The Secretary's Fake Rockstar Husband
For twelve years, Cora lived in silent agony, loving her boss Bennett Hodges while serving as his perfect, invisible secretary.
But after one night of drunken despair, she woke up in a stranger's penthouse. The man, an indie musician named Callum, showed her viral paparazzi photos of her ripping his shirt off and demanded a fake marriage to save his career.
Cora immediately agreed, desperately needing a legal shield. Bennett had just ordered her to attend a gala as the personal date of a billionaire known for sending women to the ER. When Cora refused and showed Bennett her marriage certificate, he thought it was a pathetic bluff. To force her submission, Bennett froze her entire savings, permanently denied her hard-earned department transfer, and watched with a smug smile as his sister humiliated Cora for being the "maid's daughter." He wanted to completely destroy her life until she crawled back begging.
Looking at her ruined design portfolio scattered on the floor, Cora felt her heart turn to ice. She had dedicated her entire youth to a man who saw her as nothing more than a piece of furniture that knew its place. How could she have blindly loved such a cruel, controlling monster for so long?
The violent shaking in her hands stopped, replaced by a terrifying calm.
"I have documented every single abusive directive from this office."
She flashed the massive diamond her new fake husband had given her, threatened to burn Bennett's pristine reputation to the ground, and finally walked away.
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Chapter 5
The ceremony room was depressing. It was a small, windowless box with beige walls, a few rows of folding chairs, and a plastic archway decorated with dusty, fake white roses.
An elderly officiant in a black robe stood behind a wooden podium. He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and gestured for them to stand on the taped marks on the carpet.
The officiant began reading the standard vows. His voice was a monotonous drone.
Cora's heart started to pound. The reality of the situation was crashing down on her. She was marrying a man she met yesterday. Her lungs felt tight.
She turned her head to look at Callum. He wasn't looking around the cheap room. He was staring straight at the officiant, his profile sharp and intensely focused. He looked like a man signing a billion-dollar merger, not a fake marriage certificate.
"Please exchange the rings," the officiant said.
Cora froze. Rings. They didn't have rings.
The silence in the room stretched. Outside the open door, Simon was pacing frantically, chewing on his thumbnail.
Callum didn't miss a beat. He reached over to his left hand and slid a simple, unadorned silver band off his pinky finger.
He took Cora's left hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "Just for now," he whispered.
He slid the ring onto her ring finger. His large, warm hand steadied hers, his thumb gently pressing against her trembling knuckles. Time seemed to slow as the metal slid over her skin. It was heavy and ice-cold, sending a sudden, sharp shiver up her arm that settled deep in her chest. As the ring turned slightly past her knuckle, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the inside of the band. There were faint, worn-out letters engraved in the metal, so faded they were completely illegible. A sudden wave of quiet understanding washed over her-this wasn't just a prop; it was a detail that perfectly matched the story of a struggling artist's sentimental keepsake. She swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering against her throat. It fit perfectly.
"By the power vested in me by the State of New York," the officiant droned, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Cora's breath hitched. She hadn't thought about this part. She assumed they would just shake hands.
Callum turned to fully face her. He lifted both hands and gently cupped her face. His thumbs rested lightly on her cheekbones.
He leaned down. He stopped when his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth.
"Play along," Callum murmured, his voice a dark velvet whisper. "We have to make this look entirely real." Before her mind could process the shift in his tone, the air between them vanished. A sharp, electric tension coiled in her stomach. She looked up, her breath catching as she met his pitch-black gaze. There was no escape, no room for hesitation.
Cora closed her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered against her skin.
Callum's mouth covered hers.
It wasn't a fake, polite peck. It was a deep, consuming kiss. His lips were firm, parting hers with a dominant, possessive pressure that sent a shockwave straight to her core. Her knees went weak. Her hands instinctively flew up, gripping his waist to keep from falling.
When he finally pulled away, his eyes were pitch black. Cora was gasping for air, her face burning hot.
The officiant slammed a small wooden gavel onto the podium. "Done."
Midtown Manhattan. The top floor of the Hodges Group headquarters.
Bennett Hodges sat behind a massive, custom-built mahogany desk. His face was a mask of cold fury.
Felicity, the senior administrative assistant, stood rigidly in front of the desk, clutching an iPad to her chest.
"She didn't clock in, sir," Felicity said, her voice trembling slightly. "Cora is a no-show."
Bennett let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He picked up his Montblanc fountain pen and slammed it down onto the desk. The sharp crack echoed in the massive office.
"She's throwing a tantrum," Bennett sneered. He adjusted the cuffs of his bespoke suit jacket, a habit he had whenever he felt the need to assert dominance. "She thinks ignoring the charity gala arrangement and skipping work will force my hand."
"Her phone is completely turned off, Mr. Hodges," Felicity added.
Bennett stood up. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city like a god observing ants. A dark, twisted sense of control flared in his chest. Cora was finally trying to fight back. It was pathetic.
"Call payroll," Bennett ordered, not turning around. "Freeze her quarterly performance bonus. Effective immediately."
Felicity gasped softly. "Sir, that's her entire savings for the quarter."
Bennett turned his head, his eyes dead and cold. "Do it. Without that money, she can't make rent in Brooklyn. Give her three days. She'll be crying at my door, begging for her job back."
Felicity nodded quickly and practically ran out of the office.
Bennett walked over to his espresso machine. He poured a shot of black coffee. He took a sip, the bitter liquid burning his throat. He smiled. He had her exactly where he wanted her.
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8.0
My abusive step-family isolated me completely, holding my mother's medical funds hostage to control my every move.
Yesterday, they finalized my sale.
"You will marry Rudy Petrov next month. He is fifty, wealthy, and willing to overlook your lack of pedigree."
Pushed to the absolute edge, I did the insane. I posted an ad online offering my life savings of $50,000 for a contract husband. A stranger named Brennan agreed.
But my family wouldn't let me go. They forced me back for a dinner by threatening my mother's life-saving prescriptions.
At the table, they relentlessly mocked my new "poor IT guy" husband and intentionally burned my hand with boiling tea.
Worse, the housekeeper locked me in a guest room and forced drugs down my throat so Rudy could come in and assault me.
I lay there paralyzed on the floor, bleeding from Rudy's slap, utterly terrified. I couldn't understand why my own family would throw me to the wolves, and I felt a crushing guilt for dragging an innocent, ordinary guy into my nightmare.
Until a pitch-black Maybach smashed through the estate's wrought-iron gates at eighty miles an hour.
My "poor" husband kicked the solid oak doors off their hinges, beat Rudy half to death, and carried me out into the rain.
I didn't know it yet, but the ordinary man I hired to save me was a ruthless billionaire, and he was about to erase my family's entire empire by morning.
8.7
Emerson worked grueling twelve-hour shifts just to keep her five-year-old son, Leo, alive. Her only lifeline was her partner Alden, who was willing to give up his wealthy family to protect them.
But when Leo's bone marrow completely failed, the doctor delivered a death sentence. The only way to save him was a two-million-dollar treatment, or having another child with his biological father.
That father was Finnegan Mcconnell, the ruthless billionaire who had accused Emerson of faking her pregnancy and abandoned her five years ago.
Desperate for the medical fees, Emerson submitted her designs to Finnegan's company.
Instead of advancing the money, Finnegan tore her portfolio to shreds and trapped her as a prisoner in his estate.
To force her complete submission, he systematically destroyed her reality. He framed Alden with federal charges, leaving him facing twenty years in prison.
Alden's mother stormed into the pediatric ICU, violently strangling Emerson against the wall.
"Beg Finnegan to let my son go! You are a curse!"
Even Emerson's own adoptive mother showed up at the hospital, just to publicly mock her dying child.
Emerson was suffocating in despair. Finnegan already had a beautiful new wife and a five-year-old daughter—absolute proof he had been cheating while she was pregnant and alone.
He had his perfect family. Why did he have to hunt her down and sever every lifeline she had left, just to watch her drown?
With her son's heart monitor fading and Alden locked in a cell, her pride finally shattered.
Emerson walked into the top-floor executive office and dropped to her knees at the devil's feet, but the desperate mother looking up at him was preparing for a devastating revenge.
8.0
After years of a freezing, loveless marriage, my billionaire husband Israel finally threw me out to make room for his new lover, Ayla.
Before I even packed my bags, he ordered a crew to shred the Dogwood tree in our backyard and pour thick concrete into the crater, claiming it was a symbol of my infidelity.
He didn't know that buried beneath those roots was the urn containing the ashes of our unborn baby.
Stripped of everything, I tried to rebuild my shattered life by securing a supporting role in an indie film.
But Israel bought the entire production studio just to cast Ayla as the lead, demanding I act as her pathetic stepping stone.
