The Tycoon's Unwanted Contract Wife
I married billionaire Gregorio Harrison to pay off my father's massive debt and keep my dying mother on life support.
But his true love, Kiersten, drugged him with an aphrodisiac, and he used my body to survive the night.
The next day, Kiersten threatened my mother's life with loan sharks, forcing me to sign a surrogacy contract because she was completely infertile.
When Gregorio caught us together, he didn't care about the brutal bruises he had left on my skin.
He thought I was blackmailing his beloved.
He dragged me to his family estate, locking me in a room to be treated like a mindless breeding mare by his cruel mother.
Later, Kiersten tricked me into a humiliating, nude painting session to save my mother's medical funds, setting me up for a media scandal.
When Gregorio smelled her studio's incense on my clothes, he didn't ask for the truth.
"If you're that desperate to sell yourself, I'll show you what a real transaction looks like."
He violently assaulted me as punishment, shoved a digital money transfer in my face, and slammed the door behind him.
I lay on the cold leather sofa, my body broken and my heart completely dead.
Why did I have to suffer for their twisted love game?
Why was my mother's life just a bargaining chip to them?
The despair finally burned away, leaving only a cold, hard instinct for survival.
I picked up my phone and dialed his rival, Dr. Martin.
"I need you to secure my mother's hospital transfer right now."
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Chapter 2
The heavy door of the Maybach slammed shut. The chaotic flashing lights and screaming reporters were instantly cut off.
Gregorio shoved Annabel away.
She hit the opposite door, her shoulder colliding with the armrest. She gasped, grabbing her arm.
Gregorio didn't look at her. He reached into the center console, pulled out an antibacterial wipe, and scrubbed his mouth. He rubbed the skin until it turned red.
Annabel turned her face toward the tinted window. Her chest heaved. The taste of him still lingered on her bruised lip. She stared at the blurry streetlights of Manhattan, forcing herself to breathe slowly.
Up front, Gus pressed the button. The thick, soundproof partition slid up, locking them in complete isolation.
Gregorio ripped his bowtie loose. He tore the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt open. His breathing filled the quiet cabin. It was ragged. Heavy.
Annabel glanced at him.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His face was flushed, the veins in his neck bulging. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands gripping his knees so hard his knuckles were stark white.
"Are you sick?" Annabel asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.
Gregorio's head snapped toward her.
His eyes were bloodshot. The pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark irises. He looked like a wild animal cornered in a cage.
"Shut up," he growled. His voice was a harsh, guttural scrape.
The car descended into the underground parking garage of their building. The tires squealed as Gus brought the Maybach to an abrupt halt.
Gregorio threw the door open before the car fully stopped. He stumbled out. His legs seemed to give way.
Annabel scrambled out after him. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his bicep to steady him.
Gregorio reacted instantly. He twisted, his large hand clamping down on her wrist like a steel vise. The bones in her arm ground together.
"Let go," Annabel gasped, trying to pull back.
He didn't. He dragged her toward the private elevator. His grip was agonizing. He swiped his keycard, and the metal doors slid open. He pulled her inside and hit the button for the penthouse.
The doors closed.
The confined space trapped the heat rolling off his body. He smelled of expensive cologne, sweat, and something sharp and metallic.
Gregorio slammed her against the cold steel wall of the elevator.
The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. His chest pressed flush against hers.
His breath burned against the sensitive skin of her neck.
"Gregorio," Annabel panicked. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Stop. The contract. You said we wouldn't-"
"You belong to me," he snarled against her collarbone. His teeth grazed her skin.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to the dark penthouse living room.
Gregorio didn't let her walk. He scooped her up, his arm tight under her knees, and carried her out. He threw her onto the massive leather sofa.
Annabel bounced against the cushions. She scrambled backward, but he was already over her.
He grabbed the neckline of the red Oscar de la Renta gown. He pulled.
The thick silk ripped. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the empty room. The cold air hit her bare skin.
Annabel raised her hand to slap him.
He caught her wrist mid-air. He pinned both her arms above her head, his weight settling over her hips, trapping her completely.
"You took the money," he sneered, his hot breath fanning her face. "You sold yourself to my family. This is what you're paid for."
The words hit her like a physical blow. The fifty million dollar debt her father left behind flashed in her mind. The hospital bills. The threats.
Her struggles ceased. Her body went entirely rigid.
She turned her head to the side. She squeezed her eyes shut. A single, hot tear leaked from her lashes and rolled into her hair.
Gregorio didn't hesitate. The drug in his system had eradicated every ounce of his control.
Pain ripped through her. Annabel bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She didn't make a sound.
The hours dragged on. The drug kept him relentless.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Manhattan skyline glittered, indifferent to the destruction happening on the leather sofa.
Eventually, the frantic pace slowed. Gregorio collapsed beside her. His chest heaved as his breathing evened out. Within minutes, he was dead asleep, his brow still deeply furrowed.
Annabel lay there. Her entire body throbbed. Her skin was covered in dark, angry bruises.
She slowly pushed herself up. Her muscles screamed in protest. She reached down with trembling fingers and picked up the torn, ruined pieces of the red dress. She pulled the fabric over her chest, shivering violently in the cold air.
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8.1
Elinor's frail daughter, Cece, died in a sterile hospital room while waiting for her father to take her to Disney World.
But her billionaire husband, Derick, never showed up. At the exact moment Cece's heart monitor flatlined, the hospital TV broadcasted Derick affectionately holding the hand of his mistress and he has booked a clearance of the entire Disneyland to celebrate mistress's daughter's birthday!.
When Elinor confronted Derick with their daughter's ashes, he sneered and accused her of hiding the child just to get his attention. Elinor's heart was torn to shreds. How could a father be so blind and ruthless? Did Kamryn use his power to steal the very kidney that belonged to Cece? Why did her innocent baby have to die for their sick affair?
The suffocating grief inside Elinor finally crystallized into a sharp blade. She wiped the blood from her lips, canceled the simple divorce, and began her ruthless revenge.
7.4
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
8.7
I woke up from a coma in the hospital, universally condemned as the vicious daughter who pushed the beloved fake heiress, Georgina, down the stairs.
My ruthless billionaire brother, Angelo, stood over my bed with cold eyes, ready to destroy me for hurting his precious sister.
But as I looked at him, a terrifying prophecy from my coma flooded my brain. Our entire family was doomed.
In the original timeline, Georgina would team up with corporate rivals to bankrupt the company, frame Angelo, and send him to federal prison, while our parents would abandon me to die miserably.
Lying there, I didn't dare speak. I just desperately cursed my idiot brother in my head.
"This stupid brother is still yelling at me for that fake heiress. He doesn't even know he's going to be framed and sent to prison next month!"
I just wanted to stay quiet, let them ruin themselves, and run away from this toxic family.
But strangely, Angelo didn't strangle me. Instead, his attitude took a shocking turn.
He abruptly fired the driver plotting to kill him, destroyed the abusive fiancé of a family ally, and publicly humiliated Georgina at a high-society gala.
He even shielded me from our abusive parents, declaring to the world that I was the only sister he would ever protect.
I was completely terrified and confused. Why was the tyrant brother suddenly acting like a protective beast?
It wasn't until he flawlessly crushed a massive corporate attack using the exact financial secrets I had just complained about in my mind that a horrifying realization hit me.
He could hear my inner thoughts!
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
9.0
Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress.
Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door.
Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest.
"Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises."
The original owner had left her an absolute mess.
Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings.
If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days.
Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic.
Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies?
She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim.
Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest.
"I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm.
She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.