The Billionaire's Ten Million Dollar Wife
To save my father's failing workshop from ruthless loan sharks, I sold one year of my life.
I signed a fake marriage contract with Cameron Fox, an icy billionaire who needed a wife to pacify his sick grandmother. The rules were strict: it was purely a commercial transaction, with absolutely no physical contact and no emotional attachments.
Soon after, that cold hearted man seemed different to me. Wait, is he pursuing me?
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Chapter 6
The word "Dad" hung in the humid air of the small living room, echoing louder than a gunshot.
Burt's hand, which was reaching for his own rib, froze in mid-air. Aimee stared at Cameron as if he had just sprouted a second head. Her mouth fell open slightly, her brain completely short-circuiting.
Cameron didn't bat an eye. He brought the rib to his mouth and took a slow, deliberate bite. The thick, dark barbecue sauce smeared against the corner of his perfectly sculpted lips.
Burt was the first to recover. He let out a loud, booming cough to cover his shock, but the deep wrinkles around his eyes crinkled with undeniable pleasure. He muttered, "At least the boy's got some manners," and grabbed a rib for himself.
Aimee scrambled to grab a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. She shoved it into Cameron's hand, her eyes wide with panic. Under the cover of the low coffee table, she swung her leg and kicked him sharply in the shin, a silent warning to stop overacting.
Cameron's face remained completely stoic. He calmly wiped the sauce from his lip. Then, beneath the table, he shifted his long leg. He hooked his calf around Aimee's ankle and pressed her leg firmly against the sofa frame, trapping her foot completely. The heat of his leg burned through her denim overalls. Aimee gasped softly, her face flushing, but she couldn't pull away without causing a scene.
The dinner progressed. Burt reached under the table and pulled out a six-pack of cheap, generic-brand beer. He popped the cap off a bottle with a loud hiss and shoved it across the table toward Cameron.
Aimee's heart leaped into her throat. "Dad, Cameron only drinks-"
Before she could finish the sentence, Cameron picked up the sweating glass bottle. He clinked it against Burt's bottle, tilted his head back, and took a long, deep swallow.
The cheap, metallic taste of the beer hit the back of Cameron's throat. He suppressed a grimace, forcing his facial muscles to remain relaxed. He lowered the bottle and gave Burt a firm nod. "Crisp."
By the time they finished the ribs, the tension in the room had significantly thawed. Burt wiped his hands on a towel, his expression suddenly turning dead serious. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Now," Burt said, his voice dropping an octave. "About that ten million dollars."
Aimee's stomach plummeted. The blood drained from her face. Her hands began to sweat profusely. She stared at her father, terrified that he had somehow uncovered the truth about the marriage contract.
"I appreciate the generosity," Burt continued, looking directly into Cameron's eyes. "But I need you to understand something. I am not selling my daughter. That money is not a dowry, and it sure as hell isn't charity."
The old mechanic straightened his back. A fierce, unbreakable pride radiated from his posture. "That money is a loan to the Berry Custom Workshop. I will pay back every single cent, with interest. Do we have an understanding?"
Cameron looked at the older man. He saw the fierce dignity that poverty and hardship hadn't been able to crush. He dropped the fake, accommodating son-in-law persona. His eyes sharpened, returning to the calculating, respectful gaze of a true businessman.
He didn't offer empty reassurances. He picked up his beer bottle and held it out.
"I expect to see the workshop's quarterly financial reports by next month, Mr. Berry," Cameron said, his voice ringing with absolute, equal respect.
Burt let out a loud, genuine bark of laughter. He slammed his bottle against Cameron's. "You'll have them on your desk, boss."
Aimee watched the exchange, her chest tight. A massive wave of relief washed over her, followed quickly by a profound sense of gratitude. Cameron had perfectly preserved her father's dignity.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of white light illuminated the living room window. Less than a second later, a deafening crack of thunder shook the entire house. The floorboards vibrated under their feet.
The sky opened up. A torrential, violent summer thunderstorm slammed into Brooklyn without warning. Rain lashed against the glass like bullets.
Aimee's phone, sitting on the table, shrieked with an emergency alert. The screen flashed red: NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE - SEVERE FLASH FLOOD WARNING. BROOKLYN STREETS FLOODING. DO NOT TRAVEL.
Cameron frowned. He pulled his phone from his pocket to call his driver, but the screen showed "No Service." The storm was interfering with the cell towers.
Burt stood up and walked to the window. He peered out at the street, which was already turning into a rushing river of muddy water. He turned back to the room, his face set in stone.
"You're not leaving tonight," Burt announced, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.
Aimee jumped up from the sofa, her heart hammering wildly. "Dad, no! Cameron has... he has insomnia. He can only sleep in his own bed. We have to go back to Manhattan."
Burt scowled, pointing a stern finger at his daughter. "Don't be ridiculous, Aimee. You want your husband to drown on the expressway? The Maybach won't make it two blocks in this water."
Burt turned to Cameron. "You'll sleep in Aimee's room tonight. It's small, but the sheets are clean."
Aimee whipped her head around to look at Cameron. Her eyes were wide, silently screaming at him to refuse. She needed him to be the ruthless, uncompromising billionaire right now.
