The Fake Blind Heiress's Sweet Revenge
After an accident left me blind, I spent six months trapped in darkness, relying entirely on my devoted fiancé and my caring adoptive sister.
But when my vision miraculously returned one morning, the first thing I saw was the two of them tangled in my guest room bed.
"As soon as that blind bitch signs the marriage proxy, the money defaults to my control."
I kept my eyes unfocused and played the fool. I watched as they forged my signature to drain my thirty-million-dollar trust fund. My adoptive parents even demanded I surrender my company shares because a disabled woman was a liability. When I refused, they went completely insane. Under the guise of a family dinner, they locked me in a VIP room with a grotesque Wall Street vulture, planning to sell my body to save their bankrupt business.
I had given this family everything, yet they were dissecting my life like vultures, convinced I was just a helpless, blind toy they could easily throw away.
But they had no idea I had already hired a supposedly homeless man to be my proxy husband to protect my assets. And they certainly didn't know this "beggar" was actually the ruthless, hidden billionaire heir of the Sweeney family. Gripping the hidden knife inside my dress, I dropped the blind act. It was time to burn them all to the ground.
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Chapter 1
The heavy, suffocating darkness that had trapped Aurora for six months finally fractured.
She blinked. Once. Twice. The blurry shapes above her slowly sharpened into the intricate plaster moldings of her penthouse bedroom ceiling. The crisp morning light filtering through the sheer curtains sent a sharp, physical ache straight to the back of her retinas.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Her fingers dug into the silk sheets. She could see. The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water, shocking her nervous system into overdrive.
She pushed herself up. Her arm muscles trembled violently, weak from months of careful, hesitant movements. She threw off the covers, her bare feet hitting the freezing hardwood floor. The cold grounded her.
Then, she heard it.
A low, breathy moan echoed from the end of the hallway. It was a sound that sliced through the quiet morning, sharp and unmistakable.
Aurora's stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot. She turned her head toward her nightstand. Her white cane rested against the mahogany wood. Her fingers hovered over the grip, but she pulled her hand back. She didn't need it. Not right now.
She walked out of the bedroom, her bare feet making no sound. The bright light in the hallway made her eyes water, tears spilling hot down her cheeks as she forced herself to keep them open.
She stopped outside the guest room. The heavy oak door was cracked open, spilling a warm, yellow light into the corridor. The sounds were louder now. Wet, rhythmic, and accompanied by a high-pitched giggle that made bile rise in Aurora's throat.
She leaned closer, peering through the narrow gap.
Her heart completely stopped. The air vanished from her lungs.
On the center of the king-sized bed, her fiancé, Jaren Sweeney, was tangled in the sheets with her adoptive sister, Hilary Russo.
Hilary threw her head back, laughing that familiar, grating laugh. She ran her hands through Jaren's hair, pulling him closer.
"When are we finally getting her trust fund, Jaren?" Hilary asked, her voice dripping with sweet poison. "I'm sick of waiting."
Jaren kissed her neck, his hands moving over her skin. "Today. As soon as that homeless proxy signs the marriage certificate with her, the money defaults to my control. The blind bitch won't suspect a thing."
A wave of pure, physical nausea hit Aurora so hard she had to press her hand against the wall to stay upright. Her blood turned to ice. The man who had held her hand in the hospital, the sister who had cried by her bedside-they were dissecting her life like vultures.
She didn't think. Her body moved on pure, raw adrenaline.
She shoved the heavy oak door. It slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.
The two figures on the bed froze instantly. Jaren whipped his head around, his eyes wide with sheer panic as they locked onto Aurora.
Hilary let out a piercing scream, scrambling backward and pulling the white duvet up to her chin. Her eyes darted around, flashing with a brief, ugly annoyance at being caught.
Jaren practically fell off the bed, grabbing his silk robe from the floor and shoving his arms into the sleeves. He stumbled, trying to pull the robe around himself, his hands fumbling wildly with the sash in a pathetic display of panic, and forced his voice into that sickeningly gentle tone he always used with her.
"Aurora? Sweetheart, why didn't you knock?"
