The Betrayed Heiress And Her Genius Comeback
I skipped my final lab review in Geneva and endured a fourteen-hour flight to surprise my husband for our fourth wedding anniversary.
Instead, looking through the window of our beachfront estate, I saw him playing the perfect, loving father to a "tragic widow's" daughter, kissing the widow with practiced, casual intimacy.
Fleeing in pure panic, I got into a horrific car crash.
Waking up in the VIP hospital room, I kept my eyes shut and heard my husband talking to his best friend right beside my bed.
"She's just a party girl who knows how to swipe a black card. I only play the part because I need her father's proxy vote for the IPO."
"Every time I have to touch her in bed, it feels like a corporate obligation. It makes me sick."
Later, even my own father demanded I step down from my company role and publicly welcome the mistress, just to protect the family's investment in the upcoming ten-billion-dollar IPO.
Four years of marriage and quiet humiliations, all reduced to a calculated lie. They all thought I was just a brainless, hysterical socialite who could be easily manipulated and discarded.
They didn't know that the core anti-aging algorithm his entire empire relied on was secretly built by me.
I calmly pulled out my phone and texted my divorce lawyer.
"I want him bankrupt. On the day his company rings the bell, I am going to burn his entire life to the ground."
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Chapter 3
Morning sunlight slashed through the hospital blinds.
Bridget sat propped up against the pillows. Her iPad rested on her lap. Her fingers flew across the screen, scrolling through heavily encrypted data streams on a dark web server, completely ignoring the dull sting beneath the fresh square bandage the nurse had placed over her right hand where she had ripped out the IV.
The rhythmic clicking of heels echoed in the corridor.
Bridget instantly locked the screen and shoved the iPad under her pillow.
The door swung open. Jayson walked in, wearing a sharp navy suit. Right behind him was Golda, dressed in a pristine Chanel tweed set, holding Pippa's hand.
Jayson walked to the side of the bed. He adjusted his collar, pasting a look of deep concern onto his face. "Does your head still hurt, darling?"
Bridget stared at his perfectly styled hair. Bile rose in the back of her throat.
"I'll live," she said flatly.
Golda stepped forward. She placed a massive bouquet of white lilies on the nightstand. She touched her collarbone, her eyes wide and watery. "We were so terrified when we heard about the crash, Bridget."
Bridget caught the micro-expression. Behind the fake tears, Golda's eyes gleamed with a sharp, triumphant mockery.
Pippa let go of Golda's hand. The little girl ran around the hospital room, waving a plastic toy airplane.
She crashed directly into Bridget's nightstand.
The full glass of warm water tipped over. It shattered on the floor, soaking Bridget's slippers.
Bridget's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to speak.
Jayson moved faster. He scooped Pippa up into his arms, shielding her.
"She's just a child, Bridget," Jayson said sharply, his tone laced with warning. "Don't look at her like that. You'll frighten her."
Bridget let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Am I supposed to smile and applaud while she trashes my room?"
Jayson's jaw clenched. "You're acting like a spoiled brat again. It's exhausting."
He set Pippa down and cleared his throat. He looked down at Bridget with the arrogant authority of a CEO giving an order.
"I've made a decision," Jayson said. "Josh's widow needs stability. I've moved Golda and Pippa into the Tribeca penthouse."
Bridget's blood ran cold. The Tribeca penthouse was the property she had begged Jayson to sell her last year so she could build a private art studio. He had told her it wasn't on the market.
Golda looked down, playing with her fingers. "It's too much, Jayson. But Pippa really needs the school district."
Jayson patted Golda's shoulder. He looked back at Bridget.
"I've already spoken to Archer about it. He agrees that providing for Pippa's education is a worthy use of the family's philanthropic funds. We'll be reallocating a portion of the educational quota."
Bridget stared at him. She didn't blink.
"In your dreams," Bridget said softly.
Jayson's face flushed red. His ego bruised instantly.
"You are incredibly selfish," Jayson raised his voice, pointing a finger at her. "That money is a rounding error for the trust. You have zero compassion."
Bridget held his gaze. "Cline Medical hasn't even gone public yet, and you're already giving away my family's money to your charity cases."
Jayson stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Watch your mouth."
Golda grabbed Jayson's sleeve. She sniffled, her voice trembling. "Please, don't fight because of us. We can move out today."
Jayson grabbed Golda's hand and squeezed it. He glared at Bridget. "Nobody is kicking you out."
Bridget watched his thumb stroke Golda's knuckles. The exact same gesture from the Hamptons.
She leaned back against the pillows. She let her muscles relax, slipping the mask of the brainless socialite perfectly back into place.
"Whatever," Bridget sighed, rolling her eyes. "Just don't touch the limit on my black card."
Jayson sneered. He thought he had won. He wrapped his arm around Golda and guided her out of the room.
The door clicked shut.
Bridget stared at the puddle of water on the floor. In her mind, she had just signed Jayson's death warrant.
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9.0
On their seventh wedding anniversary, Kiley's billionaire husband, Aden, slid a thick stack of papers across the restaurant table.
It was a petition for divorce.
He was leaving her for his college sweetheart. Thanks to a ruthless prenup, Kiley was being thrown out with absolutely nothing.
That very night, their young son Jules was rushed to the ER, bleeding profusely. The doctor's diagnosis was a death sentence: acute leukemia.
When Kiley frantically called Aden for help, he dismissed the emergency as a simple nosebleed.
