The Ruined Heiress Plans Her Vicious Revenge
I was the heiress to the Sterling Group, engaged to Brook, the ultimate Wall Street savior who stepped in with emergency capital when my family's company faced sudden bankruptcy.
But one morning, I accidentally answered his hidden burner phone.
It was my sweet best friend, Chelsey. Through the speaker, I heard them laughing about how they successfully framed my brother for an eight-year federal prison sentence just to get the Sterling heir out of the way.
Worse, Brook casually admitted he had bribed the nurses at the private facility to swap my father's life-saving heart medication with placebos.
"Nature will take its course," he said coldly.
He was paying to let my father die so he could drain my last architectural patents, transfer them to his own enterprise, and kick me to the curb. Seconds later, Brook walked into the bedroom, brushed my hair behind my ear, and lovingly called me his sleeping beauty.
A wave of pure, physical nausea crashed over me. The man I was about to marry, the man the media praised as a fiercely devoted hero, was the monster orchestrating my family's complete destruction.
Tears were a luxury I could no longer afford.
I didn't scream, and I didn't confront him. Instead, I washed my face, slid the five-carat diamond ring back onto my finger, and drove straight to his headquarters.
If he wanted to use my family's tragedy to build his empire, I would play the perfect, broken fiancée—right until I burned it all to the ground.
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Chapter 3
The reporter let out a loud gasp. He shoved his cameraman, pointing frantically. The heavy camera swung around, the red recording light fixing directly on Farah.
The crowd of journalists turned. Like water hitting a rock, the mass of bodies naturally parted, creating a clear, narrow path straight to the front of the building.
Brook heard the sudden shift in the crowd's noise. He turned his head. For a fraction of a second, the perfect, sorrowful mask on his face slipped, revealing a flash of genuine shock.
Farah reached up and pulled the sunglasses off her face. She let her shoulders slump slightly, allowing her pale skin and red-rimmed eyes to catch the harsh morning light.
Brook recovered instantly. He took three large strides forward, his arms opening wide to project the image of a desperate, protective shield.
"Farah, sweetheart," Brook said, his voice thick with fake worry. "What are you doing out of bed? You need to rest."
He reached out to pull her against his chest. Farah stopped exactly half a step out of his reach. She shifted her weight slightly to the right, letting his hands grasp empty air.
Brook's arms froze suspended in the space between them. The muscles in his jaw locked. A dark, vicious shadow passed through his blue eyes.
A reporter from the New York Times shoved a digital recorder forward. "Miss Sterling! Given the bankruptcy, will your wedding to Mr. Tyler be postponed?"
The entire plaza went dead silent. Every single lens, microphone, and pair of eyes locked onto the ruined heiress.
Farah lifted her chin. She looked straight into Brook's eyes, holding his gaze without blinking.
She took a deep breath, letting her chest rise visibly. She opened her mouth and spoke clearly into the wall of microphones.
"Given the absolute tragedy that has destroyed my family," Farah said, her voice shaking just enough to sound devastated, "I have absolutely no mood to plan a wedding."
A loud murmur erupted from the press pool. A woman in the front row shouted over the noise, "Does that mean the engagement is off?"
Farah let a single tear spill over her lower lash line. She kept her eyes locked on Brook. "It means I have no intention of marrying him. Ever."
The plaza exploded. The noise was deafening. Camera flashes fired in a continuous, blinding sheet of white light.
Brook's jaw tightened so hard the bone looked ready to snap through his skin. The corners of his mouth twitched as his fake smile completely disintegrated.
Evan Gaines, the head of Tyler Enterprise's public relations, sprinted out of the revolving doors. He waved his hands frantically, signaling the security team to push forward.
"Please, everyone, step back!" Evan yelled, his voice cracking with panic. "Miss Sterling is under immense psychological distress due to her father's failing health! She is not thinking clearly!"
Brook used the sudden surge of the security guards as cover. He lunged forward and clamped his hand around Farah's left wrist. His fingers dug into her flesh, pressing so hard against her bones she felt a sharp spike of pain shoot up her arm.
He yanked her forward, slamming her body against his chest. To the cameras, it looked like a desperate, passionate embrace to comfort a hysterical woman.
Brook lowered his head, pressing his mouth directly against her ear. "Stop acting like a crazy bitch," he whispered, his voice a razor-thin blade of ice.
Farah did not flinch. She tilted her head slightly, looking at the side of his face. The corner of her mouth pulled up into a microscopic, chilling smile.
The security guards formed a human wall, physically shoving the reporters backward to clear a path to the glass doors.
Brook kept his arm wrapped tightly around Farah's waist, his fingers digging into her ribs. He practically dragged her forward, forcing her to walk in step with him.
"Is this a breakup? Is the merger hostile?" the reporters screamed at their backs.
Brook stopped at the door. He turned his head and gave the cameras a tight, helpless smile, playing the role of a patient man dealing with a difficult lover.
He pushed Farah through the revolving door. The thick glass spun, cutting off the shouting and the flashing lights.
The cold air conditioning of the lobby hit them. The second they were out of sight of the cameras, Brook's smile vanished. His face turned into a mask of pure rage.
He kept his brutal grip on her arm and marched her straight toward the private executive elevator, his eyes fixed dead ahead.
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9.1
Julian Laurent was known as the most notorious playboy in Rivermont, changing girlfriends as often as he changed his clothes and treating marriage like a joke.
Clara Sterling, on the other hand, had always been the most quiet and obedient daughter of the Sterling family. Raised as the heir since childhood, she had been flawless in every word and every gesture.
A family-arranged marriage forced these two complete opposites into the same life.
