His Unwanted Wife Is A Dying Genius
The biopsy report slid across the cold metal desk, stamped with a brutal death sentence: advanced gastric cancer. Aretha had exactly ninety days left to live.
It was her twenty-sixth birthday, but her phone only rang with a furious call from her husband, Anders.
"Do you have any idea how much of a joke you made this family look like today? Post a public apology to Kelli right now."
He had completely forgotten her birthday, only caring that she skipped her adopted sister's yacht party.
When Aretha dragged her failing body back to the family estate, her biological mother slapped her across the face just for looking pale and embarrassing them in front of guests.
Seeing Aretha wasn't submitting to the usual abuse, Kelli deliberately threw herself down the stairs, playing the innocent, depressed victim.
Anders rushed in and shoved Aretha brutally against the wall to protect Kelli, while her biological father delivered his ultimate threat.
"I am freezing your trust fund. Get on your knees and apologize to Kelli right now, or you won't see another dime."
A massive, suffocating sense of absurdity washed over Aretha. She had spent six years lowering her head and begging for their approval, only to be treated like a disposable placeholder. Why should she spend her final days enduring this agonizing torture for people who didn't even care if she breathed?
Aretha wiped the blood from her chin and laughed. She publicly severed all ties with her family, whipped the signed divorce papers directly at Anders's face, and walked out into the freezing storm—ready to fight for her own life.
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Chapter 6
Aretha's heavy eyelids fluttered open. The first thing that hit her senses was the deep, comforting scent of lavender laundry detergent.
Her vision slowly focused. She was lying in a small, narrow twin bed, covered by a thick, handmade patchwork quilt.
A warm, yellow glow came from the small lamp on the nightstand. The wallpaper was slightly yellowed with age, but the room was spotless.
The door hinges let out a soft squeak.
Eleonora, her adoptive mother, walked in carrying a steaming tray.
When Eleonora saw Aretha's open eyes, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes instantly filled with tears, her lower lip trembling.
Eleonora quickly set the tray down on the small desk and rushed to the side of the bed. She reached out with rough, warm hands and gently cupped Aretha's pale face.
She didn't ask why Aretha was found passed out in the freezing rain. She didn't ask about the Bartletts or the Hines.
Eleonora just leaned down, her voice thick with emotion, and whispered, "Welcome home, my little Ari."
Those six simple words completely shattered the emotional fortress Aretha had built over the last six years.
A violent ache gripped her throat. Her nose burned.
A single, hot tear slipped from the corner of her eye and soaked into the cotton pillowcase. It was the first real tear she had shed since the doctor handed her the death sentence.
Heavy footsteps thumped against the floorboards outside. Alistair walked into the room, looking awkward and massive in the small space. He was holding a mug of warm honey water.
He gruffly shoved the mug into Aretha's hands, his broad shoulders blocking the draft from the window.
"This door is always open for you," Alistair said, his voice thick and protective. "As long as I'm breathing, nobody is going to bully my daughter ever again."
Looking at these two people who loved her without conditions, without caring about her bank account or her status, Aretha felt a profound, soul-deep salvation.
Eleonora picked up a bowl of hot chicken soup from the tray and carefully fed it to Aretha. The warm broth coated her stomach, slightly easing the violent cramps.
Just as the warmth began to settle in her bones, a sharp, piercing text message tone rang out.
It came from her phone, which was plugged into a charger on the nightstand.
Aretha's eyes flickered. Her gut told her exactly who it was.
Eleonora gently handed her the phone, then pulled Alistair by the sleeve, giving Aretha some privacy as they stepped out of the room.
Aretha leaned back against the headboard and swiped the screen open.
It was a multimedia message from Kelli.
The photo loaded. Kelli was wearing one of Aretha's expensive silk nightgowns. She was holding a glass of Romanée-Conti wine.
Kelli's body was pressed intimately against Anders's chest. Anders's arms weren't wrapped around her, but he wasn't pushing her away either.
Beneath the photo was a sickeningly sweet text: Since my big sister isn't home, I guess I'll have to take care of Anders tonight.
If this were the old Aretha, seeing this photo would have made her physically sick. She would have been shaking with rage, unable to sleep for days.
But now?
Aretha stared at the screen, looking at the two of them posing like cheap actors. She felt absolutely nothing. In fact, it was almost comical.
She didn't type out a furious reply. She didn't call Anders to scream at him. They weren't worth a single second of her remaining ninety days.
With a few quick taps of her thumb, Aretha blocked Kelli's number. She went to Anders's contact and blocked him too.
She switched the phone to silent and tossed it carelessly toward the foot of the bed.
Aretha slid back down under the warm patchwork quilt. She stared up at the faint water stain on the ceiling and made a silent promise to herself.
She was going to hide her illness. She would spend her final days right here, in the quiet warmth of the Finch house.
Outside, the Brooklyn rain finally stopped. Surrounded by the scent of lavender, Aretha closed her eyes and fell into her first dreamless sleep in months.
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7.4
Four years ago, to protect the man I loved from losing his billionaire empire, I drugged his drink, told him I only used him for his money, and vanished.
Now, at a high-society gala, Callum Wyatt is back. He isn't just a CEO anymore; he's a ruthless predator, and the second his eyes lock onto me, I know I am his prey.
When my wealthy half-sister publicly humiliated me, calling me the cheap bastard child of a homewrecker, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He nearly snapped her wrist in half and declared to New York's elite that anyone who touched me would be dismantled.
In the back of his Maybach, he pinned my arms above my head, his eyes burning with psychotic obsession.
"If you run again, Aubrey, I will burn your entire world to the ground just to keep you."
My heart bled. I had spent four grueling years tearing myself apart to keep him out of my messy, blood-soaked revenge against the family that watched my mother die.
But his terrifying protection only made my biological father's family target me harder, using their massive capital to buy out my movie set and crush my acting career.
They thought I would cower.
But as I walked onto the soundstage, facing the heiress trying to steal my role, I took off my sunglasses. I wasn't running anymore; it was time to make them pay.
7.9
After her twin brother's unexplained death at Alpha Academy, Alexandria Hyde takes his place and his name to uncover the truth. Now living as "Alex," she's thrown into a world of hot, testosterone-fueled Alphas who fight to the brink of death... and she has to survive it while hiding who she really is.
But staying hidden isn't easy–
Not when the Alphas start noticing her.
Not when the truth she's chasing might destroy her first.
And definitely not when they start fighting for her instead.
7.4
In a city where data is power and truth is a weapon, some secrets are worth killing for.
Mara Quinn is a ghost in the system, an underground journalist known only as Cipher, feared by corporations and hunted by those with everything to lose. When she breaches a classified network inside Axiom Industries, she uncovers something no one was meant to see: ORACLE, a predictive AI capable of shaping human behavior on a global scale.
She expects retaliation. She doesn't expect Kael Draven.
Cold, brilliant, and untouchable, Kael is the architect behind Axiom's empire, and a man who doesn't make threats he can't execute. Instead of silencing Mara, he offers her a choice: work under his watch, or disappear from existence entirely. Trapped inside his glass fortress known as The Spire, Mara is pulled deeper into a world of surveillance, manipulation, and power plays that stretch far beyond anything she imagined.
But ORACLE isn't just a tool, it's already been used. Governments have fallen. Empires have shifted. And someone else is pulling the strings.
As a rival syndicate closes in and a hidden war erupts across the city, Mara and Kael are forced into an uneasy alliance, one built on intellect, suspicion, and a dangerous, undeniable pull neither of them can ignore.
Because in a world where every move is predicted...
the only thing more dangerous than control is feeling.
And the system is already watching.
7.3
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."
7.7
Rory stood on the witness stand, forced by her father into an impossible choice: secure her dying mother's medical funding, or save her innocent boyfriend.
She looked Corbin right in his trusting eyes and lied to the court, testifying that he was the one driving the car during the fatal hit-and-run, sending him to a maximum-security prison for ten years.
The betrayal destroyed him. Corbin's father died of a heart attack upon hearing the guilty verdict. Six years later, Corbin returned as a ruthless billionaire and systematically blacklisted Rory from every job in the city. He cornered her into singing at his private club, humiliating her by forcing her to drink scotch—knowing she was severely allergic—and making her throw away his promise ring just to earn a stack of cash.
"Remember this moment. This is only the beginning."
She endured his cruel revenge because she was hiding a desperate secret: she was raising his five-year-old daughter, Willa. But when Willa's congenital heart defect suddenly worsened, requiring an impossible one-million-dollar surgery, Rory realized Corbin's calculated blockade had left her completely trapped with no way to save their child.
Staring at the sterile hospital walls, the last shred of her guilt burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. He had destroyed her career and backed her into a corner, but he was the only one with the money. Wiping her tears, Rory turned and headed straight for Vance Tower.
8.0
For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world.
But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle.
The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch.
When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son.
"Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing.
And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down.
I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile.
The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe.
It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.