The Billionaire's Doll: Her Secret Escape
I was just a placeholder, a warm body in silk sheets to keep the bed from getting cold while my billionaire "owner," Garrick Head, dreamt of another man’s wife. To the world, I was Ever Wells, the lucky girl he’d plucked from obscurity, but in reality, I was a doll on a 145-day contract, counting every second until I could disappear.
Everything shattered when a burner phone buzzed in my hand with a message that turned my blood to ice: "I know your secret, Everly."
My real name was the one thing I had buried to protect my four-year-old son, Leo, who was hidden in a cramped apartment in Queens. Just as the blackmailer closed in, Leo’s asthma flared into a life-threatening fever, and the medication he needed cost thousands I didn't have. When I tried to siphon money to save him, Garrick sensed my desperation and froze my credit cards, mocking my "poverty" and demanding I crawl back to his bed to earn his favor.
The nightmare intensified at a high-society gala when Clarence Frazier, a dangerous ghost from my past, cornered me. He mouthed my real name in front of the cameras, his eyes promising to tear my fake life apart. Garrick’s possessiveness turned violent as he broke a man’s jaw for insulting me, yet in the same breath, he reminded me I was nothing but a "rented whore" he’d bought off a shelf.
I had to smile while he kissed me and detach my mind while he touched me, all while siphoning pennies into a hidden account. He thought he could finalize my imprisonment with a twenty-million-dollar apartment on Central Park West, calling it a gift when it was really just a heavier lock on my golden cage.
"I don't want to save the world," I whispered to the empty, marble penthouse after he fell asleep. "I just want to save my son."
With a predator from my past watching my every move and a master who treated me like a pet, I realized I couldn't wait for my contract to end. I had to run tonight, or Leo and I would both die in this cage.
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Chapter 2
Ever's fingers hovered over the delete button, trembling so violently she could barely focus on the screen.
I know your secret, Everly.
The use of her full name was the first dagger. Garrick only knew her as Ever. Everly Montgomery didn't die the day she walked out of the foster system; she went into deep cover, hidden beneath layers of lies and silence to protect the one thing that mattered. But now, someone had peeled back the first layer.
She snatched the phone up from the floor, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She tapped the number to call back.
The number you have dialed is not in service.
She disconnected, tossing the phone onto the bed as if it were a venomous snake. Who? Who could possibly know?
Her mind raced through the possibilities. A bitter foster sibling from St. Mary's? A creditor from her adoptive parents' gambling debts? Or worse-someone connected to Leo?
No. No one knew about Leo. Ernestine was a vault. Ever paid her enough to be one.
She forced herself to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four. A technique she learned in the crowded dormitory of the orphanage when the older kids stole her food. Panic was a luxury she couldn't afford. Panic made you sloppy.
She walked over to the wall calendar hanging inside the walk-in closet. With a red marker, she slashed a thick line through yesterday's date. She wrote the number 144 in the corner of today's box and drew a tiny, crude bird next to it. A bird in flight.
She dressed quickly in a modest beige skirt and blouse-her "work costume." It was invisible. Boring. The opposite of the woman who warmed Garrick Head's bed.
The offices of Vanguard Design were a hive of activity. It was a boutique firm, owned by Miles Vane, Garrick's best friend. Ever was a junior associate there, a job Garrick had "arranged" to keep her busy, or perhaps to keep her under surveillance.
"Nice shoes, Ever," Zoe Yates sneered as Ever walked past her desk. "Did you earn them on your back or your knees?"
Zoe was beautiful, talented, and vicious. She knew exactly what Ever was to Garrick, and she hated her for it.
Ever didn't break stride. "Morning, Zoe."
She sat at her desk and turned on her computer, letting the mundane glow of the screen anchor her. She could do this. She could design logos and format brochures. She could be normal.
Her personal cell phone-the one Garrick monitored-sat silently on the desk. But inside her purse, tucked into a hidden lining, the burner phone vibrated.
One vibration. Then two. Then a continuous, angry buzz.
Ever grabbed her purse and bolted for the bathroom. Locking the stall door, she fished the phone out.
"Ernestine?"
"It's bad, Everly," Ernestine's voice was high, bordering on panic. "He spiked. 104 degrees. He's shaking. I think he's seizing."
The world tilted on its axis. Her knees hit the tile floor of the stall.
"Call 911," Ever screamed into the phone, not caring who heard. "Call them now!"
"I did! The ambulance is on the way. We're going to Queens General."
"I'm coming."
Ever hung up and burst out of the stall. She didn't care about the job. She didn't care about Garrick. Her son was burning up.
She ran through the office, papers flying off her desk as she grabbed her bag. Zoe laughed as she sprinted past, but the sound was distant, like static.
Ever barged into Miles's office without knocking. He was on the phone, his feet up on his desk, looking every inch the relaxed playboy. He sat up, startled, as she slammed the door behind her.
