His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Healer
Elizbeth married the wealthy heir Carlton Wilkinson to save her grandfather's life's work.
But on their wedding night, instead of a loving husband, she faced a cold tyrant. He forced her to sign a brutal prenup, stripped her of all family rights, and banished her to a dingy guest room.
He was convinced she was just a pathetic, gold-digging liar.
When a catastrophic pain attack drove Carlton to smash his own head against the wall, Elizbeth rushed in to save him using her specialized acupuncture. She risked her life to calm his spasming nerves.
But the moment he woke up, he nearly choked her to death. He threw her against the wall, bleeding and bruised, accusing her of using cheap parlor tricks to poison him.
The next morning, his greedy relatives openly mocked her cheap clothes, waiting like vultures for Carlton to drop dead so they could steal his fortune.
Elizbeth was humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered a classified secret.
Carlton was a former Delta Force operator slowly going mad from an undetectable weaponized biotoxin. The poison made him paranoid and violent. He would rather die in agony than accept help from a woman he despised.
Begged by his desperate grandfather, Elizbeth knew she had to cure him in the shadows.
At 1:00 AM, she slipped a heavy, odorless sedative into his water and sneaked into his pitch-black bedroom to begin the detox.
But as her silver needle hovered over his skin, a massive hand shot out and pinned her violently to the mattress.
"How much did they pay you to poison me?" he hissed in the dark, his eyes wide awake and blazing with murderous fury.
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Chapter 7
Elizbeth stood in front of the small mirror in the guest bathroom. She carefully pressed a small, flesh-colored band-aid over the cut on her cheek.
She took a deep breath, smoothing down the skirt of her modest beige dress. She opened the door and walked down the stairs to the first-floor dining room.
The long oak dining table was already full. Elizbeth immediately noticed two figures who had absolutely no right to be there. Her uncle, Dwight Spencer, and her cousin, Elroy, had arrived uninvited at the crack of dawn, using the excuse of 'checking on the new bride' to force their way into the Wilkinson estate and rub shoulders with wealth.
As Elizbeth approached her seat, Dwight took a slow sip of his coffee, offering her nothing but a cold, dismissive glare that reminded her of his threats to sell her grandfather's clinic. Elroy rolled his eyes dramatically. He picked up his silver fork and tapped it aggressively against his porcelain plate, the sharp clink cutting through the silence.
Elroy tilted his chin up, looking Elizbeth up and down. "Did you buy that dress at a thrift store?" he sneered loudly. "It reeks of cheap fabric. You're making the whole room smell poor, cousin."
A few of the maids standing near the wall exchanged secret smirks.
Elizbeth froze behind her chair. Her face burned. She gripped the back of the wooden chair, unsure if she should sit down or run back upstairs.
Sitting across from them, Carlton's ambitious younger brother, Jamel Wilkinson, smiled smoothly. "Now, Elroy, be kind," Jamel said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy as he observed the Spencer family drama with amusement. "Not everyone grew up with our resources. We must be patient with her... background."
Jacob, sitting at the head of the table, slammed his coffee cup down. His face darkened, ready to erupt.
Before he could speak, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.
Carlton strode in. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, his presence instantly sucking the air out of the room.
The chatter died immediately. Everyone at the table instinctively sat up straighter.
Carlton walked straight to Elizbeth. He grabbed the back of her chair and pulled it out for her, his movements sharp and commanding.
He slowly turned his head and locked his cold, dead eyes onto Elroy. The oppressive weight of his stare made the younger man shrink back in his seat.
"The mistress of the Wilkinson family," Carlton said, his voice a low, icy blade, "does not need to be evaluated by an outsider."
Elroy's face drained of all color. He snapped his mouth shut and stared down at his lap, terrified.
Dwight's face turned a mottled red, but under the crushing weight of Carlton's presence, he didn't dare say a word.
Elizbeth turned her head, staring at Carlton in shock. A sudden, unexpected warmth bloomed in the center of her chest.
Carlton didn't even look at her. He sat down in his chair and snapped his linen napkin open, acting as if destroying Elroy was just a casual reflex.
Jacob tapped his silver cane against the floor, drawing everyone's attention.
"Let us be clear," Jacob announced, his voice echoing in the large room. "Elizbeth is Carlton's legal and only wife. She carries the Wilkinson name."
Dwight forced a tight, plastic smile onto his face. He raised his glass of orange juice. "Welcome to the family, dear."
Jamel's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before he masked it with a polite smile, raising his coffee cup to Elizbeth.
Breakfast began. The clinking of silver knives and forks against china was the only sound in the tense room.
Elizbeth stared down at the fried egg on her plate. Her stomach churned violently. She couldn't eat a single bite.
