Stalked By The Mad Dog Nephew
For years, I played the role of the fragile, fading wife in the Garrison dynasty, a "little doll" who looked like she’d break if the wind blew too hard. My husband, Augustus, treated me like a piece of inconvenient furniture, while his volatile nephew, Brandon, stalked me like a predator in the shadows.
Everything shattered during a family brunch when Augustus’s mistress, Gilda, lounged in his shirt and announced she was pregnant with the Garrison heir. Instead of hiding his shame, my husband beamed with pride and slid a thick manila envelope across the table in front of his gloating parents.
"We need to make room for the family, Avery," he said coldly, "and you’re barren." His mother laughed, calling me a "worthless asset" who provided no value to the lineage. They offered me fifty million dollars to disappear—a pathetic pittance for a man worth over four billion.
I let a single, perfect tear fall, playing the part of the defeated, broken woman they all expected me to be. They didn't see the cold calculation behind my watery eyes or know that I had spent three years documenting every illegal insider trade and offshore account Augustus owned.
I didn't just sign the papers; I walked into the final settlement meeting in a sharp black suit and shredded their offer in front of their faces. I demanded two billion dollars in cash and controlling voting shares, threatening to hand the SEC the evidence that would send Augustus to federal prison for life.
As he lunged at me in a blind rage, realization dawning that he had underestimated me, I leaned in and whispered the final blow. I told him about the box of condoms in his nightstand and the silver needle I used to ensure Gilda got pregnant.
"I gave you exactly what you wanted, Augustus," I smiled as I walked out with half his empire. "And in exchange, I got my freedom."
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Chapter 2
The partition between the driver and the passenger cabin was up. The rear of the limousine was a hermetically sealed box of silence, cut off from the rainy chaos of New York streets.
Brandon sprawled on the leather seat opposite her, his long legs taking up most of the floor space. He wasn't looking at the window; he was watching her. His gaze was heavy, physical, tracing the line of her jaw, the pulse fluttering in her neck.
Avery rubbed her wrist. A faint bruise was already forming, a purple fingerprint against her pale skin.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Brandon said. His voice was devoid of the slurring drunkenness he had displayed in the club. "It was... a test. I was testing your reflexes."
"You're drunk, Brandon," Avery said, keeping her eyes fixed on the passing streetlights.
"Am I?" He chuckled darkly. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just the only one honest enough to tell you that Augustus is probably at the St. Regis right now. Room 402. He likes the view of the park."
Avery felt a muscle in her jaw tick, but she didn't turn. "Stop."
"He doesn't deserve you," Brandon continued, his voice dropping an octave. He reached out across the gap between them. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. His touch was scorching hot against her cold skin. His thumb brushed the collar of her coat, a fleeting, almost imperceptible pressure against the fabric, gone as quickly as it came.
Avery flinched violently. "Stop the car."
"We're on the FDR Drive, Auntie. Can't stop here."
"I said stop!" She reached for the door handle, her fingers curling around the latch. She unlocked it with a loud click. The wind roared outside, threatening to tear the door open if she pushed.
Brandon laughed. He pulled his hand back, raising his palms in surrender. "Alright. Alright. You win. No touching the merchandise."
The car slowed as it approached the iron gates of the Garrison Estate. The massive stone structure loomed in the rain, dark and foreboding.
The car stopped. Brandon opened the door, stumbling slightly as he stepped out onto the wet pavement. He caught himself on the frame, leaning back in to look at her one last time.
"Sweet dreams, Auntie," he whispered, his eyes glittering with a mix of mockery and something far more dangerous. He slammed the door.
Avery waited until he had disappeared through the front entrance of the main house. Then, she pressed the intercom button.
"Charles," she said. Her voice had changed. The tremble was gone. The softness had evaporated, replaced by a tone as cold and sharp as a scalpel. "Take me to the penthouse. I'm not staying here tonight."
Charles's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror as the partition lowered slightly. He looked concerned, his brow furrowed. "Mrs. Garrison... Avery. Why do you let him treat you like that? Why do you endure any of this?"
Avery sat back, her posture shifting. The slump vanished. She crossed her legs, her spine straightening into a line of steel. She pulled her phone from her purse, the screen illuminating her face with a harsh blue light.
"Jiles calls me an asset, Charles," she said, her thumb scrolling through a stock alert for Garrison Biotech. "Do you know the first rule of asset management?"
