The Billionaire's Broken, Voiceless Wife
After four years of torture in a so-called “rehabilitation center,” I was finally released. My husband, Elliot, was waiting for me. He wasn’t there to save me; he was there to serve me divorce papers.
He and my adoptive family were convinced I was a liar. They believed my broken leg, my missing fingernails, and my scarred vocal cords were all part of an elaborate performance for attention.
"Still playing the cripple," he sneered, looking at my ruined body with disgust. He tossed a handkerchief at my bleeding hand so I wouldn’t stain the leather seats of his car.
Back home, my perfect adoptive sister, Elyse, confessed everything with a smile. She had paid the doctors to torture me, to break my bones, to destroy my voice.
When I lunged at her, my own mother called me an animal. My father prepared to sign me back into that hell permanently.
They saw my pain as a performance and her cruelty as innocence. When I was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and had months to live, Elliot tore up the medical report, calling it my most pathetic lie yet.
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Chapter 1
"Mr. Hardin, you're coming to pick her up now? Great, great. We'll wait for you at the entrance."
After hanging up, the doctor's obsequious smile vanished, replaced by a cold glare.
"You'd better keep your mouth shut. Know what to say and what not to say. Otherwise, I have plenty of ways to bring you back in."
Amelia went pale and shook her head vigorously. "No... won't say."
Her tongue was missing a piece, making her speech halting. The doctor figured she didn't have the nerve to tell the truth anyway.
Soon, a black Rolls-Royce Cullinan pulled up slowly.
The window rolled down, revealing a strikingly handsome face.
"Get in."
At the sound of that familiar voice, she stood frozen, then slowly lifted her head to meet those dark, heavy eyes.
The name that rushed to her lips-"Elliot"-she swallowed back. "Mr.... Mr. Hardin."
The man who was legally her husband.
All that remained was that cold, distant address.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
His voice was icy, threaded with impatience.
Four years apart, and he was more commanding than ever, more devastatingly handsome-and more terrifying to her.
Once, she had chased him relentlessly for ten years, clinging and shameless, the laughingstock of the entire city.
Now, she was deathly afraid of him, desperate to avoid him at all costs.
She dropped her head and limped toward the black car, her left foot clearly off.
Elliot glanced at it, a trace of mockery in his eyes.
"Amelia, still using that trick? Playing for sympathy only works so many times. Looks like that place didn't cure your bad habits. You-"
The next moment, she began to tremble violently, her pupils contracting. Her knees gave out from standing too long, and she collapsed to the ground.
She couldn't go back! She would die there!
Her left leg had been broken years ago when she tried to escape and an orderly caught her. It had never healed properly.
These four years, she had learned her lesson. She would never compete with Elyse for anything again, never cling to the title of Mrs. Hardin.
She would give it all back!
"I'm... sorry. I know... I was wrong. Please... don't send me back in!"
"You-"
Elliot stopped mid-sentence. The old Amelia-arrogant, overbearing, ruthless-would never have apologized.
She had been insufferable, done every bad thing imaginable, climbed into his bed, forced him to marry her.
And now she was apologizing.
But wrongs had to be paid for.
"Looks like sending you there finally taught you some sense. Get in."
Amelia didn't move. She stared at the car as if it were a monster.
That was how she had been taken-forced into a car just like this and driven to Westcliff Rehabilitation Center.
Cold sweat broke out on her back. Her teeth chattered as she forced out the words, "Can... I not go?"
"I'm not asking. Get in."
Finally, she climbed in and curled into the corner, barely touching the seat, trying to take up as little space as possible.
Elliot frowned. Before he could speak, she began trembling and apologizing nonstop.
"Sorry... sorry... I got your car dirty. I'll wipe it... wipe it clean."
She knelt on the seat and started scrubbing the leather with her sleeve, even though there was no mark.
"Almost... clean. Not dirty. I'm not dirty..."
The wounds on her fingers tore open, and blood dripped onto the leather.
She grew more frantic, scrubbing harder. "I'll get it clean. Don't hit me. Don't hit..."
Elliot realized something was wrong. He told the driver to stop, got out, and pulled her out after him.
"What are you doing? Are you crazy? You-"
He stopped mid-sentence as he looked down at the hand he was gripping.
Five fingers covered in fine scars, thick with calluses, joints swollen. Not a single nail left-just bare, cracked fingertips oozing blood.
It was hard to believe these had once been a violinist's hands.
The old Amelia had been spoiled and willful, but she played beautifully. The media had called her hands "God's gift."
He frowned. "What happened to them?"
She yanked her hand back, trembling, her face deathly pale. "I... got sick. My nails... rotted and fell off."
