Sold To The Shadow King: Reborn Revenge
My husband, Hansford Burris, told me tonight was the most important night of his campaign. He handed me a glass of champagne, his face a perfect mask of concern, telling me to drink up so I could relax before meeting the "Shadow King" of D.C. who could secure his political future.
I didn't know the golden liquid was laced with a high-dose sedative and hallucinogens. He hadn't brought me to this luxury hotel to celebrate; he had brought me here to be sold, trading my body to a stranger in exchange for a seat of power.
In my past life, I trusted him. I drank the poison, woke up shattered, and spent the next five years being tormented by his abusive mother and publicly replaced by his mistress. I was eventually cornered and murdered by the very man I had supported with my family’s fortune, my death staged as a tragic accident to gain him sympathy votes.
To him, I wasn't a wife or a partner. I was just an "asset" with a shelf life, a merchant’s good to be traded away. As the life left my body, I couldn't understand how the man who promised to love me forever could watch me choke without a hint of regret.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the St. Regis Hotel on October 14th, exactly five years ago. Hansford was standing there in his polished Armani suit, extending the same glass of drugged champagne toward me.
"Gina, darling? Are you alright? Here. Drink this. It will help you relax."
Looking at his handsome, lying face, I felt a cold clarity wash over me. I wasn't the naive rabbit he remembered. I took the glass, but I didn't swallow a single drop. This time, I was going to burn his world to the ground.
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Chapter 10
Click. Whir. Click.
The decoder cycled through combinations. Gina's heart was hammering against her ribs.
Ten minutes left.
From the hallway, she heard nothing. But the silence felt heavy, pregnant with danger.
Click.
The light on the safe turned green.
Gina yanked the handle. The heavy steel door swung open.
Inside were stacks of cash, gold bars, and passports. But she ignored the wealth. Her eyes locked on a black leather notebook sitting on top of the pile.
The Ledger.
She grabbed it. Her hands were shaking, but she forced them steady. She pulled out a handheld scanner-another toy from the NSA.
She opened the book. Page one. Scan.
Names. Dates. Bribes. It was all there. The Sterling money laundering. The payoffs to judges. The illegal campaign contributions.
Page ten. Scan.
Page twenty. Scan.
"Gina," Vesper's voice crackled in her ear. "The water stopped."
Gina froze. "I'm halfway through."
"He's drying off. You have three minutes."
Gina sped up. The blue light of the scanner washed over the pages.
Page forty.
"He's opening the bathroom door," Vesper warned.
Page fifty. Done.
Gina shoved the notebook back into the safe. She slammed the door. She spun the dial. She swung the painting back into place.
She turned to run, but her elbow clipped the frame of the painting. It tilted. Just a fraction. An inch to the left.
"He's in the bedroom," Vesper hissed. "He's checking the bed."
Gina couldn't make it back to the bedroom. If she went into the hall now, he'd see her.
She dove behind the heavy velvet drapes of the study window.
The study door opened.
Hansford walked in. He was wearing a robe, his hair wet. He was humming.
He walked to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a scotch.
Gina held her breath. She gripped a syringe in her pocket-a sedative. If he found her, she would have to take him down.
Hansford turned. He looked at the painting.
He frowned.
He took a step toward it.
Gina's muscles coiled. Come on, you bastard. Come closer.
Hansford reached out... and straightened the frame.
"Sloppy cleaning staff," he muttered.
He finished his drink, turned off the light, and walked out.
Gina waited a full minute before exhaling. Her knees were jelly.
She slipped out of the study and ghosted back to the bedroom. Vesper was waiting. She helped Gina back into bed, removing the micro-catheter and re-taping the now-empty IV drip to look convincing.
When Hansford came back to bed ten minutes later, Gina was snoring softly.
He kissed her forehead. "Sleep tight, my asset."
The next morning, Gina sat in the garden, drinking coffee.
She tapped her phone, sending a massive encrypted file to Brandon Charles.
Sent.
A moment later, a reply came.
Received. We have him. When do you want to execute?
Gina looked at the house. She saw Elberta watching from the window. She saw Hansford leaving for work.
She typed back: Not yet. I found a note in the ledger. He's planning a tax trap for my parents next week. I need to save them first.
She stood up.
"Vesper," she said. "Pack a bag."
"Where are we going?"
"Home," Gina said. "To my parents. I'm done playing the victim in this house. It's time to burn it down from the outside."