He took a step toward her. He raised his hand and waved his fingers directly in front of her face, testing her.
Aurora's jaw clamped shut so hard her teeth ached. She stared straight ahead, forcing her eye muscles to relax, letting her gaze go completely unfocused and empty. She didn't blink. She didn't flinch.
"Why are there noises coming from my guest room?" Aurora asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of the violent storm ripping through her chest.
Hilary caught on immediately. Seeing Aurora's blank stare, she let out a fake, trembling sob.
"Oh, Aurora," Hilary cried, her voice thick with manufactured pity. "I was just helping Jaren change the bandages on his shoulder. It hurts him so much."
Jaren stepped closer, his patience snapping. He reached out and grabbed Aurora's wrist. His grip was brutal, his fingers digging into her fragile bones.
"Let's go back to your room," Jaren ordered, his gentle tone completely gone, replaced by a cold, hard edge. He yanked her arm, trying to drag her out of the doorway.
Aurora fought back. She twisted her arm, her fingernails sinking deep into the back of Jaren's hand, drawing a thin line of blood.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed, her voice cracking.
Jaren hissed in pain. His face twisted into an ugly snarl. He raised his hand, balling it into a fist, ready to strike the blind woman who dared to defy him.
Before his arm could swing down, the electronic lock on the front door beeped, the temporary access card Jaren had provided for the proxy signing functioning perfectly. Then, the heavy oak door was kicked open with an explosive crack.
Heavy, purposeful footsteps stormed down the hallway, carrying a freezing, terrifying pressure.
A man appeared in the doorway. He was tall, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He wore a cheap, faded jacket, but the dark, murderous look in his eyes belonged to an apex predator.
He lunged forward. His massive hand clamped around Jaren's raised wrist.
A sickening crunch of bone echoed in the room.
Jaren let out an agonizing, high-pitched scream, his knees buckling instantly.
The man didn't hesitate. He tossed Jaren backward like a piece of garbage. Jaren slammed into the corner of the wall, clutching his broken wrist and sobbing.
The man stepped in front of Aurora, his broad back completely shielding her from the bed.
"Who the hell are you?" Jaren screamed, his face pale and sweating.
The man looked down at Jaren, his jaw tight, his eyes dead and cold.
"I'm her husband," he said.
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9.1
Julian Laurent was known as the most notorious playboy in Rivermont, changing girlfriends as often as he changed his clothes and treating marriage like a joke.
Clara Sterling, on the other hand, had always been the most quiet and obedient daughter of the Sterling family. Raised as the heir since childhood, she had been flawless in every word and every gesture.
A family-arranged marriage forced these two complete opposites into the same life.
On their wedding night, Julian openly made out with a young model at a nightclub.
For the first time, Clara cast aside her propriety, slapping him and demanding a divorce on the spot.
But before the next day was over, their families had forced them to remarry.
This time, Julian managed to stay faithful for a month before he cheated again.
Clara filed for divorce once more, cutting ties with him completely.
However, that very same day, it was revealed that Clara was not the real daughter of the Sterling family, and she was thrown out.
At her lowest point, Julian found her and solemnly promised to protect her from then on.
They remarried again, and from that day forward, the scandals surrounding Julian ceased.
Everyone said Clara was lucky. Even her best friend insisted that Julian had truly settled down, and Clara believed it.
Until she saw him in a hospital corridor, holding her best friend's hand, his voice strained with deep emotion, "I never liked her. You're the one I've always loved!"
It turned out all of his tenderness had been a lie.
This time, she walked away and never looked back.
And the man who had once treated her as disposable only realized after she was gone that he had long since drowned in her quiet love, unable to escape.
8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.
9.1
With only fifteen days of cash flow left to save her tech startup, Aida had no choice but to seek a five-million-dollar bridge loan from Brendan Walls, a ruthless billionaire predator.
He agreed to sign the check, but on one sickening condition. He demanded Aida act as bait to get close to his corporate rival, Grayson Lott, treating her like a high-end call girl for a business transaction.
Forced to comply to save her employees, Aida let Grayson take her to a windowless underground club, where he secretly spiked her whiskey.