Elliot's lips pressed together. A strange feeling stirred in his chest.
But then he remembered what she had done, and hardened his heart again.
"You'd better behave. These self-pity tactics won't work on me."
He still believed this was just another one of Amelia's schemes. Not worth sympathy.
Soon, the car wound up the hill to the Rollins family villa.
Before they even reached the door, they could hear laughter and chatter inside.
"Oh, Mom, Dad, stop teasing me. Elliot and I aren't like that."
"Elyse is shy. When it comes to feelings, they have to be mutual."
"That's right, Elyse. Don't worry. Once Elliot gets back, he'll get a divorce."
Amelia's face showed no emotion.
Her heart had already been shattered so many times it felt nothing.
So that was why they had brought her out-for the divorce.
The people in the living room turned at the sound of their arrival.
Mr. and Mrs. Rollins sat on either side of a delicate-looking young woman, doting on her.
They had been her parents for twenty years-until a routine体检 revealed she wasn't their biological child.
An investigation uncovered the truth: she was the daughter of the Rollins family's former maid, who had switched the babies out of jealousy during childbirth.
Her world collapsed. She was forced to change her name-from Amelia Rollins to Amelia Mcpherson. And the real Rollins daughter, Elyse, was brought home. Everything was returned to its rightful owner.
She had accepted her fate and gone back to her biological parents-only to discover they planned to sell her into a brothel.
She had barely escaped and fled back to the Rollins family, only to fall into another nightmare.
"Sister! You're back!"
A pair of slender arms wrapped familiarly around hers.
Elyse said warmly, "Sister, it's so good to see you! I've missed you so much these past few years. How were you in there?"
Amelia's face went white. She tried stiffly to pull her arm away, but Elyse held on tight.
Elyse leaned in close, smiling, but her voice dropped to a whisper only Amelia could hear. "Amelia, why didn't you just die in there?"
Amelia's pupils contracted. She stared at Elyse, who smiled back innocently, then let her gaze drop to Amelia's bare nail beds. Her smile widened.
"Does it hurt? No nails, no more violin for you. Oh, and I heard you tried to run. I had them break your leg so you couldn't. Happy? Every bit of suffering you went through in there-I ordered it."
Crash-
The emotions she had been holding back exploded.
With every ounce of strength she had, Amelia shoved Elyse away and lunged for her throat, her eyes wild.
"You... it was you! I knew it! You... did it on purpose!"
Four years of beatings, four years of hell-all because of Elyse!
She had been trapped in that place, unable to live, unable to die, dreaming every night of escaping.
"Sister! What's wrong with you? Cough... that hurts!"
Mr. and Mrs. Rollins rushed forward in alarm. "Amelia! What are you doing? Let go!"
A powerful force yanked her off. Her head slammed against the sharp corner of a table. Pain exploded, blood gushed, streaming down her face.
"Amelia! You're asking for it!"
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Bound to Alpha Alaric Ashbourne through a cold contractual marriage, she endures three years as a Luna in name only. He never comes home, never defends her, and never looks at her, while his heart belongs to another woman.
At his grandmother's funeral, Alaric publicly dissolves their marriage, humiliating Elena before the entire pack. In that moment, she finally understands the truth. She was never wanted.
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A forgotten night resurfaces. Her long-silent wolf begins to awaken. And secrets buried within her bloodline start to surface, drawing danger from every direction.
Cast out by the pack that once used her, Elena must flee, survive, and uncover her true power.
Only then does the Alpha realize his mistake.
By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
7.9
Meet Maya Brooks, a 22 year old who dropped out of school after her father was murdered and her family lost everything.
Determined to uncover the truth behind his death, she takes a job as a personal maid to Ryan Greenville a 25 year old, irresistible CEO known for using and dumping women.
Cold, powerful, and emotionally guarded, Ryan never planned to fall for anyone again until Maya entered his life.
As their worlds collide, dark secrets begin to surface.
Get ready for a thrilling journey of love, revenge, and hidden truths.
7.8
Andrea was trapped in a suffocating marriage with billionaire Gregory Morse, forced to live as the pathetic substitute for his dead fiancée.
When armed intruders broke into their estate in the dead of night, she called her husband in pure terror.
"Stop playing these cheap, attention-seeking games," Gregory sneered with disgust, and hung up the phone.
She barely escaped with her life, but the cruelty only escalated. At the family mansion, his dead fiancée's sister deliberately scalded Andrea's hand with boiling tea. Instead of defending his wife, Gregory publicly humiliated her, ordering her to clean up the mess while calling her a stray dog.
That night, hiding in the dark wine cellar, Andrea overheard a chilling confession.
