The Billionaire Heir's Secret Disguised Queen
Juliette was an agriculture major desperately trying to get top-tier CRISPR potato data from Adrian Castillo, the untouchable physics genius and wealthy heir.
But to get it, she was dragged to a high-end shooting club, where Adrian suddenly lost all his legendary motor skills, shooting zeroes and acting like a helpless nerd.
His clumsy act made Juliette a target. Blair, a wealthy heiress, cornered her, mocking her mud-stained cargo pants and calling her a pathetic dirt-girl.
"If you lose, you leave this club and never speak to Adrian again."
Blair challenged her to a professional air pistol match. The crowd of elites laughed, waiting for the farm girl to humiliate herself.
Even worse, Adrian just stood behind her, pretending to be terrified of Blair and whispering that his sinuses would swell shut if Juliette didn't save him.
The mockery and judgment felt suffocating. Everyone thought she was just a desperate fangirl who didn't even know how to hold a gun.
But they didn't know the dark trauma she had buried years ago. And she didn't understand why Adrian, a man who could supposedly shoot a coin at eight hundred meters in a sandstorm, was deliberately playing weak to push her to the firing line. What was his sick endgame?
To secure her experimental fertilizer, Juliette finally stopped hiding.
She picked up the competition pistol, locked her perfect stance, and fired ten flawless shots.
108.5. Total, undeniable annihilation.
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Chapter 2
The California sun beat down on Juliette's neck, making the collar of her t-shirt stick to her skin.
She gripped a printed gene-editing authorization form in her sweaty hand. She shoved her way through the dense crowd of the campus carnival.
A giant stuffed bear suddenly swung into her face. She swatted it away, her frustration peaking.
Then, she saw him.
Adrian stood by the shooting game booth. He wore a plain black t-shirt that stretched tight across his broad shoulders. He was staring down at a neon-orange plastic rifle in his hands, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
Juliette marched up to the wooden counter. She slammed the authorization form down on the peeling paint.
"Sign it," she demanded, out of breath. "And send the data."
Adrian looked up. His dark eyes looked tired. He let out a heavy sigh and pointed to the digital scoreboard behind the booth operator.
It read a massive, blinking zero.
The booth operator, a guy with a thick beard, snorted loudly. "Worst aim I've ever seen, man. Didn't even clip the paper."
Juliette stared at the scoreboard. Then she looked at Adrian, the physics prodigy who supposedly never failed at anything. Her jaw went slack.
Adrian set the plastic gun down on the counter. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking completely defeated.
"I'm in a terrible mood," Adrian said, his voice flat. "I don't think I can accurately recall those complex gene sequences right now."
Juliette's stomach dropped. The data was slipping away.
She slammed both hands on the counter, leaning in. "What do you need? Coffee? A nap? Tell me."
Adrian looked at her hands, then up to her eyes. "Come with me to the indoor range off-campus. Let me get my pride back with a real gun. Then I'll email you everything."
The word 'range' hit Juliette like a physical blow.
Her spine locked up. The carnival noise faded, replaced by the phantom echo of a starting buzzer and the blinding glare of stadium lights. Her breathing hitched.
Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her freeze.
He immediately picked up his phone, feigning indifference. "Never mind. We can talk another day."
He turned to walk away.
The thought of losing the data snapped Juliette out of her panic. She reached out and grabbed his wrist hard.
"Fine," she blurted out, her voice louder than necessary. "I'll go."
Adrian stopped. He didn't pull his arm away. Instead, he twisted his wrist, his large hand loosely wrapping around hers.
A tiny, triumphant smile touched the corner of his lips before he masked it. "Let's go."
Juliette followed him to the parking lot. She climbed into the passenger seat of his black SUV.
The interior smelled strongly of cedar and expensive leather. The scent grounded her slightly, easing the tight knot in her chest.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a high-end shooting club in the Los Angeles suburbs.
Juliette stared at the thick soundproof walls of the building. Her fingernails dug into the fabric of her seatbelt.
Adrian opened the heavy glass doors. The lobby was quiet, the gunfire muffled by the tactical barriers.