When I refused, he cornered me on set with a sickening audio recording.
"We want one million dollars. This will ruin Karen forever."
It was my own parents. They had forged my medical records, planning to sell a story to the tabloids that I was a violent, delusional schizophrenic.
Israel smiled coldly, threatening to lock me in a padded room on an involuntary psychiatric hold unless I signed an unpaid contract to serve Ayla unconditionally.
My own flesh and blood had sold me out to a ruthless monster for cash.
Staring at the extortion contract, the last shred of desperation and love in my chest burned away into cold, gray ash.
To survive a monster, you have to become one.
I picked up his pen, violently signed my name, and prepared to rip his precious Ayla to shreds on camera.
7.6
For three years, I played the perfect, docile wife to Brendon Jimenez, desperate for the real family I never had as an orphan.
But during a high-society gala, I peeked through a cracked door and caught him sleeping with my best friend.
When I packed my cheap canvas bag to leave the penthouse, my mother-in-law blocked the door.
She dumped my clothes on the marble floor, called me a stray dog, and slapped me so hard my mouth bled.
Brendon just stood there, watching his mother humiliate me.
To keep me trapped as his perfect public prop, he even faked his mother's heart attack in a VIP hospital suite.
"Get on your knees. Kneel down right now and beg my mother for forgiveness until she decides to accept it."
I gave them my youth and unconditional loyalty, only to realize this prestigious old-money family was nothing but a rotting corpse built on dirty secrets.
I didn't cry, and I certainly didn't drop to my knees.
Instead, I pulled out my phone right in front of him and called my lawyer.
"File for an at-fault divorce. I have proof of his infidelity with Kaelynn Hudson. I want him ruined."
Then, I touched the matte black card hidden deep in my clutch.
It belonged to Kile Barrett, the ruthless billionaire shark my husband feared most, and I was going to use him to tear the Jimenez family apart.
8.4
After being kidnapped for years and finally rescued, five-year-old Izzy thought she was going home to her wealthy biological family.
But when the social worker brought her to the freezing bus station, her biological father, Conrad, didn't even get out of his Mercedes. He took one look at her tangled hair and worn-out shoes, his lip curling in disgust.
"I have a real family now. I'm not disrupting my life for this."
He drove away, leaving her choking on his exhaust fumes. When her rough, grease-stained uncle Bryan forcefully brought her to the family mansion, things only got worse. Her biological mother refused to touch her, complaining that she smelled like a dumpster. Her half-sister Katelynn pushed her to the ground, making her bleed, and framed her for stealing. Instead of helping, Conrad roared at Izzy, calling her a wild animal and threatening to throw her back onto the streets.
Izzy stood there shivering in her oversized rags, watching them stand together in a perfect, unbroken circle. She didn't understand why her own blood looked at her like she was a monster, or why they were so eager to throw a traumatized child back into the dark.
But what her wealthy family didn't know was that Izzy had a secret: she could hear plants talking. And the greenhouse orchids were screaming at their cruelty. So, she climbed onto their expensive coffee table, pointed at her mechanic uncle, and made her choice.
"I don't want Conrad to be my daddy. I want Uncle Bryan."
She walked out of that loveless mansion forever, ready to follow the whispers of an old apple tree in her new backyard—a tree that was about to guide her to a buried fortune of gold.
8.9
I was married to billionaire Alessandro Dorsey for four years. The only person in his cold, elite family who truly cared for me was his grandfather.
But when his grandfather suddenly passed away, my husband dragged me to the freshly dug grave and threw a newspaper in my face. The headline blamed me for his death.
Before I could process the grief, Alessandro forced me to my knees in front of dozens of flashing cameras.
"Admit your negligence, or you will never see the sun rise in this city again."
He threatened to destroy my own family if I didn't publicly apologize for a crime I didn't commit. Back at the estate, his mother falsely accused me of stealing a priceless family heirloom. I begged my husband to believe me, but he just looked at me with disgust, froze all my personal bank accounts, and handed me a divorce agreement. Sign it, forfeit everything, and erase my identity, or go to prison.
I was stripped of my dignity, my money, and the man I loved. I fled New York with nothing, only to discover I was pregnant with his triplets. For years, the injustice burned in my chest. How could the man who once meant safety throw me to the wolves without a second thought?
Five years later, I stepped back into the city with my three children. This time, I wasn't the broken woman he discarded, but a powerful gemologist ready to tear down his empire.