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 7
The lawyer's office was all glass and steel, perched high above Park Avenue. Isolde sat across from the mahogany desk, her signature drying on the retainer agreement.
"Clark Ruiz will not take this lying down," the lawyer warned, steepling his fingers. "He will fight for every penny, and he will fight for the child."
"I know," Isolde said, her jaw set. "But I'm not giving up."
An hour later, Isolde walked into the lobby of Ruiz Architecture. She wasn't alone. Two paralegals from the law firm flanked her. The receptionist tried to stop them, but a flash of legal documents sent her scrambling for the phone.
Isolde didn't wait to be announced. She pushed open the doors to Clark's office.
He was standing by the window, a golf club in his hand. When he saw her, his face twisted with rage. He threw the club at the wall, the metal clanging loudly. "You have some nerve showing your face here."
He lunged toward her, but one of the paralegals stepped in front of Isolde. Clark stopped, his chest heaving.
Isolde reached into her bag and pulled out the divorce papers. She threw them onto his desk. "It's over, Clark. I'm filing for divorce, and I'm seeking full custody of Bria."
Clark laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You think you can take my daughter? You'll leave this marriage with nothing, Isolde. The prenup guarantees it."
Isolde didn't flinch. She nodded to the paralegal, who stepped forward and placed a second document on the desk. "Have you read your own prenup recently, Clark? Section four, paragraph two. The infidelity clause."
Clark's smile faltered.
The paralegal spoke up, his voice clear and professional. "In the event of documented marital infidelity, Mrs. Ruiz is entitled to thirty percent of the company's shares. A significant stake. Enough to give her a seat on the board and challenge your authority."
Clark's face went pale. "That's bullshit. I never-"
Isolde pulled a manila envelope from her bag and tossed it onto the pile. Inside were photos of Clark and Kelsey entering a hotel room, along with a copy of Kelsey's ultrasound. "You're having a child with another woman. The courts don't look kindly on that."
Clark's hands balled into fists. He looked like a cornered animal. Then, suddenly, his expression shifted. The rage melted away, replaced by a cold, calculating smile.
"Fine," he said softly. "You want a divorce? You can have it. And you can have full custody of Bria. I won't fight you."
Isolde narrowed her eyes. This was too easy. "What's the catch?"
"No catch." Clark walked around the desk, leaning against the edge. "I just have one little condition. You fix the Valdez deal. You get Jacques Valdez to sign that contract by the end of the week, and I'll give you everything you want."
Isolde stared at him in disbelief. "You're delusional. You ruined that deal. He hates us."
"Then I guess you'll be staying married to me for a very long time." Clark's smile was venomous. "And if you can't close the deal, it just proves how worthless you are. I'll make sure the judge knows you're an unfit mother."
Isolde's nails dug into her palms. It was an impossible task. Jacques had made his feelings perfectly clear. But it was the only way out.
"Fine," she said, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "I'll do it."
Clark chuckled, straightening his tie. "Good luck. You're going to need it."
Isolde walked out of the office, her legs trembling. In the elevator, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. How was she supposed to convince a man like Jacques Valdez to give her a second chance?
Back at Vivian's apartment, Isolde sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the business card she had taken from Bria's pillow. She pulled out her phone and typed in the number. Her finger hovered over the call button.
Bria skipped into the room, holding a piece of paper. It was a crayon drawing of a tall man in a suit, holding hands with a little girl. "Look, Mommy! It's me and the prince!"
Isolde looked at the drawing, a desperate plan forming in her mind. She took a deep breath and pressed call.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. Isolde was about to hang up when the line clicked.
"What?" Jacques's voice was curt, annoyed.
"It's Isolde," she said quickly. "Isolde Ruiz. I need to speak with you about the contract-"
"No." The word was flat, final.
"Please," Isolde begged. "Just give me five minutes. I can explain everything. The dinner, the club, all of it."
There was a long pause. Isolde could hear the faint sound of ice clinking in a glass.
"Fine," Jacques said, his tone shifting. "You want to talk? Come to my apartment. Tonight."
He rattled off an address in the most exclusive building in the city. Before Isolde could respond, the line went dead.
She stared at the phone in her hand. Going to a powerful man's private residence at night, a man who thought she was a liar and a spy. It was dangerous. It was stupid.
But it was her only chance.
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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.