The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting.
"Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes."
Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind.
I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba.
How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow?
When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE.
"Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me."
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Chapter 5
The morning sun reflected off the white marble steps of the New York City Clerk's Office.
A black SUV pulled up to the curb.
Luke stepped out first. He was no longer in tactical gear. He wore a tight black t-shirt that strained against his biceps and dark sunglasses. He looked like a weapon.
He opened the rear door.
Isabella stepped out.
She was wearing a white power suit. The tailoring was impeccable, sharp enough to cut glass. She wore oversized sunglasses and four-inch stilettos that clicked rhythmically on the pavement.
Hamilton was already there, standing near the entrance with Preston. He looked exhausted. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.
He looked up as the car door closed. He saw the stilettos first, then the white power suit. His breath caught in his throat. He recognized her instantly, but it was like seeing a ghost wearing a stranger's skin.
She took off her sunglasses, and his last shred of doubt vanished.
"Isabella?" he asked, his voice cracking with disbelief.
He looked at the suit. He looked at Luke standing protectively beside her.
His face darkened. "So this is it? This is why you wanted the divorce so fast? You found a sugar daddy?"
He gestured at Luke.
Isabella didn't even look at Luke. She looked straight at Hamilton.
"This is strictly business, Mr. Mckee. We have an appointment."
Luke stepped between them, his hand held up in a stopping motion. "Back up, sir."
Hamilton bristled. "Excuse me? I'm her husband."
"Not for long," Luke said. His voice was a low rumble.
Hamilton felt a surge of anger he couldn't explain. It wasn't just annoyance. It was possession. She was his mouse. His charity case.
They walked inside. The fluorescent lights of the clerk's office buzzed overhead.
The clerk, a bored woman with reading glasses, looked at the papers.
"Sign here. And here."
The sound of the stamp hitting the paper echoed like a gavel. Thud. Thud.
"Divorce granted," the clerk droned.
Isabella picked up her copy. She folded it neatly and slid it into an orange Hermès Birkin bag that Luke was holding for her.
Hamilton's eyes widened. He recognized the bag. It cost more than a car.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded. "Did you max out my supplementary card before I cut it off?"
Isabella stopped. She turned to him, a small, pitying smile playing on her lips.
"Check your statements, Hamilton. I haven't spent a dime of your money in three years. Not for clothes. Not for food. Not for anything."
Hamilton froze. He tried to remember the last time he saw a bill from her. He couldn't.
"Then who..." He looked at Luke again. "Him?"
Isabella laughed. It was a light, airy sound that didn't reach her eyes.
"Goodbye, Hamilton."
She turned to leave.
Hamilton reached out. He grabbed her wrist. "Wait. We need to talk about-"
Luke moved faster than Hamilton could process. In a blur of motion, he had seized Hamilton's wrist and twisted it, forcing him to let go.
"Do not touch her," Luke snarled.
Hamilton stumbled back, rubbing his wrist. He stared at the bodyguard, shocked by the speed and the strength.
His phone rang. Cuba.
Isabella didn't look back. She walked out the door, her heels clicking a victory march.
Hamilton stared after her. The phone kept ringing.
"What?" he snapped into the receiver, his eyes still fixed on the closing door.
"Hamilton?" Cuba's voice was whiny. "My leg hurts. The doctor says I might have nerve damage from the... the stress."
Hamilton watched Isabella get into the SUV. The door closed.
"I'm coming," he said, but his voice was hollow.
"Sir," Preston whispered, looking at his tablet. "The market just opened. The Journal just published a story about OmniCorp's stolen IP. Mckee Capital stock is down 8%. Someone is shorting us heavily."
Hamilton tore his eyes away from the street. "What? Who?"
"We don't know," Preston said. "It's a shell company. Aegis Ventures."
Hamilton felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
Isabella sat in the back of the SUV. She watched the City Clerk's office disappear in the rearview mirror.
"Luke," she said. "Give me the copy of the marriage certificate."
Luke handed her the paper.
She held it up. With calm, deliberate movements, she tore it in half. Then in quarters. Then into confetti.
She dropped the pieces into the small trash bin in the door panel.
"Goodbye, Isabella Mckee," she whispered.
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8.3
Ayleen Ramirez sat in the sterile Hope Hill Fertility Clinic, her heart shattering as Dr. Finch delivered the crushing news: her third IVF cycle had failed.
Eavesdropping outside a supply closet, she overheard her husband Don on the phone, laughing cruelly. "She's a defective incubator," he sneered to his mistress Alessandra. "I never used my sperm—just cheap bank donation. No trailer trash carries a Bradley heir."
Betrayed, Ayleen confronted him, but her adoptive family ambushed her at home. Her parents and brother sided with Alessandra, now pregnant by Don, demanding Ayleen sign divorce papers to secure family investments. "You're an embarrassment," her mother snapped, threatening to cut her trust fund. Ayleen tossed back their heirloom necklace and walked out.
She stormed the Bradley mansion, slapped divorce papers on Don, packed her bags amid his aunt's insults, and fled into the night.
Drunk in a trendy bar, she stumbled into a powerful stranger—Burdette Guerrero—spilling whiskey on his crotch, then accidentally grabbed a napkin to his trousers. He shoved her away in rage.
Worse, she mistook his penthouse suite for her hotel room, bursting in on his shower, smashing a mirror in panic. He pinned her to the wall, snarling accusations.
How did this arrogant man know her name? Why demand she sign a mysterious contract at 9 a.m.? Devastated and clueless she's actually pregnant—with his stolen heir—Ayleen sobbed alone, the world crumbling.
The next morning, she straightened her spine in the Grand Guerrero lobby, ready to face him and demand answers—no matter the cost.
