Follow
Chapters
Share
The Mad Heiress's Dangerous Mercenary Lover

The Mad Heiress's Dangerous Mercenary Lover

I spent ten years locked in an asylum, heavily sedated, until my wealthy family dragged me back to their Hamptons estate. I pretended to be a brain-damaged lunatic to survive. They didn't bring me back out of love. The Holden family was bleeding money, and they desperately needed me dead to inherit my massive trust fund shares. My step-cousin Cristian was the mastermind behind the purge. First, he tried to quietly murder our billionaire grandfather with a mutated toxic orchid. Then, he ordered a guard to drop a deadly Gaboon viper into my bedroom in the dead of night. My father was a spineless coward, my mother was drugged into a stupor by the family doctor, and my brother was a crippled addict. They all stood by as I was thrown into the freezing mud, treated like garbage. "She is a disgrace to this family! Get her back to the asylum immediately!" My uncle roared, completely unaware that my brain was forged in a decade of clandestine warfare. But the strangest part wasn't my hidden combat skills. It was that my blood relatives could suddenly hear my cold, tactical inner thoughts. Through my silent, telepathic broadcasts, I exposed Cristian's poison to my grandfather, woke my mother from her chemical haze, and turned my paralyzed brother into a ruthless, blood-soaked protector. Still playing the shivering, crazy girl, I smiled in the dark. The real war had just begun.
Chapters
Share

Chapter 3

Horace Holden descended the stairs. The seventy-year-old patriarch moved slowly, his black cane striking each step with authority. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept over the chaos in the hall. Gideon, dripping with coffee. Meredith, standing on her tiptoes to avoid the glass. And the mud-covered creature huddled in the corner. Gideon immediately straightened his spine, ignoring the wet stain on his shirt. "Father. We were just dealing with a situation." Horace ignored him. He walked straight past his son and stopped in front of Cilla. He looked down at her with pure disdain. "Pathetic," Horace spat. He tapped the tip of his cane on the rug, right next to a clump of mud that had fallen from Cilla's hair. "The main line produces a vegetable." Cilla flinched. She scrambled backward on her hands and knees, desperate to get away from the cane. Her back hit a glass pane, pushing it open. She tumbled backward into the adjoining conservatory. She landed hard on the stone floor, right between rows of lush, exotic plants. Mud smeared across the white petals of a nearby flower. Horace's face turned purple. "Get her out of there! Those are my Amazonian orchids!" Cilla lay on the floor, her cheek pressed against the cool stone. Her eyes locked onto the plant she had just dirtied. The white petals. The pink spots on the stamen. The purple-red veins on the leaves. Her brain shifted gears. The fog of madness vanished, replaced by crystal-clear data. That's not an orchid. That's an Amazonian Ghost Lily variant. And it's blooming in a heated room. Horace took a step toward the conservatory, his mouth open to yell again. But his foot suddenly froze in mid-air. His entire body locked up. The pollen is highly volatile at room temperature, the voice in his head echoed, calm and clinical. It's releasing a neurotoxin. Chronic inhalation causes irreversible myocardial failure. Horace's eyes went wide. He looked around wildly, searching for the person who had just spoken. But there was no one near him. Just Gideon and Meredith by the door, and the crazy girl on the floor. At the rate he spends two hours a day in this room, he has maybe a year left. He'll drop dead of a very natural-looking heart attack. The world tilted. Horace felt a hammer blow to his chest, but it wasn't his heart. It was the sheer, terrifying realization of the truth. He stared at Cilla. Her lips were sealed. Her eyes were vacant. But the voice... the voice had come from inside his own head. And it had just saved his life. Decades of survival instincts kicked in. He didn't have time to question how. He only had time to act. Horace gasped, his hand flying to his chest. "My heart!" he wheezed. He made his face turn red, his breathing ragged and shallow. He let his knees buckle. Reginald the butler screamed, "Mr. Holden!" He lunged forward, catching the old man before he hit the floor. The hall exploded into panic. Gideon yelled for a doctor. Meredith started crying. Cilla stayed curled up by the flowers, her body trembling. But inside, she felt a cold sense of satisfaction. Not bad, old man. Good timing. Horace, lying limp in the butler's arms, felt his eyelid twitch. He almost broke character. I'm being poisoned, he thought, panic and rage swirling in his gut. And I can hear my granddaughter's thoughts. The side door burst open. Dr. Cromwell, the family physician, ran in with his medical bag. He knelt beside Horace, pulling out a stethoscope. Horace grabbed the doctor's wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. He pulled the man close. "Lock down the conservatory," Horace whispered, his voice deadly serious despite his "weakness." "Take that plant. Root, stem, soil. Take it to the private lab for a full toxicology screen. Now." Gideon tried to step forward. "Father, what-" Security guards stepped in his path, blocking him. The medical team lifted Horace onto a stretcher. As they wheeled him toward the medical wing, Horace turned his head. He looked directly at Cilla, still cowering on the floor. His eyes were cold, calculating, and utterly terrified.

