The Billionaire's Secret Ten Year Obsession
Brooke was supposed to marry her fiancé, Gaven, in less than twenty-four hours to secure her sick mother's corporate legacy.
But the night before the wedding, she followed a mysterious text to a hotel suite, only to find Gaven pressing her half-sister against a sofa.
Through the crack in the door, she recorded their sickening moans and their cold conspiracy to drain her mother's company the moment the marriage papers were signed.
At the altar the next day, Brooke didn't say "I do."
Instead, she hijacked the church's projector, broadcasting their sex tape and offshore fraud documents to hundreds of wealthy guests.
But instead of supporting her, her own father stormed the altar and slapped her across the face with brutal force.
He cared more about the corporate merger than his daughter, threatening to blacklist her from the industry, while Gaven vowed to completely destroy her.
Bleeding and stripped of her family ties, Brooke walked out into a freezing downpour, completely isolated against a powerful family ready to ruin her sick mother's life's work.
She had no money, no allies, and nowhere to go.
Just as a furious Gaven chased her into the street, a massive black Maybach sliced through the rain and pulled up in front of her.
Inside sat Foster Pruitt, the ruthless, terrifying billionaire whose life she had accidentally saved from a car wreck the night before.
Knowing he desperately needed a wife to secure his own empire, Brooke climbed into his car and looked at the most dangerous man in the city.
"Marry me."
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Chapter 3
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the VIP suite at the private hospital, warming the expensive Persian rug.
Foster sat up against the pillows of the hospital bed. He had changed into a crisp, dark navy shirt. A fresh white bandage covered the stitches on his forehead.
Errol stood at the foot of the bed, holding a leather-bound tablet.
"The interception was successful, sir," Errol reported, swiping across the screen. "Senator Vance's convoy was delayed on the highway. He missed the crucial hearing. The zoning laws for the new energy plant will pass in our favor."
Errol lowered the tablet. His brow was heavily furrowed.
"But sir," Errol continued, his voice tight with disapproval. "Sacrificing a custom Maybach, and putting your own life at risk to stall a politician... the cost was too high. We could have handled Vance another way."
Foster let out a low, dark chuckle. He reached over to the bedside table, picked up a glass of ice water, and took a slow sip.
"Who said it was a sacrifice?" Foster asked, his tone dangerously soft.
Errol blinked. "Sir?"
Foster set the glass down. His dark eyes locked onto Errol, stripping away all pretense.
"I ordered the brake lines cut," Foster said.
Errol's mouth fell open. He stared at his boss, genuine shock radiating from his face. "You... you orchestrated your own crash? That was a suicide mission!"
Foster threw the blankets off and stood up. He walked over to the window, looking down at the sprawling, sun-drenched streets of Los Angeles.
"It was a calculated risk," Foster said, his voice devoid of emotion. "It stalled Vance. It cleared the Pruitt family name of any suspicion regarding the recent port cartel issues, because I am now a documented victim of a 'tragic accident.'"
Foster turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder.
"But most importantly," Foster murmured, his voice dropping an octave, "I knew exactly what time she would be driving down that road."
Errol froze. The pieces clicked together in his brain. The traffic cameras. The rhinestone button. The refusal to take painkillers.
He used his own life as bait just to force an encounter with a woman.
Foster reached into his pocket and pulled out the small rhinestone button. He rolled it between his thumb and index finger. The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated obsession.
"Call off the search on the cameras," Foster commanded. "I already know who she is."
He turned fully to face Errol.
"Brooke Rivers." Foster said her name like a prayer he had been holding in his mouth for a decade. "Confirm her schedule. She is supposed to be at the Holy Trinity Church in Beverly Hills at noon."
Errol swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"And Errol," Foster added, his voice dropping to a smooth, lethal register. "Ensure the 'wedding gift' for Miss Rivers is delivered exactly as instructed to her private line. She'll need ammunition for the war she's about to start."
"It has already been sent, sir," Errol confirmed, bowing his head.
Errol quickly left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Foster stood alone in the quiet suite. He looked down at the button in his hand. His chest tightened with a heavy, aching pressure.
"Ten years," Foster whispered to the empty room. "You're finally coming back to me."
Across the city, inside the bridal suite of the Holy Trinity Church, Brooke was sitting alone.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The heavy Vera Wang gown felt like a suit of armor. Outside the thick wooden door, she could hear the muffled chatter of hundreds of wealthy guests taking their seats.
Her private cell phone, sitting on the vanity, suddenly vibrated.
Brooke frowned. She picked it up. The screen displayed a scrambled, virtual number.
She hesitated for a second before swiping to answer. She pressed the phone to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Brooke."
The voice on the other end was distorted, masked by a heavy digital scrambler. It sounded robotic, yet strangely commanding.
Brooke stood up instantly. Her spine went rigid. "Who is this?"
"A friend," the distorted voice replied. "I know what you saw in the penthouse suite last night."
Brooke's breath hitched. Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. "What do you want?"
A low, dark chuckle came through the speaker. "I want to give you a wedding gift. Check your email. The secure one."
Brooke dropped the phone onto the vanity and snatched up her iPad. She opened her encrypted email account.
There was a new message with a large zip file attached.
She tapped it. The files unzipped, flooding her screen with PDF documents.
Brooke's eyes widened. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
They were bank statements. Offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. Wire transfers moving millions of dollars out of the Rivers family company directly into accounts controlled by Gaven and Livia.
And at the bottom of the pile were scanned documents with her mother's forged signature.
This wasn't just cheating. This was felony fraud. It was a coordinated, illegal takeover of her mother's legacy.
"Are you looking at them?" the voice asked through the phone speaker.
Brooke picked the phone back up. Her hands were shaking, but this time, it was from pure, blinding rage.
"Are you going to settle for just a sex tape to end this farce?" the voice taunted softly.
Brooke dug her manicured nails into her palm until the skin broke. The pain grounded her.
"This is exactly what I needed," Brooke said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I don't know who you are, but I owe you."
The line went dead.
Brooke didn't waste a second. she plugged a small USB drive into her iPad and transferred every single document onto it.
She pulled the USB out and gripped it tightly in her fist.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her father, Prescott Rivers, walked in. He was wearing a custom tuxedo, his silver hair perfectly styled. He looked at her with cold, calculating eyes.
"It's time, Brooke," Prescott said, checking his Rolex. "Don't keep the investors waiting."
Brooke looked at the man who had sold her out. She slipped the small USB drive into a hidden slit she had cut into the layers of tulle in her skirt.
She pasted on a brilliant, flawless smile.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Father."
She walked over and looped her arm through his. The warmth radiating from his arm made her skin crawl, but she held her head high.
As the heavy church doors swung open and the first massive chords of the organ filled the air, Brooke stepped onto the red carpet.
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8.9
For seven years, I hid my MIT Ph.D. and my identity as a top haute couture designer to be the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Cornelius Lambert.
But on our anniversary, while I waited at home with a cold dinner, I found him at a Michelin restaurant with his childhood sweetheart, Halle.
My seven-year-old son sat between them, laughing loudly.
"Mom is too boring. I wish Aunt Halle was my real mom."
Cornelius didn't defend me. He just smiled and affectionately ruffled the boy's hair.
When I finally packed my bags and left, I accidentally triggered an old AI robot prototype Cornelius had given me years ago.
A hidden recording played his voice from the very night he proposed.
"Why marry her? Because she's easy to control. Halle doesn't want to settle down yet, so Cassidy is just a perfect, temporary shield."
Later, when I caught them being intimate in a dark parking garage and snapped a photo, Cornelius watched with cold, dead eyes as his massive bodyguard shoved me against a concrete pillar.
My arm was torn open, blood dripping onto the floor, as they forced me to delete the evidence of his affair.
