The Billionaire's Genius Wife's Ultimate Cold Revenge
My five-year-old daughter was turning blue in my arms, her body rigid with a 104-degree fever. I called my billionaire husband, Clifton, dozens of times as I rushed to the hospital, but he declined every single call.
While I was screaming at doctors and fighting to save our child’s life, a news alert flashed on my phone. Clifton was at the Met Gala, looking devastatingly handsome as he intimately draped his tuxedo jacket over the shoulders of his mistress, Eleanora.
The nightmare didn't end at the hospital. Clifton used a secret clause in our prenup to snatch Lily from her bed and move her to a private facility without my consent. When I finally found her, my own daughter shrank away from me in terror. "Go away, bad Mommy!" she sobbed, while the mistress fed her oatmeal and whispered that I was the one who made the doctors hurt her.
Clifton stood by and watched, telling me I was too "hysterical" to be a mother. But then I discovered the real reason they were hiding her. My husband was illegally using my late mother’s rare bone marrow samples to treat Eleanora’s secret blood disorder. Now that those samples are failing, he is taking Lily to a secluded castle in Germany to harvest our daughter’s marrow for his mistress.
I sat in the dark, watching them play happy family with the child they plan to sacrifice. I realized then that my marriage wasn't just a lie—it was a biological harvest. They think I’m just a broken trophy wife who doesn't understand the science they are using to destroy me.
They have no idea that I am "Ghost," the anonymous medical genius behind the very research they are trying to steal. As we board the private jet to Germany, I’ve stopped crying and started calculating. If they want to play with life and death, I’ll show them exactly what happens when a mother stops being a victim and starts being a predator.
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Chapter 3
The library was dim, the heavy oak paneling absorbing the afternoon light. Emelie sat at Clifton's massive mahogany desk, a document spread out before her.
The Prenuptial Agreement.
She traced the lines with her finger.
...in the event of dissolution of marriage, the party of the second part (Emelie Glover) waives all rights to alimony, spousal support, and any claim to Wilder Enterprises equity...
...custody of any issue born of the marriage shall default to the party of the first part (Clifton Wilder) unless proven unfit...
It was a death sentence. If she left now, she would leave with nothing. No money. No home. And worst of all, no Lily.
Her phone buzzed on the desk. Harper.
"I'm looking at the digital copy you sent," Harper said, her voice tinny through the speaker. "It's ironclad, Em. He locked you down tight. You need leverage. Serious leverage."
"What kind of leverage?"
"Scandal," Harper said bluntly. "Or financial independence. You need to be able to outspend him in court, or destroy his reputation so badly he settles to make you go away."
Financial independence. Emelie thought of the laptop in the safe. The RT303 patent could be worth billions. But if she revealed it now, while still married, half of it-maybe all of it, under intellectual property clauses in the prenup-could belong to him.
"I'll find something," Emelie whispered.
The doorbell chimed. A cheerful, melodic sound that echoed through the silent house.
Emelie frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone.
She walked out of the library to the mezzanine overlooking the foyer.
Mrs. Higgins was opening the door, a wide, sycophantic smile plastered on her face.
"Oh, Miss Hardy! What a lovely surprise!"
Emelie's blood ran cold.
Eleanora Hardy breezed into the foyer. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere dress that matched the tie Clifton had worn the night before. She held a large, shiny shopping bag from FAO Schwarz.
She looked radiant. Healthy. The perfect contrast to Emelie's pale, sleepless exhaustion.
"Hello, Mrs. Higgins," Eleanora's voice was like liquid honey. "I heard little Lily was under the weather. I brought something to cheer her up."
Emelie gripped the railing of the staircase. Her knuckles turned white.
She descended the stairs slowly, her heels clicking on the marble like gunshots.
"Lily isn't here," Emelie said.
Eleanora looked up, feigning surprise. She clutched the bag to her chest. "Oh, Emelie. I didn't see you there."
"I live here," Emelie said, reaching the bottom step. She blocked the path to the living room. "Unlike you."
Eleanora's smile didn't waver, but her eyes hardened. "Clifton didn't tell you? He asked me to come. He thought Lily might need... soothing. We have such a connection, you know. Piano lessons and all."
"My daughter is in a clinic recovering from lung failure," Emelie said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "She doesn't need a piano teacher. She needs her mother."
