The Ruined Heiress's Dark Contract Marriage
At her grand engagement party at the Plaza Hotel, Elsie Phillips thought she was the happiest woman in the world.
Until a high-definition video of her being pinned down by a strange man in a hotel bed was suddenly broadcast on the ballroom's massive screen.
Her fiancé, Kelvin, violently ripped his arm away in revulsion. His mother marched on stage, slapped Elsie across the face, and publicly canceled the wedding.
Her "sweet" cousin Belle dug her nails into Elsie's arm, whispering that she looked exactly like the cheap slut she was. It was a vicious setup.
Chased into the freezing rain by blinding tabloid cameras, Elsie hit rock bottom. But the nightmare was just beginning.
An encrypted phone left by her late father suddenly rang, revealing a terrifying truth.
Her parents' fatal car crash three years ago wasn't an accident. It was murder, bought and paid for by her uncle Fenton, who had since stolen her family's entire corporate empire.
When Elsie tried to fight back, Fenton's guards locked her in a dark room. They forced her into degrading sheer lace, planning to sell her to a sadistic Wall Street psychopath for fifty million dollars.
Standing on the edge of a second-story balcony, shivering in the freezing wind, Elsie's eyes burned with blinding hatred.
Her parents were murdered, her legacy stolen, and her reputation dragged through the mud by her own blood. Was she really going to die here, completely ruined?
Just as she let go of the railing to jump, a convoy of black armored SUVs smashed through the estate gates.
Arthur Michael, the most ruthless billionaire in the country, caught her in his arms. He wrapped his custom jacket around her trembling body and handed her a fifty-page prenuptial agreement.
"Marry me." He commanded, his eyes completely cold. "And I will help you send every single one of them to hell."
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Chapter 3
Lee Weston's backup armored vehicle had already been waiting at the other end of the bridge. After Arthur carefully placed Elsie into the secure cabin, he cast a cold, unforgiving glance at the crushed Aston Martin and the dented side of the Maybach. "Clean it up," he ordered the security team left behind. Half an hour later, the backup vehicle glided into the subterranean garage of Manhattan's most exclusive ultra-high-rise.
Arthur carried Elsie's limp, soaking wet body into the private elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing them in silence.
The elevator opened directly into the penthouse. Arthur bypassed the massive living area and laid Elsie down on the plush velvet mattress of the guest bedroom.
Her ruined couture gown was plastered to her skin, the fabric sticking to the fresh wound on her forehead.
Arthur stared down at her, his jaw clenching. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
He picked up the intercom on the wall. "Send the private doctor up immediately. And have the head housekeeper prepare to change her."
Half an hour later, the housekeeper had stripped away the wet gown and dressed Elsie in a set of dry, pure silk pajamas.
The doctor finished applying a neat white bandage to Elsie's forehead, bowed respectfully to Arthur, and quietly exited the penthouse.
Arthur stood by the bed, a crystal glass of amber whiskey in his hand.
He looked down at Elsie's pale, fragile face against the pillows. His dark eyes were unreadable, a stormy ocean of suppressed intensity.
Unbidden, the memory from three months ago clawed its way into his mind.
The chaos of that hotel room. The heat of her skin. The way she had cried and begged beneath him while the drugs burned through his veins, stripping away his control.
The image overlapped perfectly with the broken woman lying before him now.
Arthur let out a harsh breath. He yanked at the knot of his silk tie, loosening it.
He downed the whiskey in one brutal swallow, letting the alcohol burn away the violent, possessive urge rising in his chest. He walked over to the black leather sofa, sat heavily, and pressed a button on the intercom panel resting on the marble table. A few seconds later, his executive assistant, Lee Weston, stepped quietly into the living room holding a classified file folder.
"Sir," Lee said quietly. "We found out who rigged the screens at the banquet."
Arthur walked out of the guest room, pulling the door shut behind him.
He sat down on the black leather sofa and opened the file. As he read the pages, the temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees.
"Kelvin Barr funded the hacker," Lee explained. "The video itself was purchased from the dark web by Belle Barr."
Arthur let out a low, dark laugh.
He threw the file onto the marble coffee table with a sharp smack. "Initiate Operation Vulture. Contact our proxies at Goldman Sachs and use the offshore accounts to short every single position the Barr family holds. I don't care what methods you have to use, by the time the market opens tomorrow, I want to see their stock plummet by at least thirty percent."
