The Almighty Tycoon Returns For Her
For a whole year, April believed her billionaire husband, Bartholomew, abandoned her in Europe the day after their arranged wedding. She hated him so much she drunkenly prayed for his death at a club.
But he suddenly returned that very night, catching her red-handed. Instead of a divorce, he trapped her, threatening to bankrupt her bloodsucking family unless she moved into his penthouse to play the devoted wife.
Forced to comply, she attended a dinner with her toxic family. Her stepmother deliberately served her lobster—knowing April had a fatal allergy.
"Eat up, darling. I know hospital food is dreadful."
When April refused and exposed their massive gambling debts, her furious father raised his hand to strike her across the face.
But it was Bartholomew, the ruthless tyrant she despised, who caught her father's arm and snapped his wrist.
"If you ever try to touch my wife again, I will erase your family by sunrise."
April was completely stunned. Why was he defending her with such murderous rage? And why did he keep a cheap paper airplane she had made at age six preserved under a glass dome in his study?
The answer came that night. When Bartholomew stepped out of the shower, April saw the massive, jagged surgical scar sliced directly over his heart. He hadn't run away; he had been fighting for his life on an operating table. Staring at the man who had silently survived just to come back to her, April made her choice. She was going to uncover the truth behind his surgery and their past.
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Chapter 8
The late afternoon sun bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse walk-in closet.
April stood in front of the full-length mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to fasten a heavy, blindingly bright diamond earring. She was using the jewelry as armor, trying to mask the knot of anxiety twisting in her stomach. Tonight was the Poole family dinner.
Bartholomew walked into the closet. He was wearing a bespoke, midnight-black suit that fit his broad shoulders flawlessly.
He saw her struggling with the clasp of her diamond necklace. Without a word, he stepped behind her and took the cold metal from her hands.
He lowered his head. His warm breath fanned across the sensitive skin of her nape. His large, calloused fingers deftly secured the clasp, intentionally letting his knuckles drag against her bare skin.
April flinched as if she had been burned. She met his dark gaze in the mirror, her heart doing a violent flip. She quickly looked away. "Thank you," she muttered.
They rode the elevator down to the garage. The bulletproof Maybach was waiting.
The moment they slid into the backseat and the privacy partition rolled up, the tense, quiet atmosphere vanished. It was a war room now.
Bartholomew opened an iPad resting on his lap. He pulled up a detailed dossier.
"Gregory will use the excuse of celebrating my recovery to force the port tariff reduction proposal at the dinner table," Bartholomew said, his voice cold and analytical.
April let out a bitter laugh. "And my stepmother, Lorraine, will put on her 'loving mother' act to guilt-trip me into agreeing."
Bartholomew turned his head, his eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. "How far do you want to go tonight?"
April didn't hesitate. "I want to rip their fake masks off. I don't want them getting a single cent from Reynolds Group."
Bartholomew's lips curved into a dangerous smile. He closed the iPad.
"Good. But just in case things get out of hand, we need a safe word." He looked down at her legs. "If they back you into a corner you can't handle, kick my left shin twice under the table. I will physically remove you from the house."
A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in April's chest. No one had ever offered to protect her like this. But her pride made her lift her chin. "I can handle them."
The Maybach cruised down the tree-lined avenues of the Upper East Side, surrounded by century-old townhouses.
Suddenly, Bartholomew reached across the center console. His large hand clamped down over April's cold, nervous fingers.
April gasped, trying to yank her hand back, but he intertwined their fingers, locking her in a grip that was firm but not painful.
"We are playing a happily married couple," he said, staring straight ahead. "Start getting used to the physical contact."
April gave up struggling. She let her hand rest in his, feeling the rough calluses on his palm and the steady, grounding heat radiating from his skin.
The car pulled up to the extravagant French-style townhouse of the Poole family. The butler was already waiting by the door.
Bartholomew stepped out first. He turned and offered his hand to April, playing the role of the devoted husband to perfection.
From the corner of his eye, Bartholomew spotted the flash of a paparazzi camera hidden in the bushes. He didn't flinch. He wanted the world to see that April belonged to him.
April took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and looped her arm through his.
The heavy front doors swung open. Lorraine, dripping in gaudy jewelry, rushed forward with a sickeningly sweet smile.
Lorraine opened her arms to hug April, but Bartholomew smoothly shifted his body, blocking Lorraine completely. He offered a stiff, formal handshake instead.
Lorraine's smile cracked for a second before she awkwardly shook his hand and ushered them inside.
In the living room, April's stepsister, Sloane, was lounging on the sofa, posing with a limited-edition Birkin. When she saw Bartholomew, her eyes lit up like a predator seeing meat.
Sloane pushed her chest out, lowering her voice to a breathy purr. "Hi, brother-in-law." Her eyes raked over his body shamelessly.
Acid clawed up April's throat. She clenched her jaw, ready to snap.
But Bartholomew didn't even blink. He looked right through Sloane as if she were a piece of ugly furniture. He completely ignored her existence.
He leaned down, his lips brushing April's ear. "Looks like the prey is eager to jump into the slaughterhouse," he whispered, a dark amusement lacing his tone.
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7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.
7.4
I single-handedly saved my family's corporate empire from a hostile takeover, securing our market share for the next decade.
But my grandfather didn't see me as a hero. He saw me as a flawed piece of inventory.
To calm the board and fix the reputation I supposedly ruined, he forced me into an arranged marriage, auctioning me off to the highest bidder.
