Trapped By The Ruthless Billionaire Husband
Finley was forced by her dying grandfather to marry Haiden Mitchell, a ruthless corporate executive, just to secure the family's billion-dollar empire.
But right after their humiliating wedding, she discovered a sickening secret: he was hiding a dying mistress and a little boy who called him "Daddy."
Desperate to escape the marriage, she recorded them at the hospital and showed the evidence to her grandfather, begging for an annulment.
Instead, her grandfather coldly replied that loyalty was a luxury for the poor. As long as Haiden kept the stock prices high, he didn't care if the man had ten hidden bastards.
To silence her, her grandfather froze all her trust funds, confiscated her phone, and abandoned her, leaving her entirely under Haiden's absolute control.
Haiden even brought the illegitimate boy into their penthouse, pinning her against the wall with a ruthless threat.
"You will act as his mother in public, or you will have absolutely nothing."
Finley was completely trapped, stripped of her freedom and humiliated. She had always thought Haiden was just a greedy parasite waiting to drain the Blackwell fortune dry.
That was until she found a highly confidential fax hidden under his coffee table. It bore an ancient, gothic crest—a lion holding a sword—a symbol far more terrifying and powerful than anything in the New York corporate world. Her blood ran cold. Who exactly was she married to?
Chapters
Share
Chapter 8
Finley left the Aston Martin parked illegally in the ambulance loading zone. She shoved a pair of oversized Tom Ford sunglasses over her swollen, red eyes and marched through the sliding glass doors of Mount Sinai Hospital.
She kept her head down, avoiding the front desk. She remembered the layout from the night her grandfather was admitted. She bypassed the main elevators and slipped into the private VIP lift.
She hit the button for the 16th floor. The elevator hummed upward. The sterile smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol made her stomach churn with anxiety and rage.
The doors slid open.
Finley peeked around the corner. Down the long, quiet corridor, two of Haiden's massive bodyguards stood outside Room 1608.
She waited. A nurse walked by, holding a chart. One of the bodyguards turned to ask the nurse a question, stepping slightly away from the door.
Finley moved like a ghost. She sprinted down the hall, grabbed the heavy metal handle of Room 1608, and shoved it open with all her body weight.
The door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.
Everyone in the room froze.
Finley stood in the doorway, her phone raised high, the camera already recording.
On the hospital bed lay Clara. She was shockingly pale, her skin almost translucent beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. An oxygen mask covered half her face.
Haiden was leaning over the bed. One of his large hands was wrapped tightly around Clara's frail fingers. His other hand was resting on the head of a little blonde boy-Leo-who was crying softly.
The perfect, tragic family portrait.
"How touching," Finley sneered, her voice dripping with acid. She stepped further into the room, keeping the camera pointed right at them.
Leo let out a terrified scream at the loud noise. He scrambled backward, hiding behind Haiden's long legs, burying his face in the dark fabric of his suit trousers.
Haiden dropped Clara's hand instantly. He spun around, shielding the boy with his body.
When he saw Finley, his eyes turned into black holes of pure, murderous rage. "Get out," he snarled, his voice a guttural threat.
Finley ignored him. She stepped closer to the bed, shoving the phone toward Clara's face.
"Is this the bitch?" Finley screamed. "What kind of pathetic tricks did you use to hook the Blackwell family dog?"
Clara gasped, her eyes wide with panic. She reached up with trembling hands, trying to pull the oxygen mask down to speak.
The effort was too much. Clara began to cough-a violent, wet, tearing sound. The heart monitor beside the bed instantly started shrieking, the red numbers flashing wildly.
Haiden snapped.
He lunged forward, moving faster than Finley could react. He snatched the phone out of her hand and hurled it against the concrete wall.
The phone shattered into pieces, glass and plastic raining down on the floor.
Finley shrieked in fury. She lunged toward the bed, her hands outstretched, trying to grab the collar of Clara's hospital gown.
Haiden caught her from behind. He wrapped both of his massive arms around her waist, locking her against his chest in an inescapable iron grip.
"Let me go!" Finley thrashed wildly, kicking backward with her heels.
"Daddy, don't fight!" Leo screamed, sobbing hysterically in the corner.
