The Billionaire widowers Last Wife
They say marrying Cassian Blackmoor is a death sentence.
Seventeen wives. Seventeen funerals. One widower no one can explain.
They call him cursed. They call him dangerous. Some call him a murderer who hides behind wealth and silence. But no one can prove anything - and no one dares accuse a billionaire who buries his wives with the same calm devotion he once loved them with.
Eloise Laurent knows the rumors. She knows the whispers. She knows the stories about the widower whose brides never live long.
Instead, she falls for him.
For the quiet sadness in his eyes.
For the way his voice softens only for her.
For the way he loves like he's terrified of losing her.
And maybe he should be.
But when she discovers a hidden grave bearing her own name, Eloise realizes something far worse than rumors is waiting for her inside his house.
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Chapter 3
"If you stay, they'll blame me if anything happens to you."
Cassian didn't have to raise his voice. He never did. His words hit hard anyway, the kind of weight that comes from living through moments like this, not just talking about them. The words just sat there between them, heavy and real.
Eloise looked straight at him.
Not past him. Not around him. Right at him.
"I didn't ask anyone to blame you," she said. "I'm leaving."
He didn't move aside, but he didn't block her either. He just stood there, still, watching her. It felt deliberate, like he was trying to memorize her face and didn't want to admit why.
"You think leaving fixes this?" he said. "It doesn't. Not after they've seen you with me."
Behind her, she could feel those eyes on he still watching, even if everyone pretended otherwise. The crowd acted like they'd gone back to their mourning, but she knew better. Curiosity pressed against her, sharp as a breath on the back of her neck.
"You mean them," she said.
"I mean everyone."
He glanced over her shoulder at the iron gate, just for a second, then looked back at her. It wasn't fear in his eyes.
No, it was just awareness.
Her pulse jumped once in her throat.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"That's not true."
Something shifted in his eyes. Not annoyance, more like recognition. Like she'd caught him off guard, she said something he didn't expect.
"You came alone," he said. "Most people wouldn't."
"Most people weren't invited."
"Neither were you."
She nodded. "No, I wasn't."
Silence dropped between them. Not awkward or empty, just there, filling the space, almost like the air itself wanted to listen.
He studied her face again, careful, thoughtful. Not bold or shy. Just searching, as if he was trying to figure out what he'd gotten wrong about her.
Her pulse stuttered.
"Say your name," he said.
She hesitated. Not from fear, but because saying it out loud suddenly felt like handing him something she couldn't take back.
"Eloise," she said. "Eloise Laurent."
He repeated it quietly, almost testing the sound. "Laurent."
He didn't say it like a name but more like he was rolling it around in his head, checking if it fit, tucking it away.
"What now?" she asked.
He glanced at her mouth, just a flicker, then met her eyes again. Quick, almost accidental, but it tightened something low inside her anyway.
"Now," he said, "you walk away."
"I was trying to."
"For your sake."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mine or yours?"
"Yours."
He answered too fast. That, more than anything, made her look at him harder.
A hand touched his arm gently, familiar, certain.
"Cassian."
The voice was warm, easy.
He turned. Eloise did, too.
The woman by his side looked like she was born to quiet rooms where no one ever needed to shout. Her black coat hung just right, everything about her neat and calm. Pearls at her throat. Her face was composed, kind, and paying attention.
Her hand stayed on Cassian's sleeve. Not like she owned him. Just comforting.
"Your aunt is asking for you," she said softly. "She's worried you haven't eaten."
"I'm fine."
She smiled a little. "I know. But she won't believe me unless she hears it from you."
Her eyes found Eloise. They softened right away.
"I hope they weren't troubling you," she said.
Eloise blinked. "No."
The woman kept going, gentle as ever. "They forget their manners when they're grieving. Curiosity wins out over kindness. I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable."
Cassian spoke, quieter. "Mother-"
So, this was his mother.
The thought just settled in, no fanfare.
She smiled. "You don't have to sound so grim when you say it."
Cassian stayed silent.
She turned back to Eloise. "I'm Valarie."
No title, no last name. Just that.
"Eloise," she repeated softly after hearing it. "It's kind of you to come today. Not everyone honors someone they never knew."
Something genuine in her voice made Eloise's usual suspicion fade.
"I thought she deserved that much," Eloise said.
Valarie's smile warmed. "I agree."
For a moment, nothing about her seemed dangerous. She just looked like a mother making sure her son didn't have to go through a hard day alone.
Still, Cassian kept his eyes on Eloise.
Valarie noticed. She gave his arm a soft, distracted pat before letting go. A gesture so natural it didn't need to mean anything at all.
"Well," she murmured, "I shouldn't keep you out here in the cold."
She gave Eloise a polite nod. "It was lovely meeting you."
"You too."
Valarie's face softened just a bit more, then she turned, already offering that same gentle sympathy to someone else before she'd even gone three steps.
