His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Designer
For three years, I was the dutiful wife of billionaire Ervin Valdez.
On our third wedding anniversary, he came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, pinned me down, and brutally mocked me.
His mistress, Sylvia, had even sent me a fake ultrasound report to force me out of the picture.
In Ervin's eyes, I was just a vicious, calculating liar who used a pregnancy to trap him into marriage.
He didn't care that I had actually lost that baby, nor did he know the trauma of my gambling father selling me to a dark club where I was assaulted by a stranger.
When I finally handed him the signed divorce papers, giving up all assets, and left the penthouse with nothing but an old suitcase, he just sneered.
"She is playing a game of hard to get. She won't last three days before she comes crying back."
He froze all my bank accounts, let his mistress humiliate me in public, and waited coldly for me to starve and beg.
He thought my entire existence relied on his wealth, completely confident that I would inevitably surrender to his control.
But he was wrong.
I calmly opened my old laptop, bypassed the complex encryptions, and looked at the dozens of unread emails from top-tier global brands begging for my return.
I resurrected my hidden identity as the legendary jewelry designer "R," and walked straight into the top design firm in Manhattan.
"It is time to find myself again."
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Chapter 5
The night air was freezing. Kelsey pulled the collar of Phoebe's cheap black trench coat up around her neck.
She stood in front of the revolving glass doors of The Crown, Manhattan's most exclusive private member's club.
She took one step forward. Two massive bouncers stepped into her path, crossing their thick arms.
They looked her up and down. They sneered at the frayed edges of her coat.
"Show your diamond VIP card," the bouncer demanded.
Kelsey knew her black cards were dead. She kept her face completely blank.
"Locker 001," she said. She rattled off a twelve-digit alphanumeric passcode.
The bouncer rolled his eyes and typed the code into his tablet.
The screen flashed green. A maximum-security clearance alert popped up.
The bouncer's face dropped. He quickly stepped aside and bowed his head.
Kelsey walked past them. She ignored the pounding bass and the smell of expensive liquor coming from the main dance floor.
She walked straight to the dark, quiet corridor at the back of the club.
She found her private locker. She typed the code into the keypad. The metal door popped open.
She reached inside and pulled out a thick, leather-bound design manuscript. Ervin had locked it away a year ago.
She shoved it into her canvas tote bag.
The sharp click of high heels hitting the marble floor echoed down the hall.
Kelsey turned around.
Sylvia Vance walked around the corner. Her arm was wrapped tightly around Ervin's elbow.
Kelsey's stomach did a painful flip. Her fingers dug into the strap of her canvas bag. She forced her face to remain completely still.
She lowered her chin and stepped to the side, trying to walk past them.
Sylvia spotted her. She stepped directly into Kelsey's path, blocking the narrow hallway.
"Look at this," Sylvia laughed loudly. "The dumped wife looks like a beggar from the slums."
Ervin stood with one hand in his suit pocket. His eyes were chips of black ice. He did not say a word to stop Sylvia.
Kelsey lifted her head. Her eyes were dead and empty. She looked straight into Ervin's face.
"Excuse me," she said. Her voice was a flat monotone. She looked at him like he was a complete stranger.
The total indifference felt like a physical punch to Ervin's gut. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
Sylvia saw Ervin stay quiet. She smiled. She leaned in close to Kelsey's face.
"My baby is going to take your place in the Valdez family," Sylvia whispered.
Kelsey's eyes slowly dropped to Sylvia's perfectly flat stomach. She noted the smooth, unblemished line of the designer dress, finding the exact visual proof that the tabloids' claim of her 'showing' was a complete fabrication.
A cold, sharp smile touched Kelsey's lips.
"Your forged ultrasound report is a pathetic joke, Sylvia."
Sylvia's face drained of all color. Her eyes widened in panic.
Rage took over. Sylvia raised her hand high and swung it hard at Kelsey's face.
Kelsey's hand shot up. She caught Sylvia's wrist mid-air. Her grip was like iron.
Kelsey pulled her other arm back and slapped Sylvia across the face with every ounce of strength she had.
The crack echoed loudly off the corridor walls.
Sylvia screamed and collapsed onto the marble floor, clutching her red cheek.
Ervin's face turned murderous.
He lunged forward. His large hand wrapped around Kelsey's slender throat.
He slammed her back against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs.
Kelsey gasped for air. Her hands clawed at his thick wrist. Her eyes burned into his, refusing to look away.
"Do not ever touch what is mine," Ervin hissed through his teeth. "You think you have the right to lay a hand on anyone under my protection?"
Kelsey forced her lips apart. She gathered the saliva in her dry mouth.
She spat directly onto the collar of his custom-made shirt.
"Ervin, you make me sick," she croaked.
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8.5
Synopsis
It still feels so unreal being dumped by my boyfriend at the courtyard on the day of our wedding.
David didn't show up and when I called him to know the reason why.
He told me right to my face that he had found love with another woman who happened to be my best friend.
My heart was shattered into a million tiny pieces.
I was wallowing in self-pity when I overheard Lucas talking on the phone about needing a replacement for the woman who has collected a part-payment to be his wife.
I agreed to be his wife without thinking twice wanting to get back at my Ex.
What would happen when two strangers' hearts intertwined?
And what started as an arrangement became a bedrock for something real?
Read to find out.
8.2
Karmen lived suffocating under a tight chest binder and a grotesque silicone scar, forced to disguise herself as her degenerate twin brother, Kem. Her only job was to maintain a fake corporate engagement with the ruthless billionaire Earl Calderon.
But her abusive father suddenly escalated his demands. He ordered her to steal Earl's revolutionary AI patents, threatening to cut off her mother's life-saving medical trust and abandon the real Kem in a locked Swiss psych ward if she failed.
The task was a death sentence. Earl absolutely despised "Kem." He treated her like a repulsive parasite, constantly threatening to break her neck. When he accidentally caught her without her wig, he mistook her for a deranged cross-dresser, forcing her to glue the dirty fake scar back onto her raw, inflamed face in sheer disgust. At home, her father hurled glass ashtrays at her, violently yanking her collar.
"Do whatever you have to do in that bedroom, Kem. I don't care how disgusting it is. Just get the signature."
Trapped between a fiancé who loathed her very existence and a father ready to sacrifice their family for greed, Karmen endured the agonizing physical pain of her disguise. She was exhausted, terrified, and running out of time as her brother's life hung by a thread.
But they all underestimated her. When the Calderon matriarch forced Earl to link his ultra-secure private phone with "Kem" to fake their romance, she unwittingly handed over the master key. Karmen wasn't just a helpless victim; she was the elite hacker Nyx, and she was going to tear their empire apart from the inside.
7.6
Elliana Lewis lay dying on the freezing concrete of a federal penitentiary, her ribs shattered by a guard's heavy boot.
She had been flawlessly framed for murder by the one person she trusted with her life: her sweet, innocent stepsister, Jovita.
During her final prison visit, Jovita wore their mother's diamonds and smiled cruelly behind the glass. She revealed she had liquidated the family company, caused their father's stroke, and paid the guards to ensure Elliana suffered a grueling, agonizing death.
"Your marriage was a joke from day one, Ellie. You have nothing left."
As her lungs stopped, the tragic truth finally dawned on Elliana. She had spent months screaming for a divorce and publicly humiliating her billionaire husband, Damon Stirling, believing his silence was weakness. She didn't realize until it was too late that his endless tolerance was the deepest form of protection. She had pushed away the only man who would have burned the world down to keep her safe.
Why had she been so incredibly stupid? Why did she blindly trust a monster and destroy the only person who truly loved her?
Then, a blinding light pierced her retinas. Elliana bolted upright, gasping for air on a massive, king-sized bed.
There was no pain. No broken bones. The digital clock on the nightstand flashed a date from exactly ten years ago.
It was the morning after her disastrous wedding night.
This time, she would tear Jovita's life apart piece by piece. And she would hold onto Damon so tightly that nothing could ever pry them apart.
