The Billionaire’s Contract: Revenge On My Ex
I was a top-tier model with a fiancé I trusted to manage every cent I earned. I thought we were building a life together until a blown fuse at the studio sent me home twenty minutes early.
The silence of the penthouse was broken by a trail of clothes: Haywood’s silk tie, then a red-soled stiletto that belonged to Brandy, the girl I had mentored like a sister. Through the bedroom door, I watched the man I loved tell his mistress that I was "yesterday's news" while they tangled in the sheets I had picked out six months ago.
I didn't scream; I just turned to leave, but the betrayal went deeper than the bedroom. When I checked my banking app, my balance was exactly $12.45. Haywood had liquidated every holding account and savings entry I owned, using a "tax strategy" he’d convinced me of to steal my entire past.
Within hours, the man who robbed me was planting stories in the press, claiming I was having a drug-fueled breakdown. He wanted me penniless, homeless, and discredited so no one would believe the truth. He even tried to force me into a "rehab" facility to silence me forever while he promoted his pregnant mistress.
I stood on a New York curb with nothing left but a desperate, insane idea born from a headline on my phone. Isham Rhodes, the most ruthless CEO in the city, needed a wife by thirty to keep his empire, and I needed a shield to survive mine.
"Mr. Rhodes, I hear you need a puppet," I said, intercepting him in the rain outside City Hall. "I don't want your love. I want a legal document that makes me untouchable."
He didn't ask for a romance; he asked for my ID. Now, with a billionaire’s black card in my pocket and a marriage certificate in my hand, I’m going back to the agency to take back everything they stole. The war has just begun.
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Chapter 8
The Hotel Ballroom was packed. The air was hot, smelling of stale coffee and electricity. Flashbulbs went off in a blinding staccato rhythm as Hester stepped onto the podium.
Haywood stood beside her, his hand resting heavily on her shoulder. To the audience, it looked like support. To Hester, it felt like a shackle.
She looked out at the sea of reporters. They were hungry. They wanted the breakdown. They wanted the tears.
Hester unfolded the script Haywood had given her. She looked at the first line: I am ashamed of my actions.
She looked up. She made eye contact with the camera directly in front of her.
"I admit," she began, her voice clear and steady, "that my behavior at Fashion Week was... calculated."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"Are you on drugs?" a reporter shouted from the back.
"Are you jealous of Brandy?" another yelled.
Hester paused. She didn't look at Haywood. "It was calculated... to show that talent cannot be hidden by a mask. I admit to creating hype. I admit to refusing to be invisible."
Haywood's grip on her shoulder tightened painfully. This wasn't the script. But it was ambiguous enough. She hadn't denied the "instability" outright; she had just reframed it as "artistic temperament." He couldn't stop her now without causing a scene.
"I am stepping back," Hester continued, "to evaluate my partnerships. Thank you."
She stepped down from the podium before the questions could escalate. The stock for Mckee Management dipped slightly on the tickers, but it didn't crash. Not yet.
As she walked toward the exit, a janitor was sweeping the floor near the side door. He pushed his broom right over her shoes, leaving a streak of dust on her black heels.
"Move it, crazy lady," the janitor sneered. "You're blocking the trash can."
Hester stopped. She recognized the look in his eyes. He had been paid. Brandy's assistant had likely slipped him fifty bucks to humiliate her on the livestream.
The cameras were still rolling, swiveling to catch her reaction. They expected her to cry. Or scream.
Hester didn't even look at the janitor. She gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod to a large man in a dark suit standing by the door. It wasn't hotel security. It was Rhodes private security, disguised as staff.
The man moved instantly, stepping in front of the janitor. "Check your employment contract," the guard said, his voice a low rumble. "Clause 4. Disrespect to talent or guests is grounds for immediate termination by the venue client. You're fired."
The guard grabbed the janitor by the elbow. The janitor's smirk vanished as he was forcibly marched out the door.
The livestream chat went wild. She's bossy. She's a diva.
Haywood pulled her into the hallway, his face red. "That was close! You went off script, but... we can spin it. The 'Diva' angle works too. Now, the final step."
He checked his watch. "Visit Brandy in the hospital. She's checked in for 'stress'. Show the world you support her recovery. Kiss the ring, Hester."
Hester smiled. It was the smile of a shark sensing blood in the water.
"I'd love to," she said.
She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Josie.
Green light.
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8.9
I sold myself into a loveless marriage for $500,000 just to afford my little niece's life-saving surgery.
But my new husband, Kash, despised me, completely convinced I was a shameless gold-digger after his assets.
At 2:00 AM, he called to demand I fulfill my end of our twisted bargain: giving him an heir.
He forced me to sign a supplementary agreement surrendering all custody rights before I was even pregnant, treating me like a rented womb he bought at auction.
When my niece's condition suddenly worsened and I desperately begged him for a $50,000 advance, he hurled a black credit card directly at my face, leaving a stinging red welt.
"Take the money and get out," he sneered, his eyes filled with absolute disgust.
He immediately set up real-time transaction alerts to track my every purchase, waiting to catch me on a selfish shopping spree.
He thought I was a parasite, completely unaware that every single penny went straight to the pediatric intensive care unit.