Gregory Bernard and Jax, already in their shooting gear, were waiting for their reserved lane on a leather sofa near the front desk, drinking energy drinks.
When they saw Adrian walk in with Juliette, Gregory choked, spraying his drink across the coffee table.
Gregory jumped up, wiping his mouth. He circled Adrian and Juliette, his eyes wide. "Castillo? You brought a girl to the range? Why?"
Adrian shot Gregory a cold, warning glare. "Shut up, Gregory."
Adrian walked to the front desk to register for a lane.
Juliette stood awkwardly by the sofa. She rubbed her arms, feeling the chill of the air conditioning. "I'm just here for an academic exchange. I hate shooting."
Gregory scoffed, leaning in close to her. "Good luck. His motor skills are a disaster. It's embarrassing."
Adrian walked back holding two pairs of safety glasses and earmuffs. He handed a set to Juliette.
As she took them, his fingers brushed against her temple. He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Juliette's breath caught in her throat. Her skin burned where he touched her. She quickly shoved the earmuffs onto her head to hide her red ears.
They walked into the active shooting bay. The smell of gunpowder hit Juliette's nose, making her stomach clench.
Adrian picked up a standard .22 caliber pistol. He stepped up to the line.
His shoulders were stiff. His grip on the gun was entirely wrong.
Juliette stood behind the yellow safety line. Her hands twitched. Every instinct in her body screamed to step forward and fix his terrible posture. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself.
Adrian took a deep breath. He pulled the trigger.
Bang. The shot went wide, punching a hole in the paper target's empty border, scoring a definitive zero but at least hitting the right zip code.
Gregory slapped the protective glass partition, howling with laughter. "Still completely useless, Castillo!"
Adrian slowly lowered the gun. He turned around to look at Juliette.
His dark eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. He looked like a kicked puppy waiting for a pat on the head.
Juliette looked at his flawless face. The last bit of her defensive wall crumbled.
She let out a soft sigh. He really was just a helpless nerd outside of a classroom.
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7.9
June was an ordinary architect struggling to pay rent, completely estranged from her high-society mother.
But one night, she was kidnapped and beaten in an abandoned warehouse by Gage Becker, the city's most ruthless billionaire, who demanded payback for her mother's sins.
Gage pointed a high-definition camera at June's battered face and video-called her mother, threatening to release the footage and ruin her upcoming billion-dollar wedding.
"I will never throw away a billion-dollar marriage for a useless daughter."
Her mother's cold voice echoed through the warehouse before the line went dead.
From that moment, Gage systematically destroyed June's life. She was publicly humiliated and forced to hack off her own hair with a cigar cutter. She was blacklisted from every firm in the city, evicted by her landlord, and violently mugged in a freezing New York blizzard.
Curled up in an icy tunnel waiting to die, June felt a suffocating despair. She hadn't spoken to her mother in months. Why did she have to endure this hell for a woman who didn't even care if she lived or died? Why was a monster like Gage so obsessed with driving her to the grave?
When Gage's armored Maybach pulled up, he stepped into the snow to mock her, waiting for her to finally surrender and beg for his mercy.
But the absolute humiliation snapped the last thread of June's sanity.
Instead of crying, she lunged forward with feral energy and sank her teeth directly into the devil's flesh.
8.3
My husband watched as my skin melted, scalded by boiling soup, yet his hands were busy comforting my attacker. Five years of marriage, built on a foundation of my family's power, crumbled with a single, brutal act of betrayal. He bought me off with a penthouse and a trust fund, but I tore out my IV and threw his charity back in his face.
It was our fifth anniversary, but my husband, Ethan, remained distant, avoiding any talk of Chicago or the mafia protection my family once offered him. He then pushed a black velvet box across the table.
Inside was a Separation and Property Division Agreement, not a diamond. He told me to sign for Ilene's security, offering millions. When I refused, Ilene hurled boiling soup. Ethan shielded her, not me, as the scalding liquid melted my dress.
With second-degree burns, he blamed me, ordering me from our home for Ilene’s comfort. My family saved him, yet he sacrificed my body and marriage for another woman.
The love I felt turned to ash. What kind of debt demanded my flesh and marriage?
