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 6
The VIP lounge at JFK Airport was deathly quiet.
Hillary Warner slammed a glossy fashion magazine down on the glass coffee table. The sound made the attendant in the corner jump.
"Why are we leaving?" Hillary demanded. Her red lips were pulled into a tight sneer. "Why haven't you thrown that parasite out on the street yet? Are you attached to her?"
Angel sat in the leather armchair opposite her. He rested his elbows on his knees and dug his fingers into his hair. He pulled hard, letting the physical pain distract him from the pounding in his skull.
"It's not that simple, Hillary," Angel said. His voice was exhausted.
"It is simple!" Hillary snapped. She leaned forward, her eyes flashing. "She's faking it, Angel. She's using that ear to manipulate you. She's playing the victim to keep your money."
Angel's head snapped up.
His eyes were lethal. The exhaustion vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying anger.
"Shut up," Angel snarled.
Hillary recoiled. She blinked, her mouth falling open in shock. "Excuse me?"
"I said shut up," Angel repeated, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You weren't in that car. You didn't see the glass. You don't get to talk about her ear."
Hillary's eyes filled with tears. Her perfectly powdered face crumpled. "You've changed," she choked out. She grabbed her designer handbag and her first-class ticket. She stood up, her heels clicking aggressively. "Call me when you remember who you are."
She turned and stormed out of the lounge, not looking back.
Angel didn't go after her.
He sat alone in the massive room. He stared at the empty chair across from him.
Flashes of Joy curled on the floor, clutching her head, burned behind his eyes. The guilt was a physical weight on his chest, crushing his lungs. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.
He pulled his phone out and dialed a number.
"Calvin," Angel said the second the line connected. His voice was ice.
"Yes, Mr. Wilcox?"
"Find the best otolaryngologist in the world. I don't care where they are. Fly them to New York."
There was a pause on the line. "Is this for... Mrs. Wilcox, sir?"
Angel closed his eyes. "Yes. I want a private clinic. Top-tier equipment. Book it for tomorrow morning. Whatever it costs."
He hung up.
He stared out the window at the planes taking off. He wasn't doing this because he cared. He was doing this to sever the chain. If he fixed her ear, he fixed his guilt. And then he could finally throw her away.
Three hours later, Angel walked into the penthouse apartment.
He bypassed the living room and walked straight to the guest bedroom. He pushed the door open without knocking.
Joy was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a book. She jumped when the door hit the wall.
Angel walked over and tossed a thick, embossed business card onto her lap.
"Dr. Aris. From Zurich," Angel said. His tone was strictly business. "He's the best in the world. We have an appointment at ten tomorrow morning."
Joy stared at the card. The gold lettering seemed to mock her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Zurich. The best in the world. Her palms instantly started to sweat.
She forced herself to look up at him. She kept her face blank.
"If he fixes it," Joy said, her voice tight, "does that mean I have to sign the papers?"
Angel leaned against the doorframe. A cruel smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"They are two separate issues," Angel said. "I just want to clear my ledger. I don't like owing debts."
Joy closed her book. She nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll go."
Angel pushed off the doorframe. He turned to leave. He stopped in the hallway and looked back over his shoulder.
"Don't let me find out you're playing games, Joy," Angel said softly.
He walked away.
Joy sat frozen on the bed. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. She picked up the business card. Her fingers were trembling so badly she almost dropped it.
A top-tier specialist with advanced equipment would see right through her. They would see the healed eardrum. They would know she was lying.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She opened a secure, encrypted messaging app. She stared at the single contact listed there.
The only person in the world who knew the truth about her ear.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. A drop of cold sweat rolled down her spine.
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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.