Eloise watched her leave.
That was his mother.
Not scary. Not harsh. Not suspicious. Just gracious.
Eloise felt her shoulders slowly relax, almost before she realized it.
"You should go," Cassian said quietly beside her.
She looked at him. "You keep telling me that."
"And you keep ignoring me."
Still, she started to back away-one step, then another.
The gravel shifted under her heel as she turned for the road. The air felt colder over here, thinner too, like she'd left a space she hadn't even realized was holding her up.
She was almost to the end of the path when someone grabbed her wrist from the side and yanked her hard into the narrow gap between the chapel wall and the hedges.
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8.4
Kloe Guthrie dragged her crystal-encrusted wedding gown down the penthouse corridor, exhausted but ready to finally be alone with her new husband, Justen.
But as she passed the presidential suite, a familiar, cloying perfume stopped her. Through the cracked door, she saw Justen brutally thrusting into her cousin, Candyce.
"Like fucking a corpse with Kloe," Justen grunted, his voice thick with lust. "Worth it for the trust fund control, though."
Candyce giggled, mocking Kloe's pathetic gratitude.
Shattered, Kloe stumbled backward in the dark, only to be caught by Julian Larsen—Justen's billionaire best man.
Instead of offering sympathy, Julian trapped her against the wall. He forced her to listen to her husband's cruel mockery, then dragged her into the opposite suite, tearing off her wedding dress and dismantling her dignity piece by piece.
Everything she had believed for four years was a meticulously calculated lie.
She was nothing but a boring prop to the man she loved, a naive fool meant to be drained of her family's immense wealth and laughed at behind closed doors. The humiliation and betrayal burned through her veins like acid.
"You could cry," Julian whispered against her neck, his eyes predatory and dark. "Or you could make him regret he was ever born."
Instead of running from the man cornering her in the dark, Kloe looked at the destroyed remains of her life, grabbed Julian's collar, and pulled him in.
This time, she would make them all pay.
8.1
I was the "fallen princess" of New York, living in a charcoal silk cage while paying off my father’s millions in debt with my own body. My owner was Braxton Kensington, a man who looked at me with the same cold interest he gave a fluctuating stock graph.
One morning, a New York Times alert shattered the silence: Braxton was getting engaged to a billionaire socialite in the merger of the decade. When I demanded my freedom and the five-million-dollar severance promised in our contract, he just smirked and pointed to the fine print.
"In a court of law, an engagement is just an intention," he whispered, gripping my chin until it bruised. "Until I sign that marriage license, you belong to me."
He flicked a black AmEx at my feet like I was a tragic charity case, ordering me to buy a dress for his engagement gala. To save my dying mother from eviction, I took a secret translation job, only to realize my client was his new fiancée, Caroline. She dragged me to Braxton’s office to humiliate me, and after he hid me in a secret room to avoid a scandal, he branded me a "security risk" and froze every cent I had.
I stood in a CVS with my last sixty dollars, swallowing a Plan B pill dry while watching a news report about Braxton demolishing my family’s last legacy. He didn't just want my body; he wanted to erase my entire existence and leave me with nothing.
The cruelty was breathtaking, but Braxton forgot that a woman with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous player in the game. I reached out to the only man he truly feared—his billionaire half-brother and the boy whose heart I broke years ago, Ansel Neal.
"Coffee isn't enough," Ansel replied to my message in seconds. "Dinner. Our old spot. 8 PM."
As I walked into the club to meet Braxton's greatest rival, I knew the game wasn't over. I was just changing the rules.
8.7
I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground.
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."
9.7
Eliana Rivera is the firstborn daughter of business tycoon Cassian Rivera. When her father's company falls into debt, he marries her off to the arrogant and ruthless billionaire, Alexander Grayson, as part of a business contract and under the threat of blackmail.
Alexander, the billionaire CEO, never planned to marry, but the pressure of blackmail forces him into a union with a woman he barely knows. Although Eliana doesn't see Alexander as her ideal partner, she agrees to the marriage out of a sense of duty.
Once engaged, however, he barely acknowledges her presence and harbours disdain for her because of her father's actions and their relationship. But as they navigate their newfound relationship, the unexpected desire for each other's touch ignites-a twist neither of them planned, leading them toward an unforeseen love.
7.8
On the day she married, Alina unknowingly took the place of the Hayes family's daughter and became Kellan's wife, the richest man in town who was rumored to be disfigured.
Everyone mocked their doomed marriage, expecting misery and disgrace.
Instead, Alina revealed brilliance no one expected-a renowned jewelry master, financial genius, and medical prodigy.
The woman the Hayes family ignored was actually the heiress they should have treasured.
As regret consumed them and her ex begged for another chance, Kellan stood beside her, now devastatingly handsome.
"Alina and I are perfect together. Stay away from my wife."