"Well," Eleanora took a step closer, invading Emelie's personal space. She lowered her voice so Mrs. Higgins couldn't hear. "Maybe if her mother hadn't been so hysterical at the hospital, Clifton wouldn't have had to move her. He told me everything. How you screamed at the doctors. Embarrassing."
Emelie felt the urge to slap her. It was a physical itch in her palm.
"Get out," Emelie whispered.
"Ladies?"
Clifton's voice boomed from the doorway. He had just walked in, shaking rain off his umbrella.
He looked from Emelie's furious face to Eleanora's wide, tear-filled eyes.
"Clifton," Eleanora sniffled, turning to him. "I just wanted to drop off a teddy bear. Emelie is... upset."
Clifton sighed, a sound of deep fatigue. "Emelie, please. Eleanora is a guest. Don't be rude."
"She's not a guest," Emelie said, pointing at the door. "She's the reason you weren't there when your daughter stopped breathing."
"That's enough!" Clifton snapped. "Eleanora, stay for dinner. Please."
Emelie watched as her husband guided his mistress into the living room, his hand lingering on the small of her back.
Dinner was a torture session.
They sat at the long dining table, Clifton at the head, Eleanora to his right, Emelie to his left.
Eleanora dominated the conversation. She spoke of art, of the gala, of the Wilder Foundation's stock performance. She spoke to Clifton as if Emelie wasn't there.
Emelie pushed a piece of asparagus around her plate. She felt invisible. A ghost in her own life.
Buzz.
Emelie's phone sat on the table. The screen lit up.
Calendar Reminder: Marital Duty.
Time: 10:00 PM.
Emelie stared at the notification. Clifton's secretary, efficient as always, had scheduled their sex life. Once a month. Like a board meeting.
Eleanora glanced at the phone, saw the notification, and smirked. A tiny, cruel curling of her lips.
Emelie flipped the phone over.
At 10:00 PM, Clifton entered the master bedroom. He had showered. He smelled of soap, but underneath, Emelie could still smell the faint, cloying scent of Eleanora's perfume that had clung to him over dinner.
Emelie was sitting up in bed, wearing a high-necked flannel nightgown. She was reading a thick medical journal.
Clifton loosened his robe. He looked at her expectantly.
"It's late," he said. It wasn't a question.
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her shoulder.
Emelie flinched away. She closed the journal with a snap.
"No," she said.
Clifton froze. His hand hovered in the air. "Excuse me?"
"I said no. I'm not feeling well."
"You look fine," Clifton said, his brow furrowing. "It's been a month, Emelie."
"I think I caught whatever Lily has," Emelie lied smoothly. She looked him in the eye. "The doctor said it's highly contagious. Viral shedding."
Clifton recoiled. His obsession with hygiene, usually a quirk, flared into genuine alarm. He stood up immediately, wiping his hand on his robe.
"You should have said something earlier," he muttered, backing away toward the door.
"I just did," Emelie said.
"Fine. I'll sleep in the guest room. I have an early meeting anyway."
He turned and walked out, closing the door with a little too much force.
Emelie let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging. She turned off the bedside lamp.
In the darkness, her phone lit up again. An unknown number.
A text message.
It was a photo.
It showed Clifton's black sedan parked in front of a luxury apartment building. Eleanora's building.
The timestamp was two minutes ago.
He hadn't gone to the guest room. He had gone to her.
Emelie didn't cry. She saved the photo.
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9.3
They say you can't have it all. I'm about to prove them wrong-or destroy myself trying.
When my struggling mother married billionaire Richard Stone, I thought I was gaining a family. Instead, I found three stepbrothers who became my obsession, my downfall, and my salvation.
Dominic, the eldest, cold and commanding, who kisses me like he's claiming his kingdom and looks at me like I'm the only thing he can't control.
Julian, the charming playboy who hides a vulnerable soul beneath his perfect smile, making me feel like I'm the only woman he's ever truly seen.
Asher, the brooding artist who paints me like I'm his muse and touches me like I'm his masterpiece, seeing parts of my soul I didn't know existed.
They're forbidden. They're dangerous. They're everything I shouldn't want.
But when I discover my father didn't die by suicide that he was murdered by the very man who now calls himself my stepfather, these three powerful men becomes my unlikely allies.
