The Jilted Wife's Dangerous Revenge
For three years, I played the perfect, invisible contract wife to Angel Wilcox.
But last night, after being drugged at a club, he lost control and brutally took my innocence in a freezing bathtub.
The next morning, instead of an apology, he threw a million-dollar settlement at me and slapped the divorce papers on the table.
His first love, Hillary, had returned from Paris, and he needed to clear the way for her.
He called what he did to me a mere inconvenience.
When I refused to sign the papers—because my brother would be killed by loan sharks without the Wilcox name to protect him—Angel lost his temper.
In the lobby, right in front of a mocking Hillary, he violently shoved me.
My head slammed against a massive marble pillar with a sickening thud.
"Don't play games with me! Sign the damn papers!"
He roared, trying to force the pen into my hand while I lay crumpled on the cold floor.
My body was burning with a severe infection from his assault, my wrists were bruised, and my heart was shattered.
How could the man I secretly loved for three years treat me like disposable garbage the second she came back?
I looked at his furious eyes, then slowly raised my trembling hands to cover my right ear.
The same ear that was severely injured in a car crash he caused three years ago.
"My ear is ringing. I can't hear you."
If he wanted to be ruthless, I would use his deepest guilt to trap him in this marriage forever.
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Chapter 4
Joy walked into the lobby of their apartment building. Her entire body felt heavy, like she was walking underwater.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
A limited-edition Aston Martin was parked right outside the glass doors.
Angel stepped out of the driver's side. He walked around the hood and opened the passenger door.
A woman stepped out.
She was wearing a blood-red designer dress that clung to her perfect curves. Her blonde hair was blown out flawlessly. Hillary Warner. Time hadn't touched her; it had only made her more expensive.
Angel grabbed a leather weekender bag from the trunk. Hillary slipped her arm through his. She leaned into him, laughing at something he said. They looked like a king and queen returning to their castle.
Joy's stomach twisted into a violent knot. Bile rose in her throat.
The three of them met in the center of the marble lobby.
The air turned to ice.
Hillary stopped laughing. She looked Joy up and down. Her eyes lingered on Joy's cheap sweater. A slow, mocking smile spread across Hillary's red lips.
"So this is the surrogate wife," Hillary said. Her voice was like honey poured over glass. "She's... plain. I suppose that was the point."
Joy's hands balled into fists at her sides. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She wanted to slap the smug smile off Hillary's face.
Angel didn't even acknowledge the insult. He pulled a thick manila envelope from his jacket pocket and shoved it against Joy's chest.
"The divorce papers," Angel said. His voice echoed in the cavernous lobby. "Sign them. Now."
He held out a heavy gold fountain pen.
Joy looked at the pen. It gleamed under the chandelier light. It looked like a weapon.
She slowly raised her eyes to meet Angel's.
"No," Joy said. Her voice was quiet, but it carried.
Angel's face hardened. He dropped his arm. He stepped closer to her, invading her space. The scent of his cologne mixed with Hillary's heavy perfume made Joy nauseous.
"Don't play games with me," Angel hissed. He grabbed her shoulder. His fingers clamped down hard, digging into her collarbone. "I told you not to make this ugly."
Joy winced, but she didn't step back. She jerked her shoulder, trying to break his grip.
"A legal wife has the right to stay in her husband's home," Joy said, glaring at Hillary.
Hillary rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Have some dignity. He doesn't want you."
"Sign the damn papers!" Angel roared. He grabbed her right wrist, trying to force the pen into her hand.
Joy fought back. She planted her feet and yanked her arm away.
The sudden movement sent them both off balance. Angel lost his temper completely. He didn't just push her; he shoved her away with all his frustrated force.
Joy stumbled backward. Her heels slipped on the polished marble floor. She lost her balance completely and flew backward.
Her right shoulder and the right side of her head slammed violently into the massive marble pillar behind her.
A dull, heavy thud echoed in the lobby.
Pain exploded in Joy's skull. White spots danced in her vision.
She slid down the pillar and collapsed onto the floor. She curled into a tight ball, a sharp, breathless cry escaping her lips as her hands flew up to cradle the throbbing point of impact on her head.
Angel froze.
The anger vanished from his face, replaced instantly by absolute horror. His eyes locked onto the side of her head pressed against the cold marble. He saw the faint, pale line of a scar disappearing into her hairline—a scar he knew intimately. A scar he had put there.
Three years ago. The car crash. The shattered windshield. The glass slicing through the side of her head. The blood soaking his hands.
*Nerve damage,* the doctor had said. *She may never hear out of that ear again.*
Angel's hand, still outstretched from the push, began to tremble. He took a half-step toward her.
"Angel?" Hillary tugged on his sleeve. She looked annoyed. "Come on, she's faking it. Let's go upstairs."
Angel didn't move. He stared at Joy, watching her shoulders shake as she gasped for air on the floor. His Adam's apple bobbed violently.
He looked at his own hand. He looked sick.
Without a word, Angel turned around. He didn't look at Hillary. He walked straight to the elevator and hit the button.
Hillary huffed in frustration and followed him.
The elevator doors closed.
Joy stayed on the floor. The cold marble seeped through her clothes. Her head throbbed from the impact. The sharp pain was real, but through it, a cold, clear thought began to form. She watched him flee not in anger, but in sheer terror.
She could hear the quiet hum of the elevator carrying him away. She could hear the gentle patter of the rain hitting the glass doors outside. Her hearing was perfectly fine.
