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 8
The penthouse at The Beresford was a fortress. The doorman checked Isolde's ID twice before allowing her into the private elevator. The ride up was silent, the polished brass walls reflecting her pale face.
The elevator opened directly into the apartment. It was a massive, open-plan space, all glass and steel. The entire wall facing Central Park was a window, the city lights glittering below like scattered diamonds.
Jacques was sitting at a grand piano near the window. His fingers moved lazily over the keys, playing a slow, melancholy tune. He didn't turn around.
Isolde stepped out of the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind her. She clutched her purse in front of her like a shield. "Mr. Valdez?"
The music stopped. Jacques turned on the bench, his gaze sweeping over her. He was wearing a loose silk shirt, the top buttons undone. He looked relaxed, but the danger radiating from him was palpable.
"You came," he said, his voice a low purr.
"I said I would." Isolde took a step forward. "I want to talk about the Ruiz Architecture contract. I know things went badly at the dinner, but if you would just look at the revised projections-"
Jacques stood up and walked over to the bar. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured two glasses. He walked toward her, holding one out. "You came all the way up here at midnight to talk about construction materials?"
Isolde didn't take the glass. "I came to ask you to reconsider. A lot of jobs depend on that contract."
Jacques set the glass down on a nearby table. He kept walking until he was right in front of her. Isolde took a step back, her legs hitting the back of the bar. She was trapped.
He reached out, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. "If you were so scared of me at the club, why did you come tonight? Alone?"
"I'm not scared of you," Isolde lied, her breath catching as his knuckles brushed her neck.
"Liar." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You're terrified. But you're also desperate. It's an intoxicating combination."
Isolde pushed against his chest, but he didn't budge. "I'm here for the contract. Nothing else."
"The contract is dead." Jacques pulled back, his eyes hard. "Clark Ruiz is a fool, and his company is a sinking ship. I don't invest in lost causes."
"Then why did you agree to see me?" Isolde demanded, her frustration boiling over.
Jacques reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet. He placed it on the bar counter between them. "I wanted to see what you would offer me in exchange."
Isolde reached for the bracelet, relief flooding her. "Thank you. I-"
Jacques's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. His grip was firm, his skin burning hot against hers.
"Did you really think it would be that easy?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "You want the contract? You want me to save your husband's company? Then you have to give me something in return."
"I don't have anything else," Isolde whispered, her pulse racing under his fingers.
"Yes, you do." Jacques released her wrist, his hand moving up to cup her jaw. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. "Be mine, Isolde. Until I get bored of you. That's the price."
Isolde stared at him, the words sinking in like stones. He wanted to buy her. He wanted to turn her into his mistress, his plaything. The same thing Clark had accused her of being.
"You're insane," she breathed, snatching the bracelet off the counter. "I would never-"
"Think about it," Jacques interrupted, his voice cold. "Without me, you have nothing. Clark will take your daughter. You'll be out on the street. I'm offering you a way out. A comfortable way out."
"I'd rather be homeless than be your whore," Isolde spat. She turned and ran for the elevator, jabbing the button. The doors slid open, and she threw herself inside, her heart pounding in her ears.
As the doors closed, she saw Jacques standing by the bar, his face impassive. "You'll change your mind," he called out. "They always do."
The elevator descended, and Isolde collapsed against the wall, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. She clutched the bracelet to her chest, the metal biting into her skin. She was trapped. Clark was going to take Bria, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
When she got back to Vivian's apartment, she told her friend everything. Vivian was furious, pacing the living room. "He's a pig! A manipulative, arrogant pig!"
Isolde sat on the couch, her head in her hands. "It doesn't matter. I have to find another way."
The next morning, her phone rang. It was her lawyer.
"Mrs. Ruiz, I just received notice. Your husband has filed for emergency temporary custody of Bria. He's claiming you abandoned her last night and are an unfit mother."
Isolde's blood ran cold. She called Clark immediately.
"Having a bad morning?" Clark asked, his voice dripping with smugness. "I told you what would happen if you failed. Unless you want to say goodbye to Bria forever, you better figure out a way to get Valdez's signature."
Isolde hung up, her mind racing. She looked at the bracelet in her hand. Then she looked at Bria's tablet, sitting on the coffee table.
She remembered the number she had saved for Bria. She remembered the way he had smiled at her daughter.
It was a terrible idea. It was manipulative. It was risky. But she was out of options.
She picked up the tablet and opened the messaging app. She typed in the number Jacques had given Bria.
She stared at the blank screen. What could she possibly say? She thought of Bria's drawing, of the little girl who thought she had found a prince.
Pride? Dignity? In the face of losing Bria forever, those words were meaningless. That man... Jacques Valdez... he was a devil, but perhaps he was the only devil she could cling to right now. A bitter taste of shame and self-loathath rose in her throat, but for her daughter, she was willing to gamble.
She typed a message, her fingers trembling.
"Prince uncle, my mommy is crying. Can you help us?"
She hit send before she could change her mind. The sender name was auto-filled from Bria's profile.
Bria Ruiz.
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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.