Jilted Bride's Comeback: A Billionaire Queen
My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away.
After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future.
Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me.
I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call.
"Total genius move," he boasted to friends.
His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding.
Heartbroken, I feigned belief.
I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies.
He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency.
After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first.
He even tried to cut me off financially.
How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster?
His betrayal poisoned every memory.
I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty.
His audacity left me reeling.
But I wouldn’t be his victim.
Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed.
I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter.
I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom.
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Chapter 4
Chloe didn’t let Ethan out of her sight for the rest of the evening.
She guided him through the crowd, her hand firmly on his arm, her laughter a little too loud whenever they passed near Ava.
Ava watched them go, a small, bitter smile on her lips.
He remembered her allergy. Interesting.
But it changed nothing.
She finished her (white) wine and told Maya she was ready to leave.
As they were waiting for a cab, Ava heard it.
Giggles. A familiar, breathy moan.
Coming from the alleyway beside the gallery.
She knew that sound. It was Chloe.
And then Ethan’s deeper murmur.
Ava’s blood ran cold. Maya grabbed her arm. "Don't."
But Ava couldn't stop herself. She took a step closer, peering into the shadows.
Ethan had Chloe pressed against the brick wall. His hands were under her dress.
They were oblivious, lost in their public display of private lust.
Ava felt sick. Not jealous, just… disgusted. The sheer, brazen disrespect.
She clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms, then turned away.
"Let's go," she said to Maya, her voice tight.
A car pulled up. Ethan’s car.
He was behind the wheel, Chloe in the passenger seat, her dress slightly askew, lipstick smudged.
"Need a ride?" Ethan called out, his voice casual, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just been feeling up his new girlfriend against a dirty wall.
Maya started to say no, but Ava surprised them both.
"Sure," Ava said, pulling open the back door. "Thanks."
Maya shot her a bewildered look. Ava just gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head.
She needed to see this through. She needed every last drop of disgust to fuel her escape.
The car ride was tense. Chloe prattled on about the art, about some influencer party she was going to next week. Ethan drove, his eyes meeting Ava’s in the rearview mirror occasionally. There was a strange glint in them.
"So, Ava," Ethan said, his tone too smooth. "Chloe tells me you're a graphic designer. Freelance, right? Must be tough, finding clients."
"I manage," Ava said.
"Yeah, well, Ethan’s startup is killing it," Chloe chimed in. "He’s going to be huge."
"We’re doing okay," Ethan said, but he was smirking. He loved the praise.
Then, his tone shifted. "You know, Ava, it's funny. I was thinking… before this whole amnesia thing… were we happy? Or were things… strained?"
Ava met his eyes in the mirror. "What do you think, Ethan?"
He chuckled. "That’s the problem. I don’t remember."
The car suddenly swerved.
Ava lurched forward, bracing herself.
A sickening crunch of metal. The screech of tires.
They’d hit something. Or something hit them.
Ava’s head snapped back, then forward, hitting the front seat. Pain exploded behind her eyes.
Darkness. Then blurry lights.
Shouting. Sirens.
Ava’s head throbbed. She tasted blood.
She was slumped in the back seat. Ethan was groaning in the front. Chloe was screaming.
"My leg! Oh god, my leg!"
Paramedics were suddenly there, pulling open doors.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" one asked Ava.
"My head," she managed. "And my… my arm." A sharp pain shot through her left arm when she tried to move it.
They were pulling Ethan out. He looked dazed.
Chloe was still wailing about her leg.
A paramedic was assessing Ava. "Possible concussion. We need to immobilize your arm."
Another paramedic was with Ethan. "Sir, can you tell me what happened?"
"I… I don't know," Ethan stammered. "The other car… came out of nowhere."
They had Ethan on a backboard. Chloe was on another one, still crying.
There were only two ambulances.
"We need to prioritize," one paramedic yelled over the chaos.
Ava tried to sit up. "Please," she said, her voice weak. "My arm… I think it’s broken. And my head…"
Ethan, from his backboard, looked over at her. His eyes were wide, scared.
Then he looked at Chloe, who was now sobbing hysterically.
"Take Chloe first!" Ethan shouted, his voice surprisingly strong. "Her leg looks really bad! She needs help now!"
The paramedics exchanged a look.
"Sir, we assess based on…"
"No! Take her!" Ethan insisted. "Please! She’s… she’s really hurt."
Ava watched, a cold knot forming in her stomach.
He was choosing. Publicly.
The paramedic attending to Ava sighed. "Okay. We'll take the female from the front passenger seat and the driver. We'll call for another unit for you, ma'am. It might be a bit of a wait."
Ava stared at Ethan. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
He chose Chloe. Over her. Even now.
The ambulance doors slammed shut. The sirens wailed, fading into the distance.
Leaving Ava alone, in the wreckage, waiting.
The pain in her arm was excruciating. But it was nothing compared to the cold, hard certainty in her heart.
This was it. The absolute end.
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7.0
Eight years ago, Alaina forced herself to say the most vicious, heartless things to break up with her fiercely loyal college boyfriend, protecting him from his billionaire family's wrath.
Now, she is a top maxillofacial surgeon, and Jarred Mcknight has returned as the ruthless CEO of Wall Street's most powerful corporation.