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8.0
She only wanted to save her brother.
He only wanted an heir to secure his empire.
A contract bound us.
A heartbeat changed us.
I thought the ruthless Alpha was the devil in a tailored suit.
Instead, he became the man fate chained me to... the one my body recognises before my heart will ever dare.
But power demands sacrifice, and love was never part of our deal.
He promised protection, not affection.
I offered my womb, not my soul.
Now I carry his child...
And the secret of who I really am could destroy us both.
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
9.2
My world shattered twice. First, the ocean claimed my son. Then, the mountain road took another, a direct sacrifice to the man I loved and the woman he chose. In the hospital, beeps marked the emptiness where my second son used to be, echoing the first loss, both involving Holden and Giana.
During the car crash, I was pinned, bleeding, and trapped. Holden, my partner, looked me in the eyes, then chose to save Giana, abandoning me and our unborn child.
Soon, I overheard Holden praising Giana for turning our tragedy into a PR win. His hollow apologies and focus on Giana’s "miracle work" reignited the brutal memory of her push and his past denials.
A decade of sacrificing my life and two children for a man who saw me as a liability left a bitter taste. His choice was clear; only profound abandonment remained.
But this time, I was choosing me. From my profound loss, a dangerous spark ignited: I would not just survive; I would find freedom and make him pay.
7.3
Clara came home from a fourteen-hour board meeting to the sound of a piercing scream in the playroom.
When she rushed in, she found her husband, Chadwick, kneeling on the floor in a panic.
But he wasn't looking at their five-year-old son, Leo, who had a massive bleeding welt on his forehead.
Instead, Chadwick was trembling as he held the nanny's daughter, Autumn, who barely had a microscopic scratch.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick snapped, carrying the nanny's daughter away and leaving his bleeding son behind.
From that moment, the nightmare only escalated.
Chadwick ordered Clara to cook a three-hour meal for the nanny's kid, threw away Leo's favorite toys because Autumn sneezed, and even secretly took the nanny and her daughter on Leo's promised Disney trip.
The final humiliation came at the Met Gala.
Right before their sponsor speech, Chadwick received a frantic call from the nanny claiming Autumn was having a panic attack.
He abandoned Clara in front of hundreds of flashing cameras, sprinting out of the ballroom.
Clara stood completely alone, the humiliation eating through her veins like acid.
She couldn't understand how a father could call the nanny's kid his "little princess" while watching his own son cry.
Why was he treating his own flesh and blood like garbage just to play savior to another woman's child?
Suddenly, the blinding camera flashes were blocked by a massive shadow.
Erasmo Chase, the heir to New York's largest financial dynasty, stepped out of the darkness and shielded her.
"A man like that is unworthy of your grief, Ms. Best," he whispered, pressing a silk handkerchief into her trembling hand.
Looking at the sharp profile of the powerful man beside her, Clara's shock hardened into a lethal, cold fury.
She was going to dump her family's shares, crash the board, and make Chadwick lose absolutely everything.
8.8
Mate's VENGEANCE
8.8
To destroy him, I've traded my pride for a maid's uniform.
My plan is simple: infiltrate his estate, seduce him into breaking his royal engagement, and lead his enemies to his doorstep. I want to see his pack burn. I want to see the light leave those storm-grey eyes as how he did to my mate
8.8
My little boy died on the operating table during a minor, routine surgery.
That exact same night, my billionaire husband bought out the Hudson River for a massive, million-dollar fireworks show.
It wasn't to mourn our child. It was to celebrate his first love's son being discharged from the hospital.
When I confronted him with our son's death certificate, he sneered and accused me of hiding the boy to get his attention.
He held his mistress in our home, watched her fake a panic attack, and threatened to bankrupt my family if I didn't get on my knees and apologize to her.
But the most horrifying truth came from a terrified hospital nurse.
My son's anesthesia was deliberately kept low during the procedure to keep his tissue viable to save the mistress's child.
He was awake and in agonizing pain while his own father planned a grand celebration for another man's son.
I couldn't understand how a father could be so completely heartless.
How could he sacrifice his own flesh and blood just to please a woman who constantly manipulated him?
Looking at the ashes on my son's favorite toy, my paralyzing grief evaporated, replaced by a cold, unyielding rage.
I arranged my little boy's funeral alone in the freezing rain, left my wedding ring on the counter, and walked straight into the private hotel suite of my husband's most ruthless business rival.
"Let's take him down," I said.