
The Billionaire Hunting His Ghost Wife
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For three years, I was trapped in a paper marriage to a billionaire I had never met, until my father forced me to finally visit his hotel suite.
But when I walked in, I found my husband, Bryton Lott, heavily drugged by my own father. Stripped of all reason, Bryton violently pinned me down and took my innocence, making me a pawn in my father's sick scheme to force a pregnancy and save his bankrupt company.
After escaping his feral grip, I overheard Bryton call my father. He called me a useless, invisible wife, vowing to hand me divorce papers the second he saw my face. The nightmare didn't end there. When I brought a priceless antique jade bracelet to my mother's birthday, she slapped me across the face in front of the entire elite crowd. My stepsister publicly accused me of selling my body. Hiding in the shadows, I even heard my mother admit she wished I was dead, only keeping me around to exploit my marriage.
I had played the obedient, impoverished daughter for years, enduring their endless abuse just to protect my grandmother's legacy. Why did my own flesh and blood treat me like a sacrificial lamb to be sold and destroyed?
The last thread holding my heart together completely snapped. I left the multi-million dollar bracelet on the cold stone sill and walked out into the freezing night. Snapping my everyday SIM card in half, I pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and activated my true identity as the underground world's top operative, "King."
"Run a full hostile intelligence sweep on Apocalypse Corp."
The Billionaire Hunting His Ghost Wife Chapter 1
"You will go to that suite, Kaliyah, or you can kiss your grandmother's trust fund goodbye."
The memory of Preston's voice played on a loop in her head. Kaliyah Acevedo stepped out of the elevator. The thick carpet of the Elysium Hotel's top floor absorbed the sound of her footsteps. She took a deep breath. The air in her lungs felt like crushed glass. Her fingers gripped the cheap leather of her clutch so hard her knuckles turned a stark, bone white.
She walked down the long, silent corridor. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Three years of a paper marriage to a man she had never met. Now, her father was forcing this meeting. She stopped in front of the presidential suite. She raised her fist to knock.
The heavy carved wooden door was already cracked open.
Kaliyah pushed it. The hinges made no sound. The entryway was dark. The only light came from the dim sconces on the walls. The air inside hit her face. It was unnaturally hot. A thick, suffocating heat that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.
"Bryton?" she called out. Her voice was barely a whisper.
The only answer was a heavy, ragged breath from the shadows.
She stepped carefully past the foyer. She walked around a large decorative screen. A man's suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor. A silk tie was discarded a few feet away.
A large, burning hot hand shot out from the darkness.
Long fingers wrapped around her wrist like an iron vice. The heat of his skin seared through her thin blouse. Before she could even gasp, a brutal force yanked her forward. She crashed into a wall of solid muscle.
The heavy scent of aged whiskey and raw male sweat flooded her senses. It choked the air out of her lungs.
She pushed her hands against his chest. His muscles were rigid and slick with sweat. He was a furnace.
Bryton Lott slammed her back against the cold wall. The impact knocked the breath out of her. His eyes were bloodshot. The pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris. He could not focus on her face. He just stared blindly at her silhouette.
He let out a low, guttural curse. The sound was thick with absolute agony and blind hunger.
"I am your..." Kaliyah opened her mouth to speak.
His large hand snapped up. His fingers clamped around her jaw, forcing her mouth shut. The grip was punishing.
His mouth crashed down on hers. It was not a kiss. It was a violent collision. His teeth scraped against her bottom lip. The taste of copper bloomed in her mouth. She hit his shoulders with her free hand. She punched the hard muscle of his back.
He did not even flinch. He grabbed both of her wrists in one massive hand and pinned them above her head against the wallpaper.
His free hand grabbed the collar of her silk blouse. He pulled. The fabric tore. Buttons popped off and hit the hardwood floor like tiny bullets.
The cold air of the room hit her bare skin. Kaliyah shivered violently. The involuntary movement only made the man more feral.
His breathing was entirely out of control. His skin was burning up. Kaliyah realized it instantly. He was heavily drugged.
She twisted her hips. She dropped her weight, trying to use a close-quarters combat sweep to take his legs out. It was a move that had dropped men twice her size during her operative training.
Bryton simply shifted his massive frame. He pinned her legs with his knee. The drug pumping through his veins gave him terrifying strength. Her violent thrashing seemed only to stoke the chemical fire in his blood, making his movements more powerful and entirely uncontrollable.
He bent down and scooped her up. He threw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
Kaliyah slammed her fists into his back. He ignored it. He took long, heavy strides across the room and kicked the bathroom door open.
He tossed her onto the wide marble vanity.
The stone was freezing. The shock of the cold marble against her bare back made her gasp. Bryton pressed his burning body against hers, trapping her on the counter. The extreme temperature difference made her stomach knot.
His arm hit the shower handle behind her. Freezing water blasted out of the overhead fixture. It soaked them both in seconds.
The icy water plastered her hair to her face. It did nothing to cool the fire in his blood. The water only made his grip tighter. His eyes darkened with pure, unhinged possession.
A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her body.
Kaliyah bit down hard on her own lip. Her teeth broke the skin. Warm blood mixed with the freezing water running down her chin. Tears spilled from her eyes, instantly washed away by the shower.
Bryton froze for a fraction of a second. His body tensed as if registering her lack of experience. But the chemical wave in his brain drowned out any rational thought. The storm took over completely.
Time lost its meaning under the freezing downpour.
When it finally ended, the drug's peak crashed. Bryton's massive body went entirely slack. He collapsed onto the wet floor beside the large bathtub, falling into a dead, unnatural sleep.
Kaliyah lay on the cold marble. Every muscle in her body screamed in pain. Her chest heaved. She pushed herself up. Her arms shook so badly she almost slipped on the wet stone.
She looked down at the man on the floor. His face was striking, all sharp jawlines and straight nose. But to her, he was a monster.
A cold, heavy block of humiliation settled in her stomach. She grabbed her torn, soaked clothes from the floor. She pulled them on with numb fingers.
She turned toward the bathroom door.
Footsteps echoed in the outer hallway. Heavy, fast, and accompanied by the sound of men talking.
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The Billionaire Hunting His Ghost Wife 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

