The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Design Comeback
I gave up my future as a top design graduate to play the perfect trophy wife for Wall Street billionaire Dominick Carrillo.
But at a high-profile gala, he suddenly returned from his overseas trip three days early, parading a Hollywood actress on his arm.
He dropped a million dollars on her charity necklace in front of the entire Manhattan elite, publicly humiliating me.
When I confronted him with proof of his lies back at our penthouse, he threw his limitless black card at me like I was a high-priced escort.
To punish my defiance, he violently pinned me down, forcing himself on me to assert his absolute control.
The next morning, he caught me fixing the terrible architectural sketches for his new boutique hotel project.
He coldly locked my designs away in his briefcase without a second glance.
"The business world doesn't care about sketches. Just be a good Mrs. Carrillo and max out your credit cards."
I stared at the empty room as he left for a hotel, my phone buzzing with mocking texts from other socialites.
For three years, I had locked my talent in a golden cage for this marriage, only to be treated like a brainless canary and a disposable line item on his balance sheet.
The rules of this marriage were done.
I opened my laptop, found a national design competition sponsored by his biggest corporate rival, and hit submit.
I didn't apply as Mrs. Carrillo. I applied as Aubrey Middleton.
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Chapter 3
The lights in the dining hall dimmed as a renowned auctioneer from Sotheby's took the stage to host the charity bidding.
Aubrey looked across the table at Dominick. "I read Bloomberg every morning," she said smoothly, brushing off his question.
Dominick stared at her for a long second. He didn't push it, but his eyes tracked her every movement.
The auctioneer presented the next item. It was a vintage Bvlgari emerald necklace, donated by Veronica.
"Starting bid at one hundred thousand dollars," the auctioneer announced. A few paddles went up in the back.
Veronica turned her head and looked at Dominick. Her eyes were wide, practically begging him to bid.
Aubrey watched them. She picked up her water glass to hide the bitter twist of her lips.
Dominick's face remained completely expressionless. He raised his paddle. "One million."
The entire room went dead silent. Then, a wave of shocked gasps and frantic whispers flooded the hall.
A million dollars for a necklace worth barely three hundred thousand. It was a massive, public declaration of support for the actress.
Portia Vaughn leaned past two chairs just to look at Aubrey. Her eyes were filled with fake pity and real cruelty.
Aubrey's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. She kept the smile glued to her face.
The gavel slammed down. "Sold!" Veronica gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. She looked at Dominick with teary eyes and mouthed a thank you.
Dominick gave a single, curt nod. But his eyes immediately slid diagonally across the table, landing on Aubrey.
Aubrey didn't give him a single second of eye contact. She looked down at her phone, typing a fast reply to Sloane's angry text.
The dinner finally ended. Guests began filtering out toward the valet waiting area.
Aubrey pulled her velvet shawl tightly over her shoulders. She just wanted to call her own driver and escape the suffocating air.
She walked down the side corridor of the museum. A large, solid figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.
Dominick stood there. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. He smelled of expensive cologne and raw power.
"Let your driver go," he ordered. His voice left no room for argument. "You're riding back with me."
Aubrey let out a harsh laugh. "Why? Is Veronica's van not big enough to fit your ego?"
Dominick took a step forward. His dress shoes clicked heavily against the marble floor.
"There are paparazzi swarming the exits," he said, looking down at her. His voice was ice. "Do you want tomorrow's New York Post headline to be about the Carrillo marriage collapsing?"
Aubrey ground her teeth together. She knew the rules of her family's trust fund. She couldn't tank his stock prices.
She glared at him, her chest heaving. She stepped around him and walked aggressively toward the exit.
They pushed through the glass doors together. A blinding wall of camera flashes assaulted them instantly.
Dominick's large hand clamped down on her waist. He pulled her flush against his side, playing the role of the fiercely protective husband.
The heat of his palm burned right through the velvet of her dress. Her entire body went rigid.
The bodyguard pulled open the door to the stretch Lincoln. Aubrey practically dove into the backseat to get away from his touch.
Dominick climbed in right behind her. The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the screaming reporters.
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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.
9.7
"Sign it. You're no woman if you can't give me an heir."
Niamh gave Marcus two years of her life, her unwavering loyalty, and her silent love. In return, the billionaire CEO served her divorce papers and a one-way ticket to the gutter.
Cast out into a rainy night with nothing but the clothes on her back and twelve dollars, Niamh’s story should have ended there.
Instead, she stumbled on a stranger in the rain.
In an attempt to save him, he kisses her senseless. He is the last Lycan King standing, and a man of terrifying power, yet he is haunted by a seven-century curse.
When the king has a taste of Niamh in the pouring rain, he knew he had to keep her for himself, even though she was human and it was against the laws of their kind not to mingle with humans.