Charles stayed silent, merging the car back onto the highway toward Manhattan.
"An asset must depreciate before it can be written off," she said, her eyes scanning the numbers. "I need to be worthless to them. I need to be broken, pitied, and weak. Only then will they let me go without a fight."
"And Augustus?" Charles asked quietly.
"I feel nothing for Augustus," she said. The truth of it was liberating. "Is the file ready for tomorrow?"
"Yes, ma'am. Everything is in order."
Avery nodded. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small pill bottle. She shook out a single vitamin, swallowing it dry, though she would tell anyone who asked that it was a sedative for her nerves. She pulled down the vanity mirror, staring at her reflection.
She practiced the expression-eyes slightly widened, mouth turned down at the corners. The face of a sad, neglected wife.
"Good," she murmured to her reflection.
The limousine descended into the underground garage of the penthouse building on 5th Avenue. As the car turned the corner toward the private elevator bank, Avery's eyes darted to the parking spot reserved for 4A.
Augustus's sleek black sports car was there.
And on the passenger seat, clearly visible through the windshield, was a bright silk scarf. It was Hermes. Garish. Not something Avery would ever wear.
Avery didn't cry. She didn't gasp.
She smiled. It was a faint, terrifying curve of her lips.
"Perfect," she whispered.
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7.4
I never expected to be branded a 'fake heiress' and a 'scheming bitch' on my own wedding anniversary.
"Did you really think we'd never find out you faked the DNA test?" My mother's voice cut like a blade. "You've been impersonating our real daughter all along."
The irony was suffocating. They were the ones who stormed into my peaceful life, insisting that I was their long-lost child-no proof needed. And now they dared to call me the fraud.
"Since Camille has finally returned to where she belongs," my father declared coldly, "it's time for you to crawl back into whatever shadow you came from."
Then came the final blow. My husband of five years didn't even hesitate.
"I'll have the divorce papers drawn up immediately. Don't make this difficult, Mirena. You were never meant to be my wife."
Overnight, I was discarded. The scandal of the city. The woman who stole a life that was never hers.
But they forgot one thing: I never needed them.
Before I was George Ashton's wife, I was Mirena Sterling-the Investment Queen. The woman who broke Wall Street records before she turned twenty-five. A racing champion. A tech prodigy.
I walked away from all of it. Gave up my empire. My crown. My name. All for a man who threw me away like garbage the moment someone "better" came along.
Big mistake.
On the night they cast me out, soaking wet and humiliated, I ran into the last person I ever wanted to see.
"Look at you now, Mirena," Alexander Pierce murmured, watching me with those piercing eyes. "The woman who once ruled the financial world. Reduced to this." He tilted his head. "And for what? Love?" A dark laugh. "Pathetic."
My former rival. The man who spent years trying to beat me-and never once succeeded. Now he stood before me, a Wall Street titan, watching my downfall with hungry satisfaction.
He thought he'd seen the last of me.
He was wrong.
The game was simple now: drop the dead weight, reclaim what's mine, and remind everyone why they feared my name.
Within months, I was back. Every market moved when I breathed. Every headline screamed my return. The Sterlings came crawling, begging for mercy they'd never shown me. And George? He watched in horror as I bought his most prized company without blinking.
The divorce he'd so eagerly signed? His greatest regret.
"Mirena, please," he begged, groveling at my feet. "Give me another chance."
I didn't even look at him. "Sorry, darling. I don't recycle trash."
But what I didn't expect was him.
Alexander Pierce dropped to one knee in front of me-the man who had once mocked my fall, now looking up with something raw and undisguised in his crimson gaze.
"I knew you'd take back everything they stole," he said, voice low. "Now..." A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Take me too."
8.5
I was cheated on by my scumbag boyfriend.
On the night I got blackout drunk, I married a stranger, and when I woke up, I only found a marriage certificate and a black card.
He took care of my scumbag ex for me, gave me a canary diamond ring, but refused to show his face-he only called me baby on video calls.
I ran to my best friend's house to hide, only to find that the billionaire next door, who made my heart skip a beat, had the exact same scent as him.
My best friend cried and begged me: "He's Augustus, a tyrant who eats people alive!"
But only I knew that the man who pressed me against the terrace railing, leaned down to kiss me, and whispered "I'll protect you" softly.
Fifty thousand dollars to sneak photos of his private office? I'll go.
