The Billionaire's Rival: My Sweet Revenge
I had spent two years playing the perfect Stepford Wife to billionaire Brittain Kane, acting as the obedient accessory while he built his empire. I played the fool until I found his second phone, the one filled with messages and photos of a nineteen-year-old hostess.
Determined to balance the scales, I checked into the Pierre Hotel and spent twenty-five thousand dollars to hire a high-end male escort. I wanted one night of rebellion to wash away the two years of humiliation and finally even the score.
But when the heavy footsteps stopped outside my door, the man who walked in wasn’t the professional I had booked. It was Harrison Juarez—my husband’s most ruthless business rival and supposed "best friend." He stood there in a suit that cost more than my car, holding a screenshot of my scandalous booking on his phone.
My blood turned to ice as I realized my carefully constructed exit plan was over. He had the proof, the leverage, and the power to leave me with nothing in a divorce. He mocked my "cheap courage" and told me that sleeping with a hired hand wouldn't hurt a man like Brittain; he’d just pay the guy off and buy me a new car to shut me up.
The fear inside me snapped, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. I looked at the man who held my life in his hands and realized he wasn't there to expose me. He was there because he was petty, effective, and wanted to destroy Brittain just as much as I did.
"If you really want to make Brittain Kane lose his mind," Harrison whispered, his voice rough against my ear, "you don't need a gigolo. You need me."
I didn't hesitate. I reached into my bag, pulled out my husband’s black Centurion card, and tossed it at my husband's greatest enemy. I told him to book the most expensive penthouse in the city, because if I was going to ruin my marriage, I was going to do it on Brittain’s dime with the one man he feared most.
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Chapter 1
Angelina Sherman sat on the edge of the bed in the Pierre Hotel, her fingers digging into the textured leather of her Hermès Birkin bag until her knuckles turned white. The room was too quiet. The silence was heavy, pressing against her eardrums, amplifying the sound of her own heart. It wasn't a steady rhythm. It was a frantic, uneven thudding that made her chest ache.
She looked down at her wrist. Five minutes.
Five minutes until the man she had hired walked through that door.
She stood up, her legs feeling unsteady, like she had just stepped off a boat. She walked to the minibar, her hand trembling as she reached for a miniature bottle of Grey Goose. She didn't bother with a glass or ice. She twisted the cap off and downed it in one go. The alcohol burned her throat, a sharp, chemical fire that settled in her stomach. This wasn't about courage; it was part of the costume. The role of the desperate, hysterical wife required the faint scent of vodka on her breath, the slight, believable flush on her cheeks. A performance had to be perfect down to the last detail.
She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. The woman staring back was perfect. Not a hair out of place, her makeup flawless, her Chanel suit modest and expensive. It was the armor Brittain Kane had chosen for her. The Stepford Wife. The obedient accessory.
She hated her.
With a sudden, violent motion, she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. She tried to pull her lips into a seductive smile, something wild, something that wasn't Angelina. But the mirror only showed fear.
She wasn't doing this for pleasure. She was doing this because she had found the second phone. The one with the messages. The one with the pictures of the nineteen-year-old hostess. Two years of marriage, two years of playing the fool, and tonight, she was spending twenty-five thousand dollars to balance the scales.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. They were slow, deliberate. They stopped right outside her door number.
Angelina sucked in a breath, holding it in her lungs until they burned. This is a transaction, she told herself. Just a transaction.
She walked to the door. Her hand hovered over the handle. She could do this. She had to do this. She pulled the door open.
The man standing there was not the "Kyle" from the agency profile.
He was tall, towering over her, dressed in a dark suit that cost more than her car. His hair was dark, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and his eyes... his eyes were familiar.
Angelina's stomach dropped. The air left her lungs in a rush.
Harrison Juarez.
Brittain's business rival. His "best friend." The man who owned half of New York's biotech sector and had a reputation that made mothers lock up their daughters.
He didn't look surprised. He looked bored. His gaze traveled down her body, lingering on the unbuttoned collar of her blouse, before snapping back to her eyes. A corner of his mouth ticked up.
"Mrs. Kane," he drawled. His voice was deep, scraping against her nerves.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through her. She tried to slam the door.
Harrison moved faster. He didn't shove. He just placed one large hand against the wood and slid the toe of his polished Oxford shoe into the gap. He pushed, effortlessly overcoming her resistance.
"Wrong room," Angelina choked out. Her voice was the high, breathy pitch she reserved for charity galas. "You have the wrong room, Mr. Juarez."
Harrison chuckled. It was a dry, humorless sound. He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned the screen toward her. It was a screenshot. A confirmation page. Order 4409. Client: Anonymous. Location: The Pierre, Room 412.
"You really should use a VPN when you book these things, Angelina," he said.
The blood drained from her face. She stepped back, her knees hitting the edge of the bed. He knew. He had the proof. Her life, her carefully constructed exit plan, everything was over.
Harrison stepped inside and let the door click shut behind him. The lock engaging sounded like a gunshot.
He walked past her, invading her space, smelling of expensive tobacco and sandalwood. He went straight to the minibar, picked up the empty vodka bottle she had just discarded, and sniffed it.
"Cheap courage," he muttered. He turned to face her. "This is messy, Angelina. Even for a Kane."