That word-Daddy-snapped the last string of Finley's sanity. She twisted her upper body and sank her teeth hard into Haiden's forearm.
She bit down until she tasted blood.
Haiden let out a sharp grunt of pain, but his grip didn't loosen a single millimeter. He held her suspended off the ground.
"Get the doctors!" Haiden roared at the bodyguards standing paralyzed in the doorway.
A swarm of nurses and a doctor rushed into the room, pushing past them to get to Clara, who was now convulsing on the bed.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Haiden dragged Finley backward out of the room. He kicked open the door to an empty doctors' lounge across the hall and threw her inside.
Finley crashed onto a leather sofa. Her hair was a tangled mess, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She glared at him, her eyes burning with lethal hatred.
Haiden slammed the door and locked it. He stood leaning against the wood, his chest rising and falling heavily. Blood seeped through the white fabric of his shirt where she had bitten him.
He looked at her, exhaustion and despair warring in his eyes.
"Clara is a friend," Haiden said, his voice tight, trying to force the words through his anger. "Leo is my godson. There is nothing going on between us."
Finley threw her head back and laughed. It was a manic, broken sound.
"He called you Daddy!" she screamed, pointing at the door. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"
She stared at the shattered pieces of her phone, a wave of sheer, helpless panic crashing over her. The only leverage she had was gone. Her chest heaved as the panic rapidly morphed into a wild, hysterical anger. "You destroyed the evidence!" she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You think you can just break my phone and hide this? I'm going to tell my grandfather! I'm going to tell everyone what a disgusting liar you are!"
Haiden closed his eyes. A muscle feathered in his jaw. He realized then that she was completely unreachable. The truth didn't matter anymore.
When he opened his eyes, the exhaustion was gone. Only the ruthless CEO remained.
"If you leak that video to the press," Haiden said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper, "I will dismantle Blackwell Industries piece by piece. I will ruin your family."
Finley felt a chill run down her spine at the absolute certainty in his voice. But she refused to back down.
"I'm going to my grandfather," Finley spat, lifting her chin. "I'm ending this marriage today."
She shoved past him, unlocking the door, and ran down the hallway, leaving him bleeding in the quiet room.
You may also like
9.5
My boyfriend, Jefferson, convinced me to give up my Yale scholarship for him. He was my secret, my escape from the shame of my mother's past, and I threw away my future for our love.
Then, at a gala, he publicly announced his engagement to Aubrey Carroll-the girl who made my high school years a living hell.
He trapped me in his mansion, forcing me to become her personal servant. She tortured me daily, culminating in her brutally killing our dog, Charlie, with a garden trowel.
When her friends arrived, they joined in, stripping me half-naked and live-streaming my panic attack for the world to see.
The man who once promised to protect me watched as they destroyed me.
But as I lay bleeding out on the floor, it wasn't an ambulance that arrived. It was the private security of Alexzander Stevens-my estranged, billionaire grandfather.
He revealed I was his sole heiress, and now, we were going to make them pay for every last tear.
7.1
For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big.
On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe."
Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero."
Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends.
"She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy."
Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder.
I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number.
"Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married."
7.9
Eileen Goff was a nobody, scrubbing diner tables to survive while her greedy family bled her dry.
On the eve of her twentieth birthday, the government's mandatory marriage algorithm matched her with a spouse.
It wasn't a plumber or a teacher. It was Harrison Butler, the ruthless, untouchable billionaire king of Butler Industries.
At the registry, Harrison's glamorous intended fiancée threw a half-million-dollar check at her.
"Take the money, get out of here, and never show your face again."
The registry supervisor even offered her a million dollars to sign a cancellation agreement, trying to erase her from the system.
At their first high-society gala, Harrison's stepmother and the fiancée locked Eileen in an empty room, plotting to humiliate her and prove she was just cheap trash.
Eileen was terrified and confused. Men like Harrison Butler didn't just accept federal matches with girls who smelled like fried onions.
But instead of abandoning her, Harrison smashed the door open, publicly banished his own family, and kissed her in front of the entire city's elite.
Why was this billionaire going to such extreme lengths to protect a complete stranger?
Then she overheard his assistant talking about a marriage clause in his grandfather's trust fund.
