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 8
Tiffany marched furiously up to the heavy, velvet-draped doors of the Private Client Suite. Her newly purchased designer bags swung aggressively from her arms, hitting her thighs with every step.
She reached for the polished brass handle, fully intending to storm inside and demand a private fitting room to soothe her bruised ego and hide from the whispering crowd.
Before her fingers could even touch the metal, Mr. Hayes stepped smoothly into her path. The general manager used his body to physically block the entrance.
Mr. Hayes offered a tight, professional smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I apologize, Ms. Vance. The suite is currently occupied by a VVIP client and is strictly off-limits."
Tiffany scoffs loudly, waving her long, expensive receipt directly in his face. "I just spent over a hundred thousand dollars on your floor! I am a platinum tier client!"
She demanded he kick out whoever was inside immediately.
Mr. Hayes didn't even blink at the receipt. His posture remained rigid, his tone dropping an octave to convey absolute authority. "The suite is unavailable."
Kadence caught up to them, breathless and pale. She tugged frantically at Tiffany's arm. "Tiffany, please, let's just go. This is a mistake."
Tiffany ripped her arm away from Kadence. The humiliation from Ava's earlier comments fueled a blind, irrational rage that overrode all common sense.
Ava strolled up behind them. Her footsteps were completely unhurried. She watched the spectacle with detached, cold amusement.
Tiffany spun around, seeing Ava standing there. She immediately pointed a manicured finger at her. "You bribed the manager to embarrass me! You pathetic bitch!"
Ava laughed. It was a soft, melodic sound that chilled the air. "Do you truly believe a hundred thousand dollars makes you royalty in a city of billionaires, Tiffany?"
Tiffany lost the last shred of her composure. She lunged forward slightly, her face contorted in rage. "I will call the press! I will ruin this store's reputation!"
Mr. Hayes immediately signaled with a sharp nod. Two burly security guards, previously standing discreetly near the jewelry counters, began to close in on the group.
Ava stepped past Kadence, invading the mistress's personal space. The scent of Ava's custom, expensive perfume overwhelmed Kadence's senses.
Ava leaned in and whispered directly into Kadence's ear. "How do you think Bryant's IPO investors would react if a high-definition video of his hospital hallway make-out session leaked to Page Six tonight?"
Kadence's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. All the remaining color left her face. Ava had hard, digital evidence.
Kadence stumbled backward. Her designer shopping bag dropped from her trembling hands, the contents spilling across the polished marble floor.
She grabbed Tiffany by the shoulders, her voice a desperate, cracking sob. "Stop causing a scene! We have to leave!"
Tiffany, confused by Kadence's sudden emotional breakdown, looked between her panicked friend and the eerily calm Ava.
"Stop acting weak!" Tiffany yelled at Kadence. "I won't let a discarded, penniless ex-wife win this!"
She turned back to Mr. Hayes, raising her voice to a shrill, ear-piercing screech. "I demand to speak to the owner of this department store immediately! I will have you fired by the end of the day!"
A heavy click echoed loudly in the tense corridor. The velvet doors of the Private Client Suite unlocked from the inside.
The doors swung open slowly, revealing the opulent interior and the imposing figure standing in the dead center of the room.
Anona Beaumont stepped out into the corridor. She was draped in understated cashmere, wearing a diamond necklace worth more than Tiffany's entire family trust fund.
Anona's gaze swept over the scene. Her eyes were cold, sharp, and instantly assessed the threat to her daughter.
Tiffany, completely failing to recognize the reclusive billionaire matriarch, crossed her arms. "And who the hell are you?"
Mr. Hayes immediately bowed his head in deep respect, stepping aside to give Anona the floor.
Anona looked at Tiffany like one looks at a crushed cockroach. Her voice cut through the air like a diamond blade as she prepared to answer.
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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.