The Superstar's Obsession: My Unwanted Husband
I am a D-list actress with a terrible reputation and thousands of haters.
But my real nightmare started when I got blackout drunk in Vegas and woke up next to Evander Byers, the untouchable, scandal-free superstar.
Before I could even find my clothes, our parents barged into the hotel suite with a wall of corporate lawyers.
Evander, the supposed god of the entertainment industry, played the victim perfectly.
"She dragged me in here last night. I couldn't stop her."
Under the crushing threat of my father freezing my bank accounts and the lawyers protecting Evander's pure image, I was forced to sign a marriage contract.
Now, this manipulative monster has moved into my penthouse, claiming his legal rights as my fiancé.
He controls my space, suffocates me with his dark obsession, and watches my bank balance drop to zero.
Everyone thinks he is a flawless angel, but I know he is just a hypocritical control freak.
I refuse to be his prisoner.
Desperate for cash and an escape route, I secretly signed a contract for a trashy reality dating show.
I thought a closed set in Hawaii would be the perfect place to hide from him, make millions, and ruin my toxic ex on national television.
I packed my bags, thinking I had outsmarted the devil.
But I didn't know that Evander had just canceled his global tour to call the network executives.
The ultimate predator just bought his way into the cast, ready to hunt his runaway fiancée in front of the whole world.
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Chapter 3
Bridie pushed open the heavy glass door of the Beverly Hills styling salon.
She walked into the private VIP room, her heels clicking aggressively against the tiles.
Her manager, Harriet Chandler, stood in the center of the room. Harriet gripped an iPad, her forehead wrinkled with extreme stress as she scrolled through the red carpet schedule.
"You are three minutes late," Harriet snapped, grabbing Bridie by the shoulders and shoving her into the makeup chair.
The makeup artist and hairstylist swarmed Bridie instantly. Cold primer hit her skin. Hot irons clamped down on her hair.
In the corner of the room, a large flat-screen TV played a live broadcast of the Coachella music festival.
The camera panned over a massive, screaming crowd. The noise from the TV speakers filled the small room.
Evander Byers stepped into the spotlight. He held a black electric guitar. He wore a distressed black leather jacket. His eyes were cold and indifferent.
The makeup artist gasped. She dropped her brush and clutched her hands over her heart, staring at the screen.
"He is literally a god," the hairstylist sighed, her eyes glued to the TV. "Not a single scandal in nine years. He's so pure."
Bridie stared at the man on the screen. She rolled her eyes so hard they actually hurt.
"He's a hypocritical male fox spirit," Bridie muttered under her breath.
Harriet's head snapped up. She pointed a warning finger at Bridie.
"Shut your mouth," Harriet hissed. "You have three hundred thousand anti-fans right now. If you piss off Evander's fanbase, they will bury you alive."
Bridie pressed her lips together. She let out a frustrated breath through her nose while the makeup artist drew a sharp, aggressive cat-eye on her eyelid.
On the TV, Evander's long, pale fingers moved rapidly over the guitar strings. He hit a complex solo, and the crowd lost their minds.
Bridie stared at those hands.
Without warning, her brain flashed back to the feeling of those exact fingers gripping her bare waist in the dark.
A sudden, intense heat rushed up her neck. Her ears burned. Her heart skipped a beat and started thumping rapidly against her ribs.
Panic seized her. She grabbed the glass of ice water from the counter and took a massive gulp. She choked, coughing loudly.
Harriet handed her a tissue. Harriet's eyes narrowed, staring directly at Bridie's bright red ears.
"Why is it so hot in here?" Bridie yelled, fanning her face with her hand. "Turn the AC down!"
The makeup artist scrambled to find the remote. She dropped the temperature while applying a thick layer of matte red lipstick to Bridie's mouth.
Twenty minutes later, Bridie stood up. She wore a custom, plunging V-neck black sequin gown that clung to every curve of her body.