First it was a forbidden attraction, now it's an arrangement that defies every rule.
The rules are simple:
I'll give each of them a chance.
I'll take everything they offer.
And in the end, I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life:
Choose one of them. Choose all of them. Or choose myself.
9.1
Alysia lay on the freezing operating table, moments away from donating her kidney to her brother's fiancée.
But as the anesthesia set in, a violent shock tore through her brain, awakening agonizing memories of a thousand brutal deaths across a thousand past lifetimes.
She suddenly realized her family's true plan. Her brother and his fiancée weren't just taking her organ; they were secretly plotting to declare her mentally unfit post-surgery to steal her entire trust fund.
When Alysia abruptly stopped the procedure and exposed the fiancée's kidney failure as the result of severe drug abuse, her family's reaction was chilling.
Her father didn't care about the truth or the law. He ordered his bodyguards to lock Alysia up until she agreed to the surgery, while her brother threatened to freeze her assets and seize her late mother's penthouse.
"You have no heart, Alysia. You don't deserve the Kent name," her aunt spat in disgust.
For lifetimes, she had kept her head down, taking the blame and sacrificing everything for a family that viewed her as nothing more than a disposable blood bag and a financial pawn.
The resignation that had clouded her eyes for so long vanished, replaced by the absolute, zero-degree cold of a glacier.
Ripping the IV from her hand and leaving her family in stunned silence, Alysia walked straight out of the hospital.
She had exactly forty-six hours to find a husband to secure her inheritance, and she knew exactly which ruthless billionaire CEO to target to help her burn the Kent family to the ground.
8.4
Evelyn Rowe never thought she could survive Victor Blackthorn nor his fists, especially since her unborn baby didn't.
But what she didn't expect was to be saved by Dominic Russo, after being publicly blamed for her miscarriage and humiliated in front of the world.
Finally finding the strength to divorce Victor, and the path to become the independent woman she always wanted to be, Evelyn becomes unstoppable.
What no one expects is for three dangerous men to claim her: the heir apparent to the British throne, the billionaire who rules the corporate world, and a mafia lord who bows to no one.
They were enemies at first, but for her, they became lovers.
And when her ex-husband finally realizes what he destroyed, she already belongs to kings who would do everything in their power to keep her.
8.6
Marrying Theron Draix in a few days was a life long dream come true.
For seventeen years, I'd loved him, revolving my life around him, and in just three days, we should be married.
"Let's break up. I won't be attending the wedding," he said.
My life shattered in that instant.
Finding out he was in love with my adopted sister was worse. They had played me and controlled my emotions.
At the end, Mireya had killed me.
If I was given a second chance, I would never love Theron and never trust Mireya.
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."
8.7
"Stay the fuck away from me." He rasped.
My breath hitched.
The' Proper Tycoon' was gone. Hearing him curse was like hearing a statue scream, it was a total breakdown of his carefully constructed reality and it lit a fire inside me.
"You think this is a game?" he seethed, his chest heaving against mine. "You think you can just show up in my park, show up at my friend's club, and play with my son to get what you want?"
"I'm not playing, Arthur." I whispered, my voice thick. I leaned my head back against the pillar, exposing the line of my throat. "I'm offering you a good service."
I looked him dead in the eye, my lips pulling into a slow, defiant smirk. I shifted my hips forward, feeling the heat radiating off his thighs.
His gaze dropped to my lips before snapping back to my eyes. His grip on my arms tightened just a fraction. "I want you to disappear back into whatever gutter Caspian Beaumont found you in."
"And if I don't?" I challenged.
Elara Vance is the 'Expert,' a high-end escort paid to be the perfect companion for the elite men of Boston. But when her mother leaves her with a $2 million debt to the city's most dangerous loan sharks, Elara needs a 'whale' to survive. She finds Arthur Sterling, the 'Ice King' of the biomedical world who is drowning in his own perfection.
Arthur needs a fiancée to secure a multi-billion dollar merger and a companion for his shy son. Elara is the only one who sees through the 'Ice King' mask. What starts as a $4 million contract for stability turns into a dangerous game of real emotions, hidden pasts, and a "Clean Slate" that might cost them everything.
The Billionaire's Contracted Escort is a scorching story of redemption, sacrifice, and a love that was never part of the deal. In a world built on lies, the most dangerous thing they can do is tell the truth.