The Rejected Burden: Rising From The Shadows
I liquidated every asset I owned for a single gala ticket, convinced that after twenty years, Grafton Blanchard was finally going to ask me to be his partner. My husband, Kingston Riddle, even hinted that the diamond "Eternity Lock" bracelet I’d been eyeing was gone from the vault, and I was sure it was waiting for me.
But when I reached the VIP suite, Grafton didn't look at me with love; he snapped that very bracelet onto the wrist of my rival, Bella Sterling. He stood before the crowd and announced their engagement, laughing as he called me his "little mascot" while I stood there in my best dress, feeling the entire world crumble beneath my feet.
The betrayal went deeper when I overheard him telling his friends I was nothing more than a "burden" and a "puppy" he was too kind to kick to the curb. Desperate to fix his image, he lured me to a "peace offering" dinner where Bella theatrically threw herself down a flight of marble stairs. Within seconds, Grafton was looming over me, his face twisted in fury as he accused me of being a jealous, vicious monster.
"I'm calling the cops. You want to play games? Let's see how you like a holding cell," Grafton roared, snatching my phone so I couldn't record his cruelty. The restaurant manager and the crowd sneered at me, ready to watch me be hauled away in handcuffs for a crime I didn't commit. I was a pariah, discarded by the man I’d spent my entire life protecting.
I stood trembling against the wall, realizing that the man I loved was willing to ruin my life to protect a lie. I felt the weight of twenty years of devotion being thrown into the trash, and for the first time, I stopped wondering why I wasn't enough and started wondering how I could have been so blind.
Just as the security guards moved in, the heavy doors swung open. My husband, Kingston—the man I thought was a cold stranger—stepped into the light and demanded the manager play the security footage on the big screen. As the video of Bella launching herself backward played for the entire restaurant, I didn't look at Grafton's pathetic apologies; I looked at the exit and realized my life was finally beginning.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
The sidewalk outside Gilded Lily was a war zone of elbows, perfume, and desperation. Isadora stood near the velvet ropes, the humidity making her dress stick uncomfortably to her lower back. Zoe had met her at the corner, and now they were both observing the crush of bodies clamoring to get the bouncer's attention.
"Name?" The doorman didn't even look at them. He was staring over Isadora's head at a group of models.
"Isadora Dyer," Isadora said, raising her voice over the thumping bass leaking from the club. "I'm on Grafton Blanchard's list."
The doorman scrolled through his iPad with agonizing slowness. "Not seeing it."
"Check again," Zoe snapped, stepping forward. "It's definitely there."
Behind them, a group of girls in sequined mini-dresses let out impatient sighs. One of them, a blonde with sharp features, leaned in. "If you aren't on the list, move. Some of us actually belong here."
Isadora felt the heat rise in her neck. She fumbled for her phone to pull up the digital invite, but the signal in the Meatpacking District was choked by the thousands of people uploading stories. The loading wheel spun mockingly.
"Please," Isadora said, her voice cracking slightly. "It's my company's future at stake. Grafton is expecting me."
The doorman finally looked at her. His eyes were flat, bored. "Step aside, miss."
Isadora felt a hand on her arm. Zoe was pulling her back, but Isadora planted her feet. This couldn't be happening. Not tonight.
Then, the atmosphere shifted.
It wasn't a sound, but a sudden absence of it. The chaotic chatter of the line died down. The paparazzi, who had been lazily smoking cigarettes, suddenly snapped to attention, their cameras raising in unison like weapons.
A black custom sedan glided to the curb, moving silently like a predator. It stopped right in front of the red carpet, blocking the view of the lesser cars.
The driver's door opened, and a uniformed chauffeur stepped out, moving briskly to the rear passenger side. He pulled the handle.
A polished black dress shoe hit the pavement.
A man Isadora had never seen before emerged from the car.
Isadora stopped breathing for a second. She didn't know who he was, but the crowd did. He was a ghost, a whisper in the financial world, the man who handled the assets of the city's most powerful and discreet players. He wore a dark suit that fit him so perfectly it looked like it had been sculpted onto his body. He didn't look at the cameras. He didn't look at the crowd. He looked like he was walking through an empty room.
He buttoned his jacket with one hand, his expression completely unreadable. It wasn't anger; it was an indifference so profound it felt cold even from ten feet away.
The crowd parted for him instinctively. The doorman, who had just dismissed Isadora, practically bent in half, unhooking the velvet rope with frantic speed.