Desperate, I turned to my childhood friend, Egnacio, the only person who ever promised to protect me.
But instead of saving me, he publicly humiliated me. He used my desperation as a networking opportunity, pitching my arranged marriage as a business deal to a ruthless private equity king named Dexter Mathews.
Later that night, I caught Egnacio holding my cruel cousin in his arms.
"What man wants to be with a woman who looks at you like she's planning a hostile takeover?"
Hearing him mock my pain shattered the last bit of hope I had.
I realized I was never family to them. I was just a sharp knife, used to cut down their enemies and then traded for cash before I got dull.
The heartbreak vanished, replaced by a cold, violent rage.
I didn't break, and I didn't run.
Instead, I got into the back of Dexter Mathews's car. He had watched my family tear me apart, but he didn't see a broken pawn. He saw a queen.
And together, we were going to burn their entire empire to the ground.
8.2
One night was supposed to be her escape. After catching her ex-boyfriend in the arms of her treacherous stepsister on her twenty-first birthday, Valerie sought the only mercy she could find: the numbing sting of alcohol. But the morning brought no peace-only a shattered spirit, a body marked by a stranger, and a memory wiped clean against her will.
Months later, Valerie is a woman reborn from the wreckage, landing a high-paying role at the prestigious Noir Group. But the dream quickly shifts into a polished nightmare. Her new boss is Ellan Noir-a ruthless CEO whose name commands the city and whose eyes hold an unmistakable, familiar darkness.
When a mistake in the executive lift threatens her career, Ellan offers a devil's bargain: a contract of total submission. To save her best friend Nora's failing heart, Valerie must become his private property, bound to his beck and call 24/7. As office politics bleed into a dangerous game of obsession, Valerie realizes the man who rules her career is the same shadow who owns her past.
Dragged into his world of chaos, Valerie discovers a truth that changes everything She decides to collide with Ellan's business rival y get revenge until she realises she is carrying his child. As she struggles to survive the predators in the Noir family, Ellan fights for his life in a hospital bed. With a baby's life hanging in the balance after a lethal post-birth injection, Valerie must decide if she can save the man who broke her-or if their twisted fate will end in tragedy.
9.3
For three years, Dara endured endless humiliation to be the perfect wife to billionaire Donavon Monroe.
But on their third anniversary, which was also her birthday, Donavon coldly threw divorce papers on the dining table.
He wanted her gone for his returning childhood sweetheart, completely ignoring the blistering burn on Dara's hand—a cruel injury intentionally caused by his brother just hours ago.
When Dara tearfully reminded him how she had bled and almost died to save his life three years ago, Donavon looked at her with pure disgust.
"I have zero interest in looking at the ugly scars you picked up in whatever slum you crawled out of."
He accused her of fabricating a savior complex just to secure a ring, perfectly content to let his mother and brother treat her like a glorified maid.
Dara's heart completely shattered.
She had sacrificed her life and dignity for a ruthless capitalist who viewed her as nothing but disposable trash.
With her last shred of pride, she signed the papers, ready to leave this suffocating nightmare forever.
But that night, a freak lightning storm struck the estate.
When Dara opened her eyes the next morning, she felt incredibly heavy and her center of gravity was completely wrong.
She looked in the mirror and saw Donavon's cold, chiseled face staring back at her in absolute terror.
They had swapped bodies.
Now, she held the absolute power of the Monroe empire, and Donavon was finally going to experience his family's vicious abuse firsthand.
8.8
I've always been the unwanted child-the invisible one. The rebel no one ever tried to understand.
And yet, I never resented my perfect, beloved sister. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy.
But one cruel twist of fate-and a devastating betrayal by someone I trusted-changed everything.
I woke up in a stranger's bed, losing the one thing I had guarded so carefully. Back then, I thought that was my greatest loss.
I was wrong.
Because not long after, my sister introduced me to her fiancé.
And the man standing in front of me... was the same stranger from that night.
Now he haunts me-day and night, in my dreams and in my waking hours. And just when I start to believe the nightmare might finally fade with the dawn, Alan walks back into my life.
This time, he has no intention of letting me forget.
Not the insult I dealt him.
...or that one unforgettable night.
7.3
Six years ago, my father tore up my mother's trust fund and threw me out into a freezing New York storm.
Crawling in the mud with a high fever, I was nearly run over by a massive Rolls-Royce.
The man in the backseat, ruthless billionaire Hiram Houston, looked at my bleeding face with absolute disgust.
"Throw her in the trunk."
He coldly ordered his driver to lock me in suffocating darkness and dump me behind a sketchy private clinic in Queens like garbage.
I survived that night, completely abandoned by my family.
But the ultimate cruel joke came when I realized the anonymous sperm donor I later used from that exact same clinic gave my son a pair of piercing, ice-blue eyes.
For six years, I clawed my way up to become an untouchable lawyer and designer.
I raised my son Julian alone, publicly humiliated my abusive father, and thought I had buried the monster of my past forever.
But today, during a tense corporate negotiation, my uncle accidentally showed Hiram a picture of my little boy.
The ruthless corporate butcher stared at a child who looked exactly like a mirror reflection of his own youth.
"Boss... he looks exactly like you."
I locked my apartment door, my body shaking with silent sobs as I slid down to the floor.
He ordered a full background check on me, and now he knows the truth.
The man who once left me for dead is coming for my son.