MARRIED TO MY EX'S RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE UNCLE
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.
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Chapter 3
As Nica approached the half-open hospital room door, she was about to step inside when she suddenly froze.
What she saw made her stomach turn.
Ella was kissing Chris shamelessly.
Chris held her tightly, pressing her against the wall as they continued kissing without care. Ella's fingers ran through his hair while she laughed softly, completely comfortable in his arms.
Nica's chest tightened painfully.
She could not believe they would behave like that in a hospital room, especially after everything that had happened.
Unable to bear the sight, she quietly stepped back, intending to leave before they noticed her.
Then Chris spoke.
"You know I love you so much," he said smoothly. "Especially because of that portrait you drew during the contest. It was valuable, meaningful, and full of life. I admire talented women."
Nica's eyes widened.
That portrait?
She was the one who had painted it.
Ella had only stood beside her during the competition, yet somehow she had stolen all the credit.
And the truth was worse.
Ella could barely draw a straight line.
Chris kissed Ella's forehead lovingly.
"I'll be right back," he murmured before walking toward the bathroom.
The moment he disappeared, Nica pushed the door open and entered the room.
Ella jumped in shock.
For a second, fear flashed across her face.
Had Nica heard everything?
But Ella quickly recovered and folded her arms.
"You really are pathetic," Ella said mockingly. "Chris has never loved you. He only kept you around because you were useful."
She stepped closer with a cruel smile.
"He can barely stand to look at you. All he wants is me."
Nica's pain slowly turned into anger.
"What if I tell Chris the truth?" she said calmly. "That you never painted the portrait. That you don't even know how to properly hold a pencil."
Ella's face went pale.
So she had heard everything.
Panic rose inside her.
If Chris found out the truth, he would never forgive her.
Just then, Chris walked back into the room.
In an instant, Ella threw herself backward and pretended to faint.
"Ella!" Chris rushed forward and caught her.
Then he turned sharply toward Nica.
"What did you do to her?" he shouted. "What have you done?"
Nica stared at him in disbelief.
He had not asked a single question.
He had not even given her a chance to speak.
He simply chose Ella.
Again.
Chris stormed over and grabbed Nica's wrist roughly.
"I'm talking to you!"
Before he could say another word, the door opened.
Jordan Avila walked in.
His expression darkened the moment he saw Chris holding Nica.
Without hesitation, Jordan grabbed Chris's arm and forced him to release her.
Then he delivered a hard punch across Chris's face.
Chris stumbled backward in shock.
Jordan stood tall between them, his voice cold and dangerous.
"Touch her again, and you will regret it."
The room fell silent.
Even Ella, still pretending to be weak, looked terrified.
Jordan turned to Nica.
"Come with me."
Still shaken, Nica followed him out of the room.
Once they were alone in the hallway, she exhaled deeply.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For helping me."
Jordan looked at her for a moment.
Then she remembered something.
"You said earlier that you had an offer for me," she said. "What did you mean?"
Jordan's gaze sharpened.
"I want you to become my contract wife for six months."
Nica's breath caught.
"In return," he continued, "I will give you status, power, and protection."
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
Her heart was already broken.
Her trust was shattered.
And now the ruthless uncle of the man who betrayed her was asking her to marry him.
Nica could not answer immediately.
Jordan held her hands and said whatever you decide just let me know.
Should she accept the offer...
Or walk away from every thing?
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8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.
7.9
On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
7.9
For five years, April Gamble loved Julian Travis with everything she had, trusting him completely.
But on a stormy night, he casually tossed a liquidation agreement at her feet, single-handedly destroying her grandfather's company.
He coldly admitted he only dated her to steal Vance Group's internal financial data.
"You were convenient," Julian said, swirling his whiskey without a shred of guilt.
Before April could even process the brutal betrayal, a breaking news alert lit up her phone.
She watched in absolute horror as her grandfather jumped from the ledge of the Vance Tower on live television.
Julian looked at her writhing, screaming form with utter boredom and simply ordered his bodyguard to throw her out.
Blinded by grief and tears, April sped into the torrential rain, only to be completely crushed by a hydroplaning transport truck at an intersection.
As the shattered glass tore into her skin and the metal crushed her ribs, she died with a hatred so pure it made her teeth ache.
Why did five years of devotion mean absolutely nothing to him? Why did her family have to die just to feed his ruthless greed?
When she opened her eyes again, the harsh hospital lights blinded her, but the familiar burn scar on her arm was gone.
She wasn't the betrayed financial analyst April Gamble anymore.
She had woken up in the body of Altagracia Blanchard, the most notorious, obscenely wealthy heiress in New York.
Julian had taken everything from her, but now, armed with a billionaire's empire, she was going to bury him.
7.2
Hope worked eighty-hour weeks on Wall Street, enduring daily humiliation from her boss just to be her mother's golden ticket out of poverty.
But when a severe kidney infection left her bleeding and collapsing in the middle of a boardroom presentation, her boss didn't call an ambulance.
He slammed his hand on the table, publicly accused her of popping pills like a junkie, and threw her out of the building.
Dragging her agonizing, feverish body back home, Hope desperately needed a mother's comfort.
Instead, the moment her mother heard she had lost her six-figure job, the woman's face contorted with pure rage.
She didn't care that Hope's kidneys were failing; she grabbed a heavy glass ashtray and hurled it directly at Hope's head.
"You threw away a six-figure job? You threw away our ticket out of this dump?!"
The glass shattered against the wall, slicing Hope's bare leg open.
For twenty-nine years, Hope had sacrificed her health, her dignity, and her sanity to be the perfect daughter.
She didn't understand why her life was only worth the paycheck she brought home, or why her own mother would rather see her dead than unemployed.
Looking at the blood dripping down her calf, the guilt that had chained her for a lifetime suddenly vanished.
She pulled out her phone and hit send on a brutally honest resignation email to her toxic boss.
Then, she opened a text from the intimidating, billionaire doctor who had treated her at the clinic—the only man who had ever told her she was a fighter.
She packed her bags and walked out the door.
This time, she was going to live for herself.
9.6
Carlee signed the divorce papers without a second of hesitation, ending a three-year marriage to a billionaire husband she had never even met.
She walked away with nothing, publicly cutting ties with both the Vaughan empire and her toxic family to launch her own jewelry design studio.
Her family immediately retaliated. They mocked her as a useless, abandoned trophy wife and ruthlessly blacklisted her new company from every major supplier in the city, intent on forcing her to crawl back.
Exhausted but defiant, she hired a handsome, seemingly broke valet she bumped into outside a hotel to be her personal assistant.
She even bought him a tailored suit, pitying his maxed-out credit cards and his desperate need for a paycheck.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
Why did this humble assistant possess such lethal combat skills, effortlessly snapping a two-hundred-pound bodyguard's wrist to protect her?
And why did top-tier luxury store managers bow to him in absolute, trembling terror?
"Whatever is happening, I will handle it."
Carlee found a foolish comfort in her poor assistant's reassuring voice.
She had absolutely no idea that the man sitting at the wobbly desk in her cramped office was Braden Vaughan—her legally divorced ex-husband. And the ruthless billionaire was currently orchestrating a global financial massacre from the shadows, entirely obsessed with clearing her path to the top.
9.5
For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties.
But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom.
Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot.
Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years.
"You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic."
My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support.
They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets.
I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life.
But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree.
Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate.
When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block.