Harriet nodded in approval. She shoved a tiny silver clutch into Bridie's hand.
Pax burst into the room, out of breath. "The stretch Lincoln is downstairs!"
On the TV, the live broadcast ended. Evander gave the camera a cold, expressionless bow and walked off the stage.
Bridie shot the screen one last look of pure disgust. She turned on her twelve-centimeter red-bottom heels and walked out.
They moved quickly through the hallway and took the private elevator down to the underground garage.
The driver pulled open the heavy door of the Lincoln. Bridie bent down and slid into the spacious leather backseat.
Harriet climbed in after her. The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the garage.
The car pulled out into the sunlight, heading straight for the TCL Chinese Theatre.
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8.4
To keep her grandmother on life support, Aracely was blackmailed into taking Evelyn's place in the pitch-black bedroom of the ruthless billionaire, Brennen Levine.
After that night, Evelyn tossed a hideous silicone scar at her feet, forcing Aracely to glue it to her face and work as a bottom-tier maid in his estate so he would never recognize her.
Brennen, suffering from chronic insomnia, was completely addicted to the sweet gardenia scent of the woman from the dark. But when he saw the "disfigured" Aracely scrubbing floors, he was physically repulsed, publicly humiliating her and calling her a monster.
Meanwhile, Evelyn paraded around as his soon-to-be wife. Terrified of her lies unraveling, Evelyn constantly abused Aracely, throwing scalding coffee at her face and threatening to pull the plug on her grandmother if Aracely didn't sneak back into Brennen's room to act as his human sleeping pill.
Aracely endured the suffocating fake scar, the insults, and the freezing servant quarters. She ground her teeth, swallowing the bitter injustice just to keep her only family alive, wondering when this torturous hell would ever end.
But Evelyn's malice knew no bounds. When Evelyn raised her hand to strike again, threatening to rip off the very disguise she forced Aracely to wear, something inside Aracely finally snapped.
"Do not push me."
Aracely locked her hand around Evelyn's wrist in a bone-crushing grip, completely unaware that Brennen was watching from the balcony above, his dark eyes narrowing as a dangerous realization hit him.
9.7
I ran through the freezing rain, desperate to escape the Pennington estate. My adoptive family had raised me for one purpose: to be sold off as a bargaining chip in a wealthy arranged marriage.
But before I could reach the highway, I was cornered. Not just by my family's cruel guards, but by Hollis Wall—a terrifying, ruthless billionaire who snapped my tormentor's wrist and dragged me into his car. He didn't want a ransom. He threw a prenuptial agreement in my lap.
I thought he was insane until he took a scalpel to his own arm, and a burning agony ripped across my flawless skin. Because of a near-drowning accident three years ago, our nervous systems were linked. Every time I bled, he felt the agony. He locked me in his fortress to keep me safe, but when I finally escaped back to my adoptive parents, they didn't protect me. Instead, my adoptive father smiled and showed me a live video of my biological father on life support, a guard's hand hovering over the plug.
"You will marry Douglas Cherry tomorrow, or your father dies," he sneered.
My own family was willing to murder my only real flesh and blood just to secure their wealth. I collapsed onto the cold marble floor, my heart crushed in a vice of absolute, suffocating despair.
"I'll marry him," I sobbed, surrendering to the darkness.
But miles away, in his dark study, the ruthless Hollis Wall violently collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as my severe panic attack bled directly into his chest. Our twisted bond was killing him, and I knew he would tear the city apart to find me.
8.6
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.
8.5
Five years ago, Nina Hale lost everything... her family, her reputation, and the man she once loved. Betrayed by her own sister and abandoned by those she trusted most, she disappeared without a trace.
Now she's back.
With a new identity and a burning determination, Nina is ready to reclaim her life and chase the dream she once gave up: becoming a star actress. But her return awakens old enemies, and her scheming sister Lydia is determined to ruin her again.
