The Runaway Heiress's Accidental Contract Marriage
To escape an abusive ex who blacklisted her from every job in the city, Annabelle fled to New York with nothing but her late grandfather's secret marriage token.
Destitute, she was unexpectedly taken in by the ultra-wealthy Barrera family.
Meeting their sweet, handsome nephew, Davion, she naturally assumed he was her arranged fiancé.
Seeing that Davion already had a girlfriend he loved, Annabelle felt a deep sense of guilt about the secret contract.
Sitting in his passenger seat one morning, she confessed her true identity and offered to help him secretly break the marriage alliance.
But Davion just looked at her in sheer panic.
"What engagement?"
Before Annabelle could explain, his phone accidentally went on speaker.
A low, terrifyingly calm voice echoed through the car.
It was Jasper Barrera—the ruthless, cold-blooded head of the family, and the terrifying tyrant Annabelle had accidentally offended in the estate's greenhouse just days ago.
He had heard every single word of her plan to break the sacred family trust.
Davion's face went completely ashen as he hastily pulled the car over, his hands shaking violently on the steering wheel.
"Anna," he whispered, looking like he had just seen a ghost. "Who do you think you are engaged to?"
That was when the horrifying realization crushed the air out of her lungs.
She wasn't engaged to the sweet nephew. She was engaged to the monster.
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Chapter 7
The dining room was bathed in the bright morning light. Annabelle sat at the long mahogany table, carefully slicing her Eggs Benedict.
But her eyes kept darting across the table. She was covertly watching Davion.
He sat diagonally across from her, wearing a crisp white shirt, reading the Wall Street Journal. Every time he lifted his coffee cup, his movements were deliberate and elegant. He was exactly what a high-society husband should be.
Suddenly, Davion lowered the newspaper. His eyes caught hers. He offered a soft, knowing smile.
Annabelle's breath hitched. She quickly looked down at her plate, her ears burning hot.
Gabriella walked into the dining room, tossing her purse onto a chair. She caught the exchange and her eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Ugh, my car is in the shop," Gabriella complained loudly, sitting down. She looked directly at Davion. "Davion, you have to drop Anna off at her office in Manhattan today."
Annabelle's head snapped up. "No! Gabriella, I can take the Long Island Rail Road. It's really no trouble."
Davion folded his newspaper and set it aside. "It's no trouble at all, Anna. I'm heading to the city anyway. I'd be happy to give you a ride."
Ten minutes later, Annabelle found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Davion's Aston Martin. The cabin was small and intimate. The scent of his expensive, woody cologne filled the air, making her pulse race.
As they drove, Davion asked her about her new job at Apex Digital Comics. He listened intently, asking smart questions about the digital illustration process. Annabelle found herself talking freely, completely at ease. He was so easy to talk to.
When he pulled up to her office building, he smiled and wished her a great first day.
Annabelle stepped out onto the sidewalk, waving as he drove away. But as the car disappeared into traffic, a heavy feeling settled in her stomach.
He was being nice to her because she was his sister's friend. He had no idea she was the girl he was contractually obligated to marry. Holding this secret felt like a lie. It felt manipulative. The moral weight of her deception made her feel slightly sick.
That evening, during dinner at the estate, Annabelle set her silver fork down on her porcelain plate. The soft clink drew the attention of Eleanor and Gabriella.
Annabelle took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. "Mrs. Barrera, Gabriella... I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking me in. But I got my first paycheck advance today. I'm going to look for an apartment this weekend and move out."
The dining room went dead silent.
Gabriella's eyes instantly welled up with tears. She reached across the table and grabbed Annabelle's hand. "No! Anna, why? Do you hate it here?"
Eleanor frowned, her elegant brows pulling together. Her voice carried the weight of a matriarch. "Annabelle, has someone made you feel unwelcome? The staff?"
"No, no! Everyone is wonderful," Annabelle stammered, feeling terrible. "I just... I can't keep living off your hospitality. It's not right."
Eleanor let out a soft, elegant laugh. Her sharp eyes studied Annabelle's face for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. There was a calculating, knowing gleam in the older woman's gaze-a look that suggested she knew exactly who Annabelle Jenkins was and the weight of the crest she carried.
