The Mute Heiress: My Ruthless Husband's Prize
I woke up in a hospital bed with the sting of antiseptic in my nose and my body feeling like lead. My world had been turned upside down by a crash, but the nightmare was only beginning.
Instead of a doctor, I found my Aunt Ursula and a man named Julian standing over me. They weren't there to comfort me; they were calculating my worth.
"Poor thing," Ursula cooed, pinning my wrist to the mattress.
Julian claimed he was my fiancé, even though I’d spent a year dodging his calls. I tried to scream, but my throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. They were using my silence to paint me as incompetent so they could seize my family’s trust fund. Just as Julian tried to force a ring on my finger, the door slammed open. Hilliard Blackburn, the city’s most ruthless billionaire, walked in and tossed a marriage certificate on the floor.
"I am her legal husband," he said. "Now, get out."
I was a piece of collateral, traded by my dying grandfather to pay off a debt. To Hilliard, I was just an asset in his portfolio. He didn't know that I was secretly "The Analyst," a hacker who moved millions on the dark web. He didn't know about the missing algorithm that could crash the market, or that my mentor had vanished in a lab fire.
The world saw a broken, mute heiress, but I was hiding a secret that could destroy us all. I was pregnant, and my stolen code was already being auctioned to the highest bidder. With Hilliard moving into my house to monitor me, I had to find the truth before my "husband" realized I was his greatest threat.
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Chapter 3
Hilliard released her wrist. He stood up and brushed an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, as if touching her had soiled him.
Elenor rubbed the spot where his fingers had been. The skin felt hot. She watched him, her mind racing. She wasn't just Elenor Becker, the mute heiress. She was "The Analyst." She moved millions on the dark web. She knew how to break companies. And now, she was married to the CEO of one.
She pointed at the tablet in his hand. She made a gesture-opening a book. Let me see.
Hilliard raised an eyebrow. "You want to read the fine print now? A little late."
But he handed it to her.
Elenor took the device. Her fingers, seemingly clumsy from her injuries, moved across the screen. She feigned scrolling through the legal jargon, but her touch was precise. She wasn't reading. She was testing the device's responsiveness, swiping to access the system's root directory, looking for diagnostic apps or logs that would indicate monitoring software. It was a reflex, a hacker's instinct to map any new digital territory.
Her thumb hovered over a system process that looked suspiciously like a keylogger.
Suddenly, the tablet was ripped from her hands.
Elenor gasped, her hand jerking back.
Hilliard was leaning over her, his face inches from hers. He had moved with terrifying speed.
"You're looking for something," he asked. His eyes were narrowed.
Elenor's heart slammed against her ribs. Had he seen? Did he recognize the pattern of her swipes as a system probe?
"What were you looking for, Mrs. Blackburn?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
Elenor widened her eyes. she summoned every ounce of innocence she possessed. She pointed to the corner of the screen where the date was displayed. Then she tapped her head, looking confused.
Hilliard stared at her for three long seconds. He was dissecting her, looking for the lie.
"The date," he said finally, sounding skeptical. "It's the 14th. You've been in a coma for three days."
He tucked the tablet under his arm. "I'm leaving two security guards at the door. 24/7. For your safety. And to ensure you don't do anything stupid."
Soft confinement. That's what this was.
He walked to the door. "And Elenor," he said without turning around. "Fix this mess with Julian. I don't like other men touching my property."
The door clicked shut.
Elenor waited. She counted to sixty. Then she collapsed back against the pillows, letting out a shaky breath. She threw the covers off. Her legs were bruised, scraped, but whole.
She sat up and ripped the IV needle out of her hand. A drop of bright red blood welled up, sliding down her skin. She didn't feel it.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet hit the cold floor. She stumbled to the window and pulled back the curtain just an inch.
Down below, the street was choked with vans. Satellite dishes. Paparazzi.
She was trapped. Hilliard's guards at the door. The media at the exit.
She turned and looked at the bathroom vent. It was small. High up. But she was thin.
She wasn't going to wait for Hilliard to decide her fate. She had to get to the manor. She had to get the hard drive.
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8.5
Years ago, he made a promise he never kept. Now, he's a cold, ruthless billionaire she only sees on TV. For Elara Vance, the past is a painful memory overshadowed by her father's mountain of debt and the fight to keep her little brother alive. Just when she is at her lowest point, a message from her childhood friend, Alessandro Conti, offers a glimmer of hope.
