The Billionaire's Unwritten Wife
My name is Eleanor Whitmore, and I was sent to destroy him.
Sebastian Calloway: cold, brilliant, untouchable.
Britain's most powerful tech billionaire.
A man whose fiancée died in a "perfectly clean" car accident... weeks before seventy-three million dollars vanished from his company.
My job was simple: expose him.
Instead, he offered me his last name.
A contract marriage.
One year.
No love. No trust. No turning back.
He says he's being framed.
He says his fiancée was murdered.
He says I'm in danger.
I don't believe powerful men.
But when someone tries to silence me, I realize the truth is darker than I imagined.
Now I'm living in his penthouse. Wearing his ring. Sleeping in his bed.
Pretending to be his wife.
The world thinks I belong to him.
The terrifying part?
I'm starting to want to.
And if I fall for the man I was supposed to destroy...
It won't just ruin my career.
It might get us both killed.
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Chapter 4
By morning, the estate looked untouched.
The shattered window had been replaced.
The blood had been cleaned.
The bullet holes sealed and painted over.
As if violence could be edited out like a public relations mistake.
Eleanor Whitmore stood in the hallway outside Sebastian's private study and understood something with chilling clarity:
This was not the first time someone had tried to kill him.
And it would not be the last.
Inside the study, voices were low but tense.
"Trajectory confirms the shooter was positioned beyond the tree line," a man said.
Ellie recognized him. Marcus Hale, head of security. Former military. Efficient. Loyal.
Or at least he appeared that way.
"The angle suggests they knew which room you were in," Marcus continued.
A beat of silence followed.
Which meant one thing.
Inside information.
Ellie stepped into the room.
Sebastian stood near the fireplace, one hand in his pocket, expression unreadable.
He looked composed.
Too composed.
"Was anyone detained?" she asked.
Marcus glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to Sebastian.
"No, ma'am. The shooter was gone within ninety seconds."
"Professional," Sebastian said calmly.
Marcus nodded.
"Very."
Ellie folded her arms.
"Then we assume someone here told them where to aim."
The room went still.
Marcus's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Are you suggesting internal compromise?" he asked carefully.
"I'm suggesting," Ellie replied coolly, "that snipers don't guess which window to shoot."
Sebastian's gaze flicked between them.
Thoughtful.
Measured.
"Run a full internal audit," he instructed Marcus. "Discreetly."
Marcus hesitated a fraction of a second too long.
"Yes, sir."
When he left, the silence felt heavier.
"You suspect him," Sebastian observed.
"I suspect everyone."
A faint approval flickered in his eyes.
"You're adapting quickly."
"I prefer being alive."
He stepped closer, studying her.
"You didn't panic last night."
"I was busy not dying."
"That isn't what I meant."
His gaze softened slightly.
"You didn't run."
Her chest tightened.
"I told you," she said quietly. "I don't."
A moment passed between them.
Charged.
Unspoken.
He reached out before he seemed to realize he was doing it.
His fingers brushed lightly against her wrist.
Testing.
Asking.
She didn't pull away.
Not this time.
"You should move into my wing," he said quietly.
Her pulse jumped.
"That wasn't part of the agreement."
"Security protocol has changed."
"So has proximity."
His thumb shifted slightly against her skin.
The contact was minimal.
But deliberate.
"You think I can't control myself?" he asked softly.
The air thickened.
"I think," she replied carefully, "that lines blur when people almost die together."
A pause.
His jaw tightened, not in anger.
In restraint.
"You will have your own bedroom," he said evenly. "Attached to mine. Private access corridor. Increased surveillance."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I double security around your current room and accept the vulnerability."
Vulnerability.
The word hung there.
He was offering protection.
But he was also offering closeness.
And that was far more dangerous.
"I'll move," she said finally.
Relief flickered through his eyes, quickly masked.
"Good."
By noon, the media had shifted focus.
Attempted assassination.
Anonymous sources.
Speculation.
Damien Rhodes held a press interview outside his own Manhattan tower.