I ripped the IV from my arm, hurling his "charity" keys back. My diamond ring placed on the agreement, I walked away. From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other.
9.1
My husband, Dante Moretti, the feared Underboss, signed the divorce papers I slipped him without a glance. Too busy texting his true love, Sofia, he was blind to the annulment decree ending everything. The Reaper couldn't see the death of his own marriage.
For three years, I was Elena, his silent wife, the "Caged Canary," cleaning his messes while meticulously planning my escape from our loveless world.
He dismissed me for Sofia's every whim, publicly shaming me after a past love letter was read, then abandoning me again for her fake crisis.
That night, he violently shoved me against a wall, leaving me bleeding and concussed, rushing instead to protect Sofia. Discarded and injured, my invisible love became a weapon against me.
His crushing blindness, the cold realization I was a mere placeholder, fueled a profound injustice. How could he be so lethal, yet oblivious to his wife, favoring the one who betrayed him?
With chilling resolve, I uploaded Sofia's confession, initiated a massive financial transfer dismantling his empire, and staged my own death. Under a new identity, I fled to San Francisco, ready to build my power, far from his bloody, deceitful world.
7.6
Top DEA agent Kaitlynn Bruce woke up to a heavy, chemical lethargy, only to realize she was trapped in the body of a weak, abused war widow.
Before she could even process her new reality, she heard her sister-in-law counting cash, selling her unconscious body to a local thug for a measly two hundred dollars.
The thug dragged her new seven-year-old son, Cason, into the bedroom.
"Mommy!"
When the boy reached out, the man brutally kicked his small body into a wooden doorframe, leaving him gasping and bleeding on the floor.
Memories flooded Kaitlynn's mind. Her predecessor was a pathetic doormat whose husband's military pension had been bled dry by these greedy in-laws, leaving her children to starve and suffer endless abuse.
But as Kaitlynn looked at the bleeding boy's dark, unnervingly alert eyes, a chilling piece of DEA intelligence clicked in her mind.
Cason Richmond.
The name, the town, the abusive aunt—it all matched the classified files of the "Director of the Hive," the most ruthless and feared cartel puppet master in the criminal underworld.
How could this battered, starving child be destined to become the ultimate monster she used to hunt?
The original widow's tragic death was supposed to be the catalyst that pushed this boy into total darkness.
But Kaitlynn Bruce was not a victim.
Adrenaline burning through the drugs, she cracked the thug's neck with a brass lamp and choked the sister-in-law against the wall.
Looking down at the boy who was supposed to become a global nightmare, she made a vow. She was going to rewrite his script, even if she had to burn the whole world down to do it.
7.6
I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it."
8.0
Madeline slammed the prenuptial agreement onto the table, forcing Danielle to sign herself away as a "blood bag" bride.
To secure her mother's safety, Danielle was sold to the ruthless, comatose billionaire Deforest Stuart. She kept her head down, perfectly playing the role of a terrified, broken mute.
But on her wedding night, Deforest's sister set a vicious trap, dragging Danielle to a hotel to be ruined by a sleazy investor.
Danielle was prepared to escape, but the hotel door was suddenly smashed open by a massive figure.
It wasn't the investor. It was her comatose husband, Deforest, temporarily awakened by a violent, drug-induced rage.
In the pitch-black room, he pinned her down, mistaking her scent for a ghost from his past, and violently claimed her.
She fled before dawn, only to be blinded by camera flashes.
His sister dragged her back to the Stuart manor, ripping her collar open under the chandelier to expose the dark hickeys on her neck.
"Throw this shameless whore out into the street!" the matriarch ordered.
Danielle's eyes grew cold. If they kicked her out now, her years of planning to tear this rotten family apart would be completely destroyed.
No one believed that the monster who assaulted her was the very man lying perfectly still in the medical wing.
Playing the frantic mute, Danielle dragged the family to his bedroom.
Right as the guards reached for her, she launched herself onto the bed, crushing her weight directly onto Deforest's chest.
A second later, the "comatose" tyrant's eyes snapped open with murderous rage, and her real game of revenge finally began.