Fifty Million Reasons To Hate Him
For three years, I believed I had the perfect, flawlessly submissive wife.
But right as I was about to sign a fifty-million-dollar divorce settlement to make her go away quietly, I suddenly heard a sharp, ecstatic voice echoing inside my skull.
"Freedom! Long live freedom! I finally shook off this absolute bastard!"
I snapped my head up, only to see Iris sitting across the table, her delicate shoulders trembling as she sobbed into her hands, looking like a shattered woman losing her entire world.
It wasn't a hallucination; I could actually hear her inner thoughts. The realization hit me like a physical blow. My fragile, heartbroken wife was a calculating hypocrite who mentally cursed me out while physically begging me to stay. When I later dragged her out of a nightclub where she was partying half-naked, I heard her true thoughts about our intimacy—she considered our nights together a mere "complimentary clause" in our business contract. Even the loving, home-cooked French dinners I cherished were exposed through her mind to be microwaved Michelin-star takeout.
For three years, I had prided myself on being a dominant, attentive husband, yet I was played for an absolute fool. How could she fake every single tear, every single touch, with such terrifying perfection while viewing me as nothing more than an ATM?
Looking at her cowering on my penthouse floor, clutching an anniversary Birkin bag she secretly planned to sell for a Porsche, a dark rush of power blinded me.
I wasn't just going to let her walk away with my millions anymore; I was going to use my new ability to rip off her mask and utterly destroy her.
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Chapter 2
Harrison picked up the pen and casually tossed it onto the mahogany table.
The sharp clatter of the metal hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.
Iris flinched as if the sound had physically struck her chest.
The lead attorney nervously flipped through the heavy stack of documents.
"Mr. Torres," the lawyer asked, his voice tight. "How would you like to restructure the trust fund payout?"
Harrison kept his arms crossed. His dark eyes never left Iris's pale face.
"Make it a ten-year installment plan," Harrison said flatly. "To ensure the capital remains secure."
Iris sucked in a sharp breath.
Her hands shot down to her lap, gripping the fabric of her expensive silk skirt. Her fingernails dug so hard into her own thighs he was surprised she didn't draw blood.
She forced her facial muscles to relax.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and brimming with fresh tears.
"Harrison," she choked out, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Do you really have so little faith in me? After everything?"
Ten years?! her inner voice roared, vibrating against his skull. By the time I get that money I'll be old and wrinkled! You cold-blooded vampire!
The sheer toxicity of her thoughts felt like a physical slap to his face.
Harrison narrowed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw ticked. He had to force his hands to stay flat on the table to keep from reaching across and wrapping them around her neck.
Iris pushed her chair back and stood up.
She swayed slightly on her heels, looking as though the emotional weight was crushing her fragile bones.
She took two slow steps toward him.
She reached out and rested her hand gently on his broad shoulder.
"I gave up my entire life for this family," she whispered, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. "I just want to be able to start over."
Harrison inhaled the faint, familiar scent of her Jo Malone perfume.
This perfume cost me a fortune, her voice sneered in his head. I researched his ex-girlfriend's favorite scent just to hook him. Is it not working?
A wave of pure nausea hit Harrison's stomach.
He violently shoved her hand off his shoulder.
The force of his movement threw Iris off balance. She stumbled backward in her heels, her arms flailing as she nearly crashed into the floor.
The lawyer gasped and lunged forward to catch her.
Harrison shot the man a look so lethal the lawyer froze mid-step and backed away.
Iris caught herself on the edge of her chair. She collapsed into the seat, burying her face in her hands.
She began to sob loudly, her shoulders heaving with the effort.
Harrison stared down at her shaking form.
If I throw myself on the floor and get a bruise, can I sue him for another two million in emotional distress?
Harrison let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
He turned his head to the sweating attorney.
"Draft the addendum right now," Harrison ordered, his voice like cracking ice. "Put the ten-year installment plan in writing."
Iris's sobbing stopped instantly.
She lowered her hands. The vulnerability was gone from her eyes, replaced by a dark, desperate calculation.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
"Fine," Iris said. Her voice was suddenly steady, laced with a tragic resolve. "If that is what you want, Harrison. I accept."
