One Night With The Possessive CEO
Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web.
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Chapter 5
Three days later, Bridget was running on fumes. The new field project Jevon had assigned her team was brutal. She hadn't slept more than four hours a night, her eyes burning from staring at spreadsheets.
Her stomach let out a painful cramp. She had skipped breakfast again. During her fifteen-minute lunch break, she ran down to the street and bought a spicy shrimp taco from a food truck, desperate for anything to stop the hunger pains.
She was standing in the company pantry, taking her first massive bite of the taco, when her supervisor burst through the door.
"Bridget! The revised budget needs to be on Mr. Rocha's desk right now. He's waiting!"
Bridget nearly choked. She grabbed the file with her left hand, keeping the half-eaten taco in her right, and sprinted toward the elevators. She didn't have time to throw it away.
When she reached the top floor, she took a deep breath, trying to hide the taco behind the thick manila folder as she pushed open the door to the CEO's office.
Jevon was staring at his computer monitors, his tie loosened, looking deeply irritated by whatever data he was reading.
Bridget stepped up to the desk. She kept her voice flat and professional as she started reciting the core numbers from the budget.
Jevon's eyes slowly drifted from the screen to her face. He noticed a tiny speck of spicy sauce clinging to the corner of her mouth. His gaze darkened instantly.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit him. He had been working for thirty hours straight without a single meal. His blood sugar was crashing violently. His eyes dropped to the half-eaten taco Bridget was desperately trying to hide behind the folder.
His body reacted before his brain could stop it.
Jevon leaned across the massive desk. He snatched the half-eaten taco from her trembling hand. He brought it close, his dark eyes fixed on her face, before he tossed the cheap street food directly into his designer wastebasket. "This street food doesn't suit you," he murmured. Then, his gaze dropped to the tiny speck of spicy sauce clinging to the corner of her mouth. He reached out, his thumb brushing against her lower lip with agonizing slowness to wipe away the sauce. Maintaining eye contact, he deliberately brought his thumb to his own mouth and licked the spicy residue off his skin.
Bridget gasped, her eyes widening in absolute shock at the sheer intimacy of the gesture. The file slipped from her fingers, scattering papers across the floor.
Jevon chewed and swallowed. He licked the spicy sauce from his lips, a wicked, triumphant gleam in his eyes as he watched her stand there, completely paralyzed.
But a second later, the triumph vanished.
Jevon's face turned stark white. He gasped for air, his hands flying to his throat. The sound of his breathing turned into a wet, ragged wheeze. Bright, angry red hives began erupting across his neck and jawline.
Bridget's heart stopped. "Mr. Rocha? What's wrong?"
Jevon collapsed back into his leather chair, his fingers clawing at his collar. "Shrimp," he choked out, his eyes rolling back slightly.
Bridget's blood turned to ice. The taco. It was a shrimp taco.
She lunged across the desk, slamming her fist onto the intercom button. "Alex! Help! He can't breathe!" she screamed, tears of pure terror springing to her eyes.
The office doors flew open. Alex sprinted in. He took one look at Jevon's purple face and immediately ripped open the medical kit on the wall. He pulled out an EpiPen, tore off the cap, and slammed the needle directly into Jevon's thigh.
Jevon let out a muffled groan. His chest he heave violently as the adrenaline rushed into his system, forcing his airways open.
Bridget stood in the corner, her face stark white, her whole body shaking violently. But she forced herself to stay upright. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea about your allergy," she said, her voice urgent and rational despite the terror in her eyes. "What do you need? I'll cover all medical expenses, I'll do whatever is necessary to compensate."
Jevon slumped in his chair, his breathing harsh but steady. Even in his weakened state, his dark eyes locked onto Bridget, refusing to look away.
Alex turned around, his face twisted in fury, ready to scream at Bridget.
Jevon raised a trembling hand. "Get out, Alex," he rasped.
Alex hesitated, then stormed out, slamming the door.
The silence in the room was deafening. Jevon stared at Bridget's tear-stained face. A calculating shadow crossed his eyes.
"Attempted murder, Ms. Frank," Jevon said, his voice a rough whisper.
Bridget burst into tears, bowing her head repeatedly. "I am so sorry! I didn't know! I'll pay for the medical bills, I'll do anything!"
Jevon let out a weak, cold laugh. "Do you think your salary covers the life of a billionaire?"
Bridget sobbed, her hands covering her face. "What do you want me to do?"
Jevon leaned forward, the trap finally springing shut. " You will come to my penthouse tonight after work.,You will cook for me,That is your compensation."
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8.1
Elinor's frail daughter, Cece, died in a sterile hospital room while waiting for her father to take her to Disney World.
But her billionaire husband, Derick, never showed up. At the exact moment Cece's heart monitor flatlined, the hospital TV broadcasted Derick affectionately holding the hand of his mistress and he has booked a clearance of the entire Disneyland to celebrate mistress's daughter's birthday!.
When Elinor confronted Derick with their daughter's ashes, he sneered and accused her of hiding the child just to get his attention. Elinor's heart was torn to shreds. How could a father be so blind and ruthless? Did Kamryn use his power to steal the very kidney that belonged to Cece? Why did her innocent baby have to die for their sick affair?
The suffocating grief inside Elinor finally crystallized into a sharp blade. She wiped the blood from her lips, canceled the simple divorce, and began her ruthless revenge.
9.0
My fiancé, Connor, and I had a one-year pact. I'd work undercover as a junior developer in the company we co-founded, while he, the CEO, built our empire.
The pact ended the day he ordered me to apologize to the woman who was systematically destroying my life.
It happened during his most important investor pitch. He was on video call when he demanded I publicly humiliate myself for his "special guest," Jaden. This was after she'd already scalded my hand with hot coffee and faced zero consequences.
He chose her. In front of everyone, he chose a manipulative bully over our company's integrity, our employees' dignity, and me, his fiancée.
His eyes on the screen demanded my submission.
"Apologize to Jaden. Now."
I took a step forward, held up my burned hand for the camera, and made a call of my own.
"Dad," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "It's time to dissolve the partnership."
7.4
My mother was dying and desperately needed a half-million-dollar deposit for an experimental heart surgery by tomorrow.
I swallowed my pride and begged my wealthy husband, Garrick, to save her life.
Instead of helping, he laughed coldly and threw a thick stack of divorce papers right in my face.
"A hen that can't lay eggs gets slaughtered," he sneered, ruthlessly poking my flat stomach.
He revealed that his secretary, my supposed friend Lacey, was already pregnant with his heir.
To him, our three years of marriage was just a business transaction, and now that my family was bankrupt, I was nothing but damaged goods.
He flicked a humiliating five-thousand-dollar check at me as his final act of charity, then locked me out of our townhouse into the freezing, pouring rain.
I had spent years enduring agonizing hormone treatments for a fertility issue that wasn't even my fault, only to be discarded like trash when I needed him the most.
Was my dignity, my absolute devotion, and my mother's life really worth nothing to him?
Driven by pure, reckless desperation, I threw myself directly into the path of a moving Rolls-Royce Phantom on Fifth Avenue.
It belonged to Holden Tillman, the ruthless patriarch of the Tillman empire—and the uncle Garrick lived in absolute terror of.
I thought I was walking into my death, but instead, I became his fiancée, ready to make Garrick and Lacey pay for every tear I shed.
9.5
Janet woke up gasping, the phantom fire of a deadly explosion still scorching her lungs. She had been reborn three years in the past, on the exact day her mother forced her into a marriage contract with Gaylord Bradford, a paralyzed and severely disfigured billionaire.
Before she could even process her second chance, her cousin Kandy kicked the bedroom door open, flaunting a massive diamond ring. Kandy, who had also been reborn, smugly announced she had stolen Janet's Wall Street golden boy fiancé, Jax Adler.
"You're going to marry that paralyzed monster," Kandy spat, gloating that she would build a billionaire dynasty with Jax while Janet wiped drool off a rotting corpse. Kandy expected Janet to have a complete mental collapse, completely unaware that Gaylord's own medical team was secretly injecting him with lethal neurotoxins to finish him off.
But Janet only felt a cold, clinical pity. Kandy's "prophetic" memories were a polluted lie. Jax was actually sterile and dying of irreversible kidney failure, while Gaylord wasn't a dying freak—he was a dormant god whose body was merely in a high-dimensional hibernation. Why would Janet mourn losing a doomed fraud?
Leaving her delusional cousin behind, Janet packed her bags and headed straight to Gaylord's maximum-security military cell. She physically tackled his corrupt doctor, drove three bio-electric silver needles into the crippled king's spine to awaken his deadened nerves, and looked him dead in his glacial blue eye.
"Sign the marriage contract," Janet whispered. "I will make you walk again, and we will take back everything."
9.0
For a whole year, April believed her billionaire husband, Bartholomew, abandoned her in Europe the day after their arranged wedding. She hated him so much she drunkenly prayed for his death at a club.
But he suddenly returned that very night, catching her red-handed. Instead of a divorce, he trapped her, threatening to bankrupt her bloodsucking family unless she moved into his penthouse to play the devoted wife.
Forced to comply, she attended a dinner with her toxic family. Her stepmother deliberately served her lobster—knowing April had a fatal allergy.
"Eat up, darling. I know hospital food is dreadful."
When April refused and exposed their massive gambling debts, her furious father raised his hand to strike her across the face.
But it was Bartholomew, the ruthless tyrant she despised, who caught her father's arm and snapped his wrist.
"If you ever try to touch my wife again, I will erase your family by sunrise."
April was completely stunned. Why was he defending her with such murderous rage? And why did he keep a cheap paper airplane she had made at age six preserved under a glass dome in his study?
The answer came that night. When Bartholomew stepped out of the shower, April saw the massive, jagged surgical scar sliced directly over his heart. He hadn't run away; he had been fighting for his life on an operating table. Staring at the man who had silently survived just to come back to her, April made her choice. She was going to uncover the truth behind his surgery and their past.
8.2
Ashley was tied to a rusted iron pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the noxious fumes of gasoline soaking her clothes.
Her fiancé Devon and her stepsister Brittany stood before her, revealing a horrifying truth. Devon never saved her from that fatal car crash three years ago; he merely stole the credit.
Worse, Brittany smirked and confessed that Ashley's own father had orchestrated her mother's murder. Before Ashley could process the betrayal, Devon callously tossed a lighter. A wall of blistering heat instantly consumed her. Even when Bennett Hawkins, the cold and untouchable billionaire, rushed into the inferno to shield her with his body, they were both swallowed by the explosion.
As the fire melted her skin, Ashley died with agonizing hatred. Why did her own flesh and blood want her dead? What dark secret were they hiding about her mother's tragic death?
Opening her eyes again, freezing saltwater violently flooded her lungs.
She was back at her twentieth birthday yacht party, right after Brittany had secretly pushed her into the freezing Hudson River.
Staring at the hypocritical faces of her family pretending it was an accident, Ashley didn't cry or beg. She calmly snatched a phone and dialed 911.
"Yes. I need to report an attempted murder."