Wild Heiress, Tamed Billionaire
When I called my husband while trapped in a kidnapper's warehouse, he laughed. "Stop faking," he said, "my delicate mistress needs her sleep." He hung up. I signed the divorce papers drenched in my own blood, giving up everything just to escape the monster I married.
His mother threw a broken umbrella at me in the rain. I had nothing-no money, no identity, no hope.
But the moment I turned away, eight black Escalades encircled the street. A man in a tailored suit stepped out of a Rolls-Royce, shielding me with an umbrella. In his hand was a DNA test-and twenty-three years of relentless search.
"Your last name isn't Smith," he said, wiping blood from my wrist with his handkerchief. "It's Wilder. The Wilder family. And the man who left you to die?" He smiled, icy. "He owes us nine billion dollars."
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Chapter 9
Joaquin paced his destroyed office. The glass ashtray lay in pieces on the carpet.
Julianne sat on the sofa, her makeup ruined from crying. "The golf club suspended my membership!" she wailed.
Ember sat in the corner, dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue. "Joaquin, Kinsley does not have a job. Paying hackers must have drained whatever cash she had left."
Julianne's head snapped up. "The credit card! She still has the platinum sub-card attached to your account!"
Joaquin stopped pacing. A cruel, triumphant smile spread across his face. He thought he finally found the leash to choke her with.
He grabbed his desk phone and dialed the American Express VIP line. "Freeze the sub-card ending in 4102. Immediately."
He hung up and leaned back in his chair. "Let us see how she survives the weekend without my money."
At that exact moment, Kinsley was sitting across from Daxton inside Le Bernardin, Manhattan's most exclusive three-star Michelin restaurant.
Daxton had bought out the entire dining room. A lone violinist played soft jazz in the corner.
She wore a sleek black evening gown. The ruby necklace rested heavily on her chest.
Daxton smoothly cut a piece of A5 Wagyu beef and switched his plate with hers. His eyes watched her every move, dark and hungry.
"Your attack this morning was flawless," Daxton said, taking a sip of wine.
"It was just the appetizer," she replied, meeting his gaze. "I want Stafford Holdings completely liquidated."
Daxton smiled. It was a dangerous, thrilling look. "If you need capital to crush them faster, my checkbook is open."
When the waiter brought the bill, she insisted on paying.
She reached into her clutch and deliberately bypassed her new cards, letting her fingers brush against Joaquin's old platinum sub-card.
She pulled it out and handed it to the waiter, a small, calculated smile playing on her lips. She wanted to see exactly how predictable her ex-husband was.
A minute later, the manager walked over, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Miss, I am so sorry, but this card has been frozen by the primary account holder."
She looked down at the plastic card. Her smile widened into a soft, mocking laugh. "Of course he did," she murmured to herself. The sheer, pathetic predictability of his petty move was entirely expected.
Daxton did not find it funny. His jaw clenched. The air around him turned to ice. He thought she was being humiliated.
He reached for his wallet to throw down his own card.
She placed her hand over his, stopping him.
She reached back into her clutch.
She pulled out the heavy, solid metal Centurion Black Card her father had given her. She held it between her index and middle finger and handed it to the manager.
The manager saw the limitless black metal. He gasped softly, bowed deeply, and took it with both hands.
Daxton stared at the Black Card. The anger vanished from his face, replaced by a slow, deeply amused smirk. He realized she was playing a game on a level Joaquin could not even comprehend.
They walked out of the restaurant into the cool night air.
Daxton took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Your ex-husband is begging for your attention," he whispered near her ear.
She pulled the jacket tight. She got into the Rolls-Royce and pulled out her phone.
She dialed Ethan's number. "Ethan. Release the kill shot. Send the kidnapping evidence to every network. I want them dead tonight."
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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
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.
8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.
7.3
I woke up in a sweltering attic, my body covered in overlapping whip scars.
I was Alice Morrow, a top-tier occultist, but now I was trapped in the body of a girl who served as a human punching bag for the wealthy Wallace family.
Before I could even catch my breath, my adoptive sister Britney Wallace kicked the door open.
She pointed a silver revolver right at my forehead.
She had been siphoning my luck through a parasitic karmic tether, using me as a sink for all her misfortune.
"Go to hell, you useless freak," she screamed, pulling the trigger.
But she didn't know the absolute rule of the tether: any malicious attack reflects back to the sender.
The massive recoil blasted backward, snapping her wrist in half.
I walked out of that hellhole and was found by my biological family, the incredibly powerful Morrows.
But Britney wasn't done. She sent them deepfake photos to frame me for cursing them, and even planted a deadly amulet to kill my biological grandfather.
My own uncle threw the photos at me, his eyes full of disgust.
"She's a rabid dog raised by the Wallaces! She's been cursing her own blood!"
I didn't argue. I simply rolled up my sleeves to reveal the mangled flesh, burn marks, and protruding bones the Wallaces had left me with.
As my real family broke down in tears of agonizing guilt, I smiled and gripped my ancient copper coin.
It was time to show the Wallaces what real karma looked like.
9.6
I woke up alone in a cold hospital room after a near-fatal car crash.
My husband of three years, Bryant, claimed he was too busy with back-to-back meetings to visit me.
But when I dragged my bruised body into the hallway, I caught him pinning his pregnant mistress against a vending machine.
"As soon as my company IPOs next month, I'm dumping my useless wife."
"She's so pathetic. She'd be living on the streets if it wasn't for my charity."
For three years, Bryant and his mother had humiliated me for being an orphan, treating me like a penniless burden while he secretly bought a multi-million-dollar townhouse for his new family.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. I had almost died in that wreckage, yet my husband was disgusted by my very existence, eagerly waiting to throw me away.
But Bryant didn't know about the damp, sealed envelope the paramedics had recovered from my wrecked car.
The DNA report inside proved I wasn't a nobody from the gutter.
I was the biological daughter of the Beaumonts—New York's wealthiest, most ruthless billionaire dynasty.
I didn't scream or confront them.
Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone, recorded their affair in high definition, and dialed a Wall Street financier I hadn't spoken to in years.
"I'm done playing the happy housewife. Pull his algorithmic backdoors and drain the accounts."
9.5
After being locked in a mental institution for two years, Arlie was finally brought back to the Mccormick estate.
But her billionaire husband, Killian, didn't bring her home out of guilt or love. He handed her a cold surrogacy contract.
Her biological son, Julian, now looked at her with terror, calling her a monster while clinging to Kaelynn—the very mistress who had framed Arlie and stolen her life.
Killian froze Arlie's assets, locked her in a high-rise penthouse, and threatened to send her back to the asylum forever if she refused to undergo IVF.
He claimed they desperately needed a new baby's umbilical cord blood to cure Julian's terminal illness.
But Arlie secretly contacted her doctor and uncovered a horrifying truth.
The experimental gene therapy she had received years ago meant any attempt at pregnancy would trigger a fatal organ shutdown.
Killian didn't care if the procedure killed her in agony; he just wanted to use her as a disposable breeding machine to harvest a "spare part."
Watching the media brand her a selfish mother who wanted her son to die, the last trace of the obedient wife vanished.
Arlie pulled out a hidden satellite phone and dialed a number she hadn't used in years.
"Ronan, it's Li," she said coldly. "Wipe my name from their servers and prepare a full-scale assault. It's time to destroy them."