Harrison blinked. He hadn't expected her to cave that quickly.
The second I get that first check, her mind hissed venomously, I am hiring someone to take a baseball bat to his limited-edition Porsche.
The extreme contrast between her tragic surrender and her violent mental threats was absurd.
Harrison felt a strange, twisted sense of amusement rise in his chest.
Letting her walk away with a structured settlement felt too easy. It was boring.
He wanted to see what else this two-faced woman was capable of. He wanted to watch her squirm in the wild.
As the lead attorney frantically typed on his laptop, his fingers a blur across the keys, the low hum of a portable printer in the corner filled the tense silence. It took three agonizing minutes for the machine to spit out the modified document. During that time, Harrison's dark eyes remained locked onto Iris. He watched the subtle twitch of her jaw, the way she carefully maintained her posture of defeat while her mind likely plotted arson and vandalism. He realized a slow bleed was less satisfying than a clean, brutal break.
Harrison reached across the table.
He grabbed the freshly printed addendum right out of the lawyer's hands.
He gripped the top of the paper and ripped it straight down the middle.
The sound of tearing paper made Iris jump.
She stared at the two halves of the document fluttering to the floor. Her mind raced with frantic confusion.
What is he doing? Did I overplay it? Does he know?
Harrison didn't look at her. He picked up his Montblanc pen.
He flipped to the signature page of the original, lump-sum agreement.
He pressed the nib down and slashed his signature across the line, pressing so hard the ink bled through to the next page.
He shoved the heavy stack of papers across the polished wood toward Iris.
"Take your money," Harrison said, his voice devoid of any human emotion. "And get the hell out of my life."
Iris stared at his signature.
She bit her inner lip hard to stop herself from smiling. She picked up a cheap plastic pen from the table with trembling fingers.
Maintaining her devastated expression, she slowly signed her name.
"The divorce is finalized," the lawyer announced quietly.
Harrison stood up. He adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket.
He didn't spare Iris a single glance. He turned on his heel and strode out of the conference room.
Iris dragged her feet as she followed him out into the hallway.
They stepped into the private elevator together. The doors slid shut, sealing them in a tight, soundproof metal box.
The air pressure in the small space was suffocating.
They stood back-to-back. Harrison stared straight ahead at his own reflection in the polished metal doors.
A slow, mocking smirk crept onto his lips.
Behind him, Iris stood with her head bowed, looking like a defeated prisoner.
But inside her head, a massive, deafening crowd was cheering.
Pop the champagne! I am rich! I am free!
The mental screaming was so loud Harrison actually felt a dull ache behind his eyes.
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8.1
Elinor's frail daughter, Cece, died in a sterile hospital room while waiting for her father to take her to Disney World.
But her billionaire husband, Derick, never showed up. At the exact moment Cece's heart monitor flatlined, the hospital TV broadcasted Derick affectionately holding the hand of his mistress and he has booked a clearance of the entire Disneyland to celebrate mistress's daughter's birthday!.
When Elinor confronted Derick with their daughter's ashes, he sneered and accused her of hiding the child just to get his attention. Elinor's heart was torn to shreds. How could a father be so blind and ruthless? Did Kamryn use his power to steal the very kidney that belonged to Cece? Why did her innocent baby have to die for their sick affair?
The suffocating grief inside Elinor finally crystallized into a sharp blade. She wiped the blood from her lips, canceled the simple divorce, and began her ruthless revenge.
9.2
Rebirth with a Twist.
Fawn Jones doesn't get a chance to resolve the issues with her marriage. No, she gets murdered in her own bathtub. Drowned by the husband she hated after he had moved his mistress into their bed, Fawn's last lucid thought is a promise before death. "I will not stay weak. I will make you pay. If not in this life, then the next." Then she wakes up. Different room. Different body. Different life. Cassandra Huntington – rich, infamous, beautiful in a way Fawn never had been. Cassie had been in a coma for six months after a car crash. Her billionaire husband, Blake, had just signed the paperwork to turn off her life support when she suddenly started breathing on her own. Now everyone thinks Fawn is Cassandra. The media calls it a miracle. Blake calls it complicated. The woman wearing his wife's face is softer, sharper, funnier... and so tempting he hates himself for wanting her. Fawn calls it an opportunity for revenge. Her killers are still out there. Her old body is in the ground under a lie. And the only weapons she has now are Cassandra's money, Cassandra's reputation... and Cassandra's husband. So, she plays the role. Learns to walk in six-inch heels. Smiles for the cameras. Seduces a man who once couldn't stand his wife and now can't seem to stay away from her. While she quietly buys into the company that ruined her old life. While she gets close enough to the man who killed her to watch him crack. They drowned the wrong woman. Now she's awake. And she's not done.