Not for the money, but to ask him to his face-
Gus, how many secrets are you hiding? And how long have you been craving me?
9.8
I was an arrogant, canceled reality TV star, trying to salvage my ruined reputation on a live broadcast.
But after I lost my temper and assaulted a cameraman, my furious grandfather chased me into our family's forbidden gallery, where I accidentally crashed into an ancient, sealed portrait.
The canvas shattered, and a terrifying woman with glowing golden eyes stepped out of the wall.
She was Cecil, the First Matriarch of the Marshall family. She caught a lightning bolt with her bare hands and crushed me to my knees with an invisible, suffocating pressure.
My grandfather, instead of saving me, groveled on the floor and abandoned me to her mercy.
"You are the disgrace that will end this family."
She hijacked my entire life, forcing me to act as her submissive baggage handler on my own survival reality show, broadcasting my humiliation to millions.
I didn't understand why this ancient monster was tormenting me. Why did she strip away my pride, treat me like a broken tool, and force me to endure the mockery of the very ex-girlfriend who had ruined my life?
But when those same cast members tried to corner me in the dark woods, Cecil stepped in front of me, her eyes locking onto the silver ring of the man mocking me.
"To catch the wolf, one must sometimes walk with the sheep."
That was when I realized she wasn't here to destroy me—she was here to hunt the parasites who had been secretly siphoning away my life force.
8.7
Gianna Windsor and Brandon Baker have been married for two and a half years. Since it was an arranged marriage, Gianna accepted the fact that Brandon would never love her, but she was satisfied with the respect and care he showed her.
That was until Brandon's best friend, Bailey, announced her pregnancy with his baby.
The bubble Ginanna had created for herself shattered and she had no choice but to divorce him and make room for the child. A few weeks after leaving, she finds out she's pregnant as well.
When Brandon sees a child that resembles him a few years later, he is determined to get back in Gianna's life and take care of her and their child. Will Gianna allow him back into her life? Will she fall for him again?
9.3
Molly was once the most feared underworld princess, a ruthless hacker who could burn empires with a few keystrokes. But betrayal claimed her life in flames, until fate gave her a second chance.
She wakes up in the fragile body of another Molly, this one a disgraced pop idol, mocked by the media and abandoned by fans. With sharp instincts, a predator's patience, and her past life's cunning, Molly vows to rebuild this new life on her own terms. No more weakness. No more humiliation.
But walking this path means crossing Kelvin Brass, the cold, calculating CEO who never believed in her, and who now finds himself intrigued by her sudden transformation. The world expects the same washed-up starlet. Instead, they see a woman reborn, sharper than before, deadlier than they could ever imagine.
As Molly steps back into the entertainment world, every move shocks those around her. With a mind built for war and survival, she turns stages into battlegrounds, scandals into weapons, and rivals into stepping stones. But even she can't deny the pull of Kelvin Brass, whether as an enemy, an ally, or something dangerously in between.
In a city of lights and lies, Molly must master her double life: an idol rising from ashes by day, and a shadow of her old underworld self by night. One thing is certain, anyone who underestimates her will regret it.
8.9
For fifteen years, I thought my mother had died in a tragic fire.
Then the wealthy Ross family's butler knocked on my door, revealing she was alive—locked away in the psychiatric annex of their massive estate.
I rushed into the lion's den to save her, only to run straight into Graydon Ross, the ruthless billionaire CEO.
He looked at my cheap clothes with pure disgust, convinced I was a bottom-feeding scammer trying to extort his family.
"Throw this bitch out into the snow."
He ordered his armed guards to drag me away, completely cutting off my only chance to see my mentally broken mother.
But as he violently grabbed my collar to throw me out, I saw a custom eagle-head cufflink hanging from his coat pocket.
My blood turned to ice, and a wave of paralyzing terror crashed over me.
Eight months ago, I accidentally slept with a masked stranger in a pitch-black hotel room and fled before dawn.
That cufflink belonged to him.
The man who took my virginity—the Wall Street tyrant I had been hiding from—was Graydon Ross.
If he ever found out I was that woman, he would literally destroy my life.
But to save my mother, I couldn't be thrown out.
When his grandmother suddenly appeared, I dropped to the floor, exposed the dark bruises Graydon had just left on my wrists, and sobbed.
I framed the billionaire for assault to secure my place in the mansion, forcing myself to live right next door to the monster whose bed I had fled.