Just when Nina thinks things can't get worse, she's caught in another trap... and unexpectedly crosses paths with a quiet, lonely little boy.
Ethan Grant hasn't spoken in years.
Feeling responsible for him, Nina agrees to stay and help the child come out of his shell. But she didn't expect Ethan's dangerously charming father, Lucas Grant, to enter the picture.
Cold, powerful, and impossible to read, Lucas slowly finds himself drawn to the woman who brightens his son's world.
What begins as a simple act of kindness soon turns into something far more complicated, because Nina came back for revenge.
She never planned to fall in love.
**********
"I saw you with him," Lucas said quietly, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
Nina exhaled, crossing her arms. "You don't get to care."
"Don't I?" He stepped in, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"This is just a contract."
"Then why does it bother me?" His hand hovered near her waist, not touching-yet.
"It shouldn't." Her breath faltered.
His gaze darkened, "And yet it does."
7.8
Elena Voss was sold like a debt receipt.
Her greedy aunt and uncle handed her over to Damien Blackthorn-New York's untouchable billionaire tech mogul by day, ruthless Mafia Don and Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack by night-to settle a family debt they never asked her to pay.
The moment their eyes met in that rain-soaked alley, the fated mate bond ignited like wildfire. For one reckless night, he claimed her body and soul, whispering "mine" against her skin while the Moon Goddess sealed their destiny.
Then came the betrayal.
On their first anniversary, he paraded his pureblood fiancée through their penthouse, let her kneel for him in the study while Elena watched from the shadows, and divorced her in front of the entire pack.
"Wolfless trash," he snarled. "You were never more than payment."
Heart in pieces and two tiny heartbeats growing inside her, Elena fled. She vanished into Seattle's gray drizzle, changed her name, cut her hair, and built a quiet life as a single mother. She swore the Blackthorn name would never touch her twins-Leo and Luna, the secret heirs he didn't even know existed.
Five years later, the children's first uncontrolled shifts rip through their small apartment like lightning. The only place that can teach them control and keep them hidden from rival packs is back in New York-back under Damien's shadow.
The Alpha Don who once threw her away is now obsessed.
The fated bond never died; it only waited. He feels her every laugh, every tear, every protective growl she gives their children. He'll burn his empire, his alliances, and his pride to drag her back.
But Elena isn't the broken girl he discarded anymore.
She's a mother with claws.
A luna who learned to bite.
And this time, if he wants her forgiveness, he'll have to beg on his knees.
Pregnancy. Divorce. Secret babies. Billionaire alpha. Mafia power plays. Revenge that burns slow and sweet.
Some bonds can't be broken.
Some rejections come with claws.
And some second chances are paid for in blood.
9.4
I was lying in a sterile hospital room, dying of cancer, with only a fake infertility report to keep me company.
Right before my heart monitor flatlined, a stranger walked in and handed me a medical file.
He told me that my fiancé, Garret, had zero sperm viability. The baby my adoptive sister, Beryl, was carrying wasn't his.
When Beryl got pregnant years ago, my adoptive parents forced me to break my engagement and take the blame for being barren.
I was discarded by Garret, mocked by Beryl's triumphant smiles, and kicked out of the house.
I was left to rot alone in a hospital bed while they lived the perfect life stolen from me.
My entire existence had been a cage built on a single, disgusting lie.
The anger burned away my despair. Why was I the only one who didn't know?
Why did I let them use me as a maid and a shield for their filthy secrets?
As the darkness swallowed me, I prayed for just one more chance.
I opened my eyes to the sound of my adoptive mother yelling my name.
The calendar on the wall read March 15, 2019—the exact day they forced me to give up Garret.
This time, I didn't cry or beg.
"You want Beryl to have Garret? Fine," I told my shocked adoptive parents. "But I want a cash buyout, and we are legally severing this adoption."
Then, I set my sights on Douglass Ward—the stranger from the hospital room.