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 4
A soft knock on the door made Elenor freeze. She scrambled back into bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin, feigning exhaustion.
The door opened. Dr. Sophie Chen walked in, holding a clipboard. Two nurses followed her.
"Vitals check," Sophie said briskly. She moved around the bed, checking the monitors. "BP is stable. Pupils reactive."
She turned to the nurses. "Give us a moment. I need to conduct a cognitive assessment in private."
The nurses nodded and left.
The moment the latch clicked, Sophie's demeanor shattered. She dropped the clipboard on the bed and pulled a small white device from her pocket. She switched it on. A static hiss filled the room-a white noise generator.
"El," Sophie whispered, grabbing Elenor's hand. "You scared the hell out of me."
Elenor sat up, her eyes sharp and alert. The fragility was gone. She pointed to her throat.
"It's minor laryngeal edema from the intubation," Sophie explained quickly. "It's a perfect excuse. We'll tell everyone the trauma from the crash caused temporary aphonia. It gives you a physical reason to stay silent and buys us time to figure out how to handle your... usual aversion to speaking."
Elenor grabbed a notepad from the bedside table. She wrote furiously. Silas?
Sophie's face fell. She looked away. "Missing. The lab... El, the lab burned down the night of your crash. It's gone."
Elenor's pen tore through the paper. Gone. The data. The algorithms.
She wrote again. My brain scan?
"Concussion," Sophie said. "But no structural damage. Your memory is fine." She lowered her voice further. "And the baby... is fine too. The heartbeat is strong. You're tough, both of you. But Elenor, you cannot let Hilliard find out. Not yet."
Elenor flipped the page. Tell Hilliard I have amnesia. Dissociative. From the trauma.
"What?" Sophie hissed. "Why? He's your husband. He's paying for all of this."
Elenor wrote: He is a shark. If he knows I am The Analyst, he won't protect me. He will lock me in a basement and make me trade for him.
Sophie read the note. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay. I'll fake the notes."
Elenor wrote one last thing. I need to leave. Now.
"You can't," Sophie argued. "The press is outside."
Elenor's new phone-smuggled in by Sophie-buzzed under the pillow. Elenor pulled it out.
A text from an unknown number. An image. A single, charred loafer lying on the front steps of the Becker Manor. Silas's shoe.
Elenor showed the screen to Sophie.
Sophie went pale. "Okay. Okay. We have to get you out."
"MRI," Sophie said, formulating a plan. "I'll order an emergency MRI. The guards can't come into the magnet room. There's a staff exit in the back."
Sophie turned off the noise machine. She opened the door and shouted, "Get a gurney! Patient is showing signs of cerebral swelling. We need a scan immediately!"
The guards stepped forward. "Mr. Blackburn said she stays in the room."
"Mr. Blackburn isn't a doctor," Sophie snapped. "If she strokes out, you can explain it to him."
The guards hesitated. Then, they stepped aside.
Elenor was loaded onto a gurney. She closed her eyes, letting her lashes flutter weakly against her cheeks. But under the sheet, her fists were clenched so hard her nails cut into her palms.
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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.