"I'm not paying for this. Deal with it," Aden sneered, the sound of his mistress giggling in the background.
To force Kiley to sign the divorce papers, Aden froze all her credit cards and canceled their son's health insurance. He refused to pay a single cent for the chemotherapy.
Even Kiley's adoptive parents sided with the wealthy Aden, calling her a burden and telling her to stop fighting him.
Driven to the brink of despair, with a dying child and no money, Kiley didn't understand how a father could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.
Until a news article on a friend's phone caught her eye.
It featured a fallen 9/11 firefighter hero from the ultra-wealthy Whitfield family. The man in the photo looked exactly like Jules, down to the very bone structure.
Kiley's mind raced back to the fertility clinic and the anonymous sperm donor.
Could this dead billionaire hero be her son's biological father?
Looking at her sleeping, fragile boy, Kiley wiped her tears and crushed the divorce papers in her hand.
She was going to find the Whitfield family, save her son, and make Aden lose everything he held dear.
7.2
For three years, I was imprisoned by Anderson Hopper, the monster who forced me to watch my fiancé, Kendall, plummet into a freezing river.
But when I saw the morning news, I realized Kendall wasn't dead. He had returned as Eben Gill, a ruthless tech billionaire.
I risked my life to escape and find him, only to be met with eyes full of absolute hatred.
He publicly humiliated me, dragged me to the exact bridge where he "died," and sneered at the C-section scar on my stomach.
"Anderson Hopper's bastard," he spat, completely unaware that the baby was actually his—the very child Anderson had murdered in the operating room to break me.
To make matters worse, Anderson used Kendall's dying mother as a hostage to force me back into my cage.
I knelt on the freezing asphalt, begging the man I loved to just visit his mother, while he coldly ordered his driver to run me over.
I had lost my baby, my freedom, and my dignity, all to protect him from Anderson's blackmail. Why was I the one being tortured and treated like a traitor?
"Don't think your little kneeling stunt earned you my forgiveness."
He whispered those cruel words before walking away without looking back.
Staring at his cold, retreating figure, the last shred of my love finally turned to ash.
That night, under the cover of a torrential storm, I bypassed the estate's laser grids and walked out into the dark.
9.3
"Adrian, why would you lie to me? Why would you let her push my mum like that?"
Yvonne's voice trembled, holding back tears.
Adrian smirked. "Wake up, Yvonne. You really thought I wanted you when Tricia was right here?"
That was how Adrian-her first crush, the boy she thought cared-chose to humiliate her in front of everyone as she was the cleaner's adopted daughter.
But fate had other plans.
Because the Diamond Belfort brothers-the heirs everyone adored were coming to their school in search of their missing heiress- baby sister. But the queen bee steals the chance that should have been hers. Then again, secrets don't stay buried forever. With her true identity waiting to explode, Yvonne must decide to rise from the ashes, claim her place, and bring down everyone who tried to destroy her.
Because the real heiress doesn't beg.
She takes rather.
Now, Yvonne is done playing small. It's her time to rise, reclaim her crown, and make everyone regret ever doubting her.
8.6
Marrying Theron Draix in a few days was a life long dream come true.
For seventeen years, I'd loved him, revolving my life around him, and in just three days, we should be married.
"Let's break up. I won't be attending the wedding," he said.
My life shattered in that instant.
Finding out he was in love with my adopted sister was worse. They had played me and controlled my emotions.
At the end, Mireya had killed me.
If I was given a second chance, I would never love Theron and never trust Mireya.
9.7
"This is not a game." As I wrapped my arm around her waist, I slipped my hand under her dress.
"What are you doing?" She froze, eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kissing the back of her ear, I whispered, "Do you want me to take it out now?" I rubbed my finger against her pussy. As expected, she was soaking. A blaze of lust and need swept through me. My cock was hard, pressed against her ass. "You're drenched, my love. I know you enjoy it. Stop fighting it. Give in. Submit to your desire."
***
TARA
A family practice forces me to run away from home, leaving me disgraced and my family in shame.
Just when I start making new friends, someone threatens to expose who I am and the person behind my nom de plume. The condition- a contract marriage, the very same reason I fled from.
So, what's so different this time? Mad Shanewood- the achingly handsome, with waving red flags, an irrefutable passion, or a magnetic attraction?
With my secrets still haunting me, now the whole world is watching, and our delicately fragile public image is at stake.
After a glimpse beneath his shallow exterior, there is a damaged soul who makes me feel as if I'm everything to him.
And how is it that the one thing I never wanted has me fighting so hard to keep?
***
MAD
I always get the deal done until my recklessness has thrown the company into a tailspin, derailing my path to a billion-dollar project.
With my image under brutal public scrutiny, marriage is my last straw.
Tara Montimer not only intrigues me. She's selfless, kind-hearted, and sexy as hell. And something deep in her eyes makes me question if I'm worthy to be her husband.
For me, it seems that it's not just fixing my reputation anymore- the entrancing deposed princess didn't only steal my breath away. She penetrates the protective wall around my heart that I built for years.
Our goals may be aligned. But then there's a disapproving father who is a King, a law, and constant threats that prevent us from getting married.
Will this razor-thin edge arrangement be enough to fix what's been broken, or is something between us worth fighting for?
7.4
For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett.
Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid.
When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives.
"Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself."
I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together.
Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company.
He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life.
He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire.
I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer.
"Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant."