The Unwanted Wife's Secret Billionaire Identity
For three years, I played the perfect, uneducated housewife to my billionaire husband, Bradley.
Then I received a photo of him sleeping in our custom bed, a woman's hand resting intimately on his bare chest. It was my half-sister.
When I confronted him, he didn't apologize. He defended her, saying she was just scared of thunderstorms.
"You are her sister. Why is your mind so dirty?"
I handed him signed divorce papers, leaving with absolutely nothing.
He sneered, pointing at the door.
"A woman who didn't even finish high school? You will be begging on the streets in a week!"
Later, he violently dragged me away from a friend's house, only to kick me out of his car on a freezing, pitch-black mountain road just because my half-sister called crying about a power outage.
Standing alone in the dark with bleeding heels, the last ounce of warmth in my heart turned to solid ice.
He truly thought I was a helpless nobody who would eventually crawl back to him in tears.
He had no idea who he had really married.
The next morning, I put on a tailored power suit, walked into the towering headquarters of MY Corporation, and took the Chairman's seat.
It was time for him to meet Anna, the mysterious business tycoon he was about to go to war with.
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Chapter 4
The Mediterranean sun beat down on the private terrace of the luxury resort. Bradley lay on a lounge chair behind dark sunglasses, swirling a glass of champagne.
Kristal stepped out of the infinity pool in a tiny bikini, water dripping down her tanned legs. She walked over and leaned her wet body against his shoulder.
Bradley instinctively shifted away.
A flash of pure annoyance crossed Kristal's eyes, but she hid it fast. She picked up a piece of sliced fruit and offered it to him with a sweet smile.
Before Bradley could respond, his private cell phone vibrated violently on the glass table. He glanced at the screen—his mother, Priscilla Allsworthy.
He answered. His mother's shrill voice pierced his ear instantly.
"Bradley! Your wife has not shown her face at the family estate for three days! How dare she disrespect the elders like this!"
Bradley sat up so fast his champagne sloshed onto his white robe. Ice-cold liquid soaked into the fabric, but he barely noticed. Three days? He thought Herminia was just throwing a tantrum in the Manhattan apartment. He never imagined she would skip the mandatory family gathering.
He muttered a quick excuse and hung up. A tight, suffocating pressure gripped his chest.
"Is sister making mother angry again?" Kristal asked, trying to sound innocent.
Bradley ignored her completely. He opened his contacts and dialed the number he hadn't called in three days.
No ringing. A cold, robotic female voice spoke: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
Bradley thought the signal was bad. He stood, walked to the edge of the terrace, and dialed again. The exact same robotic voice. She hadn't just blocked him. She had canceled her number entirely.
Ice-cold panic and hot anger twisted in his gut. His fingers squeezed the phone so hard the casing creaked.
He immediately dialed his executive assistant, Connor Hayes. "Go to the penthouse right now. Find out what she's doing."
Five minutes later, Connor called back. His voice was shaking. "Sir... the apartment is empty. Dust everywhere." He swallowed hard. "Madam took all her personal clothes. It looks like... she really moved out."
A high-pitched ringing filled Bradley's ears. That woman actually dared to leave him.
He turned and marched back into the suite, ripping off his robe and throwing on a dress shirt.
Kristal ran after him. "Bradley, what's wrong? We have the yacht party tonight!"
Bradley's face darkened. "The trip is canceled. We're going back to New York. Now."
Kristal bit her bottom lip and reached out to grab his sleeve. "But you promised—"
Bradley slapped her hand away without a second of hesitation. His eyes were flat and cold.
"Get the jet ready," he ordered Connor over the phone, ignoring Kristal entirely. He couldn't breathe in that room another second.
Kristal watched his back as he rushed out, her fingernails digging into her palms until they bled.
Two hours later, a private jet bearing the Elliott Capital logo tore through the European night sky, heading straight for New York.
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7.2
In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled.
Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault.
For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice.
"Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get."
She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me.
In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed.
My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end.
As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was.
I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs.
I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell.
This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.
8.0
Abigayle was the proud heir to the Pena Group, living a perfect life and engaged to Jeffery Sullivan.
But the morning after a charity gala, she woke up drugged in a hotel room, blinded by paparazzi cameras. Her fiancé and her best friend stood at the foot of the bed, throwing a forged pregnancy report at her face to publicly frame her for cheating.
