The Billionaire's Secret Obsession: She Is Mine
Julianna was drowning in a corporate warzone, fighting a massive department deficit while fending off her mother’s relentless matchmaking.
Then, a ghost from her past returned to shatter her reality.
Eight years ago, Aidan Caldwell walked out of her life without a word. Now, he was back in New York as a ruthless billionaire, and a pitch-black Maybach started stalking her in the dim underground garage.
She had no idea the driver hiding behind the obsidian-tinted glass was Aidan.
She didn't know he had just choked a confession out of an executive, discovering that her "betrayal" eight years ago was a complete lie.
"Stay away from her. The rules are mine now."
Aidan had warned his rivals, his sanity tearing at the seams as he watched from the shadows while a creepy coworker put an arm around her shoulder.
He shattered glasses and crushed her favorite white flowers in his penthouse, driven by a lethal, obsessive jealousy seeing other men touch what belonged to him.
Julianna was completely in the dark, feeling only a heavy, predatory stare pinning her to the cold concrete.
When a sudden, heartbreaking scent of cedarwood rolled out of the cracked car window, her brain short-circuited.
Why was this terrifying stranger stalking her in the shadows?
Desperate to save her career, Julianna recklessly agreed to fake an engagement with a wealthy heir this weekend.
But she had no idea Aidan had already rigged her company's crisis, and the predator was about to tear her world apart to claim her back.
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Chapter 3
On the twelfth floor of the publishing group's headquarters, the conference room felt like a war zone.
Orville slammed a massive, hardcover art book by the late Silas Thorne onto the glass table. The heavy thud made Julianna wince.
She rubbed her throbbing temples. "Orville, the budget is over by two hundred percent. We don't have the money."
Orville leaned over the table, planting both hands on the glass. "You cannot compromise on art, Julianna. This is Silas Thorne."
Julianna didn't blink. She flipped open the financial report, uncapped a red pen, and aggressively circled the massive deficit at the bottom of the page. "I'm not compromising on art. I'm telling you we are broke. Your vision is a financial suicide mission."
"You are a corporate machine," Orville spat, his face turning red. "You don't understand the creative process at all."
He snatched the art book off the table, turned on his heel, and slammed the glass door behind him.
Julianna slumped back into her ergonomic chair, the fight draining out of her. She closed her eyes, the headache behind them pulsing with every heartbeat.
Fifty-eight floors above her, in the executive penthouse suite, the temperature in the room was cold enough to freeze blood.
Brent Aguilar, the Vice President of the publishing group, pushed open the double walnut doors. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and a politician's practiced, hollow smile.
Aidan Caldwell stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to the room. He wore a dark grey bespoke suit that fit his broad shoulders flawlessly. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. He looked like a king surveying his empire.
"Aidan," Brent said, his voice dripping with forced familiarity. He walked forward, extending his right hand. "Welcome back to New York. It's an honor to have Europe's top architectural consultant looking at our building."
Aidan turned around slowly. His eyes, dark and bottomless, dropped to Brent's outstretched hand. He stared at it for three agonizing seconds. He made absolutely no move to take it.
Brent's smile faltered. He awkwardly pulled his hand back and wiped his palm against his trousers, his chest tightening with sudden anxiety.
Aidan walked past him and sat down on the center leather sofa. He crossed his long legs, resting his ankle on his knee. His posture was relaxed, but the energy radiating off him was suffocating.
He tossed the unlit cigar onto the glass coffee table. "Where are the structural assessment files?" His voice was a low, rough rasp that demanded immediate compliance.
Brent hurried over to the wet bar. He needed to do something with his hands. He grabbed two crystal tumblers. The ice clinked loudly against the glass as he poured two generous measures of expensive Macallan whiskey.
He walked back and slid one of the tumblers across the table toward Aidan. "We have them ready. But come on, man. It's been years. We should catch up."
Aidan stared at the amber liquid swirling in the glass. His expression was unreadable. He picked up the tumbler but didn't bring it to his lips. Instead, his thumb slowly traced the cut-glass pattern on the side.
Brent swallowed hard, pushing his luck. "I saw the Pritzker nomination. Congratulations. I have to ask, though... why leave Paris? Why take a boring consulting gig for a publishing building in New York?"
Aidan's thumb stopped moving. A dark, violent shadow crossed his eyes.
He slowly lifted his head. His gaze cut through Brent's fake smile like a scalpel.
"Some assets are more valuable than buildings," Aidan said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Did you think I'd forgotten what was mine? That there was nothing left in New York worth coming back to claim?"
Brent's face froze. The blood drained from his cheeks. His hand trembled, and a single drop of whiskey spilled over the rim of his glass, splashing onto his knuckles.
The rich smell of the alcohol filled the air, mixing with the sudden, heavy tension that felt like a loaded gun pointed at Brent's chest.
Brent quickly took a massive gulp of his drink. He looked at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but Aidan's eyes. "I... I don't know what you mean."
Aidan slammed his untouched glass down onto the table. The heavy thud echoed through the massive room.
He stood up, towering over Brent. "I'm taking over the project."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned his back on Brent and walked straight out the double doors.
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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.
9.3
Marissa was the perfect wife. She traded her high powered corporate ladder for home cooked meals and a designer sanctuary, all to support her husband, Ethan.
But when Ethan confesses to a four month affair not out of guilt, but because his mistress is extorting him for $300 million...Marissa's world turns to ash.Ethan's solution is as twisted as his heart.
"Cheat back. Get even. Stay married."Driven by a cocktail of rage and Revenge, Marissa decides to take him up on his offer. She heads into the night looking for a single moment of rebellion to wash away the scent of Ethan's lies.
