The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies.
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Chapter 6
The heavy door burst open. The security alarm blared for two seconds before being violently deactivated.
Julian, August's cousin, swaggered into the foyer. A thick, foul-smelling cigar hung from the corner of his mouth.
Behind him, a dozen movers in gray uniforms pushed heavy metal clothing racks into the apartment. The racks were loaded with designer dresses wrapped in plastic.
Elisa stood dead center in the hallway, blocking their path.
Julian blew a cloud of smoke directly into her face. He looked at her chopped hair and her cheap suitcase, and let out a loud, barking laugh.
"Move it, sweetheart," Julian sneered, waving his hand at the movers. "Take this stuff straight to the master bedroom."
Elisa shot her arm out, pressing her palm flat against the chest of the lead mover. "Stop."
She glared at Julian. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Julian smirked, tapping his cigar ash onto the pristine marble floor. "These are Allena's new clothes. August told me to move them in. It's time for the useless trophy wife to clear out and make room for the real deal."
Elisa felt a flicker of absolute disgust, but her heart rate didn't even spike.
Julian mistook her silence for fear. He stepped forward and shoved his hand toward her shoulder to push her out of the way.
Elisa twisted her torso, dodging his hand. She planted her feet, swung her right arm back, and slapped him across the face with everything she had.
CRACK.
The sound was as loud as a gunshot.
The movers froze. The apartment went dead silent.
Julian stumbled back, his cigar falling from his mouth. He clutched his rapidly swelling red cheek, his eyes wide with shock.
"You crazy bitch!" Julian screamed, spit flying from his lips. "I'll have security throw you off the balcony!"
Elisa calmly reached into her pocket, pulled out an antibacterial wipe, and slowly cleaned her right hand.
"Until a judge signs the divorce papers, I am the legal owner of this property," Elisa said, her voice chillingly calm.
Julian lunged forward.
Elisa pulled out her phone and hit a speed-dial number. She put it on speaker.
"New York City Charity Foundation, how can we help you?" a cheerful voice answered.
"This is Mrs. Chambers," Elisa said loudly, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I need to schedule a massive estate donation. Yes, the entire contents of the penthouse. What is your earliest availability for an assessment and full removal? Tomorrow morning at eight? Perfect. I'll have the service elevator locked down for your crew."
Julian froze in his tracks. His jaw dropped. "You're bluffing."
Elisa smiled coldly, ending the call and tossing her phone into her purse. She walked over to the kitchen island and tapped her fingers on the smooth marble. "I've already signed the digital release. They will be here first thing tomorrow to strip this place down to the drywall. Until then, you and my dear husband can enjoy the final hours of this museum of lies."
Julian screamed, his face turning a violent shade of red. "Stop! You can't do this! Those antiques cost millions! My cousin bought those!"
Elisa tilted her head, her gaze entirely devoid of pity. "Marital assets. Consider it a tax write-off for the family's rotting soul."
Julian stood in the middle of the opulent living room, shaking with rage, completely powerless against her legal authority over the marital property. He looked around at the million-dollar paintings and custom Italian leather sofas, a sickening dread washing over him as he realized they would all be hauled off to a thrift warehouse by sunrise.
Elisa tossed the dirty antibacterial wipe into the empty trash can right next to Julian's foot.
She grabbed her suitcase and walked past him. She paused at the door, looking at the racks of Allena's clothes sitting in the empty, echoing hallway.
"Enjoy the ruins," Elisa said.
She walked out and let the door slam shut.
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8.4
Kloe Guthrie dragged her crystal-encrusted wedding gown down the penthouse corridor, exhausted but ready to finally be alone with her new husband, Justen.
But as she passed the presidential suite, a familiar, cloying perfume stopped her. Through the cracked door, she saw Justen brutally thrusting into her cousin, Candyce.
"Like fucking a corpse with Kloe," Justen grunted, his voice thick with lust. "Worth it for the trust fund control, though."
Candyce giggled, mocking Kloe's pathetic gratitude.
Shattered, Kloe stumbled backward in the dark, only to be caught by Julian Larsen—Justen's billionaire best man.
Instead of offering sympathy, Julian trapped her against the wall. He forced her to listen to her husband's cruel mockery, then dragged her into the opposite suite, tearing off her wedding dress and dismantling her dignity piece by piece.
Everything she had believed for four years was a meticulously calculated lie.
She was nothing but a boring prop to the man she loved, a naive fool meant to be drained of her family's immense wealth and laughed at behind closed doors. The humiliation and betrayal burned through her veins like acid.