Lee hesitated, shifting his weight. "Sir, if we mobilize the Michael family's core funds for this, the board and your grandfather will notice."
Arthur's eyes snapped up, cutting through Lee like a serrated blade.
"I don't care," Arthur said, his voice dripping with ice. "Anyone who touches what is mine pays the price."
The morning sun pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting Elsie's face.
A sharp throb in her forehead pulled her from the darkness. She groaned, her eyes fluttering open.
She stared at the unfamiliar, extravagant crystal chandelier above her. Panic hit her system like a shockwave. She bolted upright in the bed.
Elsie looked down. She was wearing men's silk pajamas.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She frantically patted down her body, checking for pain, for violation. When she realized she was unharmed, a shaky breath escaped her lips.
She swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed, her toes sinking into the thick wool rug.
She crept toward the door, pushing it open just an inch to peer outside.
The massive, open-concept living room was completely empty.
The only sign of life was a steaming cup of black coffee resting on the marble table, next to a small piece of heavy cardstock.
Elsie walked over and picked up the note.
The handwriting was sharp, aggressive, and elegant.
Your clothes are in the closet. Stop trying to get yourself killed.
No name. No signature.
Elsie stared at the ink, her mind racing. Who was this man? Why did he save her?
She walked into the adjoining walk-in closet. Her breath caught.
Hanging on the racks was an entire row of brand-new, current-season designer clothing, all exactly her size. The price tags hadn't even been removed.
She pulled on a modest, black cashmere suit.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she stared at the white bandage on her forehead. The coldness in her eyes hardened into something unbreakable.
She remembered the wire transfer Eduardo had shown her. Her reckless drive last night was exactly what Fenton wanted-an easy way to get rid of her.
Elsie dug her fingernails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke.
She looked at her reflection and made a silent vow. She would not let her parents die in vain.
She grabbed her old phone from the nightstand. Someone had charged it to a hundred percent.
She quickly uploaded the photo of the wire transfer to an encrypted cloud drive.
Elsie walked to the entryway and pulled open the heavy front door.
Two massive bodyguards in black suits stood like stone statues in the hallway.
They bowed deeply. "The boss instructed us to escort you anywhere you wish to go, Miss. For your safety."
Elsie didn't argue. She knew Fenton would be hunting her. She needed these men.
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the garage. She needed to go back to the estate. She needed her mother's diary.
Miles away, in a towering glass skyscraper, Arthur sat behind his desk. He watched the live security feed of Elsie leaving his building, a dark, predatory smile curving his lips.
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9.4
Six years ago, Breanna was shoved into a pitch-black hotel suite by her own uncle.
She was forced to endure a brutal night with a drugged stranger just to keep her grandmother's ventilator running.
Nine months later, she gave birth in a cold underground clinic.
But her uncle immediately snatched the crying newborn from her trembling hands, coldly announcing the baby had died.
For six years, Breanna lived in agonizing grief, working as a lowly hotel cleaner just to survive.
But a cruel setup threw her directly into the path of Elliot Finch, the arrogant billionaire from that dark night.
He did not recognize the woman whose life he had completely ruined.
Instead, he looked at her like she was rotting garbage, had his guards drag her into a wet alley, and mercilessly got her fired.
"If I ever see your face again, I will make sure you cannot get a job cleaning toilets."
Breanna was suffocating from the injustice, stripped of her dignity and her family's only lifeline.
Yet, when she instinctively protected a traumatized little boy from bullies, she discovered he was Elliot's son.
The boy clung to her neck, crying and desperately begging his father to let her stay.
But Elliot just threw a massive check at her chest, violently accusing her of brainwashing a sick child for a meal ticket.
Looking at the toxic disgust in his eyes, something inside Breanna finally broke.
She picked up the check, ripped the millions into tiny shreds, and let them rain down on his expensive shoes.
"Keep your dirty money."
She turned her back on the crying boy and the stunned billionaire, deciding she would no longer be their victim.
8.8
I was the despised adopted daughter of the Sanders family, hiding behind heavy gothic makeup and enduring their daily disgust.
The day my adoptive father died in a severe car crash, my adoptive mother and stepsister didn't even bother to call me.
Instead, while his body was still warm, my mother filed a multi-million dollar life insurance claim.
"I am not feeding a useless freak for another day. Pack your trash and get out."
She kicked me out into the freezing rain, but that wasn't the worst of it.
My stepsister Cornelia stole my greatest secret. Five years ago, I saved the life of Fidel Vaughan, a ruthless billionaire heir, from a burning estate.
Cornelia claimed my identity, accepted a million-dollar reward, and secured a marriage proposal from him, burning my only proof to ashes.
They thought I was just a helpless, pathetic high schooler they could discard and replace.
But when I hacked the police files, I discovered my father's crash wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit, and the Vaughan Group had hijacked the traffic cameras to cover it up.
I washed off the ugly black makeup, shedding the disguise of a pathetic outcast.
I am Spectre, the world's most elusive hacker and underground doctor.
I intercepted the billionaire heir's heavily armed convoy in the dead of night. They thought they could steal my life and murder my father, but now, I hold the needle that controls Fidel Vaughan's sanity, and I will make them all pay.
9.3
Candice Luna thought her marriage to Julius Hansen was a lifeline to save her father's struggling company.
She didn't know it was a death sentence until Julius coldly slid divorce papers across his mahogany desk.
His true love, Amina Rowe, was nestled in his arms with a triumphant, mocking smile. The "merger" Julius promised had been a brutal, hostile takeover designed to bleed the Luna Group dry from the inside. Bankrupted and utterly broken, Candice's father stepped off the roof of their corporate tower. Meanwhile, Candice was publicly humiliated, stripped of her dignity, and mocked by all of Wall Street as a discarded stepping stone.
She died in a car accident, her final moments consumed by an agonizing, feral scream. She hated herself for letting her blind devotion destroy the father who had always believed in her.
But when Candice opened her eyes to the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room, she realized she wasn't dead.
She was twenty-two again. Three years before the wedding. Three years before her father's suicide.
When Julius's assistant walked in holding a bouquet of blue roses to discuss the preliminary merger, he expected a docile, desperate heiress.
Instead, Candice grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand and flung it directly into his smug face.
"Tell Julius Hansen to never, ever send his dogs to my door again."
This time, there would be no engagement. This time, the Hansen family would choke on her family's legacy.
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.
8.8
Sold for scraps.Saved by a monster. Destined to rule them all.
Faith is a "Dud", a wolfless orphan living in the shadows of the trenches. Treated as a servant by her own family, she hides a mind more brilliant than any Alpha's instinct. But in the process of winning a life-changing scholarship, she is betrayed. Drugged and sold to traffickers by her own aunt, Faith thought her life was over -until she falls from a third-story window and lands on the hood of a car that belongs to the most dangerous man in the country.
Killian Nightshade. Billionaire. Alpha of the Blackwood Pack. A man who rules with ice in his veins and power in his hands.
Killian doesn't do favors. He makes investments. He claims Faith as his "Personal Shadow" to work off the debt of his ruined car. But as he forces her into the shark-infested waters of the North Elite Academy, he finds himself breaking his own rule: Never get attached to the help.
While Faith battles ruthless bullies and the predatory interest of Killian's rival, Silas, a twenty-year-old secret begins to stir in her blood. She isn't just a Dud. She is a legend. And when the girl who was sold for scraps finally shifts, the entire werewolf world will have to decide: Will they bow to their new Queen, or be burned by her fire?
7.9
On our third wedding anniversary, my husband skipped our celebration to comfort his fragile adopted sister.
When I went to look for him in the middle of the night, I saw them intimately kissing in bed.
"She is a spoiled heiress who cannot live without me. Let her wait."
He scoffed to his sister, calling me a pathetic, clingy dog waiting for a scrap of attention.
For three years, I gave up my career as a top surgeon and managed his estate like a compliant housewife.
I swallowed my pride because my dying father desperately needed an experimental drug controlled by my husband's company.
But when my father accidentally overheard how my husband humiliated me, the guilt gave him a severe heart attack.
Waking up in the ICU, my father grabbed my hand and ordered me to divorce him.
When I finally handed my husband the divorce papers on the street, he flew into a violent rage.
"If you file these, I will cut off your father's medicine and leave you with nothing!"
He threatened me, thinking I would drop to my knees and beg for his mercy.
He didn't know that my personal trust fund was the only thing keeping his entire over-leveraged company from going bankrupt.
I smiled calmly and executed the secret clause to instantly withdraw my two hundred million dollars.
This time, I chose to burn his family's empire to the ground.