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 5
Hours bled away in the suffocating darkness.
Suddenly, the deadbolt on the storage room door snapped open with a loud click.
Two heavy-set maids marched into the room, their hands gripping thick strips of cloth.
Elsie scrambled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her hand brushed against an old, ceramic vase on a dusty shelf. She grabbed it and hurled it at the closest maid.
The vase shattered against the floor, missing the woman by inches.
The second maid lunged. She tackled Elsie to the ground, shoving a foul-tasting rag into Elsie's mouth and tying it tight behind her head.
They dragged Elsie by her ankles out of the storage room and threw her onto the carpet of the sprawling guest bedroom next door.
Aisha walked in. In her hands, she held a piece of black lace lingerie so sheer it was practically transparent. Her eyes gleamed with a sick, twisted excitement.
"Strip her," Aisha commanded.
Elsie fought like a wild animal. She kicked, she twisted, she let out muffled screams through the gag, but the two maids pinned her down with their heavy knees.
They violently ripped the black cashmere coat from her body. The buttons popped off, scattering across the hardwood floor like teeth.
Tears of absolute humiliation spilled from Elsie's eyes, burning the fresh scratches on her cheek. She bit down on the gag so hard her jaw ached.
The maids forced her arms through the straps of the degrading lace dress, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. They hauled her up and shoved her roughly into the chair in front of the vanity mirror.
Aisha grabbed Elsie's chin, forcing her to look at her reflection.
Aisha picked up a tube of bright red lipstick and smeared it messily across Elsie's lips. "Look at you," Aisha mocked. "Cheaper than a club stripper."
Elsie stared at her exposed, trembling body in the mirror. Her stomach violently cramped. The trauma from the video, the feeling of being exposed and violated, slammed into her system. Her entire body began to shake with severe PTSD tremors.
Aisha clapped her hands together, looking pleased. "If you don't make Mr. Mortimer happy tonight, Elsie, I will personally flush your parents' ashes down the toilet."
Aisha turned and walked out, the maids following close behind. The bedroom door slammed and locked.
Elsie pulled the gag from her mouth, letting out a broken, animalistic sob.
She forced her shaking legs to stand. She stumbled toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, desperate for any way out.
She looked down. It was a two-story drop, at least twenty-five feet. Directly below was a walkway paved with jagged cobblestones. Jumping meant broken legs, or worse.
Just as despair threatened to drown her, the heavy iron gates of the estate slowly swung open.
A convoy of three massive, black armored SUVs rolled aggressively into the courtyard.
The door of the middle SUV opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit, his presence radiating an icy, terrifying authority. Beside him, Lee Weston lowered his phone and spoke in a tight, professional murmur. "Sir, just as you anticipated, we've tracked Mortimer Graves's signal to the vicinity of this estate. The evidence of their transaction is fully secured, and the FBI is standing by for your signal."
Elsie pressed her hands against the glass. She recognized the sharp line of his jaw immediately. It was the man from the bridge. The man who saved her.
Down below, Fenton rushed out the front door, his face plastered with a sickeningly eager smile. He reached out to shake the man's hand, but the assistant beside him coldly swatted Fenton's hand away.
Elsie's heart leaped into her throat. This was her only chance.
She slammed her fists against the reinforced glass, screaming for help. But the soundproofing was too thick. They couldn't hear her.
Arthur was already walking toward the front door.
Panic seized Elsie. She grabbed the heavy brass base of the vanity lamp. With a primal scream, she swung it as hard as she could against the window's locking mechanism.
The metal latch dented and gave way.
Ignoring the sharp pain in her hands, Elsie shoved the heavy glass window open. The freezing autumn wind ripped into the room, biting at her exposed skin.
She leaned halfway out the window. "Help me!" she screamed, her voice tearing through the quiet courtyard.
Down below, Arthur's footsteps stopped dead.
He whipped his head around, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto the second-floor window.
He saw the fragile silhouette clinging to the frame. Then, he saw the sheer, degrading lace dress she was forced into, and the tear-stained terror on her face.
The temperature in the courtyard plummeted. A murderous, apocalyptic rage ignited in Arthur's dark eyes.
Fenton followed his gaze and turned white as a sheet. "Mr. Michael, please, that's just my niece. She's... she's severely mentally ill-"
Upstairs, Elsie heard the heavy thud of the bodyguards throwing themselves against the locked bedroom door. They knew she had opened the window.
She looked down at the man staring up at her. She didn't know why, but looking into his eyes gave her a sudden, reckless surge of courage.
She swung her leg over the ornate balcony railing.
The bedroom door burst open behind her. The maids screamed, lunging forward to grab her.
Elsie closed her eyes, let go of the railing, and let herself fall into the empty air.
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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.