"Mr. Riddle," the doorman said, his voice trembling. "Welcome back."
The man, Kingston's proxy, didn't acknowledge him. He walked straight toward the entrance.
Isadora tried to step back to give him space, but the crowd surged forward, trying to get a picture. A heavy shoulder slammed into her back.
Isadora pitched forward. Her heel caught in the gap between the red carpet and the cobblestone. Her arms flailed, grasping at empty air. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact of the dirty pavement and the humiliation that would follow.
The impact never came.
A hand, large and firm, clamped around her upper arm. It wasn't a gentle grip; it was a stabilizer. It hauled her up with an effortless strength that made her feel weightless for a split second.
Isadora opened her eyes. She was staring directly into a grey tie. She looked up.
The proxy, the man they called Mr. Riddle, was looking down at her. His eyes were a startling shade of blue-grey, like the ocean before a storm. He wasn't smiling. His brows were pulled together slightly, not in concern, but in mild annoyance.
She could smell him-cedarwood and something crisp, like expensive gin.
"Watch your step, Miss Dyer," he said. His voice was deep, vibrating in her chest.
He knew her name. The realization made her knees weak again. He released her arm slowly, making sure she was balanced.
"I... thank you," Isadora stammered. "I'm sorry."
The man turned his head toward the doorman. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. "They're with me."
The doorman went pale. "Of course, Mr. Riddle. My apologies."
Mr. Riddle looked back at Isadora, then at Zoe. He tilted his head toward the open door. It was a command, not an invitation.
Isadora walked through the velvet ropes, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could feel the eyes of the girls who had mocked her burning into her back. They were silent now.
The man walked beside her, not touching her, but his presence was a shield. The noise of the club got louder as they entered the foyer.
Once inside, Mr. Riddle stopped. He turned to face her. He was tall, towering over her even in her heels. He looked at her dress, then her face, his expression unreadable.
"Grafton Blanchard is on the second floor," Mr. Riddle said. "Try not to fall on the way up."
Before Isadora could respond, he turned and walked toward a private elevator guarded by two massive security guards. He didn't look back.
Zoe grabbed Isadora's arm, her nails digging in. "Did Kingston Riddle's shadow just save you?"
Isadora watched the elevator doors close, cutting off the sight of his broad back. She rubbed her arm where he had grabbed her. The skin still felt warm.
"I think so," Isadora whispered.
"That," Zoe said, eyes wide, "is a good omen. Come on. Let's go find your prince."
Isadora nodded, turning toward the main staircase. But the coldness of the proxy's eyes lingered in her mind, a stark contrast to the heat of the room.
You may also like
7.5
The Duke was standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted to one side. It was a relaxed, casual pose, and yet the way he looked at her was anything but casual. The deep midnight of his eyes burned and he radiated a subtle, sensual energy that made the air around him crackle.
He looked like a man who'd never heard the word 'no' in all his life. Unluckily for him, 'no' was the only word she had.
"There's no reason why I should stay," Anna clasped her shaking hands together in an effort to still them. "I'm not marrying you."
His gaze flickered, his mouth curving slightly, and she had the disturbing thought that far from putting him off, her insistence was only inciting him further.
"But you haven't heard my proposal yet," he said mildly. "Isn't that why you're here?"
"I don't need to hear it. I already know that my answer will be no."
"Of course. But you can hardly tell your father that you heard me out when you haven't, in fact, heard me out.... Anna."
8.9
Adela stood outside the private room, holding the obsidian necklace she had spent three months hand-crafting for her boyfriend.
But through the cracked door, she heard Juston laughing with his friends, calling her a stupid, obedient pawn and her art "garbage."
After she shattered the necklace and walked out into the freezing rain, Juston texted her a far more horrifying truth.
Her own family didn't just hate her-they had actively tried to kill her.
Two years ago, her brother Kayden intentionally slipped deadly shellfish into her food at a gala, sending her into anaphylactic shock.
Worse, her parents had covered up the attempted murder as a simple kitchen mistake, all to protect the family name and elevate her adopted sister, Kara.
Adela collapsed on the wet pavement, suffocating under the weight of the ultimate betrayal.
She had spent her entire life begging for their love, secretly working as the anonymous designer keeping their failing company afloat, only to realize she was nothing but a disposable tool.
She had absolutely no one, and nowhere to go.
Just as the storm threatened to swallow her whole, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
Harmon Holland, the ruthless Wall Street billionaire she was originally arranged to marry, stepped out into the rain.