Eleanor reached over and placed her hand over Annabelle's. Her grip was warm but possessed an unyielding, authoritative strength. "My dear, this house is practically empty. Having you here brings a wonderful energy to the place."
Eleanor leaned in slightly. "Winter is coming to New York. Finding a safe, decent apartment right now is nearly impossible. I insist you stay at least until after Thanksgiving. We would love to have you for the holiday. Think of it as... honoring a family connection."
"Please, Anna," Gabriella begged, squeezing her hand. "If you leave, I'll starve myself. I swear."
Annabelle looked at the two women. She had grown up without a mother, without a warm family table. The genuine desire in their eyes to keep her here broke down her walls. A lump formed in her throat.
She bit her lip and slowly nodded. "Okay. Until Thanksgiving."
Gabriella cheered, throwing her napkin in the air.
Later that night, Annabelle walked alone down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward her room. She looked out the window at the moonlit lawns. She had tried to leave, but fate-and Eleanor-had forced her to stay. She would just have to endure this awkward, secret cohabitation with her "fiancé" until the truth came out.
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
9.2
Rebirth with a Twist.
Fawn Jones doesn't get a chance to resolve the issues with her marriage. No, she gets murdered in her own bathtub. Drowned by the husband she hated after he had moved his mistress into their bed, Fawn's last lucid thought is a promise before death. "I will not stay weak. I will make you pay. If not in this life, then the next." Then she wakes up. Different room. Different body. Different life. Cassandra Huntington – rich, infamous, beautiful in a way Fawn never had been. Cassie had been in a coma for six months after a car crash. Her billionaire husband, Blake, had just signed the paperwork to turn off her life support when she suddenly started breathing on her own. Now everyone thinks Fawn is Cassandra. The media calls it a miracle. Blake calls it complicated. The woman wearing his wife's face is softer, sharper, funnier... and so tempting he hates himself for wanting her. Fawn calls it an opportunity for revenge. Her killers are still out there. Her old body is in the ground under a lie. And the only weapons she has now are Cassandra's money, Cassandra's reputation... and Cassandra's husband. So, she plays the role. Learns to walk in six-inch heels. Smiles for the cameras. Seduces a man who once couldn't stand his wife and now can't seem to stay away from her. While she quietly buys into the company that ruined her old life. While she gets close enough to the man who killed her to watch him crack. They drowned the wrong woman. Now she's awake. And she's not done.
9.3
On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began.
7.4
Four years ago, to protect the man I loved from losing his billionaire empire, I drugged his drink, told him I only used him for his money, and vanished.
Now, at a high-society gala, Callum Wyatt is back. He isn't just a CEO anymore; he's a ruthless predator, and the second his eyes lock onto me, I know I am his prey.
When my wealthy half-sister publicly humiliated me, calling me the cheap bastard child of a homewrecker, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He nearly snapped her wrist in half and declared to New York's elite that anyone who touched me would be dismantled.
In the back of his Maybach, he pinned my arms above my head, his eyes burning with psychotic obsession.
"If you run again, Aubrey, I will burn your entire world to the ground just to keep you."
My heart bled. I had spent four grueling years tearing myself apart to keep him out of my messy, blood-soaked revenge against the family that watched my mother die.
But his terrifying protection only made my biological father's family target me harder, using their massive capital to buy out my movie set and crush my acting career.
They thought I would cower.
But as I walked onto the soundstage, facing the heiress trying to steal my role, I took off my sunglasses. I wasn't running anymore; it was time to make them pay.
7.7
Eva Brooks, a 25-year-old woman, was set up by her best friend. Her fiancé broke up with her and demanded compensation for allegedly cheating on him.
Eva had a one-night stand with the richest CEO in Dominic City, Ethan Owen. He was arrogant and offered her a job as his secretary.
As his secretary, Ethan couldn't shake his fondness for Eva. He became obsessed with her, worrying that she was cheating on him.
He broke up with his fiancée to become engaged to Eva, but will his fiancée let him go? Will Eva accept a relationship with her boss?
9.6
To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall.
My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent.
He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced.
I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower.
Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator.
"I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts."
I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa.
Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift.
He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time.
But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise.
Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires?
And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique?
I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap.