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 5
The moment his eyes turned to her, Amelia regretted it.
She shouldn’t have asked him.
But the words were out. She had to finish.
She didn’t want to die owing anyone.
“Amelia, say that again.”
“Give—no, no. Lend. Lend me… some money. Just sixty-eight hundred dollars. Please?”
Sixty-eight hundred dollars wouldn’t even buy one button off his shirt.
But it could save her life.
Elliot’s gaze turned icy cold. “Lend? What will you use to pay me back?”
She froze. Her hands slowly clenched at her sides. She had nothing.
The money she had saved, the funds, the properties—all taken back by the Rollins family and put in Elyse’s name after her identity was exposed.
And the jewelry that had been left for her? Her biological parents had sold it.
Her lips trembled for a long moment before she finally forced out, “I can… sell…”
Before she could say *blood*, Elliot’s expression changed—turned terrifying.
“Amelia, you really are that cheap.”
Rage burned hotter inside him.
The woman who had once been so proud—who had stalked him, cornered him, sabotaged his business deals—was now willing to sell her body for sixty-eight hundred dollars?
Had she changed? Or was this her true nature?
“No… that’s not… you misunderstood. I meant sell—”
She tried to explain, but the more flustered she got, the more she stammered.
The next moment, his hand gripped her chin, forcing her head up to meet his suddenly close face.
His eyes gleamed with cold fury, flaying her inch by inch.
“Sixty-eight hundred for a night? Hah. You’re not worth that much.”
Shame crashed over her.
Her eyes reddened. She opened her mouth to explain, then realized—it didn’t matter what she said. He had already decided what kind of person she was.
All she had done these years was explain. Explain misunderstandings. Explain right and wrong. Explain cause and effect.
No one ever believed her.
She fell silent, her head drooping, her eyes hollow.
He took her silence as admission. Rage surged higher.
Then he laughed—a cold, humorless laugh. “Fine. I’ll give you the money.”
She stirred, looking up at him with a flicker of hope.
“You. Come here.”
Elliot called over one of his men and said flatly, “Kiss him.”
The room went dead silent.
Amelia’s shoulders shook. She thought she had misheard.
“What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted? Can’t do it?”
He was still humiliating her.
The last shred of her dignity was ground under his heel.
But then… she stopped caring.
She had lost her innocence long ago. She wouldn’t live much longer. What did it matter who she kissed?
She limped forward, one step at a time, toward the bodyguard.
The man broke out in a cold sweat, frantically looking at his boss, praying he would take back the order.
This was insane. No matter what, Miss Mcpherson was still his wife in name. How could he do this?
When she stood in front of the bodyguard and slowly rose onto her toes, about to kiss him—
Elliot’s eyes grew darker and darker, fixed on her.
“Enough! You’ve gone too far!”
The college student who had been silent until now rushed over and pulled Amelia away, stopping the whole ugly scene.
Elliot’s hand, which had been half raised, dropped back to his side. He shoved it into his pocket, his expression cold.
“How can you humiliate her like this?”
The student, full of righteous indignation, couldn’t stomach it.
Amelia was terrified that she would be dragged into this. She knew too well what Elliot was capable of. If he targeted this girl, she was done for.
“I’m… fine. It’s okay. Don’t… don’t get involved!”
“You’re really sick! And he’s doing this to you! Isn’t he your—”
Before she could say *husband*, Amelia clamped a hand over her mouth.
Her face was ashen. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please… don’t blame her. I’m sorry.”
Elliot’s lips curled. “The extra you hired has a lot of nerve.”
Amelia’s breath caught. She knew he held grudges. He wouldn’t let this student off.
She gritted her teeth and shoved the girl hard. “Go! Get out! You don’t… have to pretend anymore. Just go. I’ll pay you… later. Go!”
The student tried to protest, but when she met Amelia’s eyes, she stopped.
They were pleading—desperately.
And in her hand, Amelia pressed something heavy. It felt like gold.
Finally, the student left.
Amelia barely managed to stay on her feet. She forced back her tears and murmured, “You’re right. I was… acting. I lied. I’m sorry. Blame me… not her.”
She was already covered in filth. A little more didn’t matter.
Elliot was unsurprised. “Four years in there, and you haven’t changed at all.”
She nodded numbly. “Yes. I was… wrong. I admit it.”
The more she gave in, the more unsettled he felt.
He told himself it was disappointment.
She was rotten to the core. Spoiled. Willful. Even after her true identity was exposed, she hadn’t changed. She still tried to take everything Elyse had.
Status. Love. The token. Everything.
He had been disappointed and disgusted, so he sent her to Westcliff.
Westcliff Rehabilitation Center was well-known. Its treatments were scientific, safe, and effective. It had an excellent reputation.
He had personally looked into the facility. It was as good as any Nursing home—with reasonable programs. And it was expensive.
But she didn’t appreciate it. She came out and went right back to her dirty tricks.
“Take her away.”
His men escorted her out.
They had barely left when a doctor arrived with police officers.
“She was in here. She’s covered in injuries. Severe. It must be domestic abuse. And she’s missing—”
But the room was empty.
Before sending Amelia back to Westcliff, they stopped by the city clerk’s office to file for divorce.
Unfortunately, it was the weekend. No one was working.
Elliot frowned and looked at Amelia. His voice was cold. “Monday. You’ll stay with the Rollins family until then. Don’t do anything stupid.”
She didn’t respond.
He didn’t need her response. He had her taken back to the Rollins house.
When Elyse learned that the divorce wasn’t finalized yet, anxiety prickled inside her. “Elliot, are you sure you’re not having second thoughts about my sister? If you are, I don’t mind. I’ll step aside.”
His expression softened. “Don’t overthink it. The office was closed for the weekend. We’ll handle it Monday.”
Elyse pouted, putting on a coy expression. “Are you sure it’s not a problem for you?”
“No. Don’t worry.”
Amelia tried not to look at that scene—tried not to see the rare gentleness on Elliot’s face.
Elliot Hardin had always been aloof and cold to everyone, harsh and hostile to her. But with Elyse, he showed a tenderness he never showed anyone else.
She swallowed her bitterness and dared not feel jealous.
Elliot had other business. He left Amelia behind.
As soon as he was gone, Elyse dropped her fragile act and showed her true malice.
“Amelia, look at yourself. You look like a beggar. What do you have to compete with me?”
She stepped closer, sniffed exaggeratedly, and made a face. “You stink! Don’t you dare come inside. You can stay out there.”
Elyse pointed at the doghouse by the gate, her eyes full of mockery.
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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.
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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.