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 3
Lung cancer.
The two words hit her like thunder, shattering her sanity.
She tried to smile, but tears poured down her face.
She had thought that leaving the rehabilitation center meant she could start over. But fate was playing a cruel joke.
"Doctor... how long... do I have?"
"With proper treatment, you might live longer. But the treatment is expensive."
She was silent. Her hands slowly clenched. "Worst... case?"
"Two months."
The doctor's face was sympathetic, but he pressed on. "With good results, there could be a miracle. You should discuss this with your family."
Her expression went blank. "I... have no family."
Her biological parents wanted to sell her. Her adoptive parents despised her. She had no one.
She couldn't afford the hospital bill or even the medication. She owed the hospital money-she would pay it back someday.
Her phone and ID were with Elliot. And her mind, dulled by years of electric shocks, couldn't remember the way back.
Her bad leg throbbed with pain. She could barely walk. She couldn't go back, and no one would lend a phone to a beggar.
She ended up on the streets, sleeping under a bridge, surviving on garbage.
She kept telling herself that Elliot would come looking for her to finalize the divorce.
But she didn't know that everyone thought she had run away to avoid signing the papers.
"Nothing?"
"No, sir. We've searched everywhere-the Rollins house, the Boggs house. No sign of Miss Mcpherson."
Elliot frowned deeply, his eyes flashing with understanding-and disgust.
Of course. Amelia would never cooperate with a divorce.
She had chased him for ten years, refused to leave, even impersonated Elyse and climbed into his bed to marry him. Why would she want a divorce?
Her obedient act on the way here had just been to lower his guard so she could run and hide.
He let out a cold laugh. "Start with her friends. Without her documents, she can't go far."
But three full days passed, and they found nothing.
Elliot grew impatient. He thought of one person and called her.
Clara Vance, Amelia's former best friend.
She screamed into the phone, "Elliot Hardin! Are you even human? You sent Amelia to that place for four years! You're an animal! A bastard! Don't call me!"
"She's with you. Have her come out."
"Are you insane? You think I'm hiding her? Wait-what do you mean? Amelia is missing?"
"Clara, don't play dumb."
"Play dumb, my ass! Elliot, I've held back for years. You were the one who agreed to marry her, then you backed out. You're worse than a-"
"The Vance family business deal is canceled."
She went silent. After a moment, her voice softened. "She's not with me. I swear."
He hung up, his face dark.
Not with the Rollins family, not with the Boggs family, not with Clara. No one in their circle would dare take her in.
She had gotten better at enduring. Better at hiding.
He gave the order: "Contact Westcliff. Once we find her, send her back."
If she wasn't reformed yet, they would keep reforming her.
This was Amelia's fourth day on the streets. She was covered in filth, reeking of garbage, chased away everywhere she went.
She had waited and waited, but Elliot never came for her.
She coughed constantly, day and night. The other homeless people stayed away, afraid she was contagious.
She coughed up mouthful after mouthful of thick, dark blood.
Each breath burned. Every step felt like walking on cotton.
She struggled down the street, asking everyone she saw to borrow a phone. No one would lend one.
She couldn't walk anymore. She collapsed. A kind-hearted college student helped her up.
"Are you okay? Should I take you to a hospital?"
"Can... I borrow... your phone?"
"A phone? Here."
Her trembling hands took it. She dialed the number burned into her bones.
*Ring. Ring.*
"Who is this?"
That cold voice.
Her eyes slowly reddened. Her voice was rough and hoarse. "Elliot... it's me."
"Amelia, you need to-"
"No, that's not... cough, cough, cough-" She started coughing again, and a huge gush of blood sprayed out. The student next to her gasped. "Oh my God, are you okay? You're coughing up blood!"
She felt her body growing cold. A fierce will to live made her beg.
"I'm... sick. Really sick. Can you... lend me some money? Just... three thousand dollars? Please? I'm in so much pain..."
Every organ, every inch of her body ached-a deep, bone-crushing pain.
But on the other end of the line came a laugh-cold and cruel.
"Amelia, using that trick again? Why don't you just die?"
Each word was a knife.
In a daze, she looked up and saw a giant screen playing a news headline:
**[Hardin Group CEO Spends 30 Billion on a Private Estate to Make His Beloved Smile]**
And in her ear, Elliot's merciless voice: "You'd better pray I don't find you. Because if I do, you'll spend the rest of your life in Westcliff."
The line went dead.
And so did the last flicker of hope inside her.
After Elliot hung up, he immediately ordered a trace on the IP address to find her.
"Elliot, what's wrong? Who was that?"
"Business."
He didn't tell her the truth. Elyse's health was fragile. No need to worry her.
"Elliot, I love this estate so much! Thank you!"
"I'm glad you like it."
An estate meant nothing to him.
Years ago, he had been hunted, gravely wounded, at death's door. If Elyse hadn't saved him, he would have died.
He owed her his life.
Then Amelia had stolen the token he left for Elyse and pretended to be his savior, blackmailing him into marriage.
He had thought she was just spoiled and willful. But this proved she was vicious and unforgivable.
Elyse asked tentatively, "Elliot... have you gotten the token back yet?"
He came back to himself. "She hasn't returned it to you?"
Elyse looked troubled, then said softly, "No, not yet. Sister just got out. I feel bad asking. I don't want to upset her. I was going to wait until she's adjusted to life outside. After all, it's the keepsake you left for me."
She looked down shyly, the picture of maidenly modesty.
Elliot said quietly, "You're too kind."
She had stolen the token and impersonated Elyse, and yet Elyse was still considerate of her feelings.
Elyse started to lean toward him. "Elliot, I-"
His phone vibrated.
He answered immediately. The voice on the other end reported:
"Boss, we've found Miss Mcpherson."
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By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
7.9
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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.