Something inside her snapped. The fear maxed out and broke, leaving behind a cold, hard clarity. There was no point in the act anymore. The weeping willow routine wouldn't work on him.
Angelina straightened her spine. Her chin went up. The fear vanished from her eyes, replaced by a flat, icy calculation.
"How much?" she asked. Her voice dropped an octave, stripping away the breathiness. "To keep your mouth shut."
Harrison blinked. For the first time, the boredom in his eyes cracked. He looked at her, really looked at her, as if seeing a stranger.
"I don't want your money," he said, watching her closely.
"Then what? You want to run to Brittain? Tell him his little mouse is trying to roar?" She crossed her arms. "Go ahead. He'll hate you for being the bearer of bad news more than he'll hate me for doing it."
Harrison pulled his phone out again. He dialed a number, putting it to his ear while holding her gaze. "Kyle. It's Juarez. Your client at the Pierre has had a change of plans. Consider the contract fulfilled and keep the deposit."
He tossed the phone onto the bed. It bounced once and settled near her leg.
"You're right," Harrison said, stepping closer. He lowered his head until his mouth was inches from her ear. She could feel the heat radiating off him. "That escort... he's just a body. Brittain wouldn't care. He'd just buy you a new car and pay the guy off."
Angelina shivered, not from fear, but from the proximity.
"But if you really want to hurt him," Harrison whispered, his voice rough, "if you want to make Brittain Kane lose his mind... you don't need a gigolo."
He pulled back, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
"You need me."
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7.1
After five years in a federal prison, framed by my stepmother and fiancé, I was finally released.
Instead of a welcome home, my stepmother tossed me a one-way ticket to Geneva and a threat: renounce the family name and disappear, or end up in the Hudson River.
When our limo was suddenly ambushed by military-grade SUVs on the highway, their cowardice almost got us killed.
I took the wheel, crashed the attackers, and saved their lives.
But the moment the danger passed, my stepmother tried to slap me, called me a psycho, and abandoned me on the desolate roadside.
My ex-fiancé later cornered me in public, trying to assert his dominance by grabbing my arm.
They still thought I was the broken girl they sent to a cage just so they could steal my dead mother's biochemical research.
I didn't feel heartbreak, only a cold, absolute certainty.
They threw me to the wolves, not realizing the federal penitentiary had burned away my capacity for mercy.
I hacked into the dark web and found out Dante Meltoni, the most dangerous Mafia Don in New York, was tearing the city apart to find a legendary underground doctor.
I am that doctor.
I walked straight into his heavily guarded fortress, pulled out a syringe, and saved his dying grandfather.
Then I looked the terrifying Don right in the eye.
"Marry me. And let me use your empire to wipe my family off the map."
7.5
Celine loves her lover Zack very much. It was so deep that he was willing to introduce her to his father. All he got was a wound. Zack suddenly turned cold, walked away for no reason, then had the heart to return his longing with a rude attitude.
When a status on social media reveals Zack's dark side, which is hungry for women and money, Celine's heart is broken.
What's more surprising is that none of this is a coincidence. Zack wanted to destroy it. But in the midst of the destruction, there was one person who stood silently behind Celine, Arlend. The man who had been harboring feelings, was not willing to see Celine fall too deep.
Just as Celine is about to end her life on the city bridge, Arlend arrives. He saved Celine's body and possibly her soul. From that day on, Arlend vowed never to leave Celine alone again.
But Celine's wound was not finished. When Adiwangsa was threatened with bankruptcy, his position as leader was shaken. And when he chooses to secretly marry Arlend, Zack's shadow hasn't really gone from Celine's side.
How can Celine deal with all this? Between the past, and the man who is now with her.
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?
9.6
For four years, I played the perfect, naive, low-income wife to my wealthy husband Duke, completely hiding my true identity as a top-secret DARPA scientist.
On our anniversary, I discovered he was having an affair with an old-money socialite named Adelia.
He used our marital assets to buy her a half-million-dollar Birkin bag, but that wasn't the worst part.
While hiding in a parking garage, I recorded him telling his mistress that the daily prenatal vitamins he lovingly gave me were actually high-dose contraceptives.
He had secretly sterilized me to ensure I would never produce a "low-class" heir, planning to toss me aside with a tiny settlement in six months.
When I confronted him, he violently attacked me, smashed my head against a marble dresser, and locked me in our bedroom.
I thought of the four years I spent crying in doctors' offices, blaming my own body for my infertility, while he held my hand and comforted me with perfect, monstrous concern.
I didn't wait to be punished.
I climbed down the second-story balcony in the dark, leaving behind every diamond and luxury bag he had ever given me.
Sitting in the back of a taxi, I wiped the blood from my forehead and opened a secure app on my phone.
"Divorce fraud. Initiate sequence."
It was time for him to finally meet Dr. Patterson.
7.9
On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
8.6
Desperation is one of the world's worst vices. It can control the lives of people, including the poor, the middle class, and surprisingly, the wealthy.
Elena Parker is the only child of Mr and Mrs Desmond Parker,the well known billionaires in the city ranked among the top three richest men in the world.
Her relentless search for a partner to produce an heir to the riches seemed to no avail until one faithful day which forever changed her life.