Even my abusive former guardians cornered me at the fertility clinic, loudly mocking me for selling my body while my niece was dying.
I endured the degrading contracts, the cold IVF appointments, and Kash's relentless contempt, suffocating under the weight of his cruel assumptions.
Why did he have to strip away my dignity when he already owned my life on paper?
But as I clutched the hospital receipt that finally secured my niece's surgery, the fear inside me died.
With a new career starting tomorrow and a high-powered lawyer suddenly stepping in to audit my stolen inheritance, I was done playing the helpless victim.
I was going to show my arrogant husband exactly what happens when you push a desperate woman too far.
8.9
I returned to New York for my welcome-home party, expecting a warm embrace from Edwin, my devoted fiancé of twenty years.
Instead, his first words to me were a cold, public warning to stay away from his new girlfriend, Kacy.
He stood in my family's hotel, shielding a girl I had never even met, and painted me as a vicious, jealous bully.
"She is very sensitive, Kaitlyn. Her background is tough. Please, be gentle with her. Don't upset her."
He humiliated me in front of our entire elite circle, allowing them to mock me as the aggressive, discarded ex while he carried her away like a fragile princess.
For twenty years, I had been his loyal shadow, fixing his mistakes and loving him unconditionally.
I couldn't understand how decades of deep devotion could be instantly erased by a few crocodile tears and a manipulative damsel act.
He was absolutely certain I would throw a tantrum, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his attention.
But he was wrong.
He didn't know that Everett Rowe, a billionaire tech mogul, had been patiently waiting five years to marry me.
He also didn't know that during my three years abroad, I wasn't just studying art—I became "K.B.", the ruthless Wall Street predator who could swallow his family's empire whole.
I calmly pulled out my phone, ignored the mocking whispers around me, and typed a single message to Everett.
"Yes. I'll marry you."
8.2
BLURB:
The job was simple; to preserve the past. But Isla never expected her own past to walk through the door of the Thorne Estate.
Isla Campbell lands a career-defining project as a historian for organizing the archives of the Thorne estate, a task critical for a high-stakes foundation review. Her client, Cade Thorne, is the dedicated and undeniably handsome heir to a legacy he strives to honor and keep.
But on her first day, Isla is met with a shocking surprise: her boss, Cade, is the charming stranger she shared a fleeting, unforgettable night with just days before. Now, the undeniable spark between them threatens to ignite, risking the professional integrity of the project and the future of the very estate Isla was hired to protect.
As their passion deepens and secrets unravel, they must choose between the history they're preserving and the future they're dangerously close to writing together despite the odds. What happens when Isla finds out she is also a Thorne?
9.5
Elena's world crumbles when she finds out her husband, Alex, has been cheating on her. After confronting him, he doesn't show regret; rather he demands for a divorce and she walks away for good, giving up her marriage and the career she carefully built.
To move on, she strikes an unexpected deal: a contract marriage with Max, who turns out to be Alex's past rival.
But just as Elena begins to rebuild her life, Alex realizes what he lost-and wants her back.
But Elena isn't the same woman he once knew and she is not alone anymore.
8.0
She gave him her innocence. He gave her a mark she could never escape.
Five years ago, Elena's world shattered when she was betrayed by everyone she loved. Left homeless and heartbroken, she found fleeting solace in the arms of a devastatingly handsome stranger-a single night of raw, primal passion that became her secret touchstone of strength.
Now, she's rebuilt her life from the ashes, fighting to provide for her young son. But every door she tries to open slams shut, sabotaged by a powerful, unseen force.
That force is Dax Valiente.
Billionaire. Alpha. Obsession.
As a human girl, Elena has never expected what awaits her when she walks into the Valiente Group.
That ruthless man was not just her new Boss, but the werewolf king who wants her to be his.
7.7
I stood in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown, waiting to seal the merger of the century between the Singleton and English families. Everything was perfect, fragile, and obscenely expensive.
But minutes before the ceremony, my brother burst into the bridal suite looking like he’d seen a ghost. He handed me a crumpled note from Jeffery, the man I was supposed to marry.
"I can’t do it," the note read. "I’m choosing love." Jeffery had fled to Paris with another woman, leaving me to face two thousand guests and a family legacy that would plummet forty percent by Monday morning.
Harrison Singleton, the family patriarch, didn't offer sympathy; he offered a cold ultimatum. The wedding would happen, with or without Jeffery. He stepped aside to reveal Declan Singleton, the "Wolf of Wall Street" who had spent the last year ruthlessly stripping my father’s companies for parts.
To save my family from bankruptcy, I had to walk down the aisle and marry the man I hated most. At the altar, Declan didn’t just say "I do"; he claimed me with a kiss so possessive it felt like a sentencing.
The humiliation was physical, a knife twisting in my gut as the world watched the "hostile takeover" of my life. I was a spoil of war, traded to a predator who believed in leverage over love.
Then, Jeffery called, weeping about his mistake and begging to come back. I looked at the massive, perfectly-sized diamond Declan had already prepared for me and realized this wasn't a coincidence.
I wiped away my tears and straightened my emerald silk. If I had to live in a cage, I was going to make sure I had the sharpest teeth.
"Let's go to war," I whispered to my new husband.