She finds it in the arms of a cold, devastatingly masked handsome stranger who makes her forget everything.Broken and fueled by the betrayal, Marissa decides to take the ultimate risk. She slips into an exclusive, members only masquerade club...a place where names don't exist and only desires matter.
Behind a lace mask, she meets him....a man who smells of expensive bourbon and cold command.He is the first person in years to see the fire in her, not just the wife she became.They share a night of scorched....earth passion that leaves Marissa breathless and "even." She leaves before the sun rises, intending for the stranger to remain a ghost of her revenge.
But some ghosts have a name.When the masks come off and the corporate world demands her return, Marissa comes face to face with the man from the club. He isn't just anyone. He is Xavier Sterling....the ruthless billionaire CEO she once worked for, and the man Ethan calls his "best friend."Xavier knows her scent. He knows her touch. And most dangerously, he knows exactly what Ethan did to her.
Now, Marissa has to navigate a world where her husband wants her to stay, the mistress wants her dead, and the CEO wants to own the one woman he was never supposed to touch.
Now, Marissa is caught in a lethal triangle. Xavier wants to own her, Ethan wants to keep her to save his reputation, and the $300 million debt is threatening to drown them all. In a world of billionaire power plays, Marissa is about to learn that revenge is a dish best served... in the CEO's bed.
8.8
On the eve of my glamorous Waldorf Astoria wedding, I went to the penthouse to surprise my fiancé, Hugh, wearing my late mother's heirloom pearls.
Instead, I heard my stepsister's familiar laugh and caught them tangled together on the sofa.
Through the cracked door, I heard Hugh slur that he was only marrying me for my family's financial backing.
"As soon as I secure my inheritance, she's the first thing I'm getting rid of," he promised her.
Floy giggled and asked for my mother's pearl necklace, my only legacy. Hugh agreed without hesitation, mocking my dead mother's naivety and my desperate dreams of building a family.
Every sweet word he had ever said was a lie, a knife he had been patiently sliding between my ribs for years. They planned to strip me of everything the moment I signed the prenup.
I didn't cry or scream. The crushing weight of their betrayal hollowed me out, leaving behind a terrifying, absolute calm.
Why should I be the one to lose everything while they stole my future and insulted my mother's memory?
I calmly walked down the hall, set the prenuptial agreement on fire, and vanished into the rainy night.
If Hugh wanted to play dirty for the Maxwell empire, I would play for keeps.
Using a forgotten, century-old family covenant, I was going to marry Hugh's uncle-the comatose, paralyzed war hero, Fleet Maxwell.
I would return not as a naive bride, but as their worst nightmare: his aunt, and the new lady of the house.
9.2
Nica caught her boyfriend, Chris, and her best friend, Ella, in a shocking betrayal. Chris was kissing Ella while caressing her close, and Ella only smirked at Nica as if she had won. Nica got pissed off and swore she would not let their betrayal go unpunished. What happens next? Read the story and find out for yourself.
7.0
Eleanore thought her fiancé, Johan, was her only salvation after her family went bankrupt.
But at a high-society gala, he handed her a drugged glass of water. As the unnatural heat burned through her veins, the horrific truth hit her. Johan had isolated her and controlled her finances, all while secretly getting engaged to a wealthy heiress. He drugged Eleanore to ruin her completely, planning to lock her away as his helpless, secret mistress.
Desperate and losing her mind to the drug, Eleanore fled down the hallway. With Johan and his bodyguards hunting her, she stumbled into the dark presidential suite.
But she wasn't alone. Sitting on the leather sofa was Alexander Briggs—the most feared corporate raider on Wall Street, and Johan's exiled brother.
Outside the door, Johan was screaming, ready to drag her back to hell.
"I can be your antidote. But it's going to cost you."
The ruthless billionaire looked at her trembling body with cold calculation. He offered her a staggering deal: a three-month fake marriage to destroy Johan's empire, and in return, absolute protection and her father's massive debts paid in full.
She couldn't understand why the most powerful predator in New York would use a ruined girl as his weapon, but she knew she would rather die than let Johan touch her again.
When Johan finally broke down the door to claim his prey, Alexander calmly pulled Eleanore into his arms.
"Watch your mouth. You are speaking to my future wife."
9.2
I was a broke freelance copywriter, tortured for three sleepless nights by an impossible corporate client.
Needing to vent, I typed out a wild, highly inappropriate rant mocking the brand's stiff heritage.
But in my exhausted, sleep-deprived blur, I accidentally sent the massive block of text to the wrong chat.
The recipient wasn't my friend. It was Emerson Beard, the elite, ruthless brand consultant I was supposed to desperately network with.
I waited for the professional execution, terrified of the massive five-figure penalty fee hanging over my head.
Instead, he didn't block me. He critiqued my unhinged draft.
He saved my career through late-night, encrypted phone calls, his deep, commanding voice becoming my only lifeline.
But when I heard a woman with a sultry French accent knocking on his hotel door during our call, my ugly jealousy flared.
I yelled at him and hung up, completely humiliating myself.
I thought I was just a pathetic, annoying workaholic interrupting his romantic getaway.
But he texted back to clarify he was entirely single, and in the process, realized I was actually twenty-five, not a fresh-out-of-school teenager like he had assumed.
The cold, distant mentor instantly vanished.
In his place was a man radiating a raw, aggressive, and predatory energy that bled right through the screen.
"Texting is too inefficient. The full integration requires face-to-face communication."
He dropped a location pin for an ultra-exclusive Manhattan club, demanding I meet him to save my contract.
Wearing a desperately bought emerald silk dress, I pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping right into the trap of a man who had just taken off his leash.