Suddenly, Carlton reached across the table. He grabbed a glass of warm milk and slid it firmly until it bumped against Elizbeth's plate.
His movements were stiff, and he kept his eyes glued to his own food, but the silent command to drink it was undeniable.
Elizbeth blinked in surprise. She looked at his sharp jawline. "Thank you," she whispered.
Carlton didn't reply. He picked up his black coffee and took a sip, his brow furrowing slightly.
Across the table, Elroy watched the exchange. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his fork, looking like he wanted to stab it through his plate.
When breakfast ended, Jacob wiped his mouth with his napkin. He looked at Elizbeth.
"Elizbeth," Jacob said, standing up. "Come with me to the living room."
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9.2
Averie spent hours preparing a perfect third-anniversary dinner for her billionaire husband, Jarett Sharp.
Instead of celebrating, she received an anonymous photo of him intimately holding another woman.
When Jarett finally arrived, he didn't even look guilty.
"Candida. It's okay. Don't be scared. I'm on my way."
He simply took a call from his mistress, shoved Averie aside, and walked right back out the door.
That same night, Averie's father suffered a massive heart attack.
The hospital demanded a half-million-dollar deposit before they would operate.
But when Averie frantically tried to use the emergency medical trust card Jarett had given her, it was declined.
Jarett had deliberately frozen her access to the funds just hours earlier.
While she begged his assistant on the phone, Jarett refused to be disturbed, busy wrapping his expensive coat around his mistress in the hospital garden.
Averie collapsed in the hallway, realizing the man she loved was deliberately letting her father die.
In the end, a childhood friend stepped in to pay the bill and save her father's life, while her billionaire husband later pinned her to their bed, throwing a check at her and reminding her he had bought her for three million dollars.
Averie didn't shed a single tear.
She slowly ripped his check into pieces, left her massive diamond ring on the dresser, and walked out into the cold New York night with nothing but her old suitcase.
She pulled out her phone and dialed her old ballet professor.
She wasn't just going to leave Jarett Sharp. She was going to destroy him.
9.7
"Sign it. You're no woman if you can't give me an heir."
Niamh gave Marcus two years of her life, her unwavering loyalty, and her silent love. In return, the billionaire CEO served her divorce papers and a one-way ticket to the gutter.
Cast out into a rainy night with nothing but the clothes on her back and twelve dollars, Niamh’s story should have ended there.
Instead, she stumbled on a stranger in the rain.
In an attempt to save him, he kisses her senseless. He is the last Lycan King standing, and a man of terrifying power, yet he is haunted by a seven-century curse.
When the king has a taste of Niamh in the pouring rain, he knew he had to keep her for himself, even though she was human and it was against the laws of their kind not to mingle with humans.
The King needs her essence and Niamh realizes she could use her body to get what she wanted; revenge on Marcus and his mother for humiliating her and making her waste her time.
Now, the woman Marcus discarded is rising as a global conglomerate queen and a Divine Enchantress as assigned by the Moon Goddess.
While her ex-husband’s empire crumbles into bankruptcy and his body rots with a shameful curse, Niamh is learning that being "claimed" by the King is much more than the contract she'd initially made with him.
He wanted to use her as his cure. She wanted to use him for her revenge.
But in the Lumina Realm, the Goddess has other plans.
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.
7.1
For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big.
On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe."
Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero."
Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends.
"She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy."
Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder.
I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number.
"Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married."
9.0
Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress.
Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door.
Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest.
"Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises."
The original owner had left her an absolute mess.
Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings.
If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days.
Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic.
Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies?
She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim.
Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest.
"I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm.
She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.
8.6
For two years, I was trapped behind my own eyes, a prisoner in my own skull.
A crazed fan had hijacked my body after a brutal car crash, wearing my skin like a cheap suit.
When my soul finally locked back into my flesh in a cramped hospital room, I realized she had destroyed everything I built.
This parasitic stalker had drained my massive fortune to zero, buying luxury gifts for a mediocre actor and turning me into the internet's most hated woman.
My phone was flooded with death threats, and the hashtag demanding I go to hell was trending at number one.
Even the hospital nurses despised me. One marched into my room, raising her hand to violently slap my pale cheek.
"You psychotic bitch, you make me sick!"
Worse, my sprawling Beverly Hills estate had been foreclosed and sold to a mysterious billionaire named Kasey Dominguez.
I had absolutely nothing left. No money. No reputation. No home.
The sheer violation of watching a psychotic stranger ruin my life while I was locked in the passenger seat of my own mind made my blood boil.
I refused to let her destroy my legacy.
As the nurse's hand descended, my atrophied muscles snapped into action.
I twisted her wrist until the joint popped, grabbed the keys to my freedom, and slipped out into the cold Los Angeles night.
I was going to take my life back, starting with the billionaire who thought he owned my house.