Gregory admitted to his brother that he knew Andrea was completely innocent of the car crash that killed his fiancée. He knew she had been framed.
Why did he marry her? Just to use her as a psychological punching bag to vent his twisted grief. He watched her suffer every single day, treating her like disposable trash, while violently threatening anyone who showed her an ounce of kindness.
He thought she was just a useless, helpless shadow who would quietly endure his torment forever.
He had no idea that behind her submissive facade, she was secretly Madame Lan, the apex predator of the global fashion world. And now, she was ready to burn his empire to the ground.
9.1
For three years, June played the perfect, submissive wife to billionaire Augustus Pruitt, hoping a child would finally warm his cold heart and secure their marriage.
But when she cautiously suggested they have a baby, he looked at her with pure, unfiltered disgust.
"A woman who schemes her way into a marriage doesn't get to carry my blood."
He sneered, leaving immediately to lavish his mistress with diamonds. The nightmare only escalated from there. Augustus bought the one painting June desperately wanted—a piece she had secretly created herself—just to gift it to his mistress. He publicly outbid June at the gallery, mocking her lack of wealth, and left her to collapse in the freezing rain. When the storm gave her a severe 104-degree fever and she nearly died on their staircase, he didn't even stay by her hospital bed. Instead, he sent an assistant with a box of jewelry to buy her silence, then forced her to attend a family dinner where his mother and sister viciously mocked her barren womb and background.
Looking at Augustus, who sat there casually cutting his steak while his family tore her apart, the last flicker of hope in June's chest sputtered and died.
She finally understood that her three years of bleeding devotion were nothing but a pathetic joke to them.
She dropped her silverware, the sharp clatter silencing the entire room. She wasn't going to be their punching bag anymore. It was time to finalize the divorce papers, reclaim her hidden identity as the world-renowned artist 'mr.sun', and make them all regret it.
7.8
I was forty-eight hours into my shift, smelling of stale sweat and clutching a red-stamped bill for my mother's life support. As a scholarship intern, I was a ghost in the hospital, working myself to the bone just to keep her ventilator humming.
Then Dr. Thorne shoved a metal clipboard into my chest and ordered me to perform a surgical prep on a VIP patient for a circumcision. But the moment the cold betadine touched the man's skin, he lunged at me like a predator, his hand crushing my wrist until the bone nearly snapped.
"I'm here for a kidney stone. What kind of incompetent butcher shop is this?"
He wasn't a patient; he was Conrad Marks, a lethal billionaire, and Thorne had intentionally set me up to assault him. Within minutes, a five-million-dollar lawsuit was filed, and the Dean ordered security to shred my license and throw me out of the building.
My phone buzzed with a final notice: the facility was stopping my mother's meds at midnight because my payment had failed. I was a doctor who had just been framed and a daughter about to watch her mother die.
I didn't understand why Thorne would ruin me so casually, but with my mother's life on the line, I had nothing left to lose.
I slipped past the guards and back into the billionaire's suite with a set of silver needles and a desperate bargain. I stopped his agony in seconds, and when he looked at me with those cold, lethal eyes, I offered a trade: I would be the fake girlfriend his family demanded if he would save my mother and bury the lawsuit.
"Deal," he said, his grip on my waist tightening with dark possession.
I signed the contract, realizing I hadn't just saved my career-I had sold my soul to the most dangerous man in New York.
8.6
As the eldest daughter of the Sharp family, I was treated worse than a stray dog, while my younger sister Seraphina was their precious princess.
When the family needed someone to marry a dying billionaire heir, they naturally chose me to take her place.
To force my consent, my brothers held a peanut butter sandwich to my face—knowing it was a lethal allergy—while dangling my EpiPen just out of reach.
On speakerphone, my own mother sighed in annoyance.
"Let her die. It might be for the best."
I choked out an agreement just as my throat closed up. But the forced engagement broke my sacred mystical vow, causing me to violently cough up my own lifeblood.
Seeing the blood, Seraphina dramatically fainted. My brothers instantly carried her to the hospital, stepping over my dying body and leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor.
I had to use a forbidden blood rune, draining my last ounce of strength, just to survive the night.
Even the mystical Order I served offered no comfort, calling only to demand I secure ten billion dollars for them or forfeit my soul for eternity.
Abandoned by my blood family and my spiritual master, I was completely alone, left with nothing but a broken body and a ticking clock.
But they made one fatal mistake: they let me live.
I turned to the dying heir they forced me to marry, a man plagued by a dark curse only I could cure.
"I will be your wife, and I will save your life," I told him.
In exchange, I would use his unimaginable wealth and power to make everyone who threw me away pay the ultimate price.