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 4
Elliot's expression shifted. "I'll be right there."
He hung up and said to Elyse, "Look around for a bit. I'll be back soon. Talk to my assistant if you need anything."
Then he turned and left quickly.
"Elliot!"
Elyse stamped her foot, nearly losing her delicate composure.
Where was he rushing off to so eagerly? To see that bitch Amelia?
No, impossible. Elliot hated Amelia.
And soon she would be Mrs. Hardin. Amelia would be nothing.
When Elliot learned that the location was a hospital, his brow furrowed. "She's here?"
His subordinate chose his words carefully. "Yes, sir. Miss Mcpherson... doesn't look well."
Elliot stopped walking, his eyes turning cold. "You're being reassigned. Ten years out of the country. Don't come back."
The man's face stiffened, but he didn't dare object. "Yes, sir."
After the boss walked away, a colleague muttered, "You know how he feels about anyone defending her. Watch yourself."
In the hospital room, Amelia had just woken up. The college student who had lent her the phone was still there.
"You're awake! Oh, thank God. You coughed up so much blood and passed out. You didn't have any emergency contacts, so I brought you here."
"Thank... you."
"No problem. Um..." The student hesitated, then continued, "I'd like to do a good deed without asking for anything, but I'm a student too. When they brought you in, I had to use my tuition money to pay your bill-it also covered your previous balance. So... could you pay me back?"
Amelia froze, then said apologetically, "I'm... sorry. How much... total? I'll... pay you back."
The student breathed a sigh of relief. "Not too much. Sixty-eight hundred dollars. You can just transfer it to me."
Sixty-eight hundred dollars.
Amelia's breath caught. To her, it might as well have been a fortune.
Once upon a time, she had had more allowance than she could spend, buying every new luxury item without a second thought.
Now she couldn't even afford life-saving medicine.
"Um... do you have it?"
Amelia didn't. But she knew she couldn't not pay this girl back.
"Can you... wait two days? I promise... I'll pay you."
She would find a way. Even if she had to sell her blood.
The student looked like she was about to cry. "I can't wait. My tuition is due tomorrow."
Before Amelia could say *I don't have any money right now*, her eyes caught a figure standing in the doorway. Her body went rigid.
Elliot stood there. She didn't know how long he had been watching.
She forced the words out. "Elliot... Mr. Hardin."
He strode into the room, his eyes sharp and mocking. "Amelia, you're better at hiding than a rat. Did you forget what I said?"
He had said he would send her back to the rehabilitation center.
Her face drained of color. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. "No... that's not... I wasn't hiding from you. I passed out. When I woke up... you were gone. I had no phone... nothing."
Elliot found her halting speech irritating.
Was she putting on an act for someone? She hadn't had a stutter before. Now she was pretending to be a victim!
He cut her off. "Enough. I don't want to hear your nonsense. Take her back."
The last part was to his men.
Two men stepped forward and dragged her off the bed.
Amelia struggled desperately. "No! I won't go! Don't... don't touch me!"
Fear-carved into her bones-gave her a burst of strength. She shoved one of the men away. In her panic, she collided with an IV stand. It toppled, and the sharp hook at the top swung straight toward Elliot.
He stepped back quickly, but the hook still grazed the side of his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.
The men gasped. "Boss!"
Amelia went white as a sheet, nearly collapsing to her knees. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't... mean to!"
Her terror peaked. Her mind lost all reason. She dropped to her knees and began kowtowing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
It was a conditioned reflex-trained into her.
Elliot touched his neck. It stung. His fingers came away with blood.
He rarely got hurt.
The rage building inside him shifted into another kind of disgust when he saw her like this.
"Get up."
She scrambled to her feet, then nearly fell again as pain shot through her knees.
Her cowering posture only irritated him more. "Take her away."
The college student, who had been watching in shock, finally found her voice. "Wait! How can you do this? She's really sick! Why are you being so mean to her?"
Elliot's gaze slowly turned to her-sharp as a blade. "Sick?"
The student was intimidated by his handsome but harsh face, but she pressed on. "Yes! She's sick! Really sick!"
Elliot's lips curled into a cold smile. "What kind of sick? Heart disease? Stomach problems? Or maybe depression? Bipolar disorder?"
With every word, Amelia's body trembled more. Her eyes were full of despair.
The student was confused. "What?"
"How much did she pay you?"
"Huh?"
"Nice acting."
The student understood. "You think I'm an actress? No! She's really sick! The doctor said-"
Elliot picked up the medical chart lying on the bedside table and flipped through it casually. He laughed. "Lung cancer this time? That's new. You're getting more creative. And the props are convincing."
Whether it was the paid extras or the fake chart, she had upped her game.
But her nature hadn't changed.
Amelia swayed, forcing down the metallic taste rising in her throat. Her voice shook. "I'm... not lying. I'm really... sick."
"Do I need to remind you about the time you faked a stomach ulcer by making yourself throw up? Or when you slit your wrists to get me to come home? Or the car accident you staged-ramming into a barrier to put yourself in the hospital? You make me sick, Amelia."
Each word cut like a knife.
And she couldn't deny any of it.
She had done all those things.
During the years when she loved him most-obsessively, like a madwoman-she had done anything to get his attention.
Stalking. Harassing. Faking illness. Attempted suicide. Everything.
Everyone in their circle thought she was a rabid dog.
Of course he hated her.
But now... she didn't dare love him anymore. She didn't want his love. She knew she was wrong. But he wouldn't let her go.
Elliot tore the chart in half. "Enough of these games. It's time to go back."
Go back where?
Back to Westcliff.
The last glimmer of light in her eyes went out. She stopped struggling.
He thought it was because she had been caught.
His men took her away.
Just before she left, she gathered her courage and said, "Can you... give me... some money?"
Elliot stopped walking. The air pressure in the room dropped.
"Just a little... please?"
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9.7
Luna Elena Frost was never chosen, only assigned.
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.
But the Moon has not abandoned her.
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.