Secrets Of The Broken Genius Bride
I sold myself to a paralyzed billionaire to pay for my mother's life support.
But my step-sister staged a photo of me with another man, making my new husband think I was a cheating gold-digger.
In a jealous rage, Curtis locked me in a dark panic room.
While trapped, my step-mother sent a picture of her hand on my mom's ventilator plug, forcing me to sneak out to a black-market clinic.
There, they forcibly drained 800cc of my blood to sell.
Half-dead and in severe shock, I dragged myself back home, only for Curtis to confront me with another staged photo of my ex grabbing me outside the clinic.
Believing I had snuck out to see a lover, he ordered his guards to throw my blood-drained body into the freezing wine cellar.
"Please, don't put me down there! I'll die!"
I begged and clung to his wheelchair, but he just kicked my hand away in absolute disgust.
In the pitch-black, 55-degree room, my organs slowly shut down.
I didn't understand why I had to endure this hell, or why he was so blinded by his own fragile ego that he never even noticed how chalk-white my face was.
Hours later, his precious sister needed an emergency transfusion, and they dragged my icy body out to drain me again.
But when the doctor rolled up my sleeve and exposed the horrific, bruised puncture wound, Curtis finally realized the truth.
As he stared at my arm in absolute, paralyzed terror, the EKG machine attached to my chest flatlined.
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Chapter 4
Allie sprinted to the edge of the street outside the main gates of Parsons, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She scanned the busy avenue frantically, but the black Cadillac SUV was already gone.
She slapped a hand against her forehead. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. That tablet didn't just have her competition sketches; it held a hidden folder containing her mother's real medical logs. If anyone in the Deleon household found it, she was dead.
She turned toward a nearby bench, reaching into her bag for her phone to call the driver.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in."
The shrill, venomous voice sliced through the air behind her.
Allie's spine went rigid. She slowly turned around.
Brittanie Copeland, her older half-sister, stood there draped in a seasonal Chanel haute couture jacket, flanked by three sneering girls from wealthy families.
Brittanie stepped right up to Allie, intentionally raising her voice so the passing students would hear.
"Look at you, dressed like a homeless person," Brittanie mocked, her eyes flashing with malice. "You're embarrassing the Copeland family, and you're definitely embarrassing the Deleons. Is the cripple not giving you an allowance?"
Several design students stopped on the sidewalk, pointing and whispering. Everyone knew the rumors about the brutal prenup and the gold-digging bride.
Allie felt the heat of humiliation creeping up her neck, but she refused to give Brittanie the satisfaction.
"My life is none of your business, Brittanie," Allie said coldly. She turned on her heel, trying to walk around the group.
Brittanie shot a look at one of her minions. The girl immediately stepped sideways, physically blocking Allie's path.
Before Allie could demand they move, a male voice called out from the edge of the crowd.
"Allie!"
Jerald Burke pushed his way through the whispering students. He was wearing a casual designer suit, his face etched with deep concern.
Jerald was a former suitor from her past. He was wealthy, healthy, and completely oblivious to the fact that Brittanie had anonymously texted him Allie's location just to use him as a weapon.
He rushed up to Allie, his eyes full of pain. "Why did you do it, Allie? Why did you sell yourself to a paralyzed tyrant for money? I would have given you anything!"
Allie's face drained of color.
"Shut up, Jerald," she hissed, her voice trembling with panic. "You don't know what you're talking about. Leave me alone. You are going to ruin me."
Her cold rejection triggered Jerald's bruised ego. His emotions spiraled out of control.
He lunged forward and grabbed Allie's wrist with a crushing grip, trying to physically drag her away from the crowd. "I'm getting you out of here!"
"Let go of me!" Allie screamed, thrashing wildly. Her cheap heels slipped on the cobblestone pavement. The pain in her wrist was blinding.
Standing a few feet away, Brittanie's lips curled into a wicked smile. She smoothly pulled her phone from her purse, aimed the high-definition camera at them, and held down the burst-capture button.
Seeing Allie resist so fiercely, Jerald yanked her arm hard.
Using his weight advantage, he pulled the off-balance Allie directly into his chest. For a split second, she was plastered against him.
From the angle of the bystanders, it looked exactly like a desperate, passionate embrace between two star-crossed lovers.
Brittanie's phone silently snapped dozens of perfect, highly deceptive photos.
Half a second later, Allie's survival instinct kicked in. She shoved both hands against Jerald's chest with every ounce of strength she had. Her fingernails dug in so hard they tore through the fabric of his expensive shirt.
She broke free, stumbling backward, her chest heaving.
"If you ever touch me again, I will call campus security!" she screamed, pointing a shaking finger directly at his face.
Jerald froze, stunned by the sheer violence of her rejection. He took a step back, looking hurt and betrayed. "You've changed," he muttered, before turning and walking away.
