Betrayed Wife: Claimed By The Ruthless CEO
Isolde Mitchell knew her wealthy husband was cheating on her, but the true nightmare began when her mother-in-law summoned her.
The older woman coldly announced that the mistress was pregnant with a boy and would be moving into their estate.
Because Isolde's family had gone bankrupt and she had only given birth to a frail daughter, she was deemed completely worthless.
When Isolde packed her bags and demanded a divorce, her husband Clark just laughed.
He threatened to use their ironclad prenup to leave her penniless and take full custody of her daughter just to torture her.
To make matters worse, he forced Isolde to secure a failing business deal with the ruthless billionaire Jacques Valdez, essentially ordering her to sell her body to get the signature.
"If you fail, you will never see Bria again."
He even sent his goons to snatch the little girl from her preschool to prove his point.
Isolde was completely cornered, trembling with a mix of rage and absolute despair.
How could the man she married be such a monster? She would rather die than let them destroy her daughter, but how could a bankrupt mother fight a powerful dynasty with absolutely nothing?
Out of options, she looked at the private business card the terrifying billionaire Jacques had unexpectedly given her daughter.
Swallowing her pride, she decided to make a deal with the devil himself, ready to use his power to tear her husband's family apart.
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Chapter 3
Isolde stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror of the hotel restroom. The black dress she had bought was too tight, too low-cut. It felt like a costume. She smoothed down the fabric, her stomach churning. She splashed cold water on her wrists, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart.
She walked out, her heels sinking into the plush carpet. She stopped in front of the private dining room. The maître d' pulled the heavy wooden door open for her.
The room was thick with cigar smoke. Four men sat around a large round table, their laughter dying down as she entered. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
A man with greasy hair and a cheap suit-Rudy Kowalski-was the first to move. He stood up, his eyes crawling over her body. "Well, well. Mrs. Ruiz. I have to say, Clark is a lucky man." He reached out and touched her bare arm. "Thanks for sacrificing your evening for us."
Isolde pulled her arm away, her skin crawling. "Where is the investor?"
Rudy grinned and pointed toward the head of the table. "Right there."
Isolde followed his finger. The man at the head of the table was sitting with his back to her, swirling a glass of amber liquid. As she watched, he slowly turned around.
The air left Isolde's lungs.
The sharp jaw. The dark, piercing eyes. The cedar scent that suddenly overpowered the smell of cigars. It was him. The man from the club. The man she had mistaken for an escort.
Rudy was oblivious to her shock. "Mr. Valdez, this is Isolde Ruiz. She's here to make sure we have a very enjoyable evening."
Jacques Valdez. The CEO of the Valdez Group. One of the most powerful men in the country. And she had tried to hire him for sex. The legendary Jacques Valdez was notoriously private, never giving interviews, his face never gracing the covers of financial magazines-only blurry, years-old silhouettes circulated online. She had never imagined she would meet him in the flesh, let alone in a dark hotel room.
Jacques didn't speak. He simply looked at her, his gaze unreadable. He leaned back in his chair, his long fingers tapping against the table. "Are you here to entertain us, Mrs. Ruiz?"
Isolde opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She thought of Bria. She thought of Clark's threat. She forced herself to nod.
Rudy took that as his cue. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the table and poured a generous amount into a shot glass. "Let's start with a toast! Three shots to our new partnership!"
He shoved the glass toward her. Isolde looked at the clear liquid. She couldn't drink. She never drank. The smell alone made her head spin.
"Come on, don't be shy!" Rudy urged, his face flushed. He reached out as if to force the glass to her lips.
Isolde closed her eyes, bracing herself for the burn.
Click.
The sharp sound of a lighter snapping shut cut through the room. Isolde's eyes flew open. Jacques was holding a thick Cuban cigar, the flame just extinguished. He looked at Rudy, his expression flat.
"She's not drinking that." Jacques's voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a command.
Rudy blinked. "But Mr. Valdez, it's just a little-"
"Come here." Jacques looked at Isolde, ignoring Rudy entirely. He held out a gold lighter. "Light this for me."
Isolde hesitated. The men around the table exchanged confused glances. But the look in Jacques's eyes left no room for argument. She walked around the table, her legs unsteady. She took the lighter from him.
She leaned in, striking the flame. It flickered to life, illuminating Jacques's face. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. His eyes locked onto hers, the flame reflecting in their dark depths.
"Nice to see you again, little liar." he murmured, his voice so low only she could hear.
Isolde's hand jerked. The lighter slipped, but Jacques caught it, his hand closing over hers. His grip was firm, his skin hot. He held her gaze for a long moment, then guided the flame to the tip of his cigar.
