The Jilted Wife's Billionaire Heiress Comeback
I woke up alone in a cold hospital room after a near-fatal car crash.
My husband of three years, Bryant, claimed he was too busy with back-to-back meetings to visit me.
But when I dragged my bruised body into the hallway, I caught him pinning his pregnant mistress against a vending machine.
"As soon as my company IPOs next month, I'm dumping my useless wife."
"She's so pathetic. She'd be living on the streets if it wasn't for my charity."
For three years, Bryant and his mother had humiliated me for being an orphan, treating me like a penniless burden while he secretly bought a multi-million-dollar townhouse for his new family.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. I had almost died in that wreckage, yet my husband was disgusted by my very existence, eagerly waiting to throw me away.
But Bryant didn't know about the damp, sealed envelope the paramedics had recovered from my wrecked car.
The DNA report inside proved I wasn't a nobody from the gutter.
I was the biological daughter of the Beaumonts—New York's wealthiest, most ruthless billionaire dynasty.
I didn't scream or confront them.
Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone, recorded their affair in high definition, and dialed a Wall Street financier I hadn't spoken to in years.
"I'm done playing the happy housewife. Pull his algorithmic backdoors and drain the accounts."
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Chapter 10
High above Wall Street, in the minimalist, glass-encased office of Zimmerman Capital, Emilio Zimmerman stood perfectly still, staring out at the Manhattan skyline.
His executive assistant, Julian Croft, stepped quietly into the room. He held a secure, encrypted tablet against his chest.
Julian cleared his throat. "Sir, our intelligence network has confirmed the rumors. The Beaumont family has officially found their missing biological daughter."
Emilio turned slowly. His sharp, predatory eyes locked onto Julian. His expression was completely unreadable, but his focus was intense and unwavering.
Julian handed over the tablet. The screen displayed a high-resolution surveillance photo of Ava Beaumont stepping out of the Bergdorf Goodman VIP entrance.
Emilio took the tablet. His long, strong fingers traced the edge of the screen as he studied Ava's calm, striking features.
He noted the subtle confidence in her posture. It was a stark contrast to the typical, sheltered heiresses he usually encountered in his circles. She looked like a survivor.
"Richard Beaumont is quietly seeking a powerful protector for her-an alliance with someone he can absolutely trust to shield her from any further harm. He has already rejected all pure commercial marriage proposals, prioritizing her safety above all else," Julian mentioned, watching his boss carefully.
Emilio handed the tablet back. His deep voice rumbled through the quiet office. "Clear my schedule for tonight."
Julian nodded. "Where are we heading, sir?"
Emilio replied with the name of an exclusive, members-only private club in Midtown.
The scene shifted to the dimly lit, jazz-filled interior of the private club. Ava sat alone in a secluded leather booth, sipping a cold martini. She was waiting to meet her legal team to finalize the aggressive divorce filings.
Across the room, the heavy oak doors burst open. Bryant Ford walked in. He looked disheveled and frantic, his tie loosened as he desperately tried to secure bridge loans to save his failing company.
Bryant spotted Ava in the booth. His eyes widened in shock before his face twisted into a mask of desperate, ugly anger.
He marched across the patterned carpet, completely ignoring the club's strict decorum rules. He slammed his hands down hard on Ava's table, rattling her glass.
"How did you get past the screening without my name?" Bryant hissed, his veins bulging against his collar.
Ava didn't flinch. She took a slow sip of her drink. "I don't have a membership, Bryant," Ava replied coolly, her gaze drifting over his desperate posture, enjoying the sheer panic radiating from his pores. "But as of this morning, I am the guest the club's owner wants to please the most. It's a Beaumont family perk, something a failing tech bro wouldn't understand."
Bryant recoiled, refusing to believe her. He raised his voice, causing several nearby wealthy patrons to turn and stare in disgust.
"I will drag you out of here by your hair if you don't unfreeze my credit cards and return the codes!" Bryant threatened, leaning over the table.