On their wedding night, Julian openly made out with a young model at a nightclub.
For the first time, Clara cast aside her propriety, slapping him and demanding a divorce on the spot.
But before the next day was over, their families had forced them to remarry.
This time, Julian managed to stay faithful for a month before he cheated again.
Clara filed for divorce once more, cutting ties with him completely.
However, that very same day, it was revealed that Clara was not the real daughter of the Sterling family, and she was thrown out.
At her lowest point, Julian found her and solemnly promised to protect her from then on.
They remarried again, and from that day forward, the scandals surrounding Julian ceased.
Everyone said Clara was lucky. Even her best friend insisted that Julian had truly settled down, and Clara believed it.
Until she saw him in a hospital corridor, holding her best friend's hand, his voice strained with deep emotion, "I never liked her. You're the one I've always loved!"
It turned out all of his tenderness had been a lie.
This time, she walked away and never looked back.
And the man who had once treated her as disposable only realized after she was gone that he had long since drowned in her quiet love, unable to escape.
9.4
My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach.
Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess.
The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings.
Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me.
To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive.
I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger.
But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear.
"Stay here and don't starve."
I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.
7.2
Allie Patterson poured fifteen years into her husband Grayson’s tech startup, living in a cramped San Jose apartment. Every penny, every late night coding session, was for their shared future, built on his constant claims the company struggled, always on the verge of its big break.
Then, a grant deed arrived: a stunning $4.2 million Atherton villa, paid in full, listing Grayson and an unknown Kacey Schmidt as joint tenants.
Her coffee mug shattered as Allie’s world imploded. Driving to the mansion, she found Kacey in silk pajamas, flaunting a massive pink diamond and, beneath it, Grayson’s grandmother’s heirloom ring – the one he’d tearfully claimed to have lost years ago.
Kacey purred, "He's in the shower. We were so tired last night."
The words were a serrated knife, twisting, confirming years of lies.
Humiliation and rage burned out, leaving a terrifying, absolute silence. All her sacrifice and trust were a cruel, elaborate joke, orchestrated by the man she loved.
Allie calmly took photos, then gave herself one minute in her beat-up car to mourn. When it passed, her tears stopped, replaced by cold, calculated murder in her eyes. She typed a text to Grayson:
"Come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you."
8.9
Ava Kidd just wanted to escape her abusive stepmother when she got drunk at a high-end club and stumbled into the wrong hotel room.
She woke up the next morning in a luxury penthouse, lying naked next to a terrifyingly handsome man covered in her scratch marks.
Recalling rumors of the hotel's secret underground concierge, she immediately assumed she had accidentally slept with an elite male escort.
Desperate to settle the bill, she offered him her only debit card with a pathetic $1,800.
But the man, who was actually Garrison Terry, the ruthless billionaire CEO, was deeply insulted by the cheap plastic.
He trapped her against the bed, coldly demanding a half-million-dollar service fee.
When Ava frantically offered her dead mother's tarnished locket as collateral, he cruelly dismissed it as worthless junk.
Ava was humiliated, her heart pounding with absolute terror.
She didn't understand why this arrogant gigolo was acting like a deranged extortionist, demanding a fortune from a broke girl who had clearly made a mistake.
Furious and refusing to cower, she sneaked out, put on his oversized designer shirt, and aggressively ate his $800 truffle breakfast.
Having no money left, she grabbed her cheap red lipstick, wrote a defiant IOU on his expensive linen napkin, and fled the hotel.
She thought she had escaped a criminal, but upstairs, the billionaire traced her lipstick-stained name with a predatory smile.
"Ava Kidd, I will absolutely find you."
9.1
I drowned in freezing pool water, the mocking laughter of the elite Savage family echoing in my ears.
When I opened my eyes, I was an eight-year-old orphan again, right on the day those monsters came to adopt me.
Terrified of repeating my hellish past, I ran down the hallway and desperately grabbed the shirt of a random, dumpy IT guy, begging him to take me instead.
I thought I had chosen a weak, boring suburban dad to hide behind.
But I was completely wrong.
My new mom greeted me with a ceramic tactical knife hidden in her apron.
My clumsy dad sliced dinner ribs with the terrifying precision of a seasoned hitman.
My ten-year-old brother was a dead-eyed sociopath who immediately calculated my bone density.
They were a family of lethal underworld monsters, yet they frantically pretended to be a normal, pathetic household just for me.
9.0
Carli followed an anonymous text to a dark garage, only to find her fiancé of seven years tangled with another woman in his Porsche.
She smashed his window, threw her engagement ring at his face, and walked away.
But the betrayal didn't stop there. Her own family sided with the cheater. Her father slapped her across the face so hard she bled, demanding she hand over her late aunt's trust fund.
"If you don't do exactly as you're told tonight, I will freeze every credit card in your name," her father roared.
Forced to attend the exclusive Gutierrez family gala, Carli watched her ex-fiancé parade his cheap mistress to humiliate her, while her stepsister tried to publicly ruin her.
Suddenly, a violent screech echoed as the massive crystal chandelier above them snapped from the ceiling.
In a split second of pure instinct, Vaughn shoved his mistress to safety and threw himself to the ground, completely abandoning Carli to be crushed.
Staring up at the plummeting glass, Carli felt the crushing reality that her entire life had been surrounded by monsters.
But the fatal impact never came.
A massive force yanked her into a hard chest, shielding her body entirely from the explosive shrapnel.
Carli opened her eyes to find Fletcher Gutierrez—the ruthless billionaire king of Wall Street and the masked stranger from her reckless one-night stand—bleeding heavily over her.
Feeling his warm blood on her hands, Carli knew the game had just changed.