The Unwanted Wife's Ultimate Vengeful Return
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Carlota was secretly carrying the child of Donavan Raymond, the most powerful man in New York. To escape his dangerous obsession and save her comatose brother, she entered a fake marriage with a disabled heir.
But on her wedding day, her stepsister Harper discovered the secret ultrasound.
Realizing the baby belonged to her fiancé Donavan, Harper brutally shoved Carlota into a marble table, murdering the seven-month-old unborn child.
Harper and her mother bribed the doctor to lie to Donavan, claiming the dead baby was only five months old. Believing Carlota had cheated, Donavan mocked her broken, bleeding state and abandoned her in the hospital.
Her stepmother then forced her to sign divorce papers by threatening to pull the plug on her brother's ventilator. They locked Carlota away, planning to sell her to human traffickers and finally murder her brother.
Escaping into the freezing rain, Carlota followed them to a hidden graveyard and uncovered a terrifying, decades-old secret.
Her stepmother and stepsister weren't just greedy gold-diggers. They were the family of a disgraced enemy, infiltrating her home for years to systematically poison her real mother and destroy her bloodline out of pure revenge.
Kneeling in the mud, Carlota's fear vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating emptiness. She picked up her phone and faked a desperate, terrified sob.
"Mom? Please, come get me. I'll do whatever you want."
She hung up the phone, a chilling smile spreading across her face as she prepared to crawl back to Donavan and use his absolute power to slaughter them all.
The Unwanted Wife's Ultimate Vengeful Return Chapter 1
Carlota Hall gripped the heavy satin fabric of her bridesmaid dress, her knuckles turning white. She walked fast down the dimly lit corridor of the Manhattan Plaza Hotel. The heavy bass from the engagement party in the main ballroom thumped against the walls, vibrating through the soles of her heels.
She needed to get away from the crowd. She needed air.
Suddenly, a violent wave of nausea hit her stomach. Carlota stopped dead in her tracks. She slapped her hand over her mouth, her chest heaving. She leaned her shoulder against the expensive silk wallpaper, bending forward as her stomach cramped painfully. She dry-heaved, her throat burning with stomach acid.
In the shadows of a marble Roman pillar at the end of the hall, Donavan Raymond stood perfectly still.
The glowing cherry of his cigar illuminated the sharp, cold lines of his jaw. He watched her shaking back, his eyes narrowing.
Carlota dug frantically into her small designer clutch. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a mint and shoved it into her mouth. The sharp peppermint flavor coated her tongue, barely suppressing the sickness rising in her throat. She closed her eyes, taking a deep, ragged breath.
A heavy thud echoed on the thick wool carpet.
Donavan's custom leather shoes made a muffled, deliberate sound. Step by step, he was closing the distance.
Carlota's eyes snapped open. The sound of his footsteps sent a jolt of pure panic straight to her heart. She straightened up instantly. She turned her body, her eyes darting toward the green exit sign over the stairwell.
She took one step.
Donavan lunged forward. His large, hot hand clamped down hard around her thin wrist.
The force of his grip jerked her backward. Carlota lost her balance. Her back slammed hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs.
Before she could slide away, Donavan raised his arm and planted his hand flat against the wall right next to her ear. His massive frame boxed her in completely. There was nowhere to run.
The heavy scent of expensive tobacco mixed with his dark, masculine cologne filled the narrow space. It suffocated her. Carlota stopped breathing. Her chest froze.
Donavan's gaze dropped. His eyes, sharp as a scalpel, dragged over the waistline of her dress. She had paid a tailor extra to let out the seams just enough to hide the slight, undeniable bump of her stomach.
"What were you gagging over out here?" Donavan asked.
His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated against her skin.
Carlota forced her chin up. She looked away from his piercing stare, fixing her eyes on his silk tie.
"I drank too much champagne," she lied, her voice shaking. "My stomach is upset."
Donavan let out a harsh, humorless laugh. He reached out and grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He forced her head turn, making her look directly into his dark eyes.
"You haven't touched a single drop of alcohol all night," he stated flatly.
