The Billionaire Thought I Aborted, Then He Met My Twins
I stood in the freezing New York rain, holding a massive umbrella over my husband's mistress while the downpour soaked me to the bone. Julian didn't even look at me; he just tucked Scarlett closer and told me to take a taxi home so they could have "privacy" in the Rolls Royce.
When I finally made it back to the penthouse, shivering and sick, Julian was waiting with divorce papers. "Scarlett is back for good," he said coldly. "She saved my life once, and I owe her everything. You were just a placeholder."
He didn't know I was six weeks pregnant. He didn't know that I was the one who actually pulled his unconscious body from the surf that night while Scarlett watched from the shore, waiting to steal the credit.
I signed the papers, faked a miscarriage, and vanished. I spent five years in London building an empire from nothing, raising twins who share his brooding eyes and his billion-dollar silhouette.
Now, I've returned to Manhattan as the powerhouse CEO of his biggest competitor. Julian Vanderbilt thinks he can buy his way back into my life? He's about to find out that some debts are paid in ruin, not gold.
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Chapter 7
It had been ten days since the clinic incident. Lady Eleanor insisted Avery come to the main house for tea. It was the only reason Julian unlocked the door.
But before they left, he stood in the doorway of her bathroom, watching her.
"Take your medicine," he ordered.
On the counter was a cup of the dark herbal brew. The same smell as Scarlett's soup.
"The doctor prescribed it," Julian said. "For your hysteria."
Avery picked up the cup. She walked into the toilet stall and closed the door. She poured the liquid into the bowl and flushed.
She counted to ten. Then she walked out.
Julian was waiting. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her close. He sniffed her breath.
"You didn't drink it," he said softly. Dangerously.
"I did."
He pushed past her. He looked into the toilet bowl. There was a faint brown ring near the rim where the water hadn't quite washed it away.
He turned back to her, his face contorted with rage. "You are defying me at every turn. Why? What are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything!" Avery yelled back. "I'm protecting myself from your 'care'!"
A young maid appeared at the door, looking terrified.
"Sir?" she squeaked.
"Get out!" Julian roared.
"I... I found this, sir," the maid stammered. She held out a plastic bag. "I was vacuuming the study rug, near the shredder. This... this ball of paper was kicked under the desk."
Julian froze. He took the bag.
It was a crumpled ball of paper. Avery must have missed the shredder slot in her haste, or perhaps it had jammed and fallen.
He smoothed it out. It was wrinkled, torn in places, but legible.
The date. October 14th.
That was two weeks ago.
He looked at Avery. The blood drained from her face.
"You knew," Julian said. His voice was barely a whisper. "You knew two weeks ago."
Avery backed up until her hips hit the sink. "Julian..."
"You knew, and you didn't tell me." He stepped closer. "Is that why you won't let the doctors near you? Because there's nothing left to find? Did you handle it yourself during those two weeks?"
Avery stayed silent.
"Answer me!" he screamed, shattering a perfume bottle against the wall.
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7.9
I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash.
But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love.
When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages.
"Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting."
Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance.
"The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!"
My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost.
And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead.
The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt.
When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.
9.6
Brenda Vincent thought her biggest nightmare was catching her boyfriend cheating with her roommate on her own sofa.
But her life truly derailed after a drunken night led her into the bed of Bryon Reeves, the ruthless billionaire CEO and older brother of the student she tutored.
Trying to pay off the most dangerous man in New York with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill was her first mistake.
Fleeing the hotel, she accidentally rear-ended his custom Maybach. Bryon used the massive repair bill to blackmail her into being his fake date, parading her at a gala just to make his sister-in-law jealous.
When Brenda finally snapped and fled the humiliation, only to be rescued by his biggest corporate rival, Bryon's twisted possessiveness turned completely destructive.
"If you feel kidnapped, call the police. But your teaching license will be permanently revoked."
He didn't just threaten her. He systematically dismantled her life, using his influence to force the university to freeze her tenure and suspend her without pay.
Brenda couldn't understand why this terrifying man was going to such extreme lengths to ruin a simple tutor who just wanted to be left alone.
Now, stripped of her career, her income, and her independence, she was forced into the sprawling Reeves Manor.
Hearing the heavy mahogany door lock from the outside in her signal-jammed bedroom, Brenda's panic slowly morphed into a cold, clinical rage.
She was trapped, but she refused to be his helpless pawn.
7.6
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift—a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."
8.1
BLURB:
I never thought my life would change because of a contract. But here I am, stuck in a marriage that isn't really a marriage.
Matthew King is a billionaire, cold, powerful, and hiding deep scars. He's not the kind of man I ever thought I'd get close to, let alone marry. I thought this was just a business deal. No feelings, no love. But the more I'm around him, the more I realize I'm getting tangled in his world, and I don't know if I'll ever escape.
What happens when a contract marriage turns into something more? Can I break through his walls, or will I be left behind, just another thing he can't trust?
The deeper I fall for him, the harder it gets to tell if this is real or just a game.
Will Matthew ever let me in, or am I just another business deal to him?
8.6
Genevieve was heavily pregnant, holding the legal papers that would transfer her massive family trust fund to her loving husband, Clinton.
But as she approached his study, she heard a familiar giggle. Through the cracked door, she saw her cousin Carolynn sitting on his desk, her skirt hiked up, while Clinton smirked and poured bourbon.
"Once she signs those papers, we don't need her anymore," Clinton laughed coldly. "The kidnapping is staged for tomorrow. She and the brat disappear permanently."
Genevieve gasped, and he spotted her. When she frantically tried to run, her trusted housekeeper blocked the stairs. Clinton dragged her back, beat her mercilessly, and locked her in a freezing, underground cellar.
Denied any medical help, she endured agonizing hours of labor alone in the dark, only to deliver a stillborn child. Clinton then walked in, ruthlessly tossed her dead baby's tiny body into a pile of dirty rags, and brutally strangled her.
As her lungs burned and the world faded to black, her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She had given him everything. How could they be so monstrous as to murder her and her innocent child just for money?
Opening her eyes again, the freezing cellar was gone.
She was standing in an emerald silk gown at an elite charity gala—the exact night their original kidnapping plot began, a month before she even announced her pregnancy.
This time, the naive socialite was dead, and she was going to make them pay in blood.
9.7
Gemma expected the tearing agony of the bullet wound that had just ended her life.
Instead, her trembling fingers met the cool, smooth friction of heavy silk.
She stared into the mirror. Her face was flawless, completely devoid of the jagged scar that had marred her cheek for the last five years.
It was exactly ten years ago. The day of her engagement party to the ruthless billionaire, Brion Hubbard.
In her past life, her "best friend" Katelyn convinced her to run away with a scheming scumbag.
Katelyn claimed Brion was a heartless tyrant who would ruin her. Gemma had foolishly believed those fake tears.
That choice led to her family's bankruptcy, her brutal disfigurement, and ultimately, a fatal bomb explosion.
The only person who tried to save her was Brion, his blood-soaked body shielding hers from the blast.
She even realized too late that the strawberry cream cakes she always made for him were full of dairy.
He wasn't leaving to cheat on her. He was locking himself in a medical bay, fighting fatal allergic shock, just to accept a tiny scrap of her affection.
Gemma had been so incredibly blind. Why did she trust the venomous snakes who destroyed her, while hating the man who died for her?
Hearing Katelyn frantically knocking on the dressing room door, urging her to run away again, a towering hatred surged through Gemma's veins.
This time, she wasn't going to run.
She was going to expose the traitors, take back her family's wealth, and claim the tyrant for herself.