The Fake Mute's Spectacular Revenge Game
Madeline slammed the prenuptial agreement onto the table, forcing Danielle to sign herself away as a "blood bag" bride.
To secure her mother's safety, Danielle was sold to the ruthless, comatose billionaire Deforest Stuart. She kept her head down, perfectly playing the role of a terrified, broken mute.
But on her wedding night, Deforest's sister set a vicious trap, dragging Danielle to a hotel to be ruined by a sleazy investor.
Danielle was prepared to escape, but the hotel door was suddenly smashed open by a massive figure.
It wasn't the investor. It was her comatose husband, Deforest, temporarily awakened by a violent, drug-induced rage.
In the pitch-black room, he pinned her down, mistaking her scent for a ghost from his past, and violently claimed her.
She fled before dawn, only to be blinded by camera flashes.
His sister dragged her back to the Stuart manor, ripping her collar open under the chandelier to expose the dark hickeys on her neck.
"Throw this shameless whore out into the street!" the matriarch ordered.
Danielle's eyes grew cold. If they kicked her out now, her years of planning to tear this rotten family apart would be completely destroyed.
No one believed that the monster who assaulted her was the very man lying perfectly still in the medical wing.
Playing the frantic mute, Danielle dragged the family to his bedroom.
Right as the guards reached for her, she launched herself onto the bed, crushing her weight directly onto Deforest's chest.
A second later, the "comatose" tyrant's eyes snapped open with murderous rage, and her real game of revenge finally began.
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Chapter 5
Out in the hallway, Deforest yanked aggressively at the collar of his black shirt, popping the top two buttons. His skin was flushed, radiating an unnatural heat.
Zane, his business partner, gripped Deforest's bicep, trying to keep him upright. "You just woke from a coma, Deforest. Chugging half a bottle of whiskey at the club was a terrible idea."
The alcohol was reacting violently with the heavy sedatives still lingering in Deforest's bloodstream. His vision blurred, the edges of the hallway doubling and overlapping. His head pounded with a vicious, rhythmic ache.
Deforest shoved Zane's hand away. He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a sleek, metal hotel black card.
He slapped the card against the sensor of room 1802.
The card reader flashed green. A long, high-pitched beep sounded. A heavy clunk sounded from the door as the master override electronically retracted the deadbolt. Deforest shoved his heavy shoulder violently against the wood, his brute force snapping the secondary security latch right off its hinges.
Deforest pushed the heavy wooden door open. He stumbled over the threshold into the pitch-black suite.
"Just sleep it off, man," Zane called out from the hallway, pulling the door shut behind Deforest.
The heavy door clicked shut. The suite plunged into total, suffocating darkness.
Behind the bathroom door, Danielle's heart hammered against her ribs. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sharp, metal eyebrow razor. She gripped it tightly, the cold metal biting into her palm.
In the living room, Deforest took a heavy step forward. His foot caught the edge of a heavy armchair. He let out a low, painful grunt, his knee buckling slightly.
He navigated purely by instinct, moving toward the bedroom. The heavy scent of expensive whiskey rolled off him in waves, filling the stagnant air of the suite.
Danielle peeked through the crack in the bathroom door. The ambient light from the city outside cast a faint glow. The man stumbling through the room was massive. Broad shoulders, towering height. This was absolutely not Warren, the short, overweight investor.
Danielle held her breath, her muscles coiled tight.
Deforest felt his blood boiling. The drug interaction was frying his nervous system. He couldn't think. He couldn't see straight.
He grabbed the hem of his shirt and ripped it over his head, throwing it blindly into the dark. He crashed onto the edge of the massive king-sized bed, groaning as he fell back against the mattress.
Danielle waited a full minute. The man on the bed didn't move. His breathing was heavy and ragged.
She pushed the bathroom door open an inch at a time. She stepped out barefoot, her toes sinking into the thick carpet. She moved silently toward the front door, keeping her eyes locked on the bed.
As she passed the nightstand, the fabric of her loose sweater caught the edge of a tall glass vase.
The vase tipped over. It hit the floor with a sharp, shattering crash.
The man on the bed moved with terrifying speed. Deforest lunged through the dark like a predator. His large hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around Danielle's ankle like a steel vice.
Danielle gasped, losing her balance. She pitched forward, crashing hard onto the soft mattress.
Before she could scramble away, Deforest flipped her over. He pinned her down, his heavy, burning chest pressing flush against her back.
Danielle thrashed wildly. She twisted her wrist, bringing the sharp eyebrow razor up to slash at him.
Deforest felt the movement. He caught her wrist mid-air. He squeezed her bones until she gasped in pain, easily prying the razor from her fingers and tossing it across the room.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck to hold her down. As he inhaled, the faint, sweet scent of vanilla filled his lungs.
