The Billionaire's Deadly Deal
I sat in a private hospital suite that cost more than a luxury car, watching the green line on my daughter's heart monitor struggle to climb.
Everything shattered when a hospital administrator accidentally dropped a folder, revealing a document with my husband's unmistakable signature. Darius Brandt had personally authorized the "reallocation" of our daughter's donor kidney to his mistress's son just to secure a multi-million dollar corporate merger.
When I confronted him, Darius didn't even blink, calling our daughter's life a "liquidated asset" before offering me a five-million-dollar settlement for my silence. In a blind rage, I set our penthouse on fire, choosing to burn with the proof of his betrayal rather than live another day as his puppet.
As the flames consumed the room, I couldn't understand how a father could put a price tag on his own child's life. How could he look at our dying daughter and see nothing but a resource to be traded for a European distribution network?
But the heat suddenly vanished, replaced by the scent of expensive perfume and the muffled sound of a string quartet.
I opened my eyes to find myself staring into a gold-framed mirror at the Brandt Charity Gala, exactly eight years in the past.
It was the night my nightmare first began, the night I was framed and forced into a marriage that would eventually kill my child.
"I see you, Darius," I whispered to my reflection as I applied a coat of blood-red lipstick.
"And this time, I'm not the prey."
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Chapter 9
The pill felt like a stone in her stomach. A wave of cramps seized Alessandra's abdomen-too soon for the drug to work, but her body remembered the trauma of the past, the ghost of the pain amplifying the present.
She stumbled, her hand grasping the edge of a stack of chairs to keep from falling.
"You ungrateful little witch!"
Vivian lunged. She wasn't checking if her daughter was okay. She was horrified by the rejection of the billionaire.
"Apologize!" Vivian shrieked, grabbing Alessandra's shoulder and trying to force her into a bow. "Tell him you didn't mean it! Tell him it was a mistake!"
Alessandra didn't have the strength to fight her off. Her vision blurred at the edges.
Suddenly, a large, calloused hand clamped over Vivian's wrist.
With a single, effortless motion, the hand ripped Vivian away and shoved her back.
"Enough."
The voice was deep, gravelly, and tired.
Silas Brandt stepped out of the shadows.
He was Darius's uncle, but he looked nothing like the rest of the polished vultures. He wore a tuxedo that was ten years out of style, his hair was gray and unruly, and he smelled of tobacco and turpentine. He was the family disgrace-the artist who refused the board seat.
"Vivian," Silas growled, standing between Alessandra and her mother. "You are a mother, not a pimp. Act like it."
Vivian gasped, her face turning a blotchy crimson. She shrank back, cowed by the raw truth of the insult.
Silas turned to Alessandra. His eyes were kind. Sad.
"You okay, kid?" he asked softly.
He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. It was warm. It didn't demand anything.
Alessandra looked up at him. In the last timeline, Silas had been the only one who sent flowers to Estella's funeral. He was the only one who had tried to warn her about Ilene.
The dam broke. A single, hot tear escaped her eye, tracking through her foundation.
She leaned into him, just for a second, letting his strength hold her up.
Darius watched them. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
That was his fiancée. Or she was supposed to be. Seeing her lean on Silas-seeing her seek protection from him-ignited a dark, ugly fire in his chest. It was possessiveness. It was jealousy.
He stepped forward, his jaw set.
"She's coming with me," Darius said. "She's unwell. I'll take her home."
Silas looked at his nephew. He didn't blink.
"No," Silas said. "She isn't."
"She is my responsibility," Darius insisted, his voice rising.
"She was," Silas corrected. "Until about two minutes ago when she swallowed a chemical grenade to get away from you. You don't deserve her, Darius. You're just like your father."
The insult landed. The room went dead silent. Comparing Darius to his ruthless, late father was the ultimate low blow in the Brandt family.
Alessandra pushed herself off Silas's arm. She stood up straight, though her legs felt like jelly.
"I don't need anyone to take me," she whispered.
She looked down at her feet. The Manolos were pinching her toes. They were beautiful, expensive cages.
She bent down and unbuckled the straps. She kicked the shoes off.
She picked them up, holding them by the straps in one hand. A thin, almost invisible line of blood traced the arch of her foot where a shard of glass had nicked her earlier, but she felt nothing but the impending cold.
"I'll walk," she said.
She turned and walked toward the service exit. Her bare feet slapped against the cold, dirty linoleum of the corridor. It was freezing. It was hard.
But it was real.
She didn't look back at Darius. She didn't look back at her mother. She walked past the stunned socialites, past the lying maid, and pushed open the heavy metal door to the outside world.
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8.6
My boyfriend Grant and I built our tech startup from the ground up. I wrote the code, he handled the money. I trusted him with my life.
Then, the FBI raided our office. I was arrested for embezzling three million dollars. The proof was a wire transfer with my perfect, forged signature.
Grant, the man I loved, stood by and watched me get hauled away. He whispered the real price of my freedom: take the fall, or he’d cancel my grandmother's life-saving heart surgery by noon.
My accounts were frozen. With the hospital's deadline looming, I had no choice. I signed the confession, selling myself into slavery just to keep my grandmother alive.
