The Unwanted Wife's Ultimate Vengeful Return
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.
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Chapter 3
The heavy mahogany door vibrated in its frame from the force of Donavan's exit. The air in the VIP lounge felt thick, suffocating.
Harper let out a long, exaggerated sigh. The fake sweetness melted off her face instantly.
She walked up to Carlota, leaning in close. Her voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "Don't ever think you can use a bastard to climb into high society. You are nothing."
Jared pushed his joystick. The wheelchair rolled forward, placing its metal footrest directly between Harper and Carlota, forcing Harper to step back.
"Get out," Jared commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Harper sneered at him. She lifted the hem of her diamond-encrusted gown and marched out of the room, desperate to find Donavan and secure her position.
The moment the door clicked shut, the adrenaline left Carlota's body. Her knees buckled. She slid down the silk-lined wall, hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thud.
Jared reached into the side compartment of his wheelchair. He pulled out a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and held it out to her.
Carlota took it. Her fingers were freezing and shaking violently. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw.
Jared watched her pale face. His expression was serious. "Who is the real father of that child, Carlota?"
Carlota gripped the plastic bottle so hard it crinkled. She looked at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. "A stranger. A guy I met at a bar. I don't even know his name."
A flicker of deep disappointment crossed Jared's eyes, but he didn't push her. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek business card.
Before he could hand it to her, Carlota's phone buzzed loudly in her clutch.
She pulled it out. The screen lit up with a text message from the billing department of Mount Sinai Hospital. It was a final notice. If the $150,000 balance for her younger brother Graham's experimental ventilator treatment wasn't paid by midnight, they would pull the plug.
Carlota stared at the numbers. A hot tear slipped down her cheek, splashing onto the screen. The crushing weight of absolute despair pushed her head down.
Jared glanced at the glowing screen. He read the text.
"I will pay all of Graham's medical bills," Jared said evenly. "Every single cent."
Carlota's head snapped up. She stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief and immediate suspicion. "What do you want in return?"
Jared pulled a thick manila envelope from the back pouch of his wheelchair. He handed it to her.
Carlota pulled out the stack of crisp white papers. The bold black letters at the top read: Contract of Marriage.
"I need a wife," Jared explained calmly. "The Pierce family trust fund stipulates that I must be married by my thirtieth birthday to inherit my shares. My stepmother is trying to force me to marry her niece to control me. You need money. I need a shield."
Carlota quickly scanned the clauses. The contract was for one year. It explicitly stated they would not interfere in each other's private lives. And, most importantly, it promised absolute physical and legal protection from outside threats.
She hesitated. Her stomach churned. Signing this meant cementing the lie that the baby was his. It meant drawing the wrath of the powerful Pierce family onto herself.
Jared rolled his wheelchair a few inches closer. "It is the only way you can permanently escape Donavan Raymond. You know he won't stop hunting you."
A violent shiver ran down Carlota's spine at the mention of Donavan's name. She remembered the dark, obsessive rage in his eyes. Her mental defenses crumbled into dust.
She closed her eyes. The image of her little brother, Graham, lying in a sterile hospital bed with tubes down his throat flashed in her mind.
Carlota opened her eyes. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, hard determination. She held out her hand. "Give me a pen."
Jared handed her a silver fountain pen.
Carlota flipped to the last page. She pressed the nib to the paper and signed her name with heavy, sharp strokes.
Jared took the contract back, a faint smile of relief touching his lips. "We go to City Hall tomorrow morning to register."
He took off his tailored navy suit jacket and draped it over Carlota's shivering shoulders. The fabric was warm.
Jared led her out of the hotel through a private underground service elevator, completely avoiding the paparazzi swarming the main lobby.
Sitting in the back of Jared's armored Maybach, Carlota stared out the tinted window. The neon lights of the New York skyline blurred as they sped away. Her stomach tied in knots.
At that exact moment, in the penthouse suite of the Plaza Hotel, Donavan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window.
His special assistant stood nervously behind him, reporting that Jared and Carlota had left together in a private car.
Donavan squeezed the crystal whiskey glass in his hand. The glass shattered. Sharp shards sliced deep into his palm. Blood dripped onto the pristine white carpet.
He didn't even blink.
"Investigate every single place Carlota Hall went, every person she spoke to, exactly seven months ago," Donavan ordered, his voice dripping with lethal intent. "Leave no stone unturned."
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7.2
After a one night stand with the woman whose house Jason broke into, his life has never been the same. Like a siren's call, he can't get the nymphomaniac woman off his mind. Weeks later, while getting intel for the crew's next heist, Jason lays eyes upon the woman and follows her into a secret strip club. She appears to lead a double life. One where she's the CEO of a multimillion company and her father's golden child. The other side of her life is that she owns a strip club and is extremely erotic. Can Jason learn to live with her as she is? Will he put his pride aside to be with the woman? ... especially when his crew is hired to kidnap a woman who turns out to be the love of his life.
