His Unwanted Wife Is Madame Lan
Andrea was trapped in a suffocating marriage with billionaire Gregory Morse, forced to live as the pathetic substitute for his dead fiancée.
When armed intruders broke into their estate in the dead of night, she called her husband in pure terror.
"Stop playing these cheap, attention-seeking games," Gregory sneered with disgust, and hung up the phone.
She barely escaped with her life, but the cruelty only escalated. At the family mansion, his dead fiancée's sister deliberately scalded Andrea's hand with boiling tea. Instead of defending his wife, Gregory publicly humiliated her, ordering her to clean up the mess while calling her a stray dog.
That night, hiding in the dark wine cellar, Andrea overheard a chilling confession.
Gregory admitted to his brother that he knew Andrea was completely innocent of the car crash that killed his fiancée. He knew she had been framed.
Why did he marry her? Just to use her as a psychological punching bag to vent his twisted grief. He watched her suffer every single day, treating her like disposable trash, while violently threatening anyone who showed her an ounce of kindness.
He thought she was just a useless, helpless shadow who would quietly endure his torment forever.
He had no idea that behind her submissive facade, she was secretly Madame Lan, the apex predator of the global fashion world. And now, she was ready to burn his empire to the ground.
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Chapter 2
The Maybach glided smoothly down the Long Island Expressway, the morning sun glaring off the tinted windows. Inside the spacious backseat, the air was thick and suffocating.
Low, smooth jazz played from the speakers, a stark contrast to the tension vibrating between the two passengers.
Gregory sat on the right side, one ankle resting casually on his knee. He was dressed in a crisp white linen shirt, the top two buttons undone, reading the Wall Street Journal. He looked like a man without a single care in the world.
Andrea sat as far away from him as the leather seat allowed. Her knees were pressed together, a tablet resting on her lap. She was aggressively scrolling through the morning's fabric supply chain reports, tracking the secret shipments for Dreamscape Atelier. Her neck muscles were so tight they burned.
Gregory lowered the newspaper. His dark eyes slid over to her, taking in her rigid posture, the severe bun at the nape of her neck, and the sharp line of her jaw.
"You look like a soldier bracing for an ambush," Gregory drawled, his voice cutting through the jazz music.
Andrea didn't look up from her screen. "If you could manage to show a shred of basic humanity, Gregory, I wouldn't have almost died in that house."
Gregory let out a low, raspy laugh. He wasn't insulted. He actually sounded amused. "You survived, didn't you? Genevra would have fought them off herself without calling me crying." He folded the newspaper and tossed it aside, leaning his weight toward her. The scent of his cedarwood cologne invaded her space, making her breath catch in her throat.
Just as he shifted closer, Andrea's phone buzzed loudly against the leather armrest.
The screen lit up. A text message from Tessa Bloom.
That new silk supplier is waiting for you at the club. His terms are definitely harder than Gregory's conscience.
Andrea's blood ran cold. Her stomach dropped.
Before she could snatch the phone, Gregory's eyes darted to the glowing screen. He read the words. The silence in the car suddenly became heavy, dangerous.
A slow, wicked smirk spread across Gregory's lips. He reached out, his large hand moving toward the phone. His knuckles deliberately brushed against the sensitive skin of Andrea's hand. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm.
Andrea reacted instantly. She snatched the phone, her thumb slamming the lock button, plunging the screen into darkness. She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Gregory slowly pulled his hand back, resting it on his thigh. He leaned back into the plush leather, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Well," Gregory said, his voice dropping an octave. "It seems your little side hobbies are distracting you from your duties as my wife."
Andrea's heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her face to remain a blank slate. She adjusted the cuffs of her silk blouse. "Don't forget our arrangement, Gregory. My personal time is my own."
Gregory's eyes darkened. The amusement vanished instantly. He lunged forward, moving faster than she could anticipate. His hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping around her jaw. His grip was firm, unyielding, forcing her to look directly into his eyes.
"Listen to me," Gregory whispered, his face so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His gaze was a bottomless abyss of control. "In this family, you are a placeholder. And a placeholder does not get to have secrets."
Andrea's breath hitched. Her lungs felt squeezed. She reached up and slapped his hand away. The smack echoed loudly in the quiet car.
She straightened her collar, her fingers trembling slightly, though she prayed he didn't notice. "Keep your hands to yourself."
Gregory didn't respond. He just watched her, a predator studying its prey.
The Maybach slowed down, turning off the main road and crunching onto the private gravel driveway of the Morse family's Hamptons estate. Perfectly manicured hedges lined the path, leading up to a massive, imposing stone mansion that looked more like a fortress than a summer home.
The car stopped. The driver opened the door.
Maria, the head housekeeper, stood rigidly at the top of the stone steps. Her uniform was immaculate, her face pinched tight.
Gregory stepped out first. He turned and offered his hand to Andrea. It was a performance for the staff. Andrea ignored his hand entirely. She stepped out of the car on her own, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
Maria bowed deeply as Gregory approached. "Welcome home, Mr. Morse."
When Andrea walked past, Maria didn't bow. She barely offered a stiff nod, her eyes filled with thinly veiled disdain. Andrea felt the disrespect like a physical slap, but she kept her spine perfectly straight. She was used to this. To them, she was just the cheap imitation who somehow manipulated her way into the family.
Andrea walked into the grand foyer. The air inside was freezing, smelling of lemon polish and old money.
In the center of the massive living room, Genevra's younger sister, Kia Hunt, was standing in front of an antique mirror. She was adjusting a heavy diamond and emerald Van Cleef necklace against her collarbone.