He didn't love her; he just needed a powerless, state-mandated wife to lock his parasitic family out of his empire.
Realizing she was a highly valuable pawn, Eileen stopped trembling, looked the billionaire in the eye, and spoke.
"I believe we can have more than just a legal relationship. We can have a business arrangement."
8.0
Aliya woke up in a dingy, freezing apartment with a throbbing headache, only to realize a horrifying truth.
She had transmigrated into the American romance novel she read just last night, becoming the ultimate vicious supporting character. The exhausted man walking through the front door was Cyrus Pace, an amnesiac billionaire currently living under the delusion that he was a broke laborer.
The original owner had trapped him with fabricated memories of being childhood sweethearts. Worse, she relentlessly abused him. Her phone was filled with toxic texts calling him a useless loser, and she had just staged a psychotic hunger strike to force him to buy a designer bag. Cyrus already looked at her with bone-deep, visceral disgust. In the original plot, the moment he regained his memory, his ruthless revenge would send her straight to a maximum-security prison for the rest of her life.
"Are you done playing your hunger strike game?"
Hearing his cold, mocking voice, the sheer terror made Aliya's blood run cold. How was she supposed to survive living with a future tyrant who already despised her? Every time his massive shadow fell over their cramped, shared mattress, her heart stopped. A single wrong move—even a microscopic mistake like accidentally crossing a physical line—would completely seal her doom.
Staring at the torn box of condoms hidden under the bed, Aliya made a desperate, life-or-death decision.
She had to completely rewrite her toxic persona, secretly hustle a high-commission real estate job, and save enough money to flee the country before the billionaire remembered exactly who he was.
7.6
Cora thought she was the luckiest woman alive, married to a devoted tech billionaire who showered her with custom haute couture and obsessive care.
But his "protection" involved locking her inside their San Francisco estate, forcing her to swallow foul neon-green supplements, and drawing her blood with highly classified veterinary needles.
She thought it was just his extreme paranoia, until a cynical doctor cornered her at a charity gala.
"Kendrick isn't raising a wife. He's curating a very rare, very fragile medical specimen. You're his personal pharmacy."
Terrified, Cora broke into Kendrick's hidden safe and found a medical report approving her total bone marrow and stem cell depletion.
Kendrick wasn't a doting husband. He was raising her as a human bloodbag to save his terminally ill cousin.
When she nearly uncovered the truth, Kendrick cried fake tears, claiming he only needed her antibodies.
"Tomorrow, we are going to my private island in the Caribbean. Just the two of us. No internet. No guards. Just peace."
Cora almost believed his vulnerable act, deeply confused by how a man who kissed her so tenderly could plan to slaughter her in cold blood.
Then, while packing for the trip, she dropped a wooden box, revealing a hidden flight manifesto.
Kendrick's return date was listed. Hers was completely blank.
Stapled to the back was a clinical schedule: Intensive Marrow Harvesting - Final Stage. Patient will not require return transport.
Hearing his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway, Cora gripped the sharp edges of the broken box.
She was not going to be a slaughtered lamb on that island.
9.5
I joined a brutal wilderness survival reality show, playing the perfect role of a pathetic, uneducated girl from a trailer park.
I needed the five million dollar prize to fund my revenge against the wealthy family that drove my father to his death.
I played everyone flawlessly. I outsmarted the arrogant contestants, ruined a corrupt restaurant owner, and secured enough food to guarantee my absolute victory.
But just as I was dominating the game, a massive black helicopter landed in our camp.
The show's new billionaire sponsor had arrived, and he immediately ordered his tactical guards to confiscate every ounce of food I had earned.
My hard-won advantage was wiped out in seconds. The other contestants cheered, pointing at my empty hands.
"Take that, you greedy bitch!"
But the real nightmare wasn't the stolen food or the sudden rule change. It was the man who stepped out of the chopper.
Glenn Ryan. The ruthless CEO from my past life as an elite heiress.
He took off his sunglasses, his dark eyes locking onto my muddy shoes and frayed flannel shirt with a terrifying, obsessive smirk.
Why was he here? Why did he instantly target me the moment I started winning?
He didn't just know my true identity.
He had bought this entire game just to hunt me down.