"Ever?" He lowered the phone. "What the hell?"
"I have to go," Ever gasped, her chest heaving. "Family emergency."
Miles raised an eyebrow. "You don't have family, Ever. That's part of your charm."
"My... my apartment," Ever lied, the words tasting like ash. "A pipe burst. The landlord says it's flooding the unit below. I have to go let the plumber in."
Miles studied her. He was smarter than he looked. He saw the sweat on her forehead, the terror in her eyes.
"A burst pipe in Garrick's penthouse?" He smirked. "That building is a fortress. Pipes don't just burst."
"Please, Miles." Her voice broke. She hated begging, but for Leo, she would crawl. "Please."
Something in her face must have convinced him. The smirk faded. He waved a hand dismissively.
"Go. But if Garrick asks, you were sick."
"Thank you."
Ever didn't wait for him to change his mind. She ran to the elevator, jamming the button repeatedly.
Forty minutes later, Ever was sprinting down a cracked sidewalk in Queens. The air here smelled different-exhaust, fried food, and desperation. It was a world away from Fifth Avenue.
She burst into the emergency room waiting area. It was chaos. Crying babies, coughing old men, the smell of antiseptic and old coffee.
"Leo Wells?" Ever demanded at the reception desk.
"Pediatric ward. Room 4."
She found them. Ernestine was sitting in a plastic chair, looking gray and old. And there, in the crib with the metal bars, was Leo.
He looked so small. Wires were taped to his chest. An IV line ran into his tiny hand. His face was flushed a deep, angry red.
"Mommy..."
Ever dropped her bag and rushed to the side of the crib, grabbing his hot little hand.
"I'm here, baby. Mommy's here."
She spent the next three hours sponging his forehead with cool cloths, singing the lullaby Clay used to hum to them at the orphanage. The fever broke slowly, stubbornly.
By 5:00 PM, Leo was sleeping peacefully, his breathing even. Ever slumped into the chair next to Ernestine, exhausted.
"You need to go," Ernestine whispered. "He's okay now. You have that gala tonight."
Ever checked her watch. 5:10 PM.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the exhaustion.
Her phone rang. The screen flashed: Garrick's Driver.
Ever stared at it, paralyzed. She was in Queens. The gala pickup was in Midtown.
She answered, forcing her voice to be steady. "Hello?"
"Miss Wells," the driver's voice was polite but firm. "Mr. Head asked me to pick you up from the office, but the receptionist says you left hours ago."
Her heart stopped.
"I..." Think, Everly. Think. "I'm at the coffee shop around the corner. The one on 52nd. I needed... air."
"I see. I'll be there in two minutes."
Two minutes. Ever was forty-five minutes away.
"Actually," Ever said, praying her voice didn't shake. "I'm walking back to the entrance now. Just wait there."
She hung up. She kissed Leo's forehead, whispered a frantic apology to Ernestine, and ran out of the hospital like the devil himself was chasing her.
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8.4
For three years, Aletha sold her soul to her adoptive family, enduring a toxic, loveless marriage to Wall Street tyrant Kristopher.
But the illusion shattered when Kristopher brought his crying mistress into Aletha's ER.
He violently shoved Aletha into a metal cart just because she applied standard medical pressure to the mistress's minor scratch.
"If you ever handle her like that again, I will have your medical license revoked."
The nightmare quickly escalated. Kristopher froze Aletha's bank cards, publicly humiliated her, and forced her to hand over a priceless gown to his mistress.
When he was injured in a car crash protecting the mistress, Aletha flawlessly stitched his hand back together.
In return, he dragged her to a freezing warehouse at 3 AM to illegally save the mistress's criminal brother, only to abandon Aletha alone in the dangerous streets of Brooklyn.
Her adoptive parents didn't care if she lived or died. They only called to scream at her, demanding she get on her knees and beg Kristopher to restore their company's funding.
Staring at her bruised reflection, Aletha felt entirely hollowed out. She couldn't understand why her absolute submission only bought her betrayal and abuse from everyone she called family.
But as the tears dried, the fear that had controlled her evaporated, replaced by cold steel.
She opened her hidden wall safe and pulled out the documents proving she was "Lan," the world's most sought-after millionaire designer.
Aletha shredded her family's contract, put on a sharp black power suit, and headed to her husband's company.
This time, she wasn't going to beg.
8.3
Alena landed at JFK, eager to call her fiancé of three years.
But a sudden message from her best friend shattered her world: a high-resolution photo of Darrin passionately kissing another woman. The woman was Katrina, her older sister.
Alena rushed to the grand ballroom and confronted them in front of New York's elite. Instead of an apology, her own mother slapped her across the face.
"You jealous, spiteful girl. Trying to ruin your sister's happiness because you can't handle your own failures."
