The Billionaire's Ego: My Ruthless Divorce
I had been a "decoration piece" for Kenton Parker for three years, a contract wife bought to pay off my father's gambling debts. I lived in a cold penthouse, making his coffee and answering his phones, while he treated me with the clinical indifference of a stranger.
On our third anniversary, I waited alone at the city's most exclusive restaurant, only to see a news alert flash on my phone. Kenton wasn't coming. He was caught on camera at a hospital, looking at his "friend," ballerina Blanca Donovan, with a raw, frantic worry he had never once shown me, not even when I fell down a flight of stairs.
I finally snapped and filed for divorce, citing his "irreversible erectile dysfunction" just to destroy his massive ego. I thought I was free, but Kenton retaliated with a cruelty that left me breathless. He froze every bank account I owned and had his secretary smash the last photo I had of my mother. He reminded me of the five-million-dollar penalty in my contract-money I didn't have.
"You don't get to leave until I say so," he roared, dragging me into his office. He used my father's life as a leash, forcing me to play the part of a doting wife at his family's Hamptons estate to please his sick mother. He wanted to starve me out until I crawled back to his side.
I couldn't understand how a man could be so heartless. He didn't want my heart, yet he refused to let me go, treating my life like a line item in a corporate merger. He wanted to keep me as his prisoner while he spent his nights with another woman.
But Kenton made one fatal mistake. He thought I was just a broke, submissive secretary with nowhere to turn. He didn't know that I was "Vee," a world-renowned art restorer with a secret legacy and a six-figure commission waiting for me.
As we shared a bed in the Hamptons and he pulled me against his chest, whispering that I was "his," I didn't feel comfort. I felt the cold, hard spark of a woman who was finally ready to burn his contract to the ground.
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Chapter 7
Twenty minutes later, a battered yellow Jeep Wrangler jumped the curb and screeched to a halt in front of the pharmacy. Harley jumped out, wearing paint-splattered overalls and combat boots. She looked like an avenging angel.
She took one look at Carleigh-wet, shivering, holding a bloody handkerchief-and her face crumpled.
"Oh, honey," Harley said. She hauled Carleigh up and practically threw her into the passenger seat. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to drive this Jeep through his lobby."
The heater in the Jeep was broken, blasting only lukewarm air, but to Carleigh, it felt like heaven. They drove across the bridge to Brooklyn.
Harley's apartment was a converted loft in Bushwick. It smelled of turpentine and linseed oil. Canvases were stacked everywhere. It was messy, chaotic, and safe.
Harley cleaned Carleigh's hand with rubbing alcohol-Carleigh hissed through her teeth-and bandaged it efficiently.
"So," Harley said, handing her a mug of hot tea. "He froze the accounts?"
"Everything. Even the pre-marriage savings."
"That is illegal," Harley said.
"It's Kenton. The law is a suggestion." Carleigh took a sip of tea. "He wants to starve me out. Force me back."
"Well, screw him," Harley said. "You can stay here. The couch is lumpy, but it's free."
"I can't just mooch off you, Harls. You're barely making rent."
"We'll figure it out."
"I already have," Carleigh said. She reached into her waterproof bag and pulled out her laptop. "I need your wifi."
She booted up the computer and logged into a proton mail account.
"What's that?" Harley asked, peering over her shoulder.
"Vee," Carleigh said.
Harley gasped. "You're bringing her back? I thought you swore you wouldn't touch a commission brush again after the wedding."
"I have a standing offer." Carleigh opened an email from The Atelier. "Harvey Freeman wants me for the 'Lost Renaissance' project. He sent this three days ago." She added, "I haven't taken a job in three years, but I never stopped studying. I've been practicing strokes on scrap canvas in the dead of night. The muscle memory is still there."
"Freeman? The god of restoration?" Harley's eyes went wide. "Carleigh, that's huge. That pays six figures just for the consult."
"I replied this morning," Carleigh said. "I have a meeting with him tomorrow at noon. But... I have to go as Vee. No one can know it's me. Especially not Kenton. If he finds out I have income, he'll sue for the breach of contract immediately and garnish my wages."
"So you need a disguise?" Harley grinned.
"I need to be invisible."
Harley's phone rang. It was lying on the table between them. The screen flashed Unknown Number.
Harley picked it up. "Hello?"
"Put her on." Kenton's voice was so loud Carleigh could hear it from the couch.