But the man who shows up isn't the boy she remembers. He offers a cold, emotionless contract: a one-year marriage of convenience in exchange for a fortune that will save her family. Bound by paper and circumstance, Elara enters Alessandro's world of power and lies. He doesn't remember the vow he made, but soon, his calculated plans crumble under the weight of an unscripted love.
When a single moment of betrayal tears them apart, a new, even more devastating truth remains hidden, and Alessandro must lose everything to find the truth and the woman he never stopped loving.
9.0
Adaline Poole thought she had escaped her family's toxic corporate grip by moving to London and adopting a stray cat named Monty.
But when she returns to her empty apartment, her father delivers a chilling ultimatum: he has kidnapped the cat and will euthanize it by morning unless she accepts an arranged marriage with Barron Cooke, a notoriously elusive billionaire.
Her entire family becomes complicit in her sale. Her mother demands she secure their elite status, and her brother secretly spies on her social media to feed Barron her every move. Horrified to discover Barron is a thirty-three-year-old "fossil" twelve years her senior, Adaline resorts to sabotage. She goes to a Soho club, takes a scandalous photo with a frat boy, and sends it to the old billionaire to disgust him into canceling their upcoming dinner.
But her rebellion backfires horribly when the frat boy spikes her drink with a powerful narcotic. As her body burns with a terrifying, feverish heat, she collapses in a dark corridor. Stripped of her phone and betrayed by her bloodline, she is left utterly defenseless as a predator approaches to drag her away.
Suddenly, the heavy fire door is kicked open by a towering, terrifyingly handsome stranger who effortlessly neutralizes her attacker.
"Please... help me," Adaline begs, deliriously throwing her burning body into his arms.
She has absolutely no idea that the handsome savior she is clinging to is Barron Cooke himself.
9.0
My fiancé, Connor, and I had a one-year pact. I'd work undercover as a junior developer in the company we co-founded, while he, the CEO, built our empire.
The pact ended the day he ordered me to apologize to the woman who was systematically destroying my life.
It happened during his most important investor pitch. He was on video call when he demanded I publicly humiliate myself for his "special guest," Jaden. This was after she'd already scalded my hand with hot coffee and faced zero consequences.
He chose her. In front of everyone, he chose a manipulative bully over our company's integrity, our employees' dignity, and me, his fiancée.
His eyes on the screen demanded my submission.
"Apologize to Jaden. Now."
I took a step forward, held up my burned hand for the camera, and made a call of my own.
"Dad," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "It's time to dissolve the partnership."
9.2
Blurb
When broke event planner Isabella "Izzy" Hart agrees to fake an engagement with cold, commanding tech billionaire Alexander Blackwood, she thinks it'll be simple: smile for the cameras, fake a few kisses, collect the money, and walk away.
But nothing about Alex is simple.
Not the way he looks at her.
Not the way he touches her, as she belongs to him.
And definitely not the way he says:
"If this is just business... why does it feel like you're mine?"
It was supposed to be fake.
Now neither of them knows what's real.
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?
8.6
I married Damien Pierce for love.
I divorced him for my sanity.
He was a billionaire heir with ice in his veins and obsession in his heart. I was the waitress who accidentally spilled coffee on his suit and somehow ended up in his penthouse, in his bed, in his world. For two years, I was his wife-and his prisoner.
He didn't hit me. He didn't have to.
He simply watched. Every move I made. Every friend I spoke to. Every breath I took outside his permission was met with silence so cold it burned. When I finally found the courage to leave, I left everything behind. The money. The name. Even my dignity.
I told myself I'd rather be alone forever than belong to Damien Pierce for one more day.
That was three years ago.
Now, I'm standing in my mother's living room, champagne in hand, smiling at her new fiancé-a kind, gentle widower who looks at her like she hung the moon.
Then the front door opens.
And Damien walks in.
Because the kind, gentle widower? Is his father.
My ex-husband is about to become my stepbrother.
The first words out of his mouth, in front of our beaming parents, are not hello.
They are: "Did you really think divorce papers would make me stop owning you, Ayra?"
Now we share holidays. We share family dinners. We share a hallway in our parents' mansion.
And Damien Pierce has made one thing very clear:
He doesn't want to be my ex-husband.
He doesn't want to be my stepbrother.
He wants to be my sin.