Kia caught Andrea's reflection in the mirror. She let out a loud, exaggerated sigh and turned around.
"Oh, the cheap knockoff is here," Kia sneered, her eyes raking over Andrea's simple outfit. "I thought you only came around to dust my sister's portraits."
Gregory stepped into the room behind Andrea. He opened his mouth, but Andrea beat him to it.
She offered Kia a razor-sharp, perfectly polite smile. "I do handle the dust, Kia. Including the outdated, tacky jewelry you inherited."
Kia's face flushed a violent red. Her hand flew to her necklace. "Excuse me? You little-"
A low, dark chuckle interrupted her.
Gregory walked up beside Andrea. To her absolute shock, he didn't even look at her. He stepped past her, his shoulder brushing hers coldly.
"Don't provoke her, Andrea," Gregory said. His voice was casual, but the underlying threat was unmistakable. "Kia is a guest. You are just here because I allow it. Remember your manners."
Kia smirked triumphantly, shooting Andrea a look of pure venom, and walked up the grand staircase like she owned the place.
Andrea's chest tightened, a sharp pain shooting through her ribs. "You always take her side," she hissed under her breath.
Gregory stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Take her side? You're the substitute I tolerate. I expect you to act like Genevra, not a petulant child."
Before Andrea could formulate a response, a booming, furious voice echoed from the heavy oak doors of the study down the hall.
"Gregory!" Theodore Morse roared. "Bring your wife and get in here. Now."
Andrea's stomach plummeted. The real war was about to begin.
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
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."
9.7
For three years, I endured being treated like a walking ATM and a maid by my husband's family, biting my tongue to keep the peace.
Then, my husband's buddy suddenly dropped off a nine-year-old boy at my front door.
The crumpled note from my husband casually explained it was his illegitimate son, blaming me for being barren and demanding I raise the kid as our own.
My mother-in-law was absolutely thrilled, parading the boy around as the true heir at the dinner table.
"Some trees just don't bear fruit, no matter how much water you give them," she sneered.
My brother-in-law cheered, and my drunk father-in-law demanded I cook a feast to celebrate.
They actually expected me to continue paying the mortgage, buying the groceries, and cleaning up their endless messes, all while raising the living proof of my husband's betrayal.
I looked at the parasites who had drained me dry for years, acting like they were doing me a favor by letting me stay in a house that my money paid for.
I didn't scream, and I didn't cry.
I simply called my lawyer to file for an immediate divorce, froze every single bank account and credit card they relied on, and drove off to my grandmother's secluded cabin in the woods.
Let them see how long they survive without my money.
9.5
My husband, Colton, the Wall Street mogul, slid annulment papers across the table, coldly discarding me and our unborn child. He thought he was getting rid of a useless wife, but he was actually throwing away the secret architect of his entire empire. Now, I'm ready to make him pay for every insult, every lie, and every single secret I've kept.
For three years, eight months pregnant, I secretly saved Colton's ten-billion-dollar company from collapse, enduring a cold, transactional marriage.
One night, he shattered that illusion, serving annulment papers and callously discarding me and our unborn child.
I signed, leaving luxury behind. Exposing his butler's fraud, I escaped. Colton later found his wedding ring gone and, on his desk, my SEC compliance fixes—proof I was his hidden genius.
Blindsided, he realized he’d destroyed his own empire. His mother then called, gloating. The injustice ignited a fierce resolve within me.
The next morning, I launched Kidd Legal Consulting. I'd use forty-seven folders of Farmer Capital's un-patched loopholes to force a fair settlement, securing my daughter's future.
9.3
"Adrian, why would you lie to me? Why would you let her push my mum like that?"
Yvonne's voice trembled, holding back tears.
Adrian smirked. "Wake up, Yvonne. You really thought I wanted you when Tricia was right here?"
That was how Adrian-her first crush, the boy she thought cared-chose to humiliate her in front of everyone as she was the cleaner's adopted daughter.
But fate had other plans.
Because the Diamond Belfort brothers-the heirs everyone adored were coming to their school in search of their missing heiress- baby sister. But the queen bee steals the chance that should have been hers. Then again, secrets don't stay buried forever. With her true identity waiting to explode, Yvonne must decide to rise from the ashes, claim her place, and bring down everyone who tried to destroy her.
Because the real heiress doesn't beg.
She takes rather.
Now, Yvonne is done playing small. It's her time to rise, reclaim her crown, and make everyone regret ever doubting her.
9.3
To escape my abusive adoptive mother selling me to a loan shark for $50,000, I rushed to City Hall to marry a blind date.
In a blind panic, I grabbed the wrong man.
He was Julian Cardenas IV, a billionaire CEO who desperately needed a fake wife to dodge a corporate arranged marriage. We signed the papers on the spot.
He became my legal shield. He moved me into his pristine penthouse and secretly protected me from my family's violent threats. When I broke down crying in the freezing cold, he quietly left me hot cocoa. For the first time in my life, I felt safe.
But then, Julian overheard me complaining to my sister about my constantly breaking-down car, groaning that I had to "get rid of this baby four times."
He thought I meant abortions.
The man who was slowly melting my frozen heart instantly turned to ice. He threw away the dinner he had specially bought for me, his eyes filled with absolute disgust and blinding rage.
I was left entirely confused and terrified. Why did my savior suddenly look at me like I was the most repulsive thing in the world? What had I done to deserve this sudden cruelty?
I thought this fake marriage was my ticket out of hell. I didn't realize I had just locked myself in a cage with a furious, ruthless CEO who now wanted to destroy me.