"You could cry," Julian whispered against her neck, his eyes predatory and dark. "Or you could make him regret he was ever born."
Instead of running from the man cornering her in the dark, Kloe looked at the destroyed remains of her life, grabbed Julian's collar, and pulled him in.
This time, she would make them all pay.
7.0
For three years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Alpha Julian Sterling.
When I finally got pregnant with his heir, I thought it would warm his cold heart. But the first thing he did when he returned from his trip was hand me a Mate Rejection Agreement.
He had brought back his ex-lover, Serena.
Julian coldly declared our marriage was just a political chore. To clear the path for her, he fired me from the company I built, watched her mock my late father, and threatened to throw me out as Rogue meat if I didn't submit.
The most chilling part was a hidden clause in the divorce papers. It stated that because I was a wolfless Omega, if I were ever pregnant, he would terminate the pup to protect his pure bloodline.
I had given him everything, only to be discarded like trash. I touched my flat stomach, terrified and disgusted that the man I loved would gladly kill his own child just to please his new queen.
"Prepare the documents to accept the rejection," I told my lawyer calmly.
Julian thought he had won, throwing away his useless, barren Omega. He had no idea I was taking his only heir with me, and I would burn his entire empire to the ground before he ever found out.
8.8
Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work.
But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room.
He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar.
When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves.
But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him.
The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune.
Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret.
Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised.
Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows.
At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox.
But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress.
"How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.
8.2
Bellmere University wasn't supposed to be a punishment. But it became one the second Aria Lancaster met him.
Sebastian Wolfe-the new Dean. Billionaire. Ruthless. And her father's oldest friend.
He's twice her age, cold as ice, and dangerously in control.
She's innocent, defiant, and off-limits.
One mistake lands her in his office.
One punishment strips her bare.
And one rule changes everything:
Obey him, or be expelled.
But what starts as punishment quickly turns into obsession.
And when secrets unravel and control slips, there's only one thing left to do:
Break the rules. Or break each other.
9.4
Aria Mcgee was the unwanted second daughter of a decaying Long Island family.
To save their bankrupt corporation, her father and older sister drugged her. They shoved her into a town car and delivered her to a ruthless Wall Street billionaire's bed like a piece of meat.
They expected her to be the perfect sacrifice. The original Aria had no access to her own trust fund and was forced to live in a windowless broom closet. Even worse, a cold, synthetic System voice echoed in her skull, demanding she play the tragic, helpless female lead. It ordered her to endure her family's abuse and suffer the billionaire's humiliation to force a pathetic romance plotline.
"Host must follow the tragic trajectory and achieve the ultimate painful romance."
But the soul that woke up in that bed wasn't a weak, frightened girl. She was a dead Hollywood Oscar-winning actress. Why would a top-tier professional ever agree to play the weeping victim in such a garbage, B-list script?
Instead of trembling in fear as the System commanded, Aria looked at the billionaire and smiled. Using her flawless acting skills, she shattered his ego, extracted a hundred thousand dollars, and walked right out the door. Now, she was heading back to the Mcgee estate, ready to rip her money from her father's greedy hands and burn her sister's life to the ground.
8.6
Genevieve was heavily pregnant, holding the legal papers that would transfer her massive family trust fund to her loving husband, Clinton.
But as she approached his study, she heard a familiar giggle. Through the cracked door, she saw her cousin Carolynn sitting on his desk, her skirt hiked up, while Clinton smirked and poured bourbon.
"Once she signs those papers, we don't need her anymore," Clinton laughed coldly. "The kidnapping is staged for tomorrow. She and the brat disappear permanently."
Genevieve gasped, and he spotted her. When she frantically tried to run, her trusted housekeeper blocked the stairs. Clinton dragged her back, beat her mercilessly, and locked her in a freezing, underground cellar.
Denied any medical help, she endured agonizing hours of labor alone in the dark, only to deliver a stillborn child. Clinton then walked in, ruthlessly tossed her dead baby's tiny body into a pile of dirty rags, and brutally strangled her.
As her lungs burned and the world faded to black, her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She had given him everything. How could they be so monstrous as to murder her and her innocent child just for money?
Opening her eyes again, the freezing cellar was gone.
She was standing in an emerald silk gown at an elite charity gala—the exact night their original kidnapping plot began, a month before she even announced her pregnancy.
This time, the naive socialite was dead, and she was going to make them pay in blood.