Cameron looked at the sheets of rain violently pounding against the window. He looked at Aimee's terrified, pleading face. And then he looked at Burt's stubborn, protective stance.
To Aimee's absolute horror, Cameron gave a short, polite nod.
"Thank you, Dad," Cameron said smoothly. "Sorry for the intrusion."
Burt grinned, clapping Cameron on the shoulder before heading to the hallway closet to find extra towels.
Aimee stood frozen in the middle of the living room. The blood roared in her ears. The reality of the situation crashed down on her. She was going to have to spend the entire night locked in a tiny room, sharing a 1.2-meter-wide single bed with a man who terrified her.
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7.0
On her wedding night, Liora Vale expected passion from her wealthy husband. Instead, she got rejection and humiliation.
When his dangerously seductive best friend, Kael Draven, corners her on the balcony and claims her virgin body with raw, unprotected fury, Liora discovers a pleasure she never knew existed.
Now addicted to Kael's brutal touch and filthy promises, the once-innocent bride becomes his secret slut, sneaking creampies in limos, riding him at galas, and begging to be bred while her husband sleeps nearby.
Kael won't stop until he destroys Silas and fills Liora's womb with his child.
She was supposed to be the perfect wife... now she's the shameless breeding whore who belongs only to him.
8.1
Desperate for a way out of rejection and poverty, Pearl Augustine accepts a nanny job with an outrageous salary-working for billionaire Ace Warren. What she doesn't expect is his daughter.
Mia Warren is spoiled, sharp-tongued, and feared by everyone in the mansion. Behind her cruelty is a lonely child longing for a mother. As Pearl becomes the only one who can reach her, walls begin to fall-especially those around Ace, a grieving man hiding behind wealth and control.
What started as "just a job" quickly turns into something dangerous: attachment.
Sometimes, healing begins where you least expect it.
9.5
For nine years, I poured my soul into proving I was worthy of my wealthy boyfriend, Clayton Wright. I endured his endless, humiliating "tests," sacrificing everything for a place in his world.
But at our engagement party, the final test was revealed. He stood by as his ex-girlfriend, Anjelica, framed me for shattering a priceless family heirloom.
"You manipulative bitch!" he snarled, slapping me across the face. He then ordered his bodyguard to force me to my knees, grinding them into the sharp, broken fragments of the watch.
As I bled on the floor, he pulled out his phone and gave a single command: demolish my childhood home, the last piece I had of my deceased father.
He destroyed my past and my dignity, yet minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from him.
"The engagement is just for show. I'll still marry you. You're my destiny."
That night, clutching the last of my father's life insurance, I booked a one-way ticket and vanished. He thought he had finally broken his little project, but he had just unleashed a woman with nothing left to lose.
7.4
I was freezing to death in an abandoned cabin, desperately waiting for my fiancé to save me.
Instead, my phone flickered with a video from my adopted sister.
She was smiling as she confessed that she and my fiancé had orchestrated my kidnapping, and my parents' fatal plane crash, just to steal my family's trust fund.
When I called him with my dying breath, he mocked me for faking a PR stunt and hung up.
I died in the sub-zero blizzard, consumed by absolute despair.
But as a ghost, I watched my greatest business rival, the ruthless billionaire Collins, kick down the doors of my mansion.
He didn't just mourn me.
He shot my fiancé, trapped my sister, and set the entire place on fire, choosing to burn alive in the inferno just to avenge me.
I couldn't understand why the man I had publicly despised for a decade loved me so fiercely, while the people I gave everything to wanted me dead.
Opening my eyes again, I was back backstage on the night I won my Oscar, four years ago.
My fiancé smiled, holding out his arms to hug me.
I pushed him away in disgust, marched straight into the crowded theater, and kissed my billionaire rival on live television.
"Let's get married tomorrow."
This time, I would use him to burn them all to the ground.
8.5
I was engaged to Gorden Barron, fully believing I was about to marry the love of my life.
Then his secret lover, Bettye, was diagnosed with aplastic anemia. Gorden fell to his knees and begged me to be her bone marrow donor.
"Angie, I know I messed up, but she's dying. You're the only match."
I agreed, wanting to be the bigger person. But the moment the harvest was over, the nightmare began. A severe infection set in, and my fever wouldn't break. Gorden's visits became shorter, then stopped entirely.
As I lay in the sterile hospital room, my bones aching and my body failing, I scrolled through my phone and saw his latest post.
Gorden and Bettye were tanned and healthy, sipping cocktails on a yacht in the Mediterranean.
The caption read: "Grateful for second chances. My true love."
I threw my phone across the room and screamed until my throat bled. I was nothing but a human blood bag to them, completely discarded the moment I was empty. I nearly died in that cold room, saved only by a top-tier specialist someone secretly paid millions to fly in.
Five years later, I've finally returned to New York.
I didn't come back to get revenge on Gorden. He isn't worth my time.
I came back for the man who secretly held my hand and wept by my deathbed—Gorden's cold, untouchable older brother, Dalton.
This time, I'm going to make him mine.
7.4
For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett.
Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid.
When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives.
"Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself."
I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together.
Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company.
He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life.
He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire.
I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer.
"Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant."