The Jilted Ex-Wife's Undercover Billionaire Assistant
Carlee signed the divorce papers without a second of hesitation, ending a three-year marriage to a billionaire husband she had never even met.
She walked away with nothing, publicly cutting ties with both the Vaughan empire and her toxic family to launch her own jewelry design studio.
Her family immediately retaliated. They mocked her as a useless, abandoned trophy wife and ruthlessly blacklisted her new company from every major supplier in the city, intent on forcing her to crawl back.
Exhausted but defiant, she hired a handsome, seemingly broke valet she bumped into outside a hotel to be her personal assistant.
She even bought him a tailored suit, pitying his maxed-out credit cards and his desperate need for a paycheck.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
Why did this humble assistant possess such lethal combat skills, effortlessly snapping a two-hundred-pound bodyguard's wrist to protect her?
And why did top-tier luxury store managers bow to him in absolute, trembling terror?
"Whatever is happening, I will handle it."
Carlee found a foolish comfort in her poor assistant's reassuring voice.
She had absolutely no idea that the man sitting at the wobbly desk in her cramped office was Braden Vaughan—her legally divorced ex-husband. And the ruthless billionaire was currently orchestrating a global financial massacre from the shadows, entirely obsessed with clearing her path to the top.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 8
At three o'clock in the afternoon, the quiet hum of the C.B. Designs office was shattered.
Heavy, aggressive footsteps echoed down the exterior hallway.
The frosted glass door was violently shoved open. It slammed against the wall with a deafening crash. Lena screamed and dropped a stack of files.
Arthur Barron, the ruthless patriarch of Barron Industries, marched into the room. His face was purple with rage.
Right behind him walked Brigette, a smug, venomous smile plastered on her face. Two massive, thick-necked bodyguards flanked them, their hands resting near their waistbands.
Braden stopped typing. He sat at his wobbly desk in the corner. His dark eyes locked onto the intruders. The temperature around his desk plummeted. His gaze turned to absolute, dead ice.
Carlee threw open her office door. The moment she saw her father, the blood drained from her face, leaving behind pure, cold hatred.
Arthur ignored the staff. He marched right up to Carlee.
"Shut this pathetic little playground down immediately," Arthur ordered, his voice booming through the small space.
He slammed a thick legal contract onto the nearest desk. "You are coming back to Barron Industries as Head of Design. Sign it."
Carlee didn't even blink at the contract. She let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
"Did you see the auction numbers last night?" Carlee sneered. "Did you finally realize I'm the only one in this family with actual talent?"
Arthur's face twisted in fury. "You ungrateful brat! Without the family's supply chain, you won't last a month in this city!"
Brigette stepped forward, pretending to look concerned. "Carlee, please. Don't ruin the Barron name just because you're throwing a tantrum."
Carlee turned her head slowly. She looked at Brigette like she was a stain on the floor.
"The Barron name is already ruined," Carlee said, her voice dripping with venom. "Thanks to your cheap, plagiarized garbage designs."
Brigette gasped, her face turning a blotchy red. She lost her mind. She pointed a shaking finger at the glass display case holding Carlee's prototype models.
"Smash them!" Brigette shrieked at the bodyguards. "Smash everything!"
The two massive men grunted and lunged toward the display case.
Carlee threw her body in front of the glass, her arms spread wide. "If you touch this, I will have you arrested for trespassing!"
Arthur sneered. "The police don't care about family disputes. Move her."
The lead bodyguard reached out with a thick, meaty hand, aiming to shove Carlee out of the way.
Before his fingers could even graze her shoulder, a large, heavily veined hand shot out from the side.
Long fingers clamped around the bodyguard's thick wrist like a steel vice.
Everyone froze.
They turned to look. It was the quiet, cheap-suit-wearing assistant from the corner desk.
Braden stood at his full height. The sheer, terrifying mass of his body blocked Carlee completely. An aura of suffocating, lethal violence rolled off him in waves. He stared at the bodyguard with eyes that looked like open graves.
"This is private property," Braden said. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a death sentence. "Get out."
The bodyguard grunted and tried to yank his arm back. He couldn't move an inch.
Braden twisted his wrist. A loud, sickening crack echoed through the room.
The bodyguard screamed in agony, dropping to his knees.
The second bodyguard roared and swung a massive fist aimed right at the back of Braden's head.
Carlee screamed. Her heart leaped into her throat.
Braden didn't even turn around. He simply shifted his weight to the side, letting the fist sail past his ear. In the same fluid motion, he drove his long leg up and kicked the man squarely in the chest.
The two-hundred-pound bodyguard flew backward like a ragdoll. He crashed through the glass door, shattering it into a thousand pieces, and hit the hallway floor. He didn't get back up.
The entire sequence took less than three seconds. The room fell into a horrifying, dead silence.