Ellie watched it from the estate's media room.
"Violence has no place in corporate disagreement," Damien said solemnly to reporters. "My thoughts are with Mr. Calloway and his fiancée."
His fiancée.
The word still felt foreign.
Damien continued, "I hope this incident does not distract from necessary leadership conversations at Calloway Industries."
Necessary leadership conversations.
Translation: board vote still happening.
Sebastian stood beside her, silent.
"He's accelerating the timeline," Ellie said.
"Yes."
"He benefits from chaos."
"Yes."
She turned to face him.
"Why haven't you removed him from the board?"
"Because removing him without evidence would fracture investor confidence."
"So you're playing chess."
"I always am."
"And he just knocked over a piece."
His gaze darkened.
"Yes."
Her phone buzzed.
This time it was Oliver.
She stepped into the hallway to answer.
"Ellie, what the hell is happening?" Oliver demanded immediately.
"You've seen the news."
"I've seen everything. Engagement. Assassination attempt. Are you out of your mind?"
"Possibly."
"Tell me you're not emotionally involved."
She hesitated.
Too long.
"Ellie."
"It's strategic," she said carefully.
"Strategic doesn't bleed."
Her chest tightened.
"I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"I can handle this."
A pause.
"Just remember who you were before him," Oliver said quietly.
The call ended.
She stood there longer than necessary.
Who was she before him?
Certain.
Detached.
Safe.
Inside the bedroom wing, her belongings had already been relocated.
Efficient.
Seamless.
The new room was elegant but less personal than the one she had occupied.
Through a private door, she could see the entrance to Sebastian's suite.
Too close.
Too intimate.
She stepped inside her new room and closed the door firmly.
Breathing in.
Breathing out.
This was still a contract.
Still controlled.
Still temporary.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
She opened the door.
Sebastian stood there, jacket removed, sleeves rolled again.
There was something restless about him tonight.
"The board has moved the vote to Friday," he said.
"That's three days."
"Yes."
"Damien pushed it."
"Yes."
She studied his face.
"You expected this."
"I anticipated escalation."
"And the shooting?"
A flicker of something dark crossed his expression.
"That was meant to destabilize me."
"Did it?"
He looked at her.
"No."
The honesty in his voice unsettled her.
"Are you ever afraid?" she asked suddenly.
A long silence.
"Of losing control," he admitted quietly. "Yes."
She stepped closer without realizing.
"You didn't lose control last night."
"I almost did."
Her breath hitched.
"Because of the shooter?"
His eyes dropped briefly to her lips.
"No."
The word felt heavier than it should have.
Silence wrapped around them.
Thick.
Electric.
"If this becomes personal," she whispered, "we both lose objectivity."
"Yes."
"And if it already is?"
His restraint snapped just slightly.
He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
The touch was slow.
Intentional.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
She should have.
She didn't.
The space between them dissolved.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
But close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin.
A loud crash echoed from downstairs.
Both of them froze.
Voices shouted.
Running footsteps.
Sebastian pulled away instantly.
Control restored.
"Stay here," he ordered.
"I'm not staying anywhere."
He didn't argue this time.
They moved quickly down the hallway.
Marcus stood in the foyer, holding a tablet.
"There's been a breach in the security system," he said.
Sebastian's eyes hardened.
"External?"
Marcus hesitated.
"No, sir."
Ellie's stomach dropped.
"Internal override," Marcus finished.
Silence.
Deadly silence.
"Who has access to override codes?" Sebastian asked calmly.
"Only three people," Marcus replied.
"Yourself. Me. And..."
He stopped.
"And?" Ellie pressed.
Marcus's gaze shifted toward Sebastian.
"Your late fiancée had emergency clearance," he finished.
The implication hung in the air.
"She's dead," Ellie said carefully.
"Yes."
Marcus swallowed.
"But her access was never fully revoked."
Sebastian's expression changed.
Not fear.
Something colder.
"Meaning someone has been using Lydia's credentials," Ellie whispered.