Their worlds collide in the ER, but Jarred isn't alone. He is accompanying his rumored heiress fiancée.
His eyes are pure ice. He treats Alaina with a suffocating, clinical detachment, fiercely protecting the heiress from Alaina's medical examination. The professional slap in the face shatters Alaina's heart all over again.
Later, at an exclusive restaurant, Jarred catches Alaina on a miserable, forced blind date. Still believing she left him for money and status, he publicly mocks her for working herself to the bone just to climb the ladder.
Her sleazy date, humiliated by the billionaire's sheer dominance, turns his bruised ego on Alaina. On the dark street outside, the lawyer aggressively grabs her arm, trying to force himself on her.
Alaina thought Jarred despised her. She thought he had completely moved on, leaving her to drown in the memories of the future they never had.
But why did Jarred suddenly explode from the shadows like a lethal predator, brutally snapping the lawyer's wrist just for touching her?
Pinning her trapped against the cold brick wall, Jarred's dark eyes burn with a terrifying, unhinged possessiveness.
"Is this the kind of garbage you date now?"
The eight years of separation mean nothing. The billionaire hasn't let her go, and this time, there is no escape.
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.
8.9
At my million-dollar wedding to the Hoffman heir, the priest was interrupted by a ringing phone.
My groom, Elijah, didn't silence it. He answered it right at the altar, yanked his arm from my grasp, and walked out because his "true love" Jalyn needed him.
I was left standing alone in front of three hundred elite guests, blinded by mocking camera flashes. My own mother rolled her eyes in disgust, later threatening to freeze my trust fund and sell me to a notorious playboy to recoup her losses. Elijah even had the nerve to call me, demanding I take the blame for the canceled wedding to save his PR, while live news feeds showed him cradling a fragile Jalyn in the hospital.
I had spent two years bending over backward to be his perfect bride, only to be discarded like trash. What made it sicker was finding out that Jalyn's sudden "medical emergency" was actually a ruptured cyst caused by having vigorous sex with Elijah right before he walked down the aisle.
I refused to let them destroy me.
Kicking off my six-inch heels, I stepped down from the altar and walked straight to the back row where Cristian Lowe sat. He was the ruthless iceberg of Wall Street and Elijah's most terrifying rival.
I looked up at his sharp jawline and asked the craziest question of my life.
"Will you marry me?"
He stood up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
"As you wish."
9.2
Nica caught her boyfriend, Chris, and her best friend, Ella, in a shocking betrayal. Chris was kissing Ella while caressing her close, and Ella only smirked at Nica as if she had won. Nica got pissed off and swore she would not let their betrayal go unpunished. What happens next? Read the story and find out for yourself.
9.3
Candice Luna thought her marriage to Julius Hansen was a lifeline to save her father's struggling company.
She didn't know it was a death sentence until Julius coldly slid divorce papers across his mahogany desk.
His true love, Amina Rowe, was nestled in his arms with a triumphant, mocking smile. The "merger" Julius promised had been a brutal, hostile takeover designed to bleed the Luna Group dry from the inside. Bankrupted and utterly broken, Candice's father stepped off the roof of their corporate tower. Meanwhile, Candice was publicly humiliated, stripped of her dignity, and mocked by all of Wall Street as a discarded stepping stone.
She died in a car accident, her final moments consumed by an agonizing, feral scream. She hated herself for letting her blind devotion destroy the father who had always believed in her.
But when Candice opened her eyes to the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room, she realized she wasn't dead.
She was twenty-two again. Three years before the wedding. Three years before her father's suicide.
When Julius's assistant walked in holding a bouquet of blue roses to discuss the preliminary merger, he expected a docile, desperate heiress.
Instead, Candice grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand and flung it directly into his smug face.
"Tell Julius Hansen to never, ever send his dogs to my door again."
This time, there would be no engagement. This time, the Hansen family would choke on her family's legacy.
7.9
I woke up in a burning warehouse, twelve years after my supposed death. My body had been reset to its physical prime, the deep burn scar on my wrist completely gone.
Through the smoke, my eldest son, Kennard, rushed blindly into the flames. He was screaming the name of the very woman who had orchestrated this trap—Brittnie.
When I tackled him out of the way of a falling steel beam, he didn't recognize my youthful face. Instead, he pinned me to the concrete and nearly crushed my windpipe.
"How much did she pay you to carve up your face to look like a dead woman?"
He hissed the words at me, treating me like a sick corporate spy. For a decade, a bizarre narrative "script" had brainwashed my son, forcing him into pathetic devotion to Brittnie. She had drained his wealth, turned my daughter against him, and hollowed out our family empire.
Whenever Kennard tried to resist her, the mind control punished him with agonizing migraines, driving him to smash his own hands against the wall just to cope with the pain.
Hearing him quietly sobbing outside my locked door, my heart shattered. How could this invisible force torture my brilliant son and turn my family into puppets for a D-list actress?
I dragged him to the hospital for a DNA test.
When the results confirmed my maternity at 99.999%, the cold billionaire collapsed to the floor, weeping in my arms like a lost child.
I wiped his tears and smiled ruthlessly. It was time to take back my empire and burn Brittnie's life to the ground.