
Trading My Ex For His Billionaire Uncle
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I spent three years working as my fiancé Cam's shadow analyst, writing his reports and securing his corporate bonuses.
But at a company banquet, I opened a lounge door and found him pinning my stepsister Kiley against a sofa.
"I'll cancel the engagement," Cam murmured against her neck. "She's just a boring machine."
Instead of crying, I dug into his accounts and found he had embezzled five million dollars to buy Kiley a luxury penthouse.
When I presented the irrefutable photos and bank statements to my adoptive family, my mother slapped me across the face.
She accused me of fabricating the evidence out of jealousy, fiercely protecting her biological daughter while throwing me out into the cold.
Cam even tracked me down on the street, raising his fist to beat me just for making his mistress cry.
Three years of my devotion were treated like absolute garbage, discarded for a fragile hypocrite.
They all thought I was an orphaned nobody who would swallow the humiliation and walk away empty-handed.
They didn't know that right after catching them, I had crashed into the chest of the most dangerous man in the room.
Hayes Cooper, the King of Wall Street, and Cam's ruthless uncle.
Sitting in the back of an Uber, I emailed Hayes a hidden file containing all of Cam's federal crimes.
I didn't just want the penthouse back. I wanted my ex in prison, and his Director's chair for myself.
Trading My Ex For His Billionaire Uncle Chapter 1
Jocelyn pushed the heavy oak door of the lounge open just a fraction. The dim light from the wall sconce barely illuminated the room, but it was enough.
Her stomach dropped. The air vanished from her lungs.
Cam had Kiley pinned against the leather sofa. His hands were tangled in her blonde hair, his mouth moving aggressively against hers.
Kiley let out a soft, breathless moan. Cam chuckled, a dark, mocking sound that Jocelyn had heard a thousand times.
Jocelyn gripped the brass door handle. She squeezed it so hard her knuckles turned white. Her fingernails dug into her palms, the sharp pain grounding her as the room spun.
"I'll cancel the engagement," Cam murmured against Kiley's neck. "She's just a boring machine. All she knows is work."
A wave of nausea hit Jocelyn's throat. Her muscles coiled, screaming at her to push the door open and tear them apart.
Instead, she let out a slow, shaky breath. She took a half-step back.
The cold draft of the hallway hit her bare shoulders. She closed her eyes for two seconds. When she opened them, the vulnerability was completely gone. Her face settled into a mask of pure ice.
She turned away from the lounge. Her high heels sank into the thick carpet, making no sound as she walked toward the main banquet hall. Her mind raced, calculating every possible piece of leverage she had.
A waiter pushed the heavy double doors of the banquet hall open. The blinding light from the crystal chandeliers stabbed at her eyes. Jocelyn squinted, forcing her pupils to adjust.
The crowd naturally parted. Her gaze locked instantly on the man standing at the center of the room.
Hayes Cooper.
He was surrounded by Wall Street executives, but he looked completely detached. He swirled the champagne in his glass with a slow, deliberate motion. The oppressive aura radiating from him kept everyone at a safe distance.
Jocelyn's breathing slowed down.
A socialite in a red dress tried to approach him. Hayes didn't even speak. He just gave her a look so cold the woman physically recoiled and walked away.
Jocelyn's lips curved into a faint smirk. She had found her target. The most dangerous man in the room.
She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. She bypassed the crowd, walking purposefully toward the quietest side exit, betting that a man like him would prefer the solitude to escape.
Hayes set his glass down and headed for the door. Jocelyn timed her steps perfectly. She stepped out from behind the pillar and crashed directly into his solid chest.
The champagne splashed across the lapel of his custom suit.
His bodyguards instantly moved forward. One of them shoved Jocelyn back roughly. She stumbled, her heel catching on the carpet.
Jocelyn faked a gasp. She looked up. Her eyes met his.
Hayes's dark eyes were devoid of any warmth. He looked down at the wet stain on his chest. His jaw clenched.
"Get lost," he said. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
Jocelyn's heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't step back.
She pulled a silk handkerchief from her clutch and stepped into his personal space. She pressed her fingers against his chest, wiping the fabric. She could feel the rigid, tense muscles beneath his shirt.
Hayes's hand shot out. He clamped his fingers around her wrist. The grip was brutal, hard enough to bruise bone. His eyes darkened with a lethal warning.
Jocelyn rose onto her tiptoes. She leaned in until her lips were a breath away from his ear.
"I know the real numbers behind the merger," she whispered.
Hayes's pupils contracted. His fingers loosened just a fraction of an inch. His gaze swept over her face, sharp and calculating, like a radar scanning for a threat.
Jocelyn stared right back. Her eyes burned with reckless ambition.
Hayes let go of her wrist. He shot a cold, dismissive glance at the bodyguards who were stepping up to drag her away. "Stay put," he commanded softly, the absolute authority in his tone freezing them in their tracks. He turned and walked toward his private elevator.
Jocelyn rubbed her throbbing wrist. She didn't hesitate. She followed him.
The elevator doors were sliding shut. Jocelyn slipped through the narrow gap just in time.
The small space was instantly suffocating. The scent of cedar and expensive cologne wrapped around her throat.
Hayes didn't press the emergency stop. He didn't tell his guards to drag her out. He just stared at the metal doors.
Jocelyn exhaled slowly. She had won the first round.
The elevator pinged at the penthouse level. The doors opened to a dark hallway. Hayes stepped out, his long legs eating up the distance. Jocelyn followed close behind.
He swiped his keycard. The heavy door clicked open.
He didn't turn on the lights. The moment the door shut, he grabbed Jocelyn's jaw. He forced her head up in the dark.
"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice dropping an octave.
Jocelyn didn't flinch. "I want a backer. Someone who can crush Cam."
Hayes let out a short, harsh laugh. "You don't have enough chips to play at my table."
Jocelyn reached behind her back. She grabbed the zipper of her silk dress and pulled it down.
The fabric pooled at her feet. The cool air of the penthouse hit her bare skin.
Hayes's breathing hitched. The sound was loud in the quiet room. The coldness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a dark, consuming fire.
He slammed her against the door. His mouth crashed down on hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a punishment. It was possession.
Jocelyn gasped at the pain, but she kissed him back just as hard.
They stumbled through the dark, hitting the wall, knocking over a side table. Logic and reason were drowned out by pure adrenaline. Jocelyn dug her nails into his broad back.
The mattress dipped under their weight. Hayes's massive frame covered hers.
Jocelyn closed her eyes. The pain and the pleasure blurred together as she sealed the most insane contract of her life.
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Trading My Ex For His Billionaire Uncle of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5
Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 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