7.4
Deadly contract
7.4
"So we have a deal, do we? We do things my way, no argument, no buts."
"Yes," she bit out.
"Good,"he said, smiling wryly to himself at the thought that yes wasn't a word Joy was used to saying to men. But she was going to say it a lot during their time together. He would make her say it. No, he would make her want to say it.
34-year-old Joy Mike, who, after a failed engagement and struggling with infertility, seeks to conceive a baby alone. Childhood acquaintance and now successful, attractive John Davis intervenes with a tempting proposal: he will help her conceive in the "traditional way". The contract leads to intense passion and emotional risk for Joy as she risks losing her heart to the man who promised her a baby, but not a marriage.
8.1
Arnetta had been married to a wealthy man for three years, but she had never even seen his face.
After a wild night of drinking, she woke up in a hotel room next to a handsome, ruthless stranger.
He coldly kicked her out, mocking her as just another desperate woman trying to sleep her way to the top.
To her shock, she soon discovered the stranger was Brennan Kirkland—her firm's top-tier client and a legendary Wall Street billionaire.
Hiding her true identity as a corporate spy, she manipulated her way into becoming his executive assistant to steal his data.
During a business dinner, Arnetta received a humiliating text from her absent husband, demanding a divorce and calling her a greedy parasite.
"He is a deadbeat coward who thinks money solves everything," Arnetta spat in anger.
"A man who hides behind lawyers is weak," Brennan agreed coldly.
He had absolutely no idea he was insulting his own actions, nor did he realize the wild, gold-digging wife he despised was sitting right across from him.
The next day, her husband's legal team sent a brutal twenty-million-dollar settlement offer, threatening to ruin her if she didn't take the payoff and disappear.
Staring at the degrading ultimatum, Arnetta's hands shook with blinding rage.
She looked at Brennan, who was busy plotting to destroy his own wife, and a terrifyingly calm smile touched her lips.
She wasn't just going to take the money; she was going to completely destroy him.
9.7
I secured the lifeline investment for my fiancé's company and went to his office to surprise him.
Instead, I caught Preston sleeping with his top actress—the woman he publicly claimed as his stepsister.
Through the cracked door, I heard him call me his "scarred, ugly bitch shield" to hide their sickening affair.
I didn't cry. I hacked the live broadcast of the Star Awards and played their sex tape to two thousand people.
But that night, drunk and reeling from the agonizing nerve pain in my facial scar, I stumbled into the wrong hotel penthouse.
I was pinned down by a drugged billionaire, Josephus Hodges.
The next morning, he left me a million-dollar check and a Plan B pill.
When he later tracked me down to offer a cold, calculated fake marriage just to absorb Preston's ruined empire, I threw the contract at his chest and told him to go to hell.
But when I got home and looked in the mirror, the chronic, burning torture in my scar was completely gone.
His touch during that terrifying night had somehow cured the agony that had ruined my life.
I had just declared war on the only man on earth who could heal me.
Just then, my ruined ex-fiancé called, begging me to save him with a PR press conference.
"I'll do it, but I control the venue."
I booked it at Josephus's heavily guarded hotel. I was going to slaughter my ex on live television, and force the apex predator to look at me again.
9.7
I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel.
8.6
Eleanor Sinclair always knew her stepmother and stepsister were leeches, but she never expected their betrayal to reach into her private study.
In the dead of night, she caught the family's trusted nanny of twelve years photographing confidential trust documents. The mastermind paying her off was Lillian, Eleanor's stepmother, who had been secretly embezzling estate funds and bribing tutors to deliberately ruin the academic future of Eleanor's younger brother, the only legitimate heir.
Emboldened by their deceit, the parasites grew arrogant. Her stepsister, Isabelle, deliberately flaunted her secret affair with Eleanor’s billionaire fiancé, sobbing fake tears while waiting for Eleanor to suffer a humiliating nervous breakdown.
When the tension finally peaked, Lillian played the victim so perfectly that Eleanor's own father, a powerful U.S. Senator, stormed into the room with a raised hand, ready to strike his own daughter.
"You will apologize to your stepsister immediately! I will not have this family harmony destroyed by your petty jealousy!"
They actually expected her to be a weeping, heartbroken girl. They thought cheap hotel affairs and stolen pennies could outsmart the true Sinclair bloodline. Did they really believe a few fake tears and a weak-willed father could strip her of her empire?
Eleanor didn't feel anger; she felt the cold, detached fascination of a biologist observing doomed insects. She calmly pulled out the forensic audits, locked down the estate's exits, and prepared her stepmother's psychiatric commitment papers. The merciless purge of her family had officially begun.