"Yes," Marcus confirmed.
Which meant...
Whoever killed Lydia.
Was inside the system.
Inside the company.
Inside the war.
Sebastian's jaw tightened.
"Trace the override," he ordered.
"We're trying," Marcus said. "But whoever did it knew exactly which logs to erase."
Professional.
Strategic.
Personal.
Ellie felt the pieces clicking into place.
"Damien," she said quietly.
Sebastian didn't respond.
But his silence was agreement.
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the estate went completely dark.
For one suspended second, there was nothing but silence.
Then...
The emergency generators failed.
Pitch black.
Ellie felt Sebastian's hand find hers instantly.
Firm.
Protective.
Not strategic.
Instinctive.
"Stay close," he murmured.
In the darkness, she could hear it.
Footsteps.
Not security.
Not Marcus.
Different.
Measured.
Inside the house.
Someone had breached the perimeter.
And this time,
They hadn't come from a distance.
They were already within the walls.
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9.7
Luna Elena Frost was never chosen, only assigned.
Bound to Alpha Alaric Ashbourne through a cold contractual marriage, she endures three years as a Luna in name only. He never comes home, never defends her, and never looks at her, while his heart belongs to another woman.
At his grandmother's funeral, Alaric publicly dissolves their marriage, humiliating Elena before the entire pack. In that moment, she finally understands the truth. She was never wanted.
But the Moon has not abandoned her.
A forgotten night resurfaces. Her long-silent wolf begins to awaken. And secrets buried within her bloodline start to surface, drawing danger from every direction.
Cast out by the pack that once used her, Elena must flee, survive, and uncover her true power.
Only then does the Alpha realize his mistake.
By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
7.1
I sat alone at my long marble dining table, staring at a plate of cold truffle risotto. My husband, Jere, was late again, claiming he was stuck in a "war zone" of a board meeting for a multi-billion dollar merger.
A single Instagram notification shattered the silence. It was a photo of a candlelit birthday dinner, featuring a man's hand resting on a white tablecloth. I recognized the slight veins, the jagged scar on the thumb, and the navy-faced Patek Philippe watch I had spent six months tracking down as a wedding gift. Jere wasn't in a boardroom; he was celebrating his ex-girlfriend Irina's birthday while texting me to "don't wait up."
The next morning, I followed him to a VIP hospital wing. I watched through a cracked door as my husband cuddled a five-year-old boy and whispered tender promises to Irina. When he came home, he tried to buy my silence with a rare pink diamond bracelet, but I found the receipt: he had bought two identical ones. He had branded his wife and his mistress with matching jewelry, using hidden trackers to keep us both on a leash. When I confronted him, he didn't flinch. He coldly reminded me that he owned my father's massive debts and could send him to prison for insolvency fraud with one phone call.
"Stop with the attitude, Deliah," he said.
I felt like a ghost haunting my own life, trapped in a gilded cage by the man who paid for my mother's heart surgery while keeping a secret family across town. The humiliation peaked at our rescheduled anniversary dinner when Jere received a text, threw a stack of hundreds at me like I was a stranger, and abandoned me in a crowded restaurant to rush back to her.
"Pay the bill," he commanded before walking out.
Standing in the wreckage of a shattered crystal vase back at the penthouse, I realized my silence was the only thing keeping his empire standing. I pulled the crumpled divorce papers from my purse and signed my name with a steady hand. I wasn't just walking away; I was calling his sister to help me burn his perfect world to the ground.
9.2
Jacqueline Blackburn, a desperate Ivy League tutor, walked into the sleazy Veridian VIP club just to save her job.
But her billionaire client, the ruthless Christian Montgomery, mistook her for a cheap escort, blowing cigar smoke in her face and treating her like trash.
When she furiously turned to leave, a drunk former client attacked her in the hallway, tearing her white dress open and pinning her by the throat.
She fought back, stabbing the man's hand with a pen, only for Christian to emerge from the shadows and brutally crush the attacker's bleeding hand under his heel.
