
Take My Fiancé, I Take The Empire
8.6 / 10.0
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Eleanor Sinclair always knew her stepmother and stepsister were leeches, but she never expected their betrayal to reach into her private study.
In the dead of night, she caught the family's trusted nanny of twelve years photographing confidential trust documents. The mastermind paying her off was Lillian, Eleanor's stepmother, who had been secretly embezzling estate funds and bribing tutors to deliberately ruin the academic future of Eleanor's younger brother, the only legitimate heir.
Emboldened by their deceit, the parasites grew arrogant. Her stepsister, Isabelle, deliberately flaunted her secret affair with Eleanor’s billionaire fiancé, sobbing fake tears while waiting for Eleanor to suffer a humiliating nervous breakdown.
When the tension finally peaked, Lillian played the victim so perfectly that Eleanor's own father, a powerful U.S. Senator, stormed into the room with a raised hand, ready to strike his own daughter.
"You will apologize to your stepsister immediately! I will not have this family harmony destroyed by your petty jealousy!"
They actually expected her to be a weeping, heartbroken girl. They thought cheap hotel affairs and stolen pennies could outsmart the true Sinclair bloodline. Did they really believe a few fake tears and a weak-willed father could strip her of her empire?
Eleanor didn't feel anger; she felt the cold, detached fascination of a biologist observing doomed insects. She calmly pulled out the forensic audits, locked down the estate's exits, and prepared her stepmother's psychiatric commitment papers. The merciless purge of her family had officially begun.
Take My Fiancé, I Take The Empire Chapter 1
Eleanor Sinclair stood perfectly still in the shadowed hallway.
Her breathing was slow, measured, and entirely silent. Through the partially open heavy mahogany door of her private study, she watched the glow of a smartphone screen illuminate the dark room.
Mrs. Kowalski, the Sinclair family's trusted senior nanny and housekeeper for over a decade, was bent over Eleanor's desk. The older woman's hand trembled slightly as she shifted a leather-bound ledger. The rustling of the thick paper masked the sound of Eleanor's presence.
A soft, electronic click echoed in the quiet room. Another photograph taken. Another bank statement captured.
Eleanor did not feel anger. Anger was a useless, messy emotion. Instead, a cold, clinical calmness settled in her chest. She watched the traitor work with the detached fascination of a biologist observing a doomed insect.
Eleanor shifted her weight. She deliberately brought her diamond-encrusted heel down against the polished hardwood floor.
Crack.
The sharp sound cut through the silence like a gunshot.
Mrs. Kowalski gasped. Her shoulders jerked violently. The smartphone slipped from her sweaty fingers and clattered onto the mahogany desk. She spun around, her eyes wide and white with sudden, paralyzing terror.
Eleanor stepped fully into the light of the study. Her expression was completely blank. Her posture was flawless.
"Miss Eleanor," Mrs. Kowalski stammered. Her voice cracked. She forced a wet, trembling smile onto her face. "I was just... I noticed the antique desk was gathering dust. I came in to wipe it down."
Eleanor ignored the pathetic lie. She walked slowly into the room.
With every step Eleanor took forward, Mrs. Kowalski instinctively took a step backward, until her spine hit the edge of the bookshelves. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.
Eleanor reached the desk. She picked up the dropped smartphone. The screen was still unlocked. The camera app was open, displaying a crystal-clear image of a confidential trust document.
Eleanor pressed the lock button and slid the device into the pocket of her tailored charcoal suit.
"My phone," Mrs. Kowalski whispered, reaching out a shaking hand in a blind panic.
Eleanor stopped her with a single, dead-eyed stare. The sheer weight of the look froze the older woman in place. Her hand dropped back to her side.
Eleanor had suspected the housekeeper's shifting loyalties for weeks. The black leather folder she had carried into the room contained the ultimate contingency plan, drafted by her private attorneys just that morning. She hadn't expected to use it tonight, but she was always prepared. Eleanor opened the folder. She pulled out a thick stack of crisp, white paper. The legal document was heavy.
She tossed it onto the desk. The heavy thud made Mrs. Kowalski flinch.
The older woman's eyes darted to the top of the page. Non-Disclosure and Complete Severance Agreement.
Mrs. Kowalski's breathing became shallow, rapid pants. The color drained entirely from her face. She realized, in that split second, that she was completely trapped.
"Twelve thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars," Eleanor said softly. Her voice was smooth, devoid of any inflection. "That is the exact amount my stepmother, Lillian, has deposited into your secondary checking account over the last six months."
Mrs. Kowalski's knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing onto the rug.
"You thought I didn't check the household payroll accounts," Eleanor continued, her tone conversational but laced with absolute poison. "You thought Lillian could protect you."
Eleanor reached into her jacket and produced a silver Montblanc pen. She uncapped it with a crisp, metallic click. She held it out.
"Please, Miss Eleanor," Mrs. Kowalski began to sob. Genuine tears spilled over her wrinkled cheeks. "I need this job. I raised your brother. I have served this family for twelve years. Please."
Eleanor leaned in close. She could smell the sour scent of fear radiating from the woman.
"Loyalty is binary, Mrs. Kowalski," Eleanor whispered. "You are either entirely mine, or you are my enemy. And betrayal requires absolute destruction."
Eleanor straightened her posture, looking down at the weeping woman.
"You have two choices," Eleanor stated. "Sign the paper. Or I call the police right now and have you arrested for corporate espionage. Following that, I will file a civil lawsuit that will bankrupt you, your children, and your grandchildren. You will die in debt."
Mrs. Kowalski's hands shook violently as she reached for the silver pen. Her fingers could barely grip the metal. She pressed the tip to the signature line. The ink blotted slightly as she dragged the pen across the paper, leaving a jagged, desperate signature. A single tear fell, staining the bottom corner of the page.
She had just signed away her freedom to ever speak a word about the Sinclair family again.
Eleanor smoothly pulled the document away. She checked the signature, her face impassive. She placed the paper securely back into her leather folder.
Without looking at the woman, Eleanor reached across the desk and pressed the intercom button.
"Security to the main study. Immediately," Eleanor ordered.
Within ten seconds, the heavy doors swung open. Two large security guards in identical black suits stepped into the room. They stood at rigid attention behind the sobbing housekeeper.
"Escort Mrs. Kowalski off the property," Eleanor commanded. "She has five minutes. She is forbidden from packing any personal belongings. Everything in her room stays."
"My clothes!" Mrs. Kowalski cried out, her voice rising in panic. "My coats!"
The guards did not hesitate. They each grabbed one of her arms with firm, unyielding grips. They hoisted her up and forced her toward the door.
Clara Hayes, Eleanor's personal assistant, appeared in the doorway just as the guards dragged the woman out. Clara held a glowing tablet against her chest.
"Clara," Eleanor said, adjusting her silk scarf perfectly around her neck. "Freeze her severance package entirely. Cancel her health insurance effective immediately."
Clara nodded efficiently. She tapped the screen of her tablet. She was completely unfazed by the brutal destruction of the senior staff member. "Done, Eleanor."
Eleanor walked out of the study, following a few paces behind the guards. She wanted to ensure the entire household saw this.
As they moved down the grand hallway, maids and butlers stopped in their tracks. They pressed themselves against the walls. They lowered their heads in absolute silence. The atmosphere in the corridor grew thick with a sudden, suffocating fear. The staff realized instantly that the power dynamic in the house had shifted.
Eleanor did not look at any of them. She signaled that the purge was complete by simply turning her attention away.
She walked past the terrified staff, heading straight for the sweeping marble staircase that led down to the grand foyer. It was time to review the morning mail.
Continue Reading
Take My Fiancé, I Take The Empire of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels

7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.

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.

7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.

9.0
Allegra woke up in a sterile alien hospital with no memory, no ID chip, and a terrifying snow leopard General claiming responsibility for her crash.
But a routine ID scan at a local boutique shattered her fragile cover.
The machine shrieked, flashing a fatal red warning: NO NEURAL LINK DETECTED.
She was a "Ghost"—an illegal, unregistered biological entity in a ruthless Hybrid Empire.
The boutique locked down instantly. Heavily armed police swarmed the plaza, laser sights painting her chest red.
She was dragged into a subterranean military black site, where a manic geneticist tested her blood and discovered the impossible truth.
She wasn't a Hybrid. She was a pure Homo Sapiens—an extinct race whose mere presence could cure the Hybrids' fatal Psyche collapse.
To keep her all to himself, the scientist lied to the General, branding her a toxic, mutating bio-weapon.
Forced by Imperial law, the General abandoned her to the scientist's cruel custody.
Allegra was locked inside a reinforced glass cage in the deepest isolation ward, waiting to be dissected.
She huddled on the floor, trembling in absolute despair.
She didn't belong in this nightmare world. Why was she being treated like a monster? Why did this madman look at her like a prize to be torn apart?
Watching the scientist's fox ears twitch in manic stress outside the glass, her human empathy momentarily overrode her terror.
She stood up and pressed her palm against the glass, perfectly aligning it with his.
"Don't be so nervous, Mr. Fox."
Instantly, an invisible wave of human resonance flooded his core, shattering his genetic madness.
The terrifying predator was reduced to a whimpering, devoted puppy, pressing himself against the window in absolute submission.
Allegra slowly pulled her hand back, her heart skipping a beat.
Well, she thought, that changes things.

8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.

7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.








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