Harley's eyes narrowed. "Who is this?"
"You know who it is. Tell Carleigh that if she doesn't come home tonight, I'm throwing out her painting supplies. The ones in the attic."
Carleigh felt a pang. Her old brushes. Her mother's easel.
She looked at Harley and shook her head.
Harley smiled a wicked smile. "Go ahead, Ken-doll. Burn them. She doesn't need your trash anymore. Oh, and if you call this number again, I'll file a harassment suit so fast your head will spin."
She hung up and blocked the number.
"He's scared," Harley said. "He's grasping at straws."
Carleigh looked at her bandaged hand. "He should be."
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9.6
When Kristine Iglesias discovers about her boyfriend's cheating, she chooses the ultimate weapon for her revenge: A one night stand with his enemy.
The irresistible, dominating, heartless billionaire, Zayne Nightwood.
One night all it took to change the flow of her life. An irresistible desire sparked between them. Both of them began to crave each other badly.
One night. One opportunity.
The news of their one night stand and her pregnancy spread like fire caught on silk. A scandal was created, risking both hers and his image,
But there was a catch. Everyone thought Zayne got her pregnant but the child was not Zayne's but Edric's.
In her one drunken mistake, she saw an opportunity, a dark path to annihilate all the obstacles, to make all her enemies pay.
Subsequently, Kristine and Zayne decide to marry, to fool the public and avoid allegations.
All on the demand that she will be all Zayne's. From her soul to every inch of her pretty skin. From her life to that unborn child's life– all shall belong to him.
Because according to him, she was his leash, his tamer, she 'should' be his.
When both of them had secretive motives behind this marriage, trusting each other or falling in love was going to be hard.
But how can they resist each other when both of them got addicted to each other?
8.4
Ayleen Avery was just a struggling hotel worker trying to survive her shift. But during a sudden blackout, she accidentally stumbled into the pitch-black VIP suite of a ruthless billionaire driven mad by chronic insomnia.
Calmed only by her unique natural scent of roses and rain, the terrifying man attacked her from the shadows and forced himself on her. Terrified and broken, Ayleen fled at dawn, unknowingly leaving behind her late mother's antique rose necklace in his bed.
Her greedy coworker found the necklace, claimed to be the woman from that night, and was instantly swept into a life of luxury. Meanwhile, Ayleen was blackmailed into a forced marriage with her attacker—Cassius Doyle—to save her adoptive father from prison. Deceived by the stolen necklace, Cassius believed Ayleen was a manipulative spy. He brought the coworker into their home and paraded her around the master bedroom.
"In this house, you are lower than the dirt on my shoes."
He choked Ayleen, forced her to sleep in a damp storage room, and treated her with violent disgust while pampering the thief.
Ayleen was suffocating in absolute despair. She had lost her innocence, her freedom, and her mother's only relic to a vicious liar. She couldn't understand how this all-powerful man could be so completely blind. Why couldn't he recognize the very scent that had cured his agonizing madness?
Staring at the dark bruises he had just left on her neck, Ayleen wiped the blood from her lip. She would endure this three-month marriage to secure her family's safety, but once the contract ended, she would expose the truth and tear down the fake savior he cherished so much.
8.7
"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly.
Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!"
"You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now."
"Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him.
Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly.
"I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly.
She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud.
"Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!"
"You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine."
"I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!"
Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked.
Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.
Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..."
"I can't," he whispered.
And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
***************
Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark.
But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den.
The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows.
Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive.
Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?
7.5
I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters.
When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love.
Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess.
The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open.
"Get out of my house!"
My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home.
In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me.
But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them.
I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx.
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate.
As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower.
Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle.
"I want him to be my new guardian."
8.3
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.
9.4
Tyler has been through more than most, and life has never given him a real break. All he wants is to finish his job and figure things out-but one wild trip to Vegas changes everything. He wakes up married to Quin McKenzie, the same man who made his life miserable years back and probably doesn't remember.
Quin is wealthy, controlling, and desperate to keep his inheritance, so he offers Tyler a deal: stay married until he clicks thirty and get paid. Tyler doesn't trust him, but he needs the money Quin was offering, so he agrees.
What starts as a fake marriage soon turns into something messy and real. Feelings begin to get involved and walls start to crack. Suddenly Tyler is risking his heart for a man he swore to hate.
Now, with secrets coming out and time running out, they both have to decide-is this just a mistake... or something worth fighting for?