Instead of letting her go, Christian draped his heavy suit jacket over her exposed skin, trapped her in his dark suite, and forced her to sign a suffocating contract.
"You have exactly ninety days, or I will personally ensure you cease to exist in my city."
She thought she could just keep her head down, teach his nephew, and survive.
But she didn't understand why this terrifying underground tyrant was suddenly so fixated on her.
Why did he use his immense power to isolate her, publicly claim her at a billionaire gala, and track her every move?
When she received a chilling midnight text demanding she pack her bags and move into his sprawling estate by 8:00 AM, the terrifying reality set in.
She hadn't escaped the wolf. She had just walked directly into his cage.
7.7
Eva Brooks, a 25-year-old woman, was set up by her best friend. Her fiancé broke up with her and demanded compensation for allegedly cheating on him.
Eva had a one-night stand with the richest CEO in Dominic City, Ethan Owen. He was arrogant and offered her a job as his secretary.
As his secretary, Ethan couldn't shake his fondness for Eva. He became obsessed with her, worrying that she was cheating on him.
He broke up with his fiancée to become engaged to Eva, but will his fiancée let him go? Will Eva accept a relationship with her boss?
7.4
"Will you be a good girl for Daddy?" His husky voice dripped with lust.
"Yes, please fuck me hard, Daddy." I answered, breathlessly.
His hands were all over my body as he pressed into me roughly and I could feel my pussy swelling in response to his hardness.
"Good," he whispered against my ear, teeth nipping at my skin. "Because you'll be a damn good whore."He bit down again, pulling away from me long enough to grab one of my wrists and pin it above my head, then began fucking me hard, his hips rolling violently and slamming into mine in time with his movements.
•• •• ••
Camille Caldwell, tasked by her wealthy father to learn the ropes of business under the watchful eyes of a dear and trusted mentor, Gavriel found herself juggling between being a dutiful secretary and a seductive temptress at night.
At first, all she wanted from him was for him to give a good report to her father of her behavior, but as she got closer to him, she couldn't resist the magnetic attraction that drew her to him.
When Billionaire Gavriel Donovan agreed to take the only daughter of his friend under his wing as his secretary, he merely counted it as doing a favor for an old friend, but Camille will have him doing the unthinkable, and he'll have her pinned beneath him, screaming for more pleasure.
Can their forbidden desires survive in a world where their romance is regarded as abominable?
Was Gavriel willing to put his friendship and reputation on the line for a girl he was old enough to father?
*****
This book unapologetically contains very dark, raw, and mature contents. Do not open unless you'd love to be stuck in a sex-filled, lusty, and romantic world.
7.4
Standing on the edge of a limestone quarry in the pouring rain, I thought we were just having another family argument.
Then my mother, Ardell, screamed that I’d let the life insurance lapse, and my brother, Hakeem, stepped out of the shadows with a cold, calculating look in his eyes.
I told them I knew the truth—that Hakeem had cut the brake lines on my father’s car—but they didn't flinch. Instead, Hakeem shoved me hard, sending me tumbling into the abyss.
I hit a jagged ledge thirty feet down, the sound of my spine snapping like a dry branch echoing through the rain. As I lay paralyzed and broken, my mother watched from above, asking if I was dead yet, before Hakeem whistled for the starving wild dogs that lived in the quarry floor.
"Nature will clean up the mess,"
Hakeem said, walking away while the first set of teeth sank into my throat.
The agony was a tidal wave, but the rage was hotter, a nuclear hatred for the family that stole my future and the daughter I’d never see grow up. I died in that dirt, consumed by fire and teeth, wondering how a mother could choose a car payment over her own child's life.
But then, I gasped for air, sitting bolt upright in my old trailer bedroom. I looked at the calendar: May 12, 2014.
I was seventeen again, but I wasn't the same girl. Inside this malnourished body was the mind of a world-class trauma surgeon and the elite hacker known as 'Phantom.'
This time, I wasn't going to the quarry; I was going for their throats.