Darrin coldly wrapped a protective arm around Katrina. The nightmare worsened when they ambushed Alena at her apartment, demanding she sign an NDA to cover up the affair and save their family's failing business. If she refused, her father threatened to tell her frail grandfather the truth, knowing the shock would trigger a fatal heart attack.
Alena was suffocated by the sheer magnitude of the betrayal. Her family was weaponizing the only person who truly loved her, treating her like a disposable pawn to protect the sister who stole her life. How could her own flesh and blood be so sickeningly cruel?
Cornered and entirely out of options, Alena pulled a matte-black business card from her pocket.
It belonged to Andrew Spencer, the ruthless billionaire who had rescued her from the freezing rain, and the apex predator Darrin feared most. He had offered her a transactional marriage. If her family wanted to destroy her, she would become their worst nightmare. She picked up her phone and dialed his number.
9.0
Framed for corporate spying, Liana Bennett was arrested and murdered in a prison cell.
Now she wakes in her old life, exactly one month before the set up.
She has one month to identify the traitor inside her company who orchestrated her death before they do it again. The enemy is already watching, already moving.
Every change she makes to rewrite comes at a price: a core memory erased. One wrong step, and she loses the very truth she needs to survive.
Then there's Raphael Blackthorne, The ruthless CEO of her rival company, the man she spent a reckless night with, and now the person offering her flowers, dinners, and sincerity.
Liana has a plan.
She can't afford the distraction.
But as her memories unravel and the enemy closes in, she faces the truth she can't outrun: to survive, she may have to become someone who no longer remembers why she fought at all.
7.5
A single reckless action is all it takes to destroy and ruin literally everything in a person's my life. Anna's Life.
She gave herself to a stranger... and the next morning he disappeared without a trace.
She later out I was pregnant with his child.
Her family and friends completely condemned,abonded and left her all alone.
And that was the beginning of her misery and the start of something she never for once saw coming.
7.1
To survive a forced one-year marriage contract with the ultra-wealthy Chavez family, Averi Marsh disguised herself as a pathetic, ugly duckling.
She caked her flawless skin in muddy yellow foundation, wore thick glasses, and played the part of a trembling, uneducated orphan.
The entire family treated her like literal garbage.
The youngest brother publicly swore he would rather cut off his own hand than marry a piece of trailer park trash.
Her nominal fiancé, Clarke, looked at her with cold disdain, allowing his glamorous companion to humiliate Averi by forcing her into a neon pink clown dress.
At a high-society party, a socialite shoved her into an infinity pool, laughing as the heavy fabric dragged her to the bottom.
They all wanted to see the poor girl broken, humiliated, and driven out of their pristine world.
What they didn't know was that beneath the hideous sweaters was a breathtaking, lethal predator.
They had no idea she was 'Spectre', the undefeated underground racing god who had just humiliated the arrogant Clarke on the track.
They didn't know she could shatter a bully's wrist in seconds or bankrupt their wealthy friends with a single text message.
But when the chlorinated pool water washed away her ugly makeup, the family's ambitious second son caught a glimpse of her true, flawless face.
The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
The Chavez family thought they were torturing a helpless sheep, but they were about to realize they had locked themselves in a cage with a wolf.
7.9
I had just survived a private jet crash, my body a map of violet bruises and my lungs still burning from the smoke. I woke up in a sterile hospital room, gasping for my husband's name, only to realize I was completely alone.
While I was bleeding in a ditch, my husband, Adam, was on the news smiling at a ribbon-cutting ceremony. When I tracked him down at the hospital's VIP wing, I didn't find a grieving husband. I found him tenderly cradling his ex-girlfriend, Casie, in his arms, his face lit with a protective warmth he had never shown me as he carried her into the maternity ward.
The betrayal went deeper than I could have imagined. Adam admitted the affair started on our third anniversary-the night he claimed he was stuck in London for a merger. Back at the manor, his mother had already filled our planned nursery with pink boutique bags for Casie's "little princess." When I demanded a divorce, Adam didn't flinch. He sneered that I was "gutter trash" from a foster home and that I'd be begging on the streets within a week. To trap me, he froze my bank accounts, cancelled my flight, and even called the police to report me for "theft" of company property.
I realized then that I wasn't his partner; I was a charity case he had plucked from obscurity to manage his life. To the Hortons, I was just a servant who happened to sleep in the master bedroom, a "resilient" woman meant to endure his abuse in silence while the whole world laughed at the joke that was my marriage.
Adam thought stripping me of his money would make me crawl back to him. He was wrong. I walked into his executive suite during his biggest deal of the year and poured a mug of sludge over his original ten-million-dollar contracts. Then, right in front of his board and his mistress, I stripped off every designer thread he had ever paid for until I was standing in nothing but my own silk camisole.
"You can keep the clothes, Adam. They're as hollow as you are."
I grabbed my passport, turned my back on his billions, and walked out of that glass tower barefoot, bleeding, and finally free.