THE MAID'S SECRET
Tomiwa thought she was just taking a job but she walked into a mansion full of secrets.
Working for billionaire Chinedu Obiakor was supposed to be simple, but nothing about her new life is ordinary. Caught between duty, danger, and desire, Tomiwa finds herself torn between protecting a deadly secret and falling for the man she should fear the most.
A powerful, slow-burn romance full of drama, betrayal, and forbidden love.
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Chapter 2
The third day in the Obianyo mansion taught me one thing: wealth doesn't always come with warmth.
Everything sparkled floors, furniture, even the cold air but no one smiled. The other staff moved like shadows, barely speaking unless spoken to. Every surface was spotless. Every task had a time. Every word could be heard by someone watching.
I quickly learned the rules.
Rule one: Don't go near the west wing.
Rule two: Don't answer calls meant for the Obianyo family.
Rule three: Never ask questions.
I didn't break the rules.
Not on purpose.
But curiosity has a way of crawling under locked doors.
It happened just after noon.
Madam Nneka had stepped out to meet a delivery, and I was sent to refill the glass water dispensers on the second floor, Chinedu' wing
As I passed his study, I heard voices low and urgent. I paused. Only for a second.
"I told you to clear it before the end of the month," Chinedu's voice snapped. "I don't care if it's risky. Handle it."
A pause. Then something softer. "No, she doesn't know. She's just a maid."
My heart kicked.
Was he talking about me?
I should have kept walking, but my feet did not move fast enough. The door creaked slightly, just enough to reveal his silhouette inside leaning against a dark wood desk, one hand gripping a tumbler of something that wasn't water.
"End the call," he barked, and suddenly his eyes turned toward the door.
I froze.
The next moment, the door flew open.
He stared at me like I was a stain on his floor.
"What did you hear?"
I dropped my gaze. "Nothing, sir. I...I was just passing"
"You don't pass this side without permission."
"I'm sorry."
He stepped closer. His cologne hit first, sharp,expensive, intoxicating. Then his voice, low and deliberate.In this house, listening costs people their jobs. Or worse.
I swallowed. It won't happen again.
He leaned in slightly. Good. Because I don't like repeating myself.
Then, just as quickly, he turned and walked back in.
The door slammed shut.
I ran down the hallway, heart pounding. By the time I reached the kitchen, my hands were shaking. I kept washing the same glass over and over until my fingers went numb.
"What happened to you?" one of the junior maids asked.
I forced a smile. Just tired.
But it was not just tiredness. It was fear. And something else I couldn't name.
I told myself it was just intimidation he was my boss, and that's all it was.
But why did the sound of his voice keep looping in my head?
Why did my skin remember the nearness of him?
That evening, I went to the servant quarters behind the mansion. I had barely touched my rice when I got a message from Madam Nneka.
Obianyo requests his room cleaned again. Now.
Again?
I'd already cleaned it that morning. But orders are orders.
I returned to the main house, climbed the staircase, and entered his room quietly.
He was there seated on the edge of the bed, head bowed, shirt half unbuttoned, as if caught between rest and regret.
He didn't look at me.
"Clean," he said without lifting his gaze.
I moved slowly, wiping already-clean surfaces with shaky hands, unsure if he was watching. The silence was too loud. I could hear every breath.
"Where are you from?" he asked suddenly.
I froze. "Ojuelegba, sir."
That explains the cautious eyes.
I didn't respond.
"You don't belong in places like this," he continued.
I know.
Another silence. Then, more quietly: Then why are you still here?
I looked up, surprised. "Because I need to be."
This time, his eyes met mine.
For a brief second, I saw something raw. Tired. Almost human.
But then it was gone.
He stood, walked past me, and whispered as he passed
"Be careful, Tomiwa."
And just like that, he left the room.
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Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
9.4
**Fortune between Us** is a fast-paced, dramatic tale of ambition, love, and power in the glamorous world of billionaires. Isabella Carter, a brilliant and determined strategist, navigates high-stakes corporate intrigue, rivalries, and sabotage while forging a complex, slowly unfolding romance with the enigmatic Alexander Blackwood. As secrets, betrayals, and crises threaten to unravel everything, Isabella must rely on intelligence, courage, and intuition to survive-and thrive-in a world where wealth, influence, and desire collide.
8.5
Alexandrea woke up with a splitting headache in a strange hotel bed, terrified to find a brutally handsome, half-naked stranger beside her.
Before she could even scream, the door burst open. Her adoptive mother, Ivette, stormed in with a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.
"How could you disgrace our family name like this?"
Ivette sobbed, putting on a theatrical performance of a heartbroken mother. It was a setup to completely ruin Alexandrea's reputation in front of New York's elite.
For ten years, Alexandrea had lived in a house of horrors. Her back and arms were covered in silvery scars and puckered cigarette burns left by Ivette's vicious abuse.
Yet to the public, Ivette had carefully crafted Alexandrea's image as a wild, ungrateful, and manipulative liar.
Trapped under the duvet, Alexandrea was drowning in shame, her voice lost in the storm of accusations.
She didn't understand why her adoptive family hated her so much, treating her worse than a stray dog while using her brother's future to keep her chained.
But what she understood even less was the stranger beside her.
Instead of panicking, the man slowly sat up, his presence alone silencing the frantic room. He was Ace Griffith, the billionaire heir who owned half of Manhattan.
He wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling shoulders, looked Ivette dead in the eye, and dropped a bomb.
"I will be marrying her."
Then, he carried Alexandrea away from her ten-year prison, ordering his men to dig up the Terry family's darkest secrets and her true identity.
7.8
Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire.
I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper.
I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he’d dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family’s land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock.
I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim.
"If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned.
So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell—the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months.
Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I’ve suspended Hugh’s executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I’m just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout.
But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back.
9.6
In a world where mates are found by scent, he should have known but he didn't.
The richest supernatural billionaire in the city. The most feared Alpha of the most powerful pack. Untouchable. And cursed, or so he believes is unable to smell his true mate.
Yet something keeps pulling him toward her. No scent. No bond. Only a relentless, inexplicable obsession.
She knows the truth. She knows he is her mate. But revealing herself would put them both in danger, and risk exposing secrets she has fought to keep buried.
Now, every glance, every accidental touch, every near encounter drags them closer to a connection neither of them can deny.
In a city of shadows, power, and hidden wolves, can love survive when the bond cannot be smelled, yet cannot be ignored?
7.7
It's common knowledge that Ethan married me only because I look like his first love.
Three years of marriage, and he never once slept with me, because he thought it would be a desecration of his first love.
On the surface, I was madly in love with him. In reality, I was blowing through his money like crazy and keeping a man on the side.
But now there's a problem.
The man I've been keeping… how does he look exactly like the richest man in New York? And even have the same name?