The betrayal was only the beginning of the slaughter. Before she could even clear her name, the Sullivan family ruthlessly bankrupted her family's company overnight. Her father was rushed to the ICU with a heart attack, her brother was run off the road into a coma, and violent repo men raided her penthouse. Just as she was thrown out into the freezing rain, Jeffery's terrifying uncle, Donovan Sullivan—the very mastermind who engineered her family's ruin—stepped in. He offered to cover the life-saving medical bills, but only if she agreed to become his personal plaything.
Abigayle's blood turned to ice. She couldn't understand how the people she trusted most could plot such a vicious, coordinated destruction just to break an engagement. How dared the man who destroyed her entire family stand there playing the savior, trying to buy her body with her own stolen wealth?
Facing a $100,000 hospital deadline and abandoned by everyone she knew, she didn't shed another tear.
"I will never beg him."
Clutching her last diamond bracelet, she hailed a cab straight to the biggest pawnshop in the Diamond District. The Sullivans thought they had buried her, but her counterattack was just beginning.
8.8
Kaia was diagnosed with late-stage bone cancer, with only three months left to live.
She wanted to give up her family's entire trust fund just to have Gerrit play the role of a loving husband for her final days.
But before she could show him the biopsy report, he looked at her with absolute disgust, declaring that their three-year marriage made him physically sick.
He only loved Seraphina.
To force Kaia out, Seraphina constantly framed her. When Seraphina faked a fall, Gerrit pushed Kaia so hard she tore her waist open on a glass table.
When Kaia writhed in agonizing pain from her failing organs, he stood over her coldly, mocking her pathetic acting.
Even when Gerrit finally discovered Seraphina had hired a fake stalker and maliciously burned Kaia's skin with boiling tea, he still chose to protect his mistress.
"I already signed the divorce papers with Kaia. We are going to bury this story temporarily to protect the company."
Hearing those words from behind the wall, the last shred of hope in Kaia's chest completely died.
She had endured his cruelty for three years, only to realize his bias for another woman defied all logic and morality.
Lying in the bathtub, coughing up mouthfuls of dark blood that turned the water crimson, Kaia picked up her phone and dialed her lawyer.
"Julian, initiate the final plan."
Since Gerrit despised her existence, she would make sure he never found her body.
9.6
Minutes before announcing her grand engagement, Darla caught her fiancé sleeping with her stepsister.
She publicly exposed them and canceled the wedding on the spot.
Furious, her adoptive mother demanded Darla marry a fifty-five-year-old predator to save their broken business deal.
"If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll let your father rot in prison for the rest of his life."
Desperate to escape her family's control, Darla grabbed a massive, intimidating hotel security guard she bumped into in the hallway.
She shoved all the cash in her purse at him—eight hundred dollars—and begged him to fake-marry her.
They signed the papers at City Hall that same day.
But the nightmare didn't end.
That evening, Darla received a cold phone call from the state penitentiary.
Her father had been found dead in his cell, and her company, owned by her ex-fiancé's family, fired her immediately.
They had taken everything from her, leaving her completely broken and sobbing on the floor of her tiny apartment.
She thought she had nothing left but a broke, fake husband to keep her company.
She had no idea that the "poor security guard" holding her in his arms was actually Anson Prince, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And he was already making the calls to tear her abusers' empires to the ground.
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?
7.0
I was the Stanton family heiress, engaged to the President's son to secure a vital military alliance.
But he cornered me in the White House sitting room, slamming a thick manila folder onto the marble table.
"I said, sign the annulment agreement, Hester."
He looked at me like I was dirt, demanding I step aside so he could be with a manipulative intern named Tricia.
In my past life, I was a naive lamb. I cried and begged him not to end it. My devotion was rewarded with absolute cruelty. He ordered my bones broken and my reputation completely shredded. My trusted assistant forced poison down my throat, and I was left to die with a rope burning my neck.
Until my last breath, I didn't understand. I had done everything perfectly for the family. Why did my unwavering loyalty only bring me a gruesome death? Why did the monsters who tortured me get to live happily in the highest seats of power?
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating terror of the noose suddenly washed away. I was sixteen again, staring at the exact same annulment papers.
"Hester, please. Just let us be happy," Tricia whimpered, reaching out her trembling hand.
This time, I didn't cry. I picked up the solid gold fountain pen, stabbed it violently through the center of the contract, and prepared to drag the entire First Family straight to hell.