My first task as his "assistant" was to serve drinks at an exclusive club, forced into a cheap corset and a skirt that was barely there.
That’s when I saw him. The ruthless billionaire from the other night—the man Grant's setup had thrown me to.
When I stumbled and fell at his feet, he caught my wrist. The look in his eyes wasn't pity. It was possession.
9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."
7.2
"Still playing dirty, Huntress?" he taunted, pinning me with those piercing grey-blue eyes.
"Still hiding behind your daddy's money, Reaper?" I shot back, my blood boiling.
Lanaya Roux and Maverick Hayden are college hockey royalty-and bitter rivals. As the captains of competing university teams, their hatred on the ice is matched only by the legendary feud between their billionaire families' empires.
But when their ruthless fathers force them into a fake engagement to secure an $18 billion corporate merger, Lanaya and Maverick are thrown into the ultimate game of survival.
The rules are simple: Live together in the same penthouse. Smile for the cameras. Pretend to be madly in love for six months.
It was supposed to be strictly business. But behind closed doors, the venom they spit at each other quickly morphs into a scorching, undeniable addiction. Maverick is an arrogant, aggressively protective alpha who refuses to let her go, and Lanaya is the fiercely independent captain who refuses to submit.
Beneath their explosive chemistry lies a devastating secret: a shared tragedy from eight years ago that claimed the life of Lanaya's brother and shattered their innocent childhood bond.
With the national hockey championship on the line, scandalous secrets surfacing, and unseen enemies sabotaging their every move, the line between love and hate has never been so dangerous.
What happens when the fake engagement to your worst enemy becomes the only real thing in your life?
9.0
I married the CEO of the powerful Powers Corporation, and everyone saw me as the perfect trophy wife. They assumed my days were filled with nothing but shopping on Fifth Avenue.
But this prestigious family was a house of cards. My husband's siblings were spoiled, useless children threatening to bring the entire empire down with their stupidity.
His brother, Braden, was a parasite who mistook his trust fund for "freedom." His sister, Chelsea, was a brainless socialite being used as a pawn in a public scandal by a con artist.
Even the family's ruthless Chief of Staff, a man meant to be their shield, looked at me with utter contempt, viewing me as just another problem to be managed.
They all saw a fragile doll. They had no idea that their weakness was an insult to the family name, and I was not going to stand for it.
It was time to discipline the children. The first lesson began at 3,000 feet, when I kicked my brother-in-law out of a plane mid-flight. His rehabilitation—and my takeover of this family—had just begun.
9.4
Hayley was betrayed by those who should have loved her most. To save their precious adopted daughter from a punishment she deserved, her own parents sent Hayley straight into a living hell—an infamous prison where survival demanded cruelty, and weakness meant death.
Four years later, the girl who had entered those iron gates no longer existed. She emerged with a single, unbreakable rule carved into her soul: Every betrayal would be repaid tenfold.
The day she walked free, the world trembled. A convoy of luxury cars lined the road. A legion of loyal followers awaited her triumphant return.
Her father tried to buy her silence with money. But money had long lost its power over her.
Her adopted sister hid behind sweet words and false kindness. But empty smiles no longer fooled her.
Everything that had once been stolen would be reclaimed—piece by piece.
When her parents attempted to tie themselves to the city's most feared man by offering their adopted daughter, Hayley's lips curved into a cold smirk. "Not on my watch."
Backed by a legendary hacker, shadowy allies, and an entire prison willing to burn the world for her, Hayley dismantled her enemies with terrifying precision.
Then the tyrant noticed her. "You're interesting," he said. "Be my woman, and the city is yours."
Hayley raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You want to own me? Survive me first."
High society became their battlefield. Power collided with desire. Ambition clashed with obsession. In this ruthless game of dominance and temptation, only one would kneel first.
The girl once abandoned in hell rose from its ashes, crowned by fire and vengeance—And in the end, even the most feared ruler in the city would bow, offering his empire to the woman who had conquered both hell… and him.
8.1
I was eight years old when my father, Alpha Derek, raided the rogue bunker to save my mother.
I thought I was finally safe.
But because I reeked of the wolfsbane chemicals used to hide my scent, my mother looked at me with pure disgust.
"Get that thing away from me! It smells like him!" she shrieked.
To protect his traumatized mate, my father didn't check my DNA. He threw me into the garage to sleep on oily rags.
For months, I was the true Alpha's daughter, yet I was forced to eat dog food while they pampered a fake orphan named Kylie in my place.
When Kylie ordered the guard dog to tear my arm open, my mother stood at the window.
Instead of saving me, she let the maid close the curtains so she wouldn't have to see the blood.
I only became useful when my father got into a critical car crash.
They drained my rare "Moon Blood" to save his life, then immediately signed papers to ship me off to a labor camp to get rid of the "stain" on their family.
They thought I was a dirty rogue.
They didn't know the chemical smell was masking the rarest bloodline in a century.
I am not a rogue.
I am a White Wolf.
And just as my grandfather discovers the DNA results and falls to his knees in regret, the most powerful pack in the North has already arrived to claim me as their queen.