9.3
On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began.
8.7
Brought back from a humble life in Montana, Nora found out she was the true biological heiress of the ultra-wealthy Beaumont family.
But her biological parents didn't love her; they loved the fake daughter, Olivia, much more.
The moment she arrived, her father pushed an engagement termination agreement across his massive desk, forcing her to give up her wealthy fiancé so Olivia could have him.
Her mother looked at her with pure disdain.
"You should know your place. Don't reach for things that were never meant for you."
To break her spirit, they moved her into a cramped, dusty servant's room. They even ordered the butler to feed her cold kitchen scraps and gristle.
They wanted to humiliate her, to make her feel like a piece of trash rather than a daughter.
They expected her to cry, to beg, and to be absolutely crushed by the realization that her own flesh and blood saw her only as a liability to their reputation.
They thought the country girl would easily fold under their united front of cruelty.
But Nora felt no sting of betrayal, only the calculating clarity of a chess player.
She calmly signed the paper, pulled out the Beaumont family trust rules, and looked them dead in the eye.
"Since I am the legal heir, I demand what belongs to me. I'm taking the master bedroom."
8.4
Kathern was forced out of her sister's home by her abusive brother-in-law, who violently demanded she pay half the rent or get out.
To protect her sister from his rage, Kathern agreed to a six-month paper marriage with a stranger—an old woman's grandson, Bronson—in exchange for a simple apartment.
But her new husband treated her like a scheming gold digger from the very first second.
He showed up to City Hall in a cheap suit, shoved a brutal prenup in her face, and dumped her in a completely empty, dust-filled apartment.
"Just don't cause any trouble," he warned coldly, before leaving her alone.
When Kathern politely texted him to ask if he was coming home for dinner, he immediately blocked her number.
Kathern was furious and baffled. She didn't want a dime of his money, nor did she care about his boring middle-management job.
She had only agreed to this marriage for a place to sleep, yet this arrogant man treated her like absolute garbage.
Refusing to swallow the insult, Kathern immediately dialed his grandmother to expose his behavior.
She was going to build her own independent life, completely unaware that her "cheap corporate loser" of a husband was actually the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Vaughan empire.
9.5
Blaire's mother gave her a ruthless ultimatum: find a husband today, or never call her mother again.
Desperate to escape the suffocating control and disastrous blind dates, Blaire agreed to a fake marriage with a stranger she met through an old woman.
She thought she was marrying a dirt-poor salesman drowning in mortgage debt.
They lived in a rundown Queens apartment and split the living expenses fifty-fifty.
He drove a sputtering Toyota Camry, established extreme territorial rules, and treated her like a gold-digging biohazard.
When she accidentally tripped and spilled hot soup on him, he didn't help her up, instead accusing her of using pathetic tricks to seduce him.
Her own mother even crashed their apartment, ruthlessly mocking his pathetic financial state and calling him a total loser.
Blaire endured his coldness and extreme germaphobia, genuinely pitying him for his stressful, low-paying job.
She refunded his money and defended his dignity, refusing to take advantage of a struggling man.
But she couldn't understand why this supposedly broke guy possessed such a lethal, commanding aura, or why an incredibly expensive cashmere blanket mysteriously appeared on her when she was freezing on the couch.
Until her brother called with a shocking warning.
"Blaire, the name on your marriage certificate belongs to the notoriously secretive billionaire CEO of New York's top financial syndicate!"
Blaire laughed out loud, completely unaware that behind the bedroom door, her "broke" husband was frantically ordering his PR team to bury his true identity.