My Unwanted Husband Is A Lethal Boss
To survive a lethal genetic breakdown, Holden, a legendary mercenary known as "Ghost," was forced into an arranged marriage with the wealthy heiress Julia Ramsey.
But the moment he stepped into the lavish estate wearing an oil-stained jacket, he was treated like absolute garbage.
Julia accused him of being a perverted stalker, pulling a gun on him and demanding he be thrown out. Even after Holden used a forbidden kinetic strike to save her grandfather from a fatal heart attack, the family still looked at him with pure disgust. Julia confined him to a cramped guest room, warning him to stay out of her life. To make matters worse, his other estranged fiancée, an elite military commander, barged into the penthouse just to throw an annulment in his face.
"You are a pathetic, bottom-feeding parasite! You have no ambition. You hide in this woman's apartment like a stray dog. You are entirely beneath me."
She mocked him in front of Julia, completely blind to the fact that Holden had just effortlessly incapacitated her Tier-1 operative with a single strike. They all thought he was just a greedy, low-class thug clinging to their wealth. They had no idea they were mocking an apex predator who commanded the city's underground and hunted mutant monsters for sport.
When Julia forced him to attend a high-society yacht party as part of a trap to publicly humiliate him, Holden just smirked and took a sip of his cheap beer.
He was more than happy to play along, already calculating exactly how he was going to tear their arrogant little world apart.
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Chapter 3
The guards shoved Holden violently through the massive double doors. He stumbled onto the imported Persian rug but caught his balance instantly, his cold eyes sweeping over the core members of the Sterling family seated on the leather sofas.
Cordelia stormed in behind him. She hurled the crushed remains of the camera onto the solid mahogany coffee table. The metal clattered loudly against the wood.
Alistair, the family patriarch, leaned heavily on a gold-lion-headed cane. His bushy eyebrows pulled together as he stared at the debris, his raspy voice demanding an explanation.
Cordelia's chest heaved. She pointed at Holden, her voice shaking with rage as she accused him of being a filthy degenerate who took up-skirt photos of her in the garden.
Her father, Warren, shot up from his armchair. His face turned purple as he screamed at the security detail, calling them useless trash for letting a rat into the estate.
Holden ignored Warren's spit-flying rant. His eyes locked onto Alistair. Even with his vision slightly blurred from the genetic backlash, his battlefield-honed observation picked up the old man's shallow, rapid breathing and the faint bluish tint spreading across his lips.
Beatrice, Cordelia's mother, pressed a silk handkerchief over her nose. She dragged her eyes over Holden's oil-stained jeans, looking at him as if his very existence was contaminating the oxygen in the room.
Alistair slammed his cane into the floor. The heavy thud silenced the room. He glared at Holden, his gaze a mix of scrutiny and a barely perceptible confusion, demanding his name and his purpose for "trespassing into my estate."
Holden let out a dry, mocking laugh. Ignoring the gun muzzle pressed against his back, his right hand reached for his back pocket and pulled out the yellowed parchment scroll.
He tossed it onto the coffee table. The scroll unrolled across the polished wood, coming to a stop to reveal a heavy, dark red wax seal at the bottom.
The moment Alistair saw the seal, his pupils contracted violently. His gnarled, trembling fingers reached out, brushing the frayed edge of the parchment.
Warren leaned over to look. The color drained from his face. He stammered, reading aloud the terms of a marriage contract forged twenty years ago.
Cordelia looked like she had been struck by lightning. Her eyes went wide with horror. She screamed that she would rather die than marry a bottom-feeding pervert.
Holden shrugged. His tone was laced with heavy sarcasm as he stated he had zero interest in a spoiled princess, offering to tear the contract up right then and there.
The instant his words hung in the air, Holden's sharp senses caught it: The rhythmic pumping of blood in the old man's chest hit a sudden, catastrophic blockage.
Alistair clutched his chest. His mouth opened in a silent scream before his eyes rolled back, and his rigid body collapsed backward onto the sofa.
The grand hall erupted into chaos. Beatrice let out a blood-curdling shriek. Warren scrambled over the table, grabbing his father's shoulders.
Cordelia dropped to her knees. Her face was as white as paper. She gripped Alistair's freezing hand, screaming for her grandfather.
The head butler sprinted for the wall phone, barking frantically for Dr. Vance, the estate's resident physician.
Holden didn't move a muscle. He stood perfectly still, fighting through the dizziness of his unstable genetics, his brain running a rapid diagnostic on the old man's fading vitals.
Warren snatched a gun from one of the guards. His hands shook violently as he aimed it at Holden's chest, screaming at him to back away from the body.