8.6
I was the youngest Paladin in history, the absolute pride of the Azure Blade.
But after a disastrous mission in the snow, I was falsely accused of slaughtering my own squad.
Grand Master Bernardo Rowe didn't just exile me; he surgically severed my connection to the magic Aether, turning me into a crippled mortal.
Desperate to survive, I tried to climb the Holy Stairs to reclaim my legendary sword, "Rebellion."
Instead of answering my call, my own blade shrieked in absolute rejection and blasted me down the thousand stone steps.
My bones snapped like dry twigs, and I was left in a pool of my own blood.
The pilgrims laughed at me. The guards declared me a lost cause and left me to rot in the dirt.
I should have died there, betrayed by the Order and the holy magic I once served.
But a silent, massive laborer named Cato Sims dragged my mangled body into the shadows.
He healed my shattered skeleton in mere days with impossible skill, yet he allowed lowly servants to spit on him and beat him just to keep my presence hidden.
I didn't understand why my holy sword had abandoned me, and I understood even less why this stranger was protecting a condemned criminal.
When I finally snapped and demanded to know his price for saving my life, he didn't ask for money or my body.
"The mountain does not forget its debts. I am reclaiming what was taken from it."
Staring into his unyielding eyes, I realized my exile wasn't the end, but the beginning of a terrifying truth.

9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."

9.0
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal.
Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer.
To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie.
I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative.
"We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates."
To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real.

8.5
Five years ago, Nina Hale lost everything... her family, her reputation, and the man she once loved. Betrayed by her own sister and abandoned by those she trusted most, she disappeared without a trace.
Now she's back.
With a new identity and a burning determination, Nina is ready to reclaim her life and chase the dream she once gave up: becoming a star actress. But her return awakens old enemies, and her scheming sister Lydia is determined to ruin her again.
Just when Nina thinks things can't get worse, she's caught in another trap... and unexpectedly crosses paths with a quiet, lonely little boy.
Ethan Grant hasn't spoken in years.
Feeling responsible for him, Nina agrees to stay and help the child come out of his shell. But she didn't expect Ethan's dangerously charming father, Lucas Grant, to enter the picture.
Cold, powerful, and impossible to read, Lucas slowly finds himself drawn to the woman who brightens his son's world.
What begins as a simple act of kindness soon turns into something far more complicated, because Nina came back for revenge.
She never planned to fall in love.
**********
"I saw you with him," Lucas said quietly, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
Nina exhaled, crossing her arms. "You don't get to care."
"Don't I?" He stepped in, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"This is just a contract."
"Then why does it bother me?" His hand hovered near her waist, not touching-yet.
"It shouldn't." Her breath faltered.
His gaze darkened, "And yet it does."

8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.

9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.







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