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.
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Chapter 9
Arthur Barron stared at the shattered glass and the groaning men on the floor. His face was a mask of humiliated rage.
He pointed a shaking finger at Carlee. "Without our suppliers, your little company is dead in the water. You'll be begging me to take you back."
Carlee stepped out from behind Braden. Her chin was held high, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I would rather burn this place to the ground than take another dime from you."
Brigette grabbed Arthur's arm, her eyes darting nervously toward Braden. Together, they dragged the injured bodyguards out of the office, fleeing down the hallway.
The moment they were gone, the suffocating tension in the room snapped. Lena collapsed into her chair, gasping for air.
Carlee turned immediately to Braden. Her eyes frantically scanned his broad chest, his shoulders, and his arms, searching for any sign of blood.
She stepped right into his personal space, tilting her head back to look at his face.
"That was incredible," Carlee breathed, her voice thick with raw admiration. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Braden instantly buried the terrifying, murderous aura he had just unleashed. He reached up, adjusting his cheap glasses with a sheepish, humble smile.
"I served a few combat tours in the military before I was honorably discharged," Braden lied smoothly, keeping his posture relaxed. "You learn some advanced close-quarters combat to survive." The logic snapped perfectly into place in Carlee's mind. Of course a hardened veteran who had seen real, brutal combat would know how to dismantle a physical threat so efficiently. Her last shred of suspicion vanished, but as she looked down at his massive, heavy-knuckled hands, a profound sense of awe mixed with a chilling sliver of reverence washed over her. She realized, with a sudden spike of adrenaline, that this quiet assistant harbored a dark, incredibly dangerous past beneath his cheap suit.
A surge of protective possessiveness washed over her. She walked to her desk and grabbed her Birkin bag.
"We're closing early," Carlee announced. She pointed a finger at Braden. "Grab the keys. You're coming with me."
Braden raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. He followed her out the door.
Thirty minutes later, a yellow cab dropped them off on Fifth Avenue, right in front of the Tom Ford flagship store.
Braden pushed the heavy glass doors open. The scent of rich oud and expensive leather hit them. Two saleswomen looked up, ready to dismiss the man in the cheap suit, until they saw the Birkin on Carlee's arm. They practically sprinted over.
Carlee grabbed Braden by the shoulders and shoved him in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. She pinched the fabric of his lapel with a look of utter disgust.
"This garbage is insulting to my brand," Carlee declared. She turned to the racks, her eyes scanning the fabrics like a hawk. Within seconds, she pulled three dark, aggressively tailored suits and shoved them into his chest. "Try them on."
Braden looked at the suits. To him, they were just off-the-rack basics, but he nodded and stepped into the fitting room.
When the heavy velvet curtain pulled back, the entire store went completely silent.
Braden stepped out wearing a midnight-blue suit with a subtle pinstripe. The tailoring clung to his massive shoulders and tapered perfectly at his waist. Without the cheap fabric dragging him down, his innate, terrifyingly aristocratic aura exploded into the room.
Carlee was holding a glass of champagne. Her hand froze in mid-air. Her mouth parted slightly. A jolt of pure, electric heat shot straight to her core. He looked like a billionaire.
The two saleswomen were staring openly, their faces flushed red, completely forgetting to do their jobs.
The bell above the door chimed. A blonde socialite in a pink Chanel tweed suit walked in.
She spotted Braden instantly. Her eyes lit up like a predator. She strutted right past Carlee and stopped inches from Braden.
She pulled a card from her purse and held it out, batting her eyelashes. "I don't think we've met. Which family are you with?"
Braden's eyes went flat. He didn't even raise his hand to take the card. He looked at her like she was an insect.
Before he could speak, Carlee set her champagne glass down on the nearest display table with a sharp, deliberate clink. She walked over, her stilettos clicking like weapons against the marble floor, radiating an aura of absolute, untouchable frost. She didn't slap the woman's hand. Instead, she smoothly and gracefully stepped directly between them, her posture impeccably straight, and offered the socialite a condescending, pitying smile. "My assistant is currently on the clock," Carlee said, her voice a chilling, cultured drawl that echoed in the quiet store. "And we are far too busy building an empire to entertain irrelevant distractions. Keep your card." The blonde recognized Carlee immediately. She turned pale, scoffed loudly to save face, and practically ran out of the store.
Braden looked down at Carlee's rigid, protective stance as she shielded him from the socialite. He felt the sheer, dominant energy radiating from her slender frame. A dark, obsessive thrill ripped through his chest. He was completely addicted to the sight of her claiming him as her own, even in a strictly professional capacity. Carlee stepped back, clearing her throat to mask the sudden, inexplicable possessiveness that had just flared in her blood.
She pulled a sleek black Amex from her wallet and handed it to the manager.
"We'll take all three," she ordered.
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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.