He took a slow drag, then exhaled a cloud of smoke directly into her face. Isolde coughed, stepping back. He released her hand, his eyes never leaving her face.
"You can go back to your corner now." he said, his voice returning to its normal volume.
Isolde retreated, her heart pounding against her ribs. Little liar. He knew. He knew she had lied at the club. And he was playing with her.
The dinner dragged on. Isolde sat in silence, picking at her food. Every time she looked up, Jacques was watching her. His gaze was heavy, assessing. It made her feel like a piece of meat on a slab.
Rudy, emboldened by the alcohol, tried to pour her another drink. Jacques interrupted him. "Mr. Kowalski, I believe the structural report for the Hudson project is incomplete. Explain the discrepancy in the load-bearing calculations."
Rudy paled, scrambling for his documents. Isolde took the opportunity to slip out of her chair.
"I need the restroom." she mumbled, not waiting for a response.
She fled the room, her heels clicking rapidly down the hallway. She needed air. She needed to think. She needed to figure out how she was going to get out of this nightmare.
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9.7
For three years, I hid my identity as the sole heiress of a multi-billion dollar tech empire to live in a cramped apartment and support my boyfriend, Ben.
But the day before our engagement, I stood outside a meeting room and overheard him talking to his wealthy boss, Haylie.
"She's just a stepping stone," Ben laughed, his voice full of contempt. "A poor, ambitionless distraction while I work my way up to where I really belong."
He mocked the cheap silver ring he gave me, calling it a necessary prop to keep a naive fool happy.
He bragged about the multi-million dollar merger proposal he was presenting, planning to use it to secure his promotion and build a future with her.
He had no idea that I had secretly negotiated that entire deal using my real connections just to give him his big break.
I had sacrificed my family's comfort, my true identity, and my own career just to watch him rise.
I poured my heart and soul into our humble beginnings, only to realize he saw my love as a pathetic joke and me as disposable trash.
I calmly picked up a pen and voided the merger agreement, tearing my hard work into tiny pieces.
I went home, slid the cheap ring off my finger, and dropped it into his mug of cold coffee.
"Soon, you'll find out exactly who is nothing."
Walking out the door, I pulled out my phone and texted my billionaire father.
"I'm in. Announce the merger."
7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
9.2
Jacqueline Blackburn, a desperate Ivy League tutor, walked into the sleazy Veridian VIP club just to save her job.
But her billionaire client, the ruthless Christian Montgomery, mistook her for a cheap escort, blowing cigar smoke in her face and treating her like trash.
When she furiously turned to leave, a drunk former client attacked her in the hallway, tearing her white dress open and pinning her by the throat.
She fought back, stabbing the man's hand with a pen, only for Christian to emerge from the shadows and brutally crush the attacker's bleeding hand under his heel.
Instead of letting her go, Christian draped his heavy suit jacket over her exposed skin, trapped her in his dark suite, and forced her to sign a suffocating contract.
"You have exactly ninety days, or I will personally ensure you cease to exist in my city."
She thought she could just keep her head down, teach his nephew, and survive.
But she didn't understand why this terrifying underground tyrant was suddenly so fixated on her.
Why did he use his immense power to isolate her, publicly claim her at a billionaire gala, and track her every move?
When she received a chilling midnight text demanding she pack her bags and move into his sprawling estate by 8:00 AM, the terrifying reality set in.
She hadn't escaped the wolf. She had just walked directly into his cage.
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
9.0
To save her dying mother, Adaline walked into the Waldorf Astoria to deliver a shirt to her fiancé.
She didn't know her stepsister, June, had swapped her keycard. Adaline stumbled into a pitch-black suite and was brutally assaulted by a stranger in the dark.
The nightmare didn't end there. June paid off the only bone marrow donor for Adaline's mother to flee the city, and stole Adaline's fiancé. Bankrupt and desperate, Adaline was forced to sell herself into a loveless marriage with the ruthless billionaire Ferris Finch just to secure a medical team.
But when Ferris saw the dark, violent bruises covering her body, his eyes filled with absolute disgust.
"You make me sick. Pack up your cheap tricks."
He mocked her, calling her a filthy woman who couldn't even wash her lover's marks off before crawling into his house.
Adaline swallowed her pride and endured his cruel humiliation. When June publicly taunted her about the hotel assault, Adaline finally snapped, ending up handcuffed in a freezing police cell.
She thought she was completely out of moves, waiting to rot in prison while her new husband despised her.
But back at the estate, Ferris had just pulled the hotel's security footage.
Staring at the screen, the arrogant billionaire's face turned completely ashen.
He finally realized that the innocent woman he had destroyed in the dark that night, and the wife he was currently torturing, were the exact same person.