As the drugs paralyzed her body, triggering horrific flashbacks of a brutal assault from six years ago, Aida locked herself in the bathroom. She had to shatter a mirror and slice her own thigh open with a jagged shard of glass just to stay conscious enough to call Brendan for help.
Brendan's armored SUV immediately smashed through the club's wall to save her, and Grayson was arrested. But lying in the hospital, the horrifying truth finally clicked in Aida's mind.
The rescue was too fast. Brendan’s men hadn't rushed from Midtown; they had been parked outside the entire time. He had watched Grayson drug her and waited for the felony to happen just so he could legally seize Grayson's company. He had gambled her life and trauma for a hostile takeover.
When Brendan casually tossed a signed contract and luxury car keys onto her hospital bed as hush money, the last thread of Aida's sanity snapped.
"The deal is dead. NovaTech is mine. If you ever come near me again, I will kill you."
Bleeding and shaking with icy rage, Aida threw the keys at his chest, formally declaring war on the monster who thought he could buy her soul.
8.0
"IS IT TRUE?" Grayson's voice thundered through the room.
"Yes!" Tessa said softly. "Yes it is!"
"So you've been cheating on me, haven't you?" He spat.
Her hands trembled. "No, I swear, it's not like that."
He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising her wrist as she squealed in pain.
"Then whose baby are you carrying, huh?" His voice was ice cold.
Tessa shivered, tears blurring her vision.
"I don't know."
**********
Pregnant with the powerful Roman Blackwood's child, while engaged to his unstable stepbrother - Tessa Quinn becomes the key to a ruthless inheritance war where love has no place.
As secrets unravel and danger closes in, Tessa must protect her unborn child while trapped between love, vengeance, and men who want to own her fate.
7.9
Viewer Discretion Advised: This sultry collection plunges into raw, unbridled passion, shadowy romance, and the intoxicating grip of dominance, obsession, and carnal temptation. Crafted for mature audiences, it teases the edges of taboo entanglements, feverish ecstasy, and the razor-thin boundary between restraint and total, shuddering surrender.
In Dangerous Desires, immerse yourself in a realm where lust overrides reason and pulses thunder on the brink of ecstasy and devastation. Each tale strips bare a new facet of craving-where adversaries melt into entangled lovers, hidden truths threaten to shatter kingdoms of control, and erotic hunger flares in the most forbidden corners.
From dominant CEOs and eager assistants locked in charged, sweat-slicked power plays, to tycoons and subordinates blurring the lines of authority with breathless, illicit touches, every clash throbs with electric tension. Foes prowl like flame to tinder, sparking an unstoppable blaze of chemistry that demands skin-on-skin surrender.
Venturing deeper into the forbidden, twilight beckons with supernatural seduction-enigmatic lovers, eternal seducers, and ethereal entities lure mortals into bonds that tangle terror with throbbing arousal. In these realms, desire doesn't merely stir-it devours, leaving bodies quivering and souls utterly claimed.
Each story in this anthology throbs with peril, allure, and the exquisite rush of yielding to the forbidden ache-one that shouldn't ignite, but consumes without mercy.
8.3
My husband watched as my skin melted, scalded by boiling soup, yet his hands were busy comforting my attacker. Five years of marriage, built on a foundation of my family's power, crumbled with a single, brutal act of betrayal. He bought me off with a penthouse and a trust fund, but I tore out my IV and threw his charity back in his face.
It was our fifth anniversary, but my husband, Ethan, remained distant, avoiding any talk of Chicago or the mafia protection my family once offered him. He then pushed a black velvet box across the table.
Inside was a Separation and Property Division Agreement, not a diamond. He told me to sign for Ilene's security, offering millions. When I refused, Ilene hurled boiling soup. Ethan shielded her, not me, as the scalding liquid melted my dress.
With second-degree burns, he blamed me, ordering me from our home for Ilene’s comfort. My family saved him, yet he sacrificed my body and marriage for another woman.
The love I felt turned to ash. What kind of debt demanded my flesh and marriage?
I ripped the IV from my arm, hurling his "charity" keys back. My diamond ring placed on the agreement, I walked away. From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other.