"Shoot, and he dies," Holden said. His voice was a low, terrifying rumble that carried a physical weight. The sheer, suffocating killing intent in the room froze Warren's finger on the trigger.
Taking advantage of their paralysis, Holden's hands moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed the ruined edges of Alistair's shirt and ripped it completely open.
His eyes locked onto a jagged, faded scar running across the old man's sternum. He pinpointed the exact location of the clot. His focus narrowed to a razor's edge.
Cordelia shrieked, sobbing hysterically as she called him a murderer, struggling to get up from the chair.
Holden tuned out the noise. He extended his left index and middle fingers, locking them together like a steel spike. He drove his fingers hard into three specific nerve clusters along Alistair's spine with a brutal, rhythmic pressure. It was an extreme acupressure technique utilized by desperate combat medics in the trenches, designed to forcefully shock the central nervous system and trigger a violent biological reboot.
Alistair's body convulsed. He arched off the sofa like a fish pulled from water, a horrifying, wet rattling sound tearing from his throat.
"What have you done to him?!" Warren snapped completely, his judgment obliterated by fear and rage. He pulled the trigger. The bullet whistled past Holden's ear and shattered the massive crystal chandelier above them.
A torrential rain of razor-sharp glass rained down. Holden threw his broad shoulders over Alistair, letting the heavy shards slice through his cheap jacket and bite into his back.
Alistair slumped back against the pillows. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes locked onto Holden with a burning, fanatical reverence.
The old man raised a shaking hand, signaling the butler to help him sit up. His piercing gaze swept over his family, preparing to hand down an absolute mandate.
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7.8
Alexis signed the divorce papers, leaving her with no assets, no alimony, and just the clothes on her back.
To forget her abusive husband Carlos, she got drunk and bought a high-end gigolo for the night with her last 800 dollars.
But the man she slept with wasn't an escort. He was Jarrett Hughes, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And while she was gone, her ex-husband was busy destroying her entire life.
Carlos framed her with fake photos of her cheating to justify the penniless divorce.
Then came the real nightmare.
Carlos and her own aunt secretly drained her family's corporate accounts, driving her father to jump off a building.
At the hospital, her grieving mother blamed her for the tragedy, violently attacking her in the ER.
To top it off, her cousin Josie—who was secretly sleeping with Carlos—held her father's ashes hostage.
"Crawl on your knees and pick it up, or the ashes go in the river," Josie sneered, throwing cash into the freezing slush.
Stripped of her marriage, her father, and her dignity, Alexis sat bleeding in the snow.
She couldn't understand why the people she loved most had coordinated such a brutal slaughter against her.
But Carlos and Josie made one fatal mistake.
They didn't know the "gigolo" Alexis had accidentally bought was the most powerful man in New York.
Alexis looked at the towering billionaire standing behind her, a vengeful fire burning in her eyes.
"I need you to get my father's ashes back," she said, pulling him into a kiss right in front of her ex-husband. "I don't care what it takes."
9.6
Brenda Vincent thought her biggest nightmare was catching her boyfriend cheating with her roommate on her own sofa.
But her life truly derailed after a drunken night led her into the bed of Bryon Reeves, the ruthless billionaire CEO and older brother of the student she tutored.
Trying to pay off the most dangerous man in New York with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill was her first mistake.
Fleeing the hotel, she accidentally rear-ended his custom Maybach. Bryon used the massive repair bill to blackmail her into being his fake date, parading her at a gala just to make his sister-in-law jealous.
When Brenda finally snapped and fled the humiliation, only to be rescued by his biggest corporate rival, Bryon's twisted possessiveness turned completely destructive.
"If you feel kidnapped, call the police. But your teaching license will be permanently revoked."
He didn't just threaten her. He systematically dismantled her life, using his influence to force the university to freeze her tenure and suspend her without pay.
Brenda couldn't understand why this terrifying man was going to such extreme lengths to ruin a simple tutor who just wanted to be left alone.
Now, stripped of her career, her income, and her independence, she was forced into the sprawling Reeves Manor.
Hearing the heavy mahogany door lock from the outside in her signal-jammed bedroom, Brenda's panic slowly morphed into a cold, clinical rage.
She was trapped, but she refused to be his helpless pawn.
9.6
Minutes before announcing her grand engagement, Darla caught her fiancé sleeping with her stepsister.
She publicly exposed them and canceled the wedding on the spot.
Furious, her adoptive mother demanded Darla marry a fifty-five-year-old predator to save their broken business deal.
"If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll let your father rot in prison for the rest of his life."
Desperate to escape her family's control, Darla grabbed a massive, intimidating hotel security guard she bumped into in the hallway.
She shoved all the cash in her purse at him—eight hundred dollars—and begged him to fake-marry her.
They signed the papers at City Hall that same day.
But the nightmare didn't end.
That evening, Darla received a cold phone call from the state penitentiary.
Her father had been found dead in his cell, and her company, owned by her ex-fiancé's family, fired her immediately.
They had taken everything from her, leaving her completely broken and sobbing on the floor of her tiny apartment.
She thought she had nothing left but a broke, fake husband to keep her company.
She had no idea that the "poor security guard" holding her in his arms was actually Anson Prince, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And he was already making the calls to tear her abusers' empires to the ground.
7.9
Justice was dragged back from the slums by her biological father, only to be sold off to the billionaire Aguirre family. Her purpose was simple: marry their comatose heir to secure a three-hundred-million-dollar lifeline for his company.
Her stepmother and stepsister sneered at her cheap canvas shoes, treating her like a contagious disease.
"A high school dropout from the slums marrying a billionaire? It's a miracle your trashy bloodline is getting anywhere near the estate," her stepsister Emery mocked.
At the sprawling estate, the "comatose" heir, Auguste, was secretly conscious. Disgusted by his new bride, he orchestrated her enrollment at an elite prep school, hoping the ruthless rich kids would break her. On her very first day, Emery ambushed her, loudly broadcasting Justice's "dropout" status to the entire classroom and turning her into an instant social pariah. The teachers tried to humiliate her with impossible calculus, and the students treated her like garbage.
They all thought she was just a pathetic, uneducated pawn they could easily crush and discard. They had no idea that her "dropout" file was a manufactured ghost, or that the Aguirre family's top intelligence network had just hit a military-grade firewall trying to look into her past.
Justice didn't panic. She flawlessly solved the university-level equation on the board, then walked into the cafeteria and looked right at Emery.
"She has no Barnes blood. She is a squatter living in my father's house."
With three casual sentences, Justice completely incinerated her stepsister's elite life. The billionaire heir wanted to play games? She was about to show them all what a real monster looked like.
9.7
Gemma expected the tearing agony of the bullet wound that had just ended her life.
Instead, her trembling fingers met the cool, smooth friction of heavy silk.
She stared into the mirror. Her face was flawless, completely devoid of the jagged scar that had marred her cheek for the last five years.
It was exactly ten years ago. The day of her engagement party to the ruthless billionaire, Brion Hubbard.
In her past life, her "best friend" Katelyn convinced her to run away with a scheming scumbag.
Katelyn claimed Brion was a heartless tyrant who would ruin her. Gemma had foolishly believed those fake tears.
That choice led to her family's bankruptcy, her brutal disfigurement, and ultimately, a fatal bomb explosion.
The only person who tried to save her was Brion, his blood-soaked body shielding hers from the blast.
She even realized too late that the strawberry cream cakes she always made for him were full of dairy.
He wasn't leaving to cheat on her. He was locking himself in a medical bay, fighting fatal allergic shock, just to accept a tiny scrap of her affection.
Gemma had been so incredibly blind. Why did she trust the venomous snakes who destroyed her, while hating the man who died for her?
Hearing Katelyn frantically knocking on the dressing room door, urging her to run away again, a towering hatred surged through Gemma's veins.
This time, she wasn't going to run.
She was going to expose the traitors, take back her family's wealth, and claim the tyrant for herself.
8.2
After an accident left me blind, I spent six months trapped in darkness, relying entirely on my devoted fiancé and my caring adoptive sister.
But when my vision miraculously returned one morning, the first thing I saw was the two of them tangled in my guest room bed.
"As soon as that blind bitch signs the marriage proxy, the money defaults to my control."
I kept my eyes unfocused and played the fool. I watched as they forged my signature to drain my thirty-million-dollar trust fund. My adoptive parents even demanded I surrender my company shares because a disabled woman was a liability. When I refused, they went completely insane. Under the guise of a family dinner, they locked me in a VIP room with a grotesque Wall Street vulture, planning to sell my body to save their bankrupt business.
I had given this family everything, yet they were dissecting my life like vultures, convinced I was just a helpless, blind toy they could easily throw away.
But they had no idea I had already hired a supposedly homeless man to be my proxy husband to protect my assets. And they certainly didn't know this "beggar" was actually the ruthless, hidden billionaire heir of the Sweeney family. Gripping the hidden knife inside my dress, I dropped the blind act. It was time to burn them all to the ground.