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 4
Isolde didn't make it five feet past the door. A large hand slammed against the wall right beside her head, blocking her path. The scent of cedar and cigar smoke enveloped her.
She gasped, spinning around. Jacques pinned her against the wall, his body a wall of solid muscle. The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows making his face look even more menacing.
"Running away again?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "You seem to make a habit of it."
"Let me go." Isolde said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I need to get back-"
"Back to what? Playing the dutiful wife?" Jacques leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. "Last night you were throwing yourself at me. Tonight you're serving me drinks. Which one is the real you, Isolde?"
"It was a mistake." she whispered. "I didn't know who you were."
"Didn't you?" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet. The Mitchell crest glinted under the dim light. He dangled it in front of her face.
Isolde's eyes widened. She reached for it instinctively. "That's mine!"
Jacques yanked it back, holding it out of her reach. "You left it in my room. Along with a lot of unanswered questions." He stepped closer, his thigh pressing against hers. "You expect me to believe it's a coincidence? That the woman who tried to buy me last night just happens to be the wife of the man begging for my investment?"
"It is a coincidence," Isolde insisted, her voice rising in panic. "I didn't know you were the investor. I didn't even know your name until ten minutes ago!"
Jacques scoffed. "You're a terrible liar. A man in my position meets a lot of women who play games. But you? You're playing a dangerous one. Coming to my room. Leaving your little trinket for me to find. Showing up here with your husband's business partners." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "What are you after? Money? Information?"
"I'm not after anything!" Isolde cried, trying to twist away. "My husband made me come here. I don't want anything from you!"
"Is that right?" Jacques's grip tightened. "Then why did you come to the club last night? Why did you look at me like I was the answer to all your prayers?"
Isolde couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell him she was there to cheat on her husband. It was too humiliating. She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
Jacques took her silence as an admission. His eyes darkened, a dangerous glint entering them. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Isolde. If you're going to play with fire, make sure you don't get burned. And if you come into my territory, you don't get to run away when things get hot."
He released her chin, stepping back. The elevator at the end of the hall dinged, the doors sliding open. Jacques glanced at the sound, his expression hardening.
Isolde didn't wait. She ducked under his arm and sprinted down the hall, away from the elevator. She pushed through the door to the service stairwell, her heart hammering in her chest. She leaned against the cold concrete wall, her legs giving out. She slid to the floor, gasping for breath.
She had to go back. Her purse was still in the dining room. Her phone was in her purse. She couldn't leave without it.
She waited five minutes, trying to compose herself. Then she pushed open the door and crept back down the hall. She took a deep breath and opened the door to the private dining room.
The atmosphere inside had shifted. It was freezing. Jacques was back in his seat, his face like thunder. Rudy and the other men sat in rigid silence, their faces pale.
Rudy saw Isolde and nearly jumped out of his chair. "Mrs. Ruiz! Thank God. Come, sit down. Pour the wine."
Isolde walked over to the table, her hands trembling. She picked up the bottle of wine.
Before she could pour, Jacques slammed his whiskey glass down on the table. The crack of glass against wood was like a gunshot.
Isolde jumped, the wine bottle slipping. Red liquid splashed across the white tablecloth. Rudy opened his mouth to yell, but one look from Jacques shut him up.
Jacques stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He adjusted his cufflinks, his gaze sweeping over the terrified men. "This meeting is over. The rest of the discussion is confidential." He turned his cold stare to Isolde. "And she doesn't belong here. Get her out."
Rudy scrambled to his feet. He walked over to Isolde, his face red with suppressed anger. He pointed toward the door. "Out. Now."
Isolde stood frozen, her face burning with shame. Every man at the table was staring at her. She saw the pity, the disgust, the amusement. She grabbed her purse off the chair.
She held her head high, refusing to let them see her cry. She walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
The moment she was alone, the tears fell. She leaned against the wall, her body shaking. She had failed. She had been humiliated. And Clark was going to make her pay.
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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.