Braden let go of the screaming man's broken wrist. He reached over to Lena's desk, pulled a tissue from the box, and slowly wiped his hands.
He threw the tissue on the floor. He lifted his head and locked his dead, black eyes onto Arthur Barron.
"Leave," Braden commanded.
Arthur physically recoiled. The sheer, murderous intent radiating from this nobody assistant terrified him. He took a step back, his authority completely broken.
Carlee stood behind Braden. She stared at the massive width of his back. A violent rush of adrenaline and overwhelming safety flooded her veins.
You may also like
7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
9.7
Eliana Rivera is the firstborn daughter of business tycoon Cassian Rivera. When her father's company falls into debt, he marries her off to the arrogant and ruthless billionaire, Alexander Grayson, as part of a business contract and under the threat of blackmail.
Alexander, the billionaire CEO, never planned to marry, but the pressure of blackmail forces him into a union with a woman he barely knows. Although Eliana doesn't see Alexander as her ideal partner, she agrees to the marriage out of a sense of duty.
Once engaged, however, he barely acknowledges her presence and harbours disdain for her because of her father's actions and their relationship. But as they navigate their newfound relationship, the unexpected desire for each other's touch ignites-a twist neither of them planned, leading them toward an unforeseen love.
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
7.8
Andrea was trapped in a suffocating marriage with billionaire Gregory Morse, forced to live as the pathetic substitute for his dead fiancée.
When armed intruders broke into their estate in the dead of night, she called her husband in pure terror.
"Stop playing these cheap, attention-seeking games," Gregory sneered with disgust, and hung up the phone.
She barely escaped with her life, but the cruelty only escalated. At the family mansion, his dead fiancée's sister deliberately scalded Andrea's hand with boiling tea. Instead of defending his wife, Gregory publicly humiliated her, ordering her to clean up the mess while calling her a stray dog.
That night, hiding in the dark wine cellar, Andrea overheard a chilling confession.
Gregory admitted to his brother that he knew Andrea was completely innocent of the car crash that killed his fiancée. He knew she had been framed.
Why did he marry her? Just to use her as a psychological punching bag to vent his twisted grief. He watched her suffer every single day, treating her like disposable trash, while violently threatening anyone who showed her an ounce of kindness.
He thought she was just a useless, helpless shadow who would quietly endure his torment forever.
He had no idea that behind her submissive facade, she was secretly Madame Lan, the apex predator of the global fashion world. And now, she was ready to burn his empire to the ground.
9.7
For three years, I played the role of a devoted, naive wife to billionaire Conrad Whitney. I hid my true identity and foolishly believed in our fairy tale.
Then he handed me a harsh divorce agreement, ordering me to sign and walk away with absolutely nothing. He was leaving me to marry Cindy, the fragile woman he claimed had saved him from a fire.
He expected me to cry and beg. Instead, he watched coldly as Cindy and her family illegally transferred my father's trust fund. When I confronted them at the hospital, Conrad shielded her, calling me a greedy, toxic viper. He mocked me, completely blind to the fact that Cindy was a fraud. He truly believed I was just a pathetic, useless housewife who would be utterly destroyed without his money and status.
I looked at the man I had actually dragged out of that burning debris with my own soot-covered hands. My trauma, my sacrifices, and my love had all been reduced to a joke by his sheer arrogance and a few fake tears from a manipulative liar.
I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly signed the papers, drugged his wine, and left a crumpled one-dollar bill on his unconscious chest with a sticky note mocking his terrible service.
Then, I picked up my encrypted phone. It was time for the world's top surgeon, Dr. Hades, to return, and for Conrad to finally see the god he had just thrown away.
9.4
Aria Mcgee was the unwanted second daughter of a decaying Long Island family.
To save their bankrupt corporation, her father and older sister drugged her. They shoved her into a town car and delivered her to a ruthless Wall Street billionaire's bed like a piece of meat.
They expected her to be the perfect sacrifice. The original Aria had no access to her own trust fund and was forced to live in a windowless broom closet. Even worse, a cold, synthetic System voice echoed in her skull, demanding she play the tragic, helpless female lead. It ordered her to endure her family's abuse and suffer the billionaire's humiliation to force a pathetic romance plotline.
"Host must follow the tragic trajectory and achieve the ultimate painful romance."
But the soul that woke up in that bed wasn't a weak, frightened girl. She was a dead Hollywood Oscar-winning actress. Why would a top-tier professional ever agree to play the weeping victim in such a garbage, B-list script?
Instead of trembling in fear as the System commanded, Aria looked at the billionaire and smiled. Using her flawless acting skills, she shattered his ego, extracted a hundred thousand dollars, and walked right out the door. Now, she was heading back to the Mcgee estate, ready to rip her money from her father's greedy hands and burn her sister's life to the ground.