The scent triggered a massive hallucination in his drug-addled brain. He pressed his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. "Anya... you smell just like Anya," he muttered against her skin, his voice thick with a desperate, sick obsession, tying her vanilla scent to a ghost from his past.
Danielle froze. The deep, gravelly vibration of his voice sent a shockwave of pure terror down her spine. She knew that voice. It was her husband. The man who was supposed to be in a coma.
The shock paralyzed her. Her muscles went completely slack.
Deforest took her stillness for surrender. His mouth crashed down on her neck, his teeth scraping against her collarbone.
The alcohol and the drugs completely stripped away his control. In the pitch-black room, the two of them tangled together in the sheets, driven by chaos and a terrifying, unstoppable force.
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8.3
My husband watched as my skin melted, scalded by boiling soup, yet his hands were busy comforting my attacker. Five years of marriage, built on a foundation of my family's power, crumbled with a single, brutal act of betrayal. He bought me off with a penthouse and a trust fund, but I tore out my IV and threw his charity back in his face.
It was our fifth anniversary, but my husband, Ethan, remained distant, avoiding any talk of Chicago or the mafia protection my family once offered him. He then pushed a black velvet box across the table.
Inside was a Separation and Property Division Agreement, not a diamond. He told me to sign for Ilene's security, offering millions. When I refused, Ilene hurled boiling soup. Ethan shielded her, not me, as the scalding liquid melted my dress.
With second-degree burns, he blamed me, ordering me from our home for Ilene’s comfort. My family saved him, yet he sacrificed my body and marriage for another woman.
The love I felt turned to ash. What kind of debt demanded my flesh and marriage?
I ripped the IV from my arm, hurling his "charity" keys back. My diamond ring placed on the agreement, I walked away. From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other.
7.6
Johana walked half a mile through a brutal blizzard just to secure a tutoring job with the elite Black family.
But the very night she was hired, she received a terrifying call from the ER—her quiet roommate, Hazelle, had been drugged and severely traumatized at a Hamptons party.
When Johana rushed to the hospital, she didn't find the police. Instead, she found a team of ruthless billionaires erasing the crime.
Leading them was Dalton Black, the cold, arrogant older brother of her new student.
Within minutes, Dalton's fixers wiped the hospital's security footage, deleted all digital evidence, and forcefully transferred Hazelle to a locked private psychiatric facility.
"We are ensuring her privacy."
Dalton's voice was devoid of emotion, treating the horrific assault like a minor PR glitch.
His friends mocked Johana's powerlessness, while Dalton authorized a blank check to pay for the private ward, effectively burying the scandal and buying their silence.
Johana stood in the sterile hallway, trembling with a mix of despair and absolute rage.
How could they destroy an innocent girl's life and simply pay to make it disappear? Why was the truth so easily erased by money?
She had no wealth, no connections, and no proof, but she refused to be a victim of their cover-up.
Staring directly into Dalton's intimidating, icy blue eyes, Johana made a vow.
"I don't want your money. I will find out what you monsters did to her."
She thought the billionaire heir would crush her on the spot, but instead, he watched her walk away and quietly ordered his assistant: "Find out everything about Johana Neal."
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.
9.5
"You shouldn't be here, Fiona," his deep voice rasped against her ear, his hand still pressed against the wall behind her.
"Then tell me to leave," she whispered, her lips trembling inches from his. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. And in that moment, she knew he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
Fiona Harry has lived her whole life in a golden cage of wealth, reputation, and suffocating rules. University was supposed to be her escape, her first taste of freedom. But nothing could prepare her for the moment she came face-to-face with Professor Jalen Hart, her father's best friend. One reckless night changes everything. A drunken mistake turns into an irresistible obsession, pulling her deeper into Jalen's forbidden world. But secrets don't stay hidden forever. Between Jude, her possessive friend who knows too much, Marian, Jalen's wicked wife, and the dangerous power of desire, Fiona is about to risk not only hers and her family's reputation but her entire future.
And what happens when the truth comes out especially to Marian?
8.9
The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below.
I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty.
Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first.
I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated.
Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child?
I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.
9.1
The best way to get back at a cheating bastard? Make him sick to his stomach for the rest of his life!
Days before her wedding, Corinne caught her fiancé cheating with his coworker in what she thought was their future home.
Furious, she tore everything apart, ended the engagement, and decided on a bold revenge plan.
To make him regret it for life, she set her sights on marrying his powerful uncle. Confident in her scheme, she tried to win over the cold, untouchable man, only to realize too late that she had mistaken his identity.
The man she married was far more dangerous than she imagined!
Corinne decided to make a quick escape. "Let's get a divorce. We're clearly not right for each other... "
He cornered her with a knowing smile, "Not right for each other? Funny, that's not what you said last night in bed. Want me to remind you how wrong you are?"