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 7
The private clinic on the Upper East Side didn't smell like a hospital. It smelled like expensive lavender and money.
Joy sat in the leather examination chair. Her fingers gripped the padded armrests so tightly her knuckles were stark white.
Dr. Aris, an older Swiss man with sharp eyes, adjusted the massive, high-tech scanner positioned over Joy's right ear. The machine hummed, projecting a highly detailed 3D rendering of her inner ear onto a large flat-screen monitor on the wall.
Angel stood in the corner of the room. His arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes were locked onto the screen like a predator watching its prey.
Joy's heart beat so fast she felt dizzy. The machine whirred. Every second felt like an hour. She waited for the doctor to turn around and call her a liar.
Ten agonizing minutes passed.
The machine beeped and powered down. Dr. Aris rolled his stool back and looked at the screen. He clicked his mouse, printing out a thick stack of glossy reports.
Angel immediately stepped forward. "Well?" His voice was tight. "Can you fix it?"
Dr. Aris pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked at the report, then at Angel.
"Mr. Wilcox," Dr. Aris said slowly. "The physical structures of the ear-the tympanic membrane, the ossicles-they are completely healed. There is no organic damage left."
Joy stopped breathing. The blood drained from her face. Her stomach plummeted into a bottomless pit.
Angel's posture changed instantly. His shoulders dropped. A look of profound relief washed over his face. He looked at Joy, his eyes hardening with vindication.
"But," Dr. Aris continued, raising a finger.
Angel froze. "But what?"
"From a physical standpoint, the structures are healed," Dr. Aris explained, tapping the side of his own head. "But the auditory nerve pathways can suffer micro-traumas. If the patient reports severe pain and hearing loss, it is possible she is suffering from chronic neuropathic pain. Although the scan cannot definitively prove it, we could attempt a nerve block to isolate the issue. It is a notoriously difficult trauma to cure."
Joy's lungs expanded. She sucked in a quiet breath. As she shifted her weight, a sudden, deep cramp twisted in her lower abdomen. A wave of unnatural heat washed over her skin, followed instantly by a freezing chill. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to ignore the gnawing ache.
She immediately turned her head, presenting her right ear to the doctor. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a small, pained hiss.
"It feels like... like a hot needle," Joy whispered, her voice trembling perfectly. "It constantly rings. I can't hear anything over the ringing."
Dr. Aris looked at her with deep sympathy. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Wilcox. This type of trauma is notoriously difficult to cure. We can only manage it with pain medication."
Angel's hands slowly curled into fists at his sides.
The relief was gone. The guilt was back, heavier and darker than before. But this time, it was mixed with something else. Suspicion.
Ten minutes later, they walked out of the clinic.
The hallway was empty. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of their footsteps.
Angel stopped walking.
Joy took two more steps before she realized he wasn't beside her. She turned around.
Angel was staring at her. His eyes were black. The muscles in his jaw were jumping. He looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat.
"Your acting has gotten much better," Angel said. The words dripped with venom.
Joy's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"
Angel closed the distance between them in two strides. He backed her up against the wall. He didn't touch her, but his physical presence was suffocating.
"You're good," Angel hissed, leaning down so his mouth was inches from her ear. "You play the victim just like those high-end call girls play innocent. You know exactly how to twist the knife to get what you want."
Joy felt like she had been punched in the stomach. The air rushed out of her lungs.
She stared at the man she had secretly loved for three years. The man she had bled for.
"Take the million dollars and walk away, Joy," Angel said cruelly. "Stop pretending you belong in my world. You're just a leech."
Tears burned the back of Joy's eyes. Her throat constricted. But she refused to let them fall.
She lifted her chin. She looked straight into his hateful eyes.
"My ear is broken, Angel," Joy said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and absolute defiance. "And it's your fault. I am your wife. And I am never leaving."
Angel let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
"Don't get too comfortable," he warned.
He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, leaving her pressed against the wall, trembling and alone.
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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.