You may also like

Dumped For Pennies, Returning With Billions
8.4
Cari Butler woke up in a damp, smelly dorm room, realizing she had transmigrated into the body of a disgraced fake daughter who had just been kicked out of a wealthy family. Before she could even process her reality, the real daughter's friends kicked her door open to mock her, flaunting a custom Tiffany necklace that supposedly cost a mere eighty cents. Cari thought they were crazy, until she saw the news: a top Manhattan mansion had just sold for a record-breaking $3,500. The entire world's currency value had shrunk by ten thousand times! This meant the original owner's bank balance of $854,000 gave Cari the purchasing power of eight and a half billion dollars. But a mysterious system froze her funds, forcing her to work demeaning gig jobs to unlock the money bit by bit. While working as a hotel server for twenty cents a day, she caught her ex-boyfriend kissing up to the real daughter, mocking Cari for being a desperate beggar. Even her snobby roommates laughed at her, claiming she couldn't afford a ten-cent iPhone. What truly angered Cari wasn't the humiliation, but receiving a five-cent transfer from her poor biological brother, who was starving himself just to keep her fed. Yet, the system strictly forbade her from giving her unlocked billions directly to her family. Looking at the restrictive system and the arrogant elites who thought they owned the city, Cari's eyes turned icy cold. "If I can't just hand them the cash," Cari sneered, pulling out her phone to outright buy the luxury hotel and fire everyone who wronged her. "Then I will just buy the entire world and place it at their feet."
Escaping The Grasp Of My Billionaire
8.7
Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies. Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul. When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway. "Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?" But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity. Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files. But tonight, he returned. When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared: "We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore." Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation. I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows? I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow. I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.
Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don
8.7
"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly. Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!" "You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now." "Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him. Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly. "I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly. She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud. "Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!" "You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine." "I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!" Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked. Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly. Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..." "I can't," he whispered. And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her. *************** Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark. But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den. The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows. Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive. Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?
My Fake Husband Is A Secret Billionaire
8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs. On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles. Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door. Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever. Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall. But her nightmare wasn't over. When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive. There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara. They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet. "Well, maid, you better clean that up." Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos. Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone. She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power. What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach. He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.
Running From The Amnesiac Billionaire Tyrant
8.0
Aliya woke up in a dingy, freezing apartment with a throbbing headache, only to realize a horrifying truth. She had transmigrated into the American romance novel she read just last night, becoming the ultimate vicious supporting character. The exhausted man walking through the front door was Cyrus Pace, an amnesiac billionaire currently living under the delusion that he was a broke laborer. The original owner had trapped him with fabricated memories of being childhood sweethearts. Worse, she relentlessly abused him. Her phone was filled with toxic texts calling him a useless loser, and she had just staged a psychotic hunger strike to force him to buy a designer bag. Cyrus already looked at her with bone-deep, visceral disgust. In the original plot, the moment he regained his memory, his ruthless revenge would send her straight to a maximum-security prison for the rest of her life. "Are you done playing your hunger strike game?" Hearing his cold, mocking voice, the sheer terror made Aliya's blood run cold. How was she supposed to survive living with a future tyrant who already despised her? Every time his massive shadow fell over their cramped, shared mattress, her heart stopped. A single wrong move—even a microscopic mistake like accidentally crossing a physical line—would completely seal her doom. Staring at the torn box of condoms hidden under the bed, Aliya made a desperate, life-or-death decision. She had to completely rewrite her toxic persona, secretly hustle a high-commission real estate job, and save enough money to flee the country before the billionaire remembered exactly who he was.
Sheltered By The Coldhearted Billionaire Boss
7.6
Overnight, Ella lost her family, her home, and her entire life. Discarded by the foster system, she was left shivering in the freezing mud outside her ruined estate. That was when Javier Shepherd appeared. The terrifyingly cold, powerful billionaire pulled her from the dirt, threw her into a massive glass penthouse, handed her an unlimited black card, and vanished overseas, leaving her in the hands of a cruel caretaker. The caretaker treated Ella like garbage, feeding her cheap, processed meals while using the black card to buy designer bags. The toxic food triggered a severe allergic reaction. Ella collapsed in the dark hallway, her throat swelling shut, gasping for air while the caretaker locked the door and turned up the TV. She almost died on that cold hardwood floor. When Javier found out, he ruthlessly destroyed the caretaker and sent her to prison. He guarded Ella's hospital bed with terrifying intensity and even moved into her apartment to stop her panic attacks. Yet, when Ella finally broke down crying over her dead parents, his eyes turned to ice. "Losing emotional control over a juvenile past is an inefficient waste of energy." He sneered, treating her grief like a bad financial investment. Ella was completely bewildered. Why did this dangerous man protect her so fiercely, yet hate her past so deeply? It wasn't until his cousin visited the hospital that the cruel truth was revealed. Javier wasn't saving her out of kindness. He had been obsessed with Ella's mother—his family's adopted daughter who ran away years ago. To him, Ella wasn't a person to be loved. She was just a replacement asset, a ghost of the woman he never got over.