The surrounding crowd of rich kids erupted into cruel laughter. Someone yelled, "Mr. Deleon's head is glowing green!"
A wave of intense nausea hit Allie. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Brittanie lowering her phone.
The realization hit her like a freight train. It was a setup.
"Give me that phone! Delete those pictures!" Allie lunged at Brittanie.
Before she could reach her, two of Brittanie's minions shoved Allie hard in the chest.
Allie flew backward and crashed onto the rough pavement. The skin on her palms tore open, bleeding instantly, but she didn't feel the pain. She only felt a suffocating, paralyzing terror of what was coming.
Brittanie stood over her, looking down with pure triumph. She mouthed the words, You are dead, before turning and strutting away with her entourage.
The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Allie sitting alone on the cold ground.
Her hands shook violently as she pulled out her phone to call Vance. She had to explain. She had to warn them.
She pressed the power button. The screen flashed the low battery icon and instantly went black. It was dead.
A low, vibrating hum of a massive engine echoed from the end of the street.
Allie slowly lifted her head. Her blood ran ice cold.
Parked in the shadows directly across the street, idling like a mechanical beast waiting to strike, was the familiar, terrifying shape of the armored Maybach.
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8.1
Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
9.5
The first clue my life was a lie was a moan from the guest room. My husband of seven years wasn't in our bed. He was with my intern.
I discovered my husband, Brendan, was having a four-year affair with Kiya-the talented girl I was mentoring and personally paying tuition for.
The next morning, she sat at our breakfast table in his shirt while he made us pancakes. He lied to my face, promising he'd never love another, just before I learned she was pregnant with his child-a child he'd always refused to have with me.
The two people I trusted most in the world had conspired to destroy me. The pain wasn't something I could live with; it was an annihilation of my entire world.
So I made a call to a neuroscientist about his experimental, irreversible procedure. I didn't want revenge. I wanted to erase every memory of my husband and become his first test subject.
7.2
Every story in this collection is a direct line to your own wanting, each read leaves you drenched, and craving more thighs pressed together, breath caught in your throat.
From a stranger's fingers finding you in a crowded bar to the slow, devastating unraveling of a woman on her knees, these are the moments you'll return to, again and again, until you're trembling.
Warning: "Not for the faint of heart-only for the Dirty Slut-Seekers who crave the filth.
Open the book only when you're ready to be ruined, and consumed by your filthy fantasies.
7.7
Rory stood on the witness stand, forced by her father into an impossible choice: secure her dying mother's medical funding, or save her innocent boyfriend.
She looked Corbin right in his trusting eyes and lied to the court, testifying that he was the one driving the car during the fatal hit-and-run, sending him to a maximum-security prison for ten years.
The betrayal destroyed him. Corbin's father died of a heart attack upon hearing the guilty verdict. Six years later, Corbin returned as a ruthless billionaire and systematically blacklisted Rory from every job in the city. He cornered her into singing at his private club, humiliating her by forcing her to drink scotch—knowing she was severely allergic—and making her throw away his promise ring just to earn a stack of cash.
"Remember this moment. This is only the beginning."
She endured his cruel revenge because she was hiding a desperate secret: she was raising his five-year-old daughter, Willa. But when Willa's congenital heart defect suddenly worsened, requiring an impossible one-million-dollar surgery, Rory realized Corbin's calculated blockade had left her completely trapped with no way to save their child.
Staring at the sterile hospital walls, the last shred of her guilt burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. He had destroyed her career and backed her into a corner, but he was the only one with the money. Wiping her tears, Rory turned and headed straight for Vance Tower.
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."
9.4
Aria Mcgee was the unwanted second daughter of a decaying Long Island family.
To save their bankrupt corporation, her father and older sister drugged her. They shoved her into a town car and delivered her to a ruthless Wall Street billionaire's bed like a piece of meat.
They expected her to be the perfect sacrifice. The original Aria had no access to her own trust fund and was forced to live in a windowless broom closet. Even worse, a cold, synthetic System voice echoed in her skull, demanding she play the tragic, helpless female lead. It ordered her to endure her family's abuse and suffer the billionaire's humiliation to force a pathetic romance plotline.
"Host must follow the tragic trajectory and achieve the ultimate painful romance."
But the soul that woke up in that bed wasn't a weak, frightened girl. She was a dead Hollywood Oscar-winning actress. Why would a top-tier professional ever agree to play the weeping victim in such a garbage, B-list script?
Instead of trembling in fear as the System commanded, Aria looked at the billionaire and smiled. Using her flawless acting skills, she shattered his ego, extracted a hundred thousand dollars, and walked right out the door. Now, she was heading back to the Mcgee estate, ready to rip her money from her father's greedy hands and burn her sister's life to the ground.