The King needs her essence and Niamh realizes she could use her body to get what she wanted; revenge on Marcus and his mother for humiliating her and making her waste her time.
Now, the woman Marcus discarded is rising as a global conglomerate queen and a Divine Enchantress as assigned by the Moon Goddess.
While her ex-husband’s empire crumbles into bankruptcy and his body rots with a shameful curse, Niamh is learning that being "claimed" by the King is much more than the contract she'd initially made with him.
He wanted to use her as his cure. She wanted to use him for her revenge.
But in the Lumina Realm, the Goddess has other plans.
9.2
Nica caught her boyfriend, Chris, and her best friend, Ella, in a shocking betrayal. Chris was kissing Ella while caressing her close, and Ella only smirked at Nica as if she had won. Nica got pissed off and swore she would not let their betrayal go unpunished. What happens next? Read the story and find out for yourself.
9.3
Ginny was chained to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, bleeding and betrayed by the two people she trusted most.
Her fiancé, Brant, and her adopted sister, Coretta, had just slashed her face open. Brant coldly admitted she was nothing but a disposable key to a vault, right before he tossed a lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
As Ginny burned alive in the roaring inferno, the heavy iron doors were violently smashed open. Bedford Parks—the notoriously ruthless, germaphobic "monster" of Silicon Valley whom Ginny had always feared—charged straight into the flames. Ignoring the blistering heat, he shielded her charred body with his own. A massive steel beam collapsed, snapping his spine.
"I love you."
He coughed up blood, whispering his final words against her blackened skin before dying to protect her.
Hovering as a ghost, Ginny's soul screamed in agonizing realization. She had spent her life terrified of Bedford, yet he was the only one who truly loved her, while her supposed family laughed at her gruesome murder.
Suddenly, a blinding white light swallowed the warehouse.
Ginny gasped for air, opening her eyes to find herself sitting in the back of a luxury Maybach. She was eighteen again, wearing the humiliating clown makeup Coretta had tricked her into wearing on the day she was brought back to the wealthy Steele estate.
Ginny stared at her reflection, her dark eyes turning cold and sharp.
This time, she would tear her betrayers apart piece by piece, and she would protect her "monster."
8.1
Allison was hiding in a dusty small-town garage, working as a mechanic to suppress the lethal, experimental serum freezing her veins.
But a call from her estranged, wealthy father shattered her peace.
He threatened to permanently freeze her dead mother's trust fund if she didn't return to the family estate immediately.
That trust fund held the only key to the truth behind her past and her survival.
When she stepped into the sprawling mansion in her faded hoodie, her family treated her like a stray dog.
Her stepmother mocked her cheap clothes, and her half-brother called her a piece of trash.
Her father tossed a vocational school enrollment form at her, telling her to learn to sew so they could marry her off to anyone desperate enough.
Her perfect, porcelain-doll stepsister Gwyneth even deliberately smashed a glass of boiling milk against her own leg.
"Why did you push me?!" Gwyneth screamed, crying tears of fake terror to frame Allison.
"You vicious bitch! You're just as sick as your mother!" her father roared, raising his hand to strike her.
They looked at her with absolute disgust, thinking she was just a stupid, uncultured hick they could easily manipulate and destroy.
They had no idea that the girl standing before them was a lethal operative who already possessed all their offshore tax ledgers and darkest secrets.
Allison easily caught her father's wrist mid-air, her grip like a steel vice.
"I'm not going to a trade school," she whispered coldly, ripping the form into pieces. "I am going to Crestwood Academy."
It was time to take back everything that belonged to her, with interest.
7.5
I attended a high-stakes tech gala in a rented designer gown, desperate to secure a marketing contract to save myself from bankruptcy.
But the new billionaire CEO turned out to be Carlisle, the penniless ex-boyfriend I had brutally dumped four years ago.
He still thought I left him because he was poor, completely unaware I did it to protect him from my family's sudden ruin.
Terrified of his revenge, I stayed up all night writing a business pitch. But my old laptop froze, and I accidentally emailed him my secret, highly explicit NSFW fan-fiction about him instead.
He summoned me to his penthouse and accused me of prostituting myself for the contract. When I slipped and fell into his indoor pool, he violently shoved me away.
"Save your cheap tricks. My bed isn't for women like you."
Soon after, I received a formal sexual harassment warning from HR. He threatened to publicly bankrupt and blacklist me if I didn't present a flawless pitch at the executive dinner.
I was crushed by the absolute humiliation. I packed my bags, ready to resign and run away just like I did four years ago.
But then he sent one last email, mocking me.
"Lumina doesn't need a coward who only knows how to pawn bags and run."
That insult set my blood on fire. I wasn't a coward.
I deleted my resignation, brewed black coffee, and started typing. Tomorrow night, I was going to shove the most brilliant marketing pitch straight down his arrogant throat.