From the shadows of the adjacent VIP alcove, Emilio Zimmerman watched the entire interaction. His eyes narrowed dangerously at Bryant's physical threat.
Emilio stepped out of the shadows. His towering, broad-shouldered frame instantly dominated the physical space around the booth.
He approached the table silently. The sheer force of his presence caused the ambient temperature in the room to seemingly drop.
Emilio placed a heavy, completely steady hand on Bryant's shoulder. His grip tightened just enough to inflict sharp, warning pain deep into the muscle.
Bryant gasped, spinning around furiously. His anger evaporated instantly when he recognized the face of the ultimate Wall Street apex predator.
"Mr... Mr. Zimmerman," Bryant stammered, his knees practically buckling. He tried to force a respectful, terrified smile.
Emilio ignored Bryant completely. His intense, dark eyes locked onto Ava. He held her gaze with a magnetic, undeniable weight that made Ava's breath catch slightly in her throat.
"Is this nuisance bothering you?" Emilio asked Ava. His voice was smooth, but laced with lethal, absolute authority.
Ava looked up at Emilio. She was momentarily surprised by his sudden intervention, but she quickly masked it. A spark of genuine intrigue lit up her eyes.
"The nuisance was just leaving," Ava replied coolly, holding Emilio's intense stare without backing down for a second.
Emilio smirked. It was a terrifyingly handsome expression. He violently shoved Bryant backward, dismissing him like trash.
Emilio turned his head slightly toward the shadows. "Julian."
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8.1
Born into luxury, Hermione Watson-Pierce has always felt like merely a pawn in her parents' ruthless game of power. She learned to suppress her emotions, earning herself the title of the "Ice Queen."
Just then, Aiden Mendes bursts into her life-a charming playboy known for his reckless reputation. Aiden chooses to cope with his inner turmoil through a lavish lifestyle, using his charisma and striking looks to keep others at bay.
A looming threat forces them to face a contracted marriage or risk losing their inheritance. When they first meet, Aiden is struck by an unexpected attraction, as if it were love at first sight. Yet, his notorious reputation precedes him, and Hermione makes no effort to hide her disdain.
As their contractual marriage evolves into a battle of wills, Aiden must work to melt Hermione's icy heart, proving that he is more than what meets the eye. But can he persuade her to rise above her prejudices and bravely pursue love?
9.3
On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began.
8.5
After four years of marriage, my wealthy husband Brad handed me a $50,000 severance check outside the Manhattan Family Court.
He linked arms with his mistress, Jenna, who flaunted the diamond ring that used to be mine.
"Just take it, Hayley. Take the money and get out of our lives," he sneered, looking at me with absolute disgust.
I tore the check into pieces, but my nightmare was just beginning.
To access my grandfather's trust fund, I had exactly seventy-two hours to get legally married, so I desperately proposed a one-year contract marriage to a poor insurance salesman I met in a dive bar.
When Brad found out, he and his arrogant family cornered me at their estate.
Brad mocked my new husband for being a penniless, money-grubbing parasite, while my former mother-in-law slapped me hard across the face, knocking me to the ground.
"You are trash, just like your mother," she spat, watching my knee bleed onto the sharp gravel.
Jenna gleefully kicked my phone away, shattering the screen and cutting off my only lifeline.
Lying there in the dirt, I stared at the broken glass in absolute despair.
I didn't understand why four years of quiet devotion had earned me nothing but cruel betrayal and endless humiliation from the people I once called family.
Just as I thought I had completely lost, a black Lincoln Navigator slammed to a halt at the gates.
My "penniless" new husband stepped out, radiating a terrifying, righteous fury that made the entire Patton family freeze in horror.
8.2
Trapped in a deadly fire at my own engagement party, my lungs burned as I reached a shaking hand out to my fiancé for help.