8.1
I was the "fallen princess" of New York, living in a charcoal silk cage while paying off my father’s millions in debt with my own body. My owner was Braxton Kensington, a man who looked at me with the same cold interest he gave a fluctuating stock graph.
One morning, a New York Times alert shattered the silence: Braxton was getting engaged to a billionaire socialite in the merger of the decade. When I demanded my freedom and the five-million-dollar severance promised in our contract, he just smirked and pointed to the fine print.
"In a court of law, an engagement is just an intention," he whispered, gripping my chin until it bruised. "Until I sign that marriage license, you belong to me."
He flicked a black AmEx at my feet like I was a tragic charity case, ordering me to buy a dress for his engagement gala. To save my dying mother from eviction, I took a secret translation job, only to realize my client was his new fiancée, Caroline. She dragged me to Braxton’s office to humiliate me, and after he hid me in a secret room to avoid a scandal, he branded me a "security risk" and froze every cent I had.
I stood in a CVS with my last sixty dollars, swallowing a Plan B pill dry while watching a news report about Braxton demolishing my family’s last legacy. He didn't just want my body; he wanted to erase my entire existence and leave me with nothing.
The cruelty was breathtaking, but Braxton forgot that a woman with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous player in the game. I reached out to the only man he truly feared—his billionaire half-brother and the boy whose heart I broke years ago, Ansel Neal.
"Coffee isn't enough," Ansel replied to my message in seconds. "Dinner. Our old spot. 8 PM."
As I walked into the club to meet Braxton's greatest rival, I knew the game wasn't over. I was just changing the rules.
8.5
🔞Explicit Content🔞
"Suck my c^ck, Rosabella. That's all you're good at. A hopeless orphan can only dream of luxury. Keep your filthy mouth out of my affair...use it only to make me cum."
******
Bella Hale has known suffering her entire life. Orphaned at sixteen, she survives on scraps and desperation. She does whatever it takes not to starve with only little dignity intact.
She envies the rich-people who seem immune to hardship and pain. Yet she promised herself that if she ever got her hands on one of them, she would never let go. She was done suffering.
Lucian Rodriguez is everything she should despise.
A cold, selfish, ruthless billionaire with little conscience and no mercy...
a man who knows how to smile for the world while keeping his darkness well hidden.
Their worlds collide when Lucian's four-month-old daughter goes missing... and Bella finds her.
Lucian offers no gratitude...and Bella refuses to let the opportunity slip. She demands compensation. Not just money, but security. A lifetime guarantee that she will never be poor again. In return, she will do whatever he wants. Her body. Her life. He can have it all.
Bella is taken into his world-strictly as a deal.
What she doesn't realize is that when you make a deal with the devil, you should never expect it to be fair.
And she will learn too late that being poor was far better than belonging to Lucian Rodriguez.
A deal turns into obsession.
Survival into desire.
Desire into Hate.
Hate into Love.
That love and commitment becomes the biggest and worst mistake.
Will Bella's desperate deal destroy her?
Or Will she become Lucian's destruction?
8.8
After years trapped under the cruelty of her stepfather's control, Isabella knew the rules of surviving in a world ruled by men like Marco Deluca - never be noticed, never be wanted. But when she becomes a witness to something she was never meant to see, Vincenzo spares her life for reasons he doesn't understand.
Drawn to her quiet strength and fearless gaze, he finds himself willing to burn his empire to keep her safe. But loving him means stepping into a world that destroys everything it touches... and she might be the only thing he can't afford to lose.
9.3
"Adrian, why would you lie to me? Why would you let her push my mum like that?"
Yvonne's voice trembled, holding back tears.
Adrian smirked. "Wake up, Yvonne. You really thought I wanted you when Tricia was right here?"
That was how Adrian-her first crush, the boy she thought cared-chose to humiliate her in front of everyone as she was the cleaner's adopted daughter.
But fate had other plans.
Because the Diamond Belfort brothers-the heirs everyone adored were coming to their school in search of their missing heiress- baby sister. But the queen bee steals the chance that should have been hers. Then again, secrets don't stay buried forever. With her true identity waiting to explode, Yvonne must decide to rise from the ashes, claim her place, and bring down everyone who tried to destroy her.
Because the real heiress doesn't beg.
She takes rather.
Now, Yvonne is done playing small. It's her time to rise, reclaim her crown, and make everyone regret ever doubting her.
9.5
Ten years ago, a storm tore through Burke Manor and destroyed my life. I was just an eight-year-old orphan hiding in the shadows when a rotted balcony railing gave way, sending the heir to the Burke fortune plummeting to the pavement.
Before the ambulance even arrived, the lie was set in stone.
"She pushed him!" my rival screamed, and the world instantly branded me a murderer.
I was hauled away in a police cruiser, losing everything. A decade later, I was an eighteen-year-old mechanic in Queens, covered in grease and struggling to keep my Nana Rose alive.
But the past doesn't stay buried. Finn Burke returned in a black Maybach, looking like a predatory emperor. When Nana suffered a massive heart attack, the hospital demanded a deposit I couldn't pay, and Finn was there with a checkbook and a contract of "indebted servitude."
He bought my grandmother's life and, in exchange, he bought me. He dragged me back to the manor, locked a titanium GPS shackle around my wrist, and forced me to be his personal caretaker.
He wants me to manage his pain, to bathe him, and to look at his crippled legs every day as a reminder of the "sin" he says I committed. He calls me his property, a slave to a debt I can never repay.
But while massaging his legs, I felt something impossible—muscle tone and reactive tension that shouldn't exist after ten years of paralysis.
He thinks he’s broken me, but he’s forgotten one thing. I’m a mechanic; I know when someone is hiding what’s under the hood.
Finn Burke is lying about his legs, and I’m going to find out why, even if I have to burn this manor down to get the truth.