She slowly lowered her hands. She touched the faint, barely visible scar behind her right ear.
It wasn't just a mark of the past. It was a map of his guilt. And it was her only weapon.
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9.3
Six years ago, my adoptive family framed me for commercial espionage, stripped me of my identity, and threw me out. Now, I finally returned to the Solis estate as a commercial pilot to take back what was mine.
But the first thing my adoptive mother did was threaten me with that forged evidence again. She demanded I take my sister Kiana's place in a marriage contract with a disabled man, simply because Kiana refused to marry him.
When I refused, Kiana ambushed me at the airport with a mob of reporters. She cried for the cameras, publicly accusing me of causing our father's and brother's deaths. She painted me as a ruthless monster who bankrupted the company and ruined the family. The crowd instantly turned on me, screaming that I was a murderer and a gold-digger. Kiana wanted to completely destroy my reputation so I would have no choice but to submit to her arrangement.
I looked at her fake tears, feeling a cold, absolute fury. How dare she use the tragic deaths of the only family members who actually loved me as a prop for her sick show? They had ruined my life once, and now they wanted to bury me alive.
I didn't hesitate. I slapped her hard across the face right in front of the flashing cameras.
"That was for my father and brother."
Then, my real fiancé, a decorated Delta Force commander, rolled through the crowd in his wheelchair. He tossed a classified Pentagon file to the reporters, completely clearing my name and exposing Kiana's lies. I married him to start my revenge, but as I stepped into his heavily secured penthouse that night, I realized my powerful new husband had been preparing for me for a very long time.
8.6
The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay.
8.9
Ava Kidd just wanted to escape her abusive stepmother when she got drunk at a high-end club and stumbled into the wrong hotel room.
She woke up the next morning in a luxury penthouse, lying naked next to a terrifyingly handsome man covered in her scratch marks.
Recalling rumors of the hotel's secret underground concierge, she immediately assumed she had accidentally slept with an elite male escort.
Desperate to settle the bill, she offered him her only debit card with a pathetic $1,800.
But the man, who was actually Garrison Terry, the ruthless billionaire CEO, was deeply insulted by the cheap plastic.
He trapped her against the bed, coldly demanding a half-million-dollar service fee.
When Ava frantically offered her dead mother's tarnished locket as collateral, he cruelly dismissed it as worthless junk.
Ava was humiliated, her heart pounding with absolute terror.
She didn't understand why this arrogant gigolo was acting like a deranged extortionist, demanding a fortune from a broke girl who had clearly made a mistake.
Furious and refusing to cower, she sneaked out, put on his oversized designer shirt, and aggressively ate his $800 truffle breakfast.
Having no money left, she grabbed her cheap red lipstick, wrote a defiant IOU on his expensive linen napkin, and fled the hotel.
She thought she had escaped a criminal, but upstairs, the billionaire traced her lipstick-stained name with a predatory smile.
"Ava Kidd, I will absolutely find you."
8.8
"Fuck...please..."
He risks a nibble, sending shockwaves to my core. My back arches off the wall with a sharp moan.
His hand slides between my legs, cupping my soaking panties.
"Look how wet you are," he whispers, "...shaking, and I haven't even fucked you yet."
He strokes my clit gently first, then harder. My toes curl, hair spilling into my sweaty face.
He's breaking me, ruining me with just his tongue and fingers. I can't speak. I can't think. I just tremble in his arms.
*********
The night I caught my fiancé cheating, something in me broke.
I cried.
I screamed.
I drove - into the rain, into nowhere, into him.
Cassian Cross.
A stranger with gray eyes, a sinful mouth, and hands that made me forget my name.
One night was all it took. One reckless mistake to burn away my heartbreak.
Until he showed up at my mom's wedding...
As my new stepbrother.
Now, Cassian won't stop.
He corners me in hallways, whispers filth at the altar, and looks at me like he still owns my body.
But there's one thing he didn't tell me-
He already belongs to someone else.
A fiancée bound to him by a contract... and a secret that could destroy us both.
He's dangerous.
He's forbidden.
He's promised to another.
And God help me, I still can't stop wanting him.
8.4
Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box.
She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her.
The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death.
"This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm.
Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer.
How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her.
Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind.
"Poison! She's trying to kill me!"
Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist.
9.8
I was an unwanted foster kid taken in by the Goodwin family, about to marry into the wealthy Cantu family to secure my adoptive father's power.
But at my rehearsal dinner, my adoptive mother drugged my champagne, intending to have me assaulted and ruined.
The next morning, my fiancé and my sister burst into my hotel room with a swarm of reporters, pointing fingers in manufactured horror.
"You filthy whore! The engagement is over!"
My fiancé roared for the cameras, while my sister sobbed about my betrayal. They had brought the press to publicly slaughter me, justifying their own secret affair while my adoptive family cursed me as a disgusting stray.
For years, I had endured their toxic abuse, only to be thrown to the wolves so my sister could steal my life. They truly believed I was just a helpless pawn they could crush and discard.
But they didn't know I had anticipated their trap and deliberately walked into the bed of Dorian Underwood—the ruthless billionaire and the only man the Cantu family actually feared.
As I calmly hit 'send' to broadcast my fiancé's explicit sex tape to every reporter in the hallway, I met Dorian's dark, predatory gaze.
I wasn't just surviving anymore; I was going to tear both their empires to the ground.