7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.

9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."

7.6
I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.

8.3
Half a month into our cold war, I, Claire Parker, found an abortion procedure slip tucked inside Daniel Carter's suit pocket.
The patient's name belonged to the fragile little childhood sweetheart he had always protected so fiercely-Sophie Bennett.
I folded the paper calmly and slipped it back where I had found it.
Daniel noticed the movement immediately. His eyes flicked toward me through the rearview mirror, resignation coloring his voice.
"What are you overthinking now? Sophie was just keeping a friend company at the hospital. She accidentally left it there."
I turned toward the window and said nothing.
This was Sophie declaring war on me, yet the man who could crush competitors without mercy in the business world believed her completely.
The silence inside the car grew suffocating until Daniel finally stopped outside an upscale jewelry boutique.
He reached over and ruffled my hair with easy familiarity, his tone indulgent and affectionate.
"Come on. Pick out a ring. Your birthday's next month anyway, so we might as well register our marriage too."
I bit down hard on my lip as tears fell soundlessly onto the back of my hand.
What he still didn't know was that I wouldn't live long enough to see next month.

9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.

9.5
Frances survived a horrific car crash, only to return to a suffocating life. Her wealthy husband, Baron, and his domineering mother were now relentlessly pressuring her to adopt a "poor, distant relative" named Jagger as the heir to their billionaire empire.
But on her way to sign the adoption papers, a violent vision flashed in her mind. The crash wasn't an accident. She saw her car in flames, while Baron watched with cold, calculating eyes. Beside him stood an older Jagger, who calmly muttered the chilling truth.
"The problem is solved."
A private investigator soon confirmed her worst nightmares. Jagger wasn't a charity case; he was Baron's illegitimate son. The family had been illegally funneling offshore money to fund his elite lifestyle. Worse, Baron's ultimate plan was to label Frances mentally unstable, lock her away in a Swiss sanatorium for life, and bring in Jagger's biological mother to take her place.
For years, Frances had played the perfect, obedient wife in their corporate marriage contract. How could they be so ruthlessly evil, plotting her agonizing death just to legitimize their dirty bloodline and steal her trust fund?
But she was no longer the fragile puppet they thought she was. At the high-stakes board meeting, with all eyes expecting her to submit, she put the expensive pen down.
"I refuse."
Instead of adopting their bastard son, she slammed down an SEC whistleblower threat, forced a new will, and introduced her own handpicked heir. The war had just begun.