He stopped and looked right at me through the thick smoke. But instead of saving me, he wrapped his jacket tightly around my stepsister and ran, leaving me to burn.
I barely survived. But when I woke up in the hospital, my father and stepmother didn't even ask about my injuries.
They threw a stack of legal documents right onto my bed.
"Sign the papers, Avah. Step aside. Jaclyn is far better suited to be Kain's wife."
My fiancé then stormed into the room, publicly humiliating me with false rumors of an illegitimate child and threatening to bankrupt my company.
Four years of swallowing my pride to be the perfect, obedient pawn for our family business, all for nothing.
They threw me to the wolves without a single second of hesitation, expecting me to just lower my head and cry like I always did.
But the fire had burned that pathetic version of me away.
I ripped out my IV, letting the blood drip onto the sheets, and tore their contracts straight down the middle.
"The engagement is over."
I threw my million-dollar ring right at my ex's chest, then picked up the phone to call my trust lawyer. They wanted to take everything from me, so I was going to make them bleed.
9.1
Isabella thought she had the perfect life as the wealthy Conrad family heiress, complete with a loving childhood sweetheart.
Until she woke up drugged in a hotel bed, blinded by paparazzi flashes, as her fiancé pointed a shaking finger at her, screaming that she had drugged and seduced him.
"She threatened to ruin Kaylie if I didn't sleep with her!" he yelled to the cameras.
Kaylie, the newly discovered biological daughter, stood in the doorway weeping perfectly.
Within hours, Isabella's adoptive father publicly severed all ties, froze her assets, and kicked her out into a violent thunderstorm.
Fleeing the city, her car's brakes suddenly failed.
As Isabella lay dying in the crushed metal of her Porsche, Kaylie strolled up with a pristine umbrella and a genuine smile.
"The mechanic was quite expensive, but cutting the brake lines was worth every penny," Kaylie laughed.
Isabella coughed up blood, her heart turning to ice. Her twenty years of family, love, and loyalty had been nothing but a cruel joke, destroyed by a calculated frame-up.
She died suffocating on absolute betrayal and unadulterated hatred.
Then, she gasped for air.
She wasn't dead. She was sitting in the driver's seat of her car, staring at her flawless reflection in the rearview mirror.
It was exactly four years ago—the day the real heiress first arrived.
A chilling smirk curled the corner of Isabella's mouth. This time, she was going to rip their lives apart from the inside out.
8.5
Aileen transmigrated into a dark, unfinished novel as the villainous, abusive wife of a powerful billionaire.
The moment she opened her eyes, her husband's calloused hand was crushing her throat, and her six-year-old stepson was pointing a box cutter at her face, screaming for her to die.
A cold system voice suddenly exploded in her brain, forcing a mandatory mission: save the villainous father and son, or face immediate death.
To survive the system's strict Out-Of-Character warnings, Aileen had to keep playing the role of the deranged, hateful wife.
She was despised by everyone. Her husband threatened to drag her to an asylum, and her terrified stepson scrubbed the floor with his own pajamas just to avoid her wrath.
Things escalated when the novel's original female lead publicly framed Aileen in Central Park, throwing herself onto the grass and clutching her pregnant belly.
"She pushed me. She tried to hurt the baby!"
Archer rushed over, shoved Aileen aside with absolute disgust, and looked at her with the eyes of a murderer.
Aileen felt a bitter wave of exhaustion. She had discovered the original owner's hidden antipsychotic pills; the woman wasn't just evil, she was severely mentally ill and completely broken by this loveless marriage.
Yet, no one cared, and her husband would always choose to believe his childhood sweetheart's fake tears.
Since everyone in this world was convinced she was an unpredictable lunatic, she decided to give them exactly what they expected.
Aileen turned her back on the ridiculous scene, a cold smile forming on her lips.
She was going to stage a massive, undeniable psychological breakdown, using her "insanity" as the perfect shield to play the system and rewrite her fate.