's talk in private."
Clara followed his glance. She looked at her the way a woman looks at another woman she had lost to.
"So this is her. She's younger than I imagined. And so... plain," Clara said.
"Give us some space please," he told Rivera. She nodded and left but stopped at the corner of the staircase to listen.
She could guess what was happening and even though she knew she shouldn't listen, she had this compelling urge to see how it'd play out.
"You threw me under the bus Ray. After everything." Clara voice softened once Rivera was out of sight. Her words sounded like a plea.
"I didn't believe the news at first. I waited for you. I defended you when the board said you abandoned the company and when people said that you abandoned me. And you truly came back with a wife?"
"It wasn't your place to wait," Reagan replied coolly.
"That's not fair."
"Life isn't."
"You loved me," Clara stated. She seemed to be looking for reassurance that she still mattered to him. "We were supposed to run this city together. Seven years, Ray. Do you love her now?"
Reagan didn't answer.
Clara laughed. "You don't even deny it. You're just going to erase me."
"You're not erased. You're just not part of this anymore."
"And she is? You barely know her," Clara cried out.
"You don't know what I know."
"I've known you for 7 years and I've never seen you with another woman. Why did you marry her? Is she better than me? Prettier? Richer? Does she make you forget me?"
There was another pause then unexpectedly, his tone softened.
"She doesn't make me forget anything."
Rivera held her breath as she heard footsteps move.
She pictured it without seeing it. Reagan standing in front of Clara, consoling her.
Rivera's chest burned.
The same man who had pinned her to himself hours ago now lowers his guard for another woman.
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8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
8.1
I was the "fallen princess" of New York, living in a charcoal silk cage while paying off my father’s millions in debt with my own body. My owner was Braxton Kensington, a man who looked at me with the same cold interest he gave a fluctuating stock graph.
One morning, a New York Times alert shattered the silence: Braxton was getting engaged to a billionaire socialite in the merger of the decade. When I demanded my freedom and the five-million-dollar severance promised in our contract, he just smirked and pointed to the fine print.
"In a court of law, an engagement is just an intention," he whispered, gripping my chin until it bruised. "Until I sign that marriage license, you belong to me."
He flicked a black AmEx at my feet like I was a tragic charity case, ordering me to buy a dress for his engagement gala. To save my dying mother from eviction, I took a secret translation job, only to realize my client was his new fiancée, Caroline. She dragged me to Braxton’s office to humiliate me, and after he hid me in a secret room to avoid a scandal, he branded me a "security risk" and froze every cent I had.
I stood in a CVS with my last sixty dollars, swallowing a Plan B pill dry while watching a news report about Braxton demolishing my family’s last legacy. He didn't just want my body; he wanted to erase my entire existence and leave me with nothing.
The cruelty was breathtaking, but Braxton forgot that a woman with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous player in the game. I reached out to the only man he truly feared—his billionaire half-brother and the boy whose heart I broke years ago, Ansel Neal.
"Coffee isn't enough," Ansel replied to my message in seconds. "Dinner. Our old spot. 8 PM."
As I walked into the club to meet Braxton's greatest rival, I knew the game wasn't over. I was just changing the rules.
7.1
I was living as a ghost in a run-down trailer park, trying to outrun a past that would kill me if it ever caught up. Then the storm hit, and a dying monster collapsed through my door, bringing the smell of copper and the promise of a very different kind of death.
I tried to defend myself with a cheap butcher knife, but Darius didn't just disarm me—he acquired me. Before the rain even stopped, I was drugged and whisked away on a private jet, waking up in a luxury penthouse that was nothing more than a high-tech cage overlooking the city skyline.
He didn't just want my silence; he wanted total control. When I begged to check on my sick grandmother, he threw a manila envelope on the table filled with surveillance photos of her at her nursing home.
"I own the board of that facility," he said, his voice cold as ice. "One call from me, and she dies alone on the street."
He vetted my life in that trailer park down to my medical records and childhood diaries, convinced he had every lever of power needed to keep me obedient. He forced me into silk dresses and expected me to be his domestic pet, a quiet girl waiting for him to return from his world of shadows and blood.
I played the part, letting him pull me into his lap and bury his face in my neck, pretending to be the broken girl he thought he’d bought. I watched his security cameras, calculated his blind spots, and waited for the moment his exhaustion outweighed his instinct.
Darius thinks he knows me because he saw where I lived, but he’s never been more wrong. His investigators found the pauper, but they completely missed the princess with an Ivy League degree and a family name that carries more weight than his illegal empire.
He thinks he’s the one holding the leash, but he has no idea who he’s actually brought into his home. The game has just begun, and this time, the "asset" is going to be the one who burns the house down.
9.2
Marissa," he said softly, but there was nothing gentle about it. His voice was low, controlled to the point of fracture. "Walk away. Now. Or I won't be able to stop myself."
The sound slipped from me before I could cage it-a quiet, helpless moan.
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze.
"Don't," I whispered. "Don't stop yourself, Carlton."
His last bit of restraint snapped, along with the clasp of my bra
7.5
After my boyfriend of four years publicly humiliated me at a charity gala, calling me a "charity case," I drowned my sorrows at a dive bar and had a one-night stand with a stranger.
I woke up the next morning in a luxury hotel suite to find out the stranger was Christian Porter, the most ruthless billionaire on Wall Street.
Worse, paparazzi had photographed us leaving the bar. He coldly informed me that the photos would create a scandal that could tank his company's upcoming IPO, costing him hundreds of millions. As if my world wasn't collapsing fast enough, I got a call that my younger brother had been arrested for assaulting my ex in my defense.
Christian didn't want my apology; he wanted a solution. He slammed a prenuptial agreement on the table in front of me.
He gave me an ultimatum: sign a two-year marriage contract to turn the scandal into a corporate fairy tale, or he would ruin me. Trapped, I agreed. But when my furious brother confronted him at the police station, Christian looked him dead in the eye and said something that left me breathless.
"I didn't marry her to solve a problem," he said, his voice echoing in the small room. "I married her because I've been in love with her for ten years."
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.