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 3
The door clicked shut, sealing them in a world of gold leaf and velvet. The city lights of Manhattan sprawled out through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a billion uncaring eyes.
Harrison didn't waste time. He tossed his jacket onto a chair and walked toward her. He didn't rush. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was going to get.
Angelina's throat went dry. Brittain's idea of intimacy was quick, efficient, and usually happened with the lights off. This felt... raw.
Harrison stopped inches from her. He reached out and took the Hermès bag from her grip, setting it on the console table.
"Stop shaking," he murmured. "I'm not him."
The mention of Brittain was the trigger. The anger she had been suppressing for two years flared up, hot and bright. She didn't wait for him to initiate. She stood on her tiptoes, grabbed the lapels of his shirt, and pulled him down.
She kissed him. It wasn't gentle. It was a collision.
Harrison froze for a split second, surprised, before a low growl vibrated in his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the floor, crushing her against him. He kissed her back with a hunger that bordered on violence. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her, tasting the vodka and the mint.
He carried her to the bedroom, not breaking the kiss. He laid her down on the massive bed, his body covering hers, a heavy, solid weight that felt grounding.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough.
Angelina opened her eyes. Harrison was hovering over her, his eyes dark, searching.
"Say my name," he said. "I want to hear you say it."
"Harrison," she breathed.
He didn't just have sex with her. He dismantled her. Every touch was deliberate, every movement calculated to wring a reaction from her. He made her feel things she had convinced herself she was incapable of feeling. He forced her to be present, to be vocal, to be Angelina, not Mrs. Kane.
Afterward, the silence in the room was different. It wasn't heavy anymore. It was soft.
Angelina lay curled on her side, the high-thread-count sheets pulled up to her chin. She felt exhausted, sore, and strangely, incredibly hungry.
Harrison was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, one arm thrown over his eyes. He shifted, turning to look at her. He reached out, his index finger tracing the line of her spine.
"You're starving," he said. It wasn't a question.
Angelina's stomach growled loudly. She flushed. "I... I usually skip dinner."
"To fit into the sample sizes Brittain likes?" Harrison scoffed. He sat up and grabbed the room service menu. "Not tonight."
He picked up the hotel phone. "Two double cheeseburgers. Fries. Truffle aioli. And... a chocolate milkshake. Two straws."
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting cross-legged on the million-dollar bed, surrounded by greaseproof paper.
Angelina hesitated, holding the burger. It was greasy, heavy, everything she wasn't allowed to have.
"Eat it, Angelina," Harrison said, taking a massive bite of his own. "It's just food. It won't kill you."
She took a bite. The taste of salt, fat, and cheese exploded in her mouth. She groaned involuntarily. She ate the whole thing. She wiped a smudge of ketchup from her lip, but she missed a spot.
Harrison reached out. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, wiping away the sauce. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. It was such a domestic, intimate gesture that it terrified her more than the sex had.
She pulled back sharply.
Harrison dropped his hand. The mask slid back into place, but his eyes remained soft.
"You staying?" she asked, her voice quiet.
Harrison lay back down, pulling the duvet up. "I'm not leaving a suite that costs fifteen grand a night until check-out. Besides," he closed his eyes, "we haven't finished the milkshake."
Angelina watched him sleep. For the first time in two years, she didn't feel alone. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
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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.