Carlota's breath hitched.
"And," Donavan continued, his voice dropping an octave, "I saw you walking out of the private OBGYN clinic on Park Avenue last week."
Carlota's pupils dilated in sheer terror. The federal HIPAA privacy laws in the United States strictly prevented doctors from releasing patient information to anyone. He couldn't have seen her medical records. He was guessing. He had to be guessing.
She brought both her hands up, grabbing his thick wrist. She dug her nails into his skin, trying to pry his iron grip off her face.
Donavan didn't flinch. He didn't move an inch. His eyes darkened with a violent storm of anger.
"Look at me and tell me the truth," Donavan demanded, his jaw ticking. "Is the bastard in your stomach mine?"
The memory of that chaotic night seven months ago crashed into her brain. The heat, the ripping of clothes, the desperate gasps in the dark. Carlota's eyes instantly filled with hot tears.
She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper blood.
"No," Carlota said, her voice cracking but resolute. "It was an accident. It has absolutely nothing to do with you."
Donavan's fingers tightened on her jaw until it bruised. The veins in his neck bulged. The sheer rage of being lied to, the intense, possessive jealousy, radiated off him like heat from an oven.
The sharp clicking of high heels echoed from the other end of the corridor.
"Donavan?"
Harper Cantu's sweet, high-pitched voice rang out. She turned the corner, wearing a custom-made, diamond-encrusted engagement gown.
Carlota felt Donavan's grip loosen for a fraction of a second. She used every ounce of strength in her body and shoved both her hands hard against his solid chest.
Donavan didn't step back. Instead, his arm shot out. He wrapped his hand around the small of her back and yanked her flush against his hard body.
Harper stopped walking. The fake, sweet smile on her face completely froze. Her eyes locked onto their intimately close bodies. Pure, venomous hatred flashed in her eyes.
Harper quickly recovered. She walked toward them, forcing her lips to curve upward.
"What are you two doing out here?" Harper asked, her voice tight.
Carlota pushed against Donavan's chest again, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"I almost slipped on the carpet," Carlota lied quickly, her voice breathless. "My future brother-in-law was just catching me."
Donavan didn't even look at Carlota. He turned his head slowly and stared blankly at Harper.
"The engagement ceremony is postponed," Donavan announced coldly.
Harper's eyes widened in horror. Her perfectly manicured nails dug so deeply into her palms that the skin broke.
"Donavan, wait, what are you saying-"
Donavan ignored her completely. He grabbed Carlota by the upper arm. His grip was brutal. He dragged her away from the wall, pulling her toward the heavy mahogany doors of the VIP lounge a few feet away.
"Let me go!" Carlota gasped, stumbling over her heels as he pulled her.
Donavan kicked the VIP lounge door open, dragging her inside into the dimly lit gloom. The faint amber light from the hallway barely pierced the shadows of the room.
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The Unwanted Wife's Ultimate Vengeful Return of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
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.
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
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.
7.3
Ten years ago, I was banished from my pack, branded a whore and a traitor for allegedly drugging and stealing my sister's fated mate.
Now, I was summoned back because my father, the Alpha who disowned me, was dying from a poisoned attack.
Standing by his deathbed, a locked memory finally surfaced—I didn't drug anyone. My husband and I were both victims, poisoned with wolfsbane to force our mating.
But before my father could reveal who orchestrated the setup, his heart monitor flatlined.
My brother instantly shoved me to the ground, pointing a trembling finger at my face.
"You killed him. I will hunt you, I will break you, and I will make your life a living hell."
Even my husband, Kieran, the man I was forced to marry to save our unborn child, walked right past me in the hospital corridor.
He didn't spare me a single glance, choosing instead to gently comfort my mother while I sat bruised and shattered on the cold floor.
I didn't understand why my own family hated me so blindly, and I understood even less who had framed me a decade ago.
What terrified my father so much in his final moments that he couldn't even speak the culprit's name?
Watching my cold husband walk away with the family that abandoned me, the last shred of my naive hope died.
I wiped my tears and stood up. This time, I was going to tear this pack apart to find the truth.
8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
