The Untouchable Widow's Ruthless Vengeance
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I spent three years keeping the Baldwin tech empire from crumbling after my husband died. But his nephew, Haden, despised me, convinced I was just a gold-digging widow who stole his inheritance.
The breaking point came when our biggest rival stormed into my executive office. His daughter slapped a sonogram on my desk, claiming she was pregnant with Haden's baby to force a hostile corporate merger.
Instead of denying the obvious trap, Haden used the moment to completely humiliate me. He pointed down at his expensive leather shoe right in front of our worst enemies.
"Come tie it for me. Auntie."
After forcing me to kneel, he dragged me to his penthouse in a psychotic fit of jealousy, tore my silk shirt open, and violently accused me of carrying his dead uncle's bastard. Meanwhile, our rivals threatened to tank our stock and ruin the family name if I didn't approve the marriage contract in three days.
They all thought I was completely cornered. They thought my cold silence meant I was a fragile woman finally broken by their ruthless power plays. They didn't know I had already spotted the doctored pixels on their cheap, fake ultrasound.
I smiled and agreed to their three-day deadline.
They thought I was preparing a press release for a Wall Street wedding. They had no idea I was preparing a superyacht, a heavy-duty crane, and a bucket of bloody chum to feed the fake bride's real lover to the Great Whites on a live broadcast.
The Untouchable Widow's Ruthless Vengeance Chapter 1
The black SUV slammed to a halt right at the front entrance of the Manhattan club, tires slicing through the puddles and sending a spray of dirty rainwater across the sidewalk.
Gage was out of the passenger seat in a second. He popped open a massive black umbrella and positioned it perfectly by the rear door.
Ember stepped out. Her red-soled heels sank directly into the deep puddle, the cold water soaking through the leather instantly. She didn't flinch. She registered the ruin of a thousand-dollar shoe with the same cold detachment she registered the bouncer's aggression. Both were obstacles to be ignored.
A heavy-set bouncer in a cheap suit lunged forward, his hand raised to block her path. "Private event, lady. No invite, no entry."
Gage's hand shot out. He grabbed the bouncer's wrist and twisted it violently until the man's arm was pinned behind his back, his face smashed against the brick wall. The bouncer let out a muffled groan of pain.
Ember didn't even look at them. She reached out and pushed open the heavy, soundproof doors of the club.
A wall of sound hit her. Deafening bass vibrated through her ribs, mixed with the high-pitched shrieks of drunk socialites. The sudden rush of cold night air from the open door swept through the room.
People on the dance floor turned, shivering from the draft. The music thumped on.
Ember walked straight through the crowd. She didn't dodge the dancers; they parted for her, sensing the cold fury radiating off her. She headed directly for the VIP section.
Her eyes adjusted to the flashing neon lights. She locked onto the target.
In the corner booth, Kian Vance had a young girl pinned against the velvet cushions. Her shirt was torn at the collar, her mascara running down her cheeks as she struggled against his grip.
Haden Baldwin sat in the shadows across from them. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the scene with cold, detached amusement.
Ember reached out and snatched an empty whiskey bottle from a passing waiter's tray. She didn't break her stride.
She brought the heavy glass bottle down against the wall right next to Kian's head. The explosion of shattering glass was so violent it made the DJ jump, his hand reflexively slamming the crossfader to zero. The heavy bass cut out, plunging the club into a ringing silence broken only by the crunch of glass under her heel.
Kian flinched, his hand flying to the side of his face. A shard of glass had sliced his cheek. A thin line of blood appeared. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with rage.
Then he recognized her. The rage twisted into a sneer. "Well, well. If it isn't the Baldwin widow." He spat the words, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "Still spreading your legs for the family fortune?"
Ember let out a short, cold laugh. She stepped forward, her heels crushing the broken glass. The crunching sound was the only noise in the club.
She raised her hand and slapped Kian across the face. The crack of her palm against his skin was sharp and final.
Kian's head snapped to the side. He roared, pulling his arm back to throw a punch.
Gage appeared from behind. His foot connected with the back of Kian's knee. A sickening crack echoed through the room.
Kian collapsed onto the glass-strewn floor, crying out as the shards dug into his knees.
Ember crouched down. She picked up the largest piece of broken glass from the floor. She pressed the jagged edge against Kian's neck, right over his carotid artery.
The sharp glass bit into his skin. A thin line of dark red blood welled up and trickled down his neck.
Kian froze. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing but absolute, terrifying emptiness. His body began to shake. "P-please," he stammered.
"Apologize to her," Ember said, her voice low and steady. "Then get out of New York. If I see your face again, I'll carve it off."
"I'm sorry!" Kian sobbed, looking at the terrified girl on the couch. "I'm sorry! I'll go! I'm leaving!" He scrambled to his feet the moment Ember pulled the glass away, stumbling over himself as he ran for the exit.
Ember stood up. She tossed the bloody piece of glass onto the table. She pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from her clutch and slowly wiped the blood off her fingers.
She turned her head. Her eyes locked onto Haden, who hadn't moved from his spot in the shadows.
"Nephew," she said clearly, the word cutting through the silent room.
Haden's hand tightened around his whiskey glass. A hairline crack appeared in the crystal. He squeezed harder until the glass shattered in his grip, whiskey and blood mixing on the table.
Continue Reading
The Untouchable Widow's Ruthless Vengeance of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.6
I moaned out his name. "Damien, you are not trying hard to get me, yet .."
He smirked and whispered to my ears. "I like being hard, Not "trying" hard."
When Lila Sinclair's mother is sentenced to life in prison, her world collapses overnight. With nowhere else to go, she is taken in by Sebastian Blackwood, her mother's former lover. A powerful, reserved man who agrees to shelter her under strict conditions.
Lila is placed in his household... and into a life she never asked for, sharing a roof with two stepbrothers who change everything.
Damien is danger wrapped in charm...intense, controlling, and impossible to ignore. Ethan, on the other hand, is steady, kind, and grounding...the only place she feels safe when everything else feels like it's slipping away.
But Lila's situation comes with a hidden clause: her stay in the country is temporary. Within 365 days, her legal protection expires. To remain, she must marry one of the Blackwood heirs.
One house. Two brothers. Twelve months of blurred lines, buried secrets, and emotions she was never meant to feel.
As desire clashes with safety and passion wars with peace, Lila is forced into a choice that could secure her future...or destroy it completely.
7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.
8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.
8.6
I woke up choking on rotting air in an alien jungle, surrounded by giant bioluminescent ferns and a three-eyed, armor-plated beast charging straight at me.
Before the monster could tear me apart, I was saved by a squad of men with metallic wings and laser rifles, but my nightmare was just beginning.
When they brought me back to their high-tech military base, every soldier we passed stopped dead, staring at me with a feverish, starving hunger that made my skin crawl.
In the medical wing, a manic doctor bypassed all protocol, pulling out a wicked silver needle to forcibly extract my blood, looking at me not as a patient, but as a winning lottery ticket.
Even their highest-ranking commander, a giant, scarred Admiral, immediately tried to claim me, demanding I be moved into his personal bedroom for "protection."
I didn't understand why I was being treated like a caged miracle, nor why a simple, accidental touch of my hand could bring my winged protector to his knees and silence his feral instincts.
"In the Aethel Empire, there are no females," my protector whispered, his icy blue eyes filled with raw desperation. "You are the only one."
The portal that brought me here was fading, trapping me in a universe of eighty billion shapeshifting Alpha males. Looking at the terrifying devotion in his eyes, I realized my life as an ordinary human was over, and to survive this, I had to tame the beasts.
8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
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