For seven years, I filed down every sharp edge of my brilliance for a man who saw me as nothing but a pathetic, disposable placeholder.
My heart turned to absolute ice. He thought I was just a weak, powerless housewife.
But he forgot who he was dealing with.
As his luxury car drove away, I pulled up the hidden command terminal on my phone and recovered the encrypted cloud backup of the photos.
I looked at my lawyer with a bleeding arm and a cold smile.
"Let's go. Now, we have a weapon."
8.5
A brutal fire had Brenna's mother abandon her.
When the family finally "reunited" with her, she was a scarred outcast mucking stalls and tending horses in the countryside.
They tore into her icily. "We only brought you back to marry in your sister's place. Don't you dare bring disgrace on us!"
Disgusted, Brenna cut them off.
Then the truth surfaced-a famed jeweler called her mentor, a top hospital director named her heir, an elite hacker circle bowed to her, and her scars faded into stunning beauty.
Regrets came too late. She was already in a tycoon's arms.
Vincent, a power player straddling both business and illegal worlds, had a secret: he was colorblind.
That was until Brenna unexpectedly burst into his life, bringing colors back into his world.
At first, he never thought he could fall for this seemingly unattractive woman, yet as time passed, his heart surrendered...
9.7
Pastry chef Olivia Chen is drowning in debt when billionaire Ashton Blackwell makes her an offer: marry him for one year to secure his inheritance, and he'll pay off everything plus give her a million dollars. No love, just business.
But fake vows become real feelings, and when Ashton's vengeful ex returns with devastating family secrets, Olivia must choose between protecting the man she's fallen for and exposing the truth that could destroy him.
In a world of lies and betrayal, their contract marriage might be the only real thing worth fighting for.
9.3
I lay on the wet asphalt, the cold rain mixing with the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth. My lungs were heavy, filling with fluid as my life ebbed away. Through swollen eyelids, I saw my lover, Clovis, and my stepsister, Alanna, standing over me with looks of pure triumph.
"Thanks for the trust fund, sister," Alanna whispered, shoving a phone screen in front of my dying eyes. The headline was a jagged blade to my soul: Caesar Williamson, the "tyrant" husband I had fled from, was dead in a multi-car collision. He had died trying to rescue me, thinking I was in danger.
The realization shattered what was left of my heart. The man I had spent years painting as a monster had driven into hell to save me, while the man I thought was my safety was the one who had just crushed my ribs with an iron bar. I had played right into their hands, ruining my reputation and my marriage for a lie. I watched them walk away, leaving me to choke on my own blood in the dark, discarded like a bag of trash.
I wanted to scream, to beg the universe for a rewind button, to tell Caesar I was sorry. The darkness pressed down on me, heavier than the betrayal, as my world finally went black.
Then, I was screaming.
I shot up in bed, gasping for air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. I scrambled at my abdomen—smooth skin, no blood, no tear. I grabbed my phone and saw the date: it was three years ago, the morning of my wedding to the Williamson estate.
I didn't waste a second. I scrubbed the "unstable" makeup from my face, threw on a white silk dress, and blocked the man who would eventually kill me. This time, I wasn't running away from the manor. I was going back to the husband I had once feared, ready to save the only man who had ever truly loved me.
9.0
Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress.
Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door.
Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest.
"Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises."
The original owner had left her an absolute mess.
Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings.
If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days.
Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic.
Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies?
She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim.
Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest.
"I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm.
She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.
9.1
Ava Montgomery has it all. Wealth, beauty, and a life that everyone envies. By night, she becomes someone no one would expect. She is a masked vigilante who fights corruption inside her own family's empire.
Leo Kane is smart, charming, and dangerous. His family was ruined by Ava's father and he is determined to get revenge. When he meets Ava, sparks fly, but he does not know she is the very enemy he is hunting.
Secrets and lies surround them. Every smile hides the truth. Every touch is risky. Ava and Leo must navigate a world full of betrayal, passion, and danger before the city, their families, and their hearts are destroyed.