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 5
Isolde stumbled into the hotel lobby, her vision blurred by tears. She fumbled in her purse for her phone. She had to call Clark. She had to try and explain. Maybe if she begged, he would understand.
The phone rang and rang. No answer.
Panic clawed at her throat. She turned back toward the dining room. Maybe she could talk to Jacques. Maybe she could apologize. Maybe-
The door flew open. Rudy Kowalski stormed out, his face twisted in rage. He spotted Isolde and marched over to her.
"You stupid bitch!" he shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "Do you know what you just did? Valdez just killed the deal! Three hundred million dollars, gone! Because of you!"
Isolde shrank back, her hands raised. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Sorry doesn't cut it!" Rudy grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in. "Clark is going to destroy you. You hear me? You're finished!"
He shoved her away, storming off toward the elevators. Isolde stood in the middle of the lobby, the stares of the hotel guests boring into her like needles.
Her phone rang. She looked at the screen. Clark.
She answered, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Clark, please, let me explain-"
"You're done." His voice was devoid of any emotion. The line went dead.
Isolde stared at the black screen. The fear that had been simmering in her gut exploded into full-blown terror. Clark's threats were never empty.
Bria.
She dialed the nanny's number. No answer. She dialed the school's front office. The line rang twice before a receptionist picked up.
"Manhattan Preparatory Academy, how can I help you?"
"This is Isolde Ruiz. I need to check if my daughter, Bria, is still at school."
"One moment, Mrs. Ruiz." A long pause. "No, ma'am. Her father picked her up over an hour ago."
The floor dropped out from under Isolde. "What? He wasn't supposed to-did he say where they were going?"
"No, ma'am. He had the proper identification. We couldn't stop him."
Isolde hung up, a scream building in her chest. She ran out of the hotel, into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. She hailed a cab, throwing a bill at the driver. "Manhattan Prep! Hurry!"
By the time she reached the school, the sun was setting. The playground was empty. The building was dark. She ran to the security booth, pounding on the glass.
"Where is she?" she yelled. "Where is my daughter?"
The guard shook his head, confused. "Ma'am, the school is closed. If you don't have custody papers-"
Isolde didn't listen. She ran to the curb, dialing Clark's number over and over. It went straight to voicemail. She texted Agnes. Nothing.
She wandered the streets, her mind racing. Bria was allergic to cats. Clark's mistress, Kelsey, had three Persians. If Bria was there, she could go into anaphylactic shock.
Isolde collapsed onto a bench, her body wracked with sobs. People walked by, giving her a wide berth. She didn't care. Her daughter was gone.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
She opened it. It was a photo. A little girl with dark hair, standing in front of a dessert display. Her back was to the camera, but Isolde would recognize that little pink jacket anywhere. Bria.
Isolde scrambled to her feet. She zoomed in on the photo. In the corner, a poster advertised a jazz night. It was the hotel. The very hotel she had just left. The message felt calculated, timed perfectly to her despair. Whoever sent this wanted her back here.
She sprinted back toward The Cortland, her lungs burning. She burst through the revolving doors and ran into the main dining room. It was packed with people. She pushed through the crowd, her eyes scanning every face.
"Bria!" she screamed. "Bria!"
A waiter tried to stop her. "Ma'am, you can't-"
"Bria!" Isolde shoved him aside, running toward the back of the room.
Two security guards moved toward her. Isolde panicked, her eyes darting around the room. And then she saw him.
Jacques Valdez was walking out of a VIP corridor, his bodyguard Ken a step behind him.
Isolde didn't think. She just acted. She ran toward him, her hands outstretched. "Help me! Please, you have to help me!"
Ken stepped forward, his arm blocking her path. He was a wall of solid muscle.
"Please," Isolde begged, trying to see around him. "Mr. Valdez, please!"
Jacques walked past her. He didn't even look in her direction. His face was impassive, his eyes straight ahead. He treated her like she was invisible. Like she was nothing.
Isolde's knees buckled. She fell to the floor, the sobs tearing from her chest. She was alone. No one was going to help her.
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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.