7.9
Fiona spent three years in a concrete cell, taking the fall for a hit-and-run accident caused by her billionaire husband's mistress.
When she finally got out and returned home, she found him throwing a lavish party, with the mistress on his arm wearing a gown Fiona had designed. Even worse, her own seven-year-old son pointed at her in disgust.
"Go away, bad woman!"
Her husband Cecil threw her out like a stray dog. To force her into submission, he trashed her belongings and cut off the life-saving medical funding for her mentor. Driven to desperation, Fiona snuck back into the mansion to retrieve her late mother's sapphire necklace. But the mistress caught her, ripped her own clothes, and screamed that Fiona was trying to kill her. Cecil didn't even hesitate. He violently shoved Fiona backward. Her head smashed against the sharp edge of a mahogany desk, and blood immediately poured into her eyes.
Lying in a pool of her own blood, Fiona watched the man she had sacrificed her freedom for wrap his arms protectively around the woman who ruined her life. He looked at her with pure, murderous disgust, as if she were the monster.
But Fiona didn't cry. Instead, a cold smile crept onto her face as her bloody thumb secretly pressed the emergency SOS button on her phone, snapping a clear photo of him standing over her shattered body.
"My husband just violently attacked me. I am bleeding from the head. I need help."
The police were already on their way. It was time to burn his empire to the ground.
7.1
To survive a forced one-year marriage contract with the ultra-wealthy Chavez family, Averi Marsh disguised herself as a pathetic, ugly duckling.
She caked her flawless skin in muddy yellow foundation, wore thick glasses, and played the part of a trembling, uneducated orphan.
The entire family treated her like literal garbage.
The youngest brother publicly swore he would rather cut off his own hand than marry a piece of trailer park trash.
Her nominal fiancé, Clarke, looked at her with cold disdain, allowing his glamorous companion to humiliate Averi by forcing her into a neon pink clown dress.
At a high-society party, a socialite shoved her into an infinity pool, laughing as the heavy fabric dragged her to the bottom.
They all wanted to see the poor girl broken, humiliated, and driven out of their pristine world.
What they didn't know was that beneath the hideous sweaters was a breathtaking, lethal predator.
They had no idea she was 'Spectre', the undefeated underground racing god who had just humiliated the arrogant Clarke on the track.
They didn't know she could shatter a bully's wrist in seconds or bankrupt their wealthy friends with a single text message.
But when the chlorinated pool water washed away her ugly makeup, the family's ambitious second son caught a glimpse of her true, flawless face.
The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
The Chavez family thought they were torturing a helpless sheep, but they were about to realize they had locked themselves in a cage with a wolf.
7.6
Cora thought she was the luckiest woman alive, married to a devoted tech billionaire who showered her with custom haute couture and obsessive care.
But his "protection" involved locking her inside their San Francisco estate, forcing her to swallow foul neon-green supplements, and drawing her blood with highly classified veterinary needles.
She thought it was just his extreme paranoia, until a cynical doctor cornered her at a charity gala.
"Kendrick isn't raising a wife. He's curating a very rare, very fragile medical specimen. You're his personal pharmacy."
Terrified, Cora broke into Kendrick's hidden safe and found a medical report approving her total bone marrow and stem cell depletion.
Kendrick wasn't a doting husband. He was raising her as a human bloodbag to save his terminally ill cousin.
When she nearly uncovered the truth, Kendrick cried fake tears, claiming he only needed her antibodies.
"Tomorrow, we are going to my private island in the Caribbean. Just the two of us. No internet. No guards. Just peace."
Cora almost believed his vulnerable act, deeply confused by how a man who kissed her so tenderly could plan to slaughter her in cold blood.
Then, while packing for the trip, she dropped a wooden box, revealing a hidden flight manifesto.
Kendrick's return date was listed. Hers was completely blank.
Stapled to the back was a clinical schedule: Intensive Marrow Harvesting - Final Stage. Patient will not require return transport.
Hearing his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway, Cora gripped the sharp edges of the broken box.
She was not going to be a slaughtered lamb on that island.