He didn't offer her pity. Instead, he handed her a legal document.
"Marry me, Adela. For one year."
She took the pen. This time, she wouldn't be an obedient pawn; she would be their executioner.
7.2
My family went bankrupt overnight, leaving me to face a mountain of predatory debt.
Instead of standing by my side, my billionaire fiancé's mother threw a five-million-dollar check on the marble table, demanding I take the money and disappear from her son's life forever.
Meanwhile, my former social circle mocked my downfall. They secretly took photos of me meeting with ruthless loan sharks, waiting for me to come crawling back to beg for charity.
I didn't give them the satisfaction. I legally took on my father's massive debt, threw the check back, and ruthlessly dumped my fiancé.
To stop my heartbroken mother from worrying, I lied and told her I had already found a new, reliable boyfriend.
But the lie was a ticking time bomb. My malicious rival even forced her way into my cramped apartment, demanding to meet this mysterious man, laughing that he must live in a dumpster.
I was suffocating under the pressure. I had nothing, and I had no idea how I was supposed to magically produce a husband to get these toxic people off my back.
Until a dying stranger I helped in the park made a final wish.
His grandson—my cold, aloof high school upperclassman, Caleb Barnes—handed me a watertight prenuptial agreement at the hospital.
"Marry me," Caleb said flatly. "I get to give my grandfather peace. You get a shield against your family."
I picked up the pen and signed my name.
8.5
Billionaire oil mogul Iyke Obiora is a man who has everything-money, influence, and a marriage admired by society. But beneath the polished surface, his empire is cracking. His wife has grown distant, his rivals are closing in, and his secret underground deals could cost him everything.
Then he meets Amara Okoye, a stunning and ambitious school secretary whose quiet charm awakens a hunger he thought long dead. What begins as an innocent encounter soon becomes an all-consuming affair-one that threatens to shatter their lives.
Caught between fiery passion and deadly consequences, Iyke and Amara must face the truth: their love burns too brightly to remain hidden, but stepping into the light may destroy them both.
A tale of power, forbidden desire, and dangerous secrets-Crude Desires will leave you breathless.
8.7
My new boss is gorgeous, arrogant, and filthy rich.
The only problem?
He doesn't know he's also the father of my baby.
Six years ago, I was supposed to get married.
But the night before the wedding, my groom-to-be showed me sides of himself I'd never seen before.
I might've died in that hotel room...
If Mikhail Novikov hadn't burst in to save me.
Handsome, strong, capable knight in shining armor-sign me up, right?
WRONG.
Because Mikhail wasn't just the hero I never knew I needed...
He was also way more dangerous than I ever could've known.
But for one night, I let myself do something I never should've done.
It was worth it-several times over, if you catch my drift.
In the morning, though, I did the reasonable
I RAN.
For six years, I keep running.
Until I walk into work one day, and find my new boss waiting in my office.
Guess who?
And guess what he does when finds out about our baby?
8.3
My five-year-old daughter was turning blue in my arms, her body rigid with a 104-degree fever. I called my billionaire husband, Clifton, dozens of times as I rushed to the hospital, but he declined every single call.
While I was screaming at doctors and fighting to save our child’s life, a news alert flashed on my phone. Clifton was at the Met Gala, looking devastatingly handsome as he intimately draped his tuxedo jacket over the shoulders of his mistress, Eleanora.
The nightmare didn't end at the hospital. Clifton used a secret clause in our prenup to snatch Lily from her bed and move her to a private facility without my consent. When I finally found her, my own daughter shrank away from me in terror. "Go away, bad Mommy!" she sobbed, while the mistress fed her oatmeal and whispered that I was the one who made the doctors hurt her.
Clifton stood by and watched, telling me I was too "hysterical" to be a mother. But then I discovered the real reason they were hiding her. My husband was illegally using my late mother’s rare bone marrow samples to treat Eleanora’s secret blood disorder. Now that those samples are failing, he is taking Lily to a secluded castle in Germany to harvest our daughter’s marrow for his mistress.
I sat in the dark, watching them play happy family with the child they plan to sacrifice. I realized then that my marriage wasn't just a lie—it was a biological harvest. They think I’m just a broken trophy wife who doesn't understand the science they are using to destroy me.
They have no idea that I am "Ghost," the anonymous medical genius behind the very research they are trying to steal. As we board the private jet to Germany, I’ve stopped crying and started calculating. If they want to play with life and death, I’ll show them exactly what happens when a mother stops being a victim and starts being a predator.