Too Late, Billionaire: The Doctor's Comeback
Aimee sat in the sprawling Manhattan penthouse, waiting for her billionaire boyfriend to return from a business trip.
Then a breaking news notification popped up. It was a paparazzi photo of Hamilton holding a prominent socialite, announcing their upcoming corporate marriage. The medical records Aimee saw confirmed the worst: the woman was already twelve weeks pregnant with his child.
When confronted, Hamilton didn't show a single ounce of guilt. He casually dismissed the baby as a mere "business arrangement" required by his family.
He pinned Aimee against the wall and threatened to completely destroy her medical career. He swore to cut off her research funding, blackball her from every hospital in the city, and force her to live in the slums if she dared to walk away.
He even sent his assistant with a Cartier diamond necklace, fully expecting her to accept the bribe and quietly play the role of his obedient mistress.
Aimee felt a thick wave of nausea. She couldn't believe the man she had loved for years saw her as nothing more than a clueless toy whose dignity could be bought with filthy money.
She took off his platinum necklace and placed his limitless black credit card on the marble vanity.
"I would rather dig through the trash than spend another day as your pet bird."
Aimee packed her faded medical scrubs into her old canvas suitcase and walked out into the freezing night, heading straight for the chaotic front lines of a public ER.
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Chapter 7
Aimee didn't even grab a jacket. Wearing only her thin navy scrubs, she threw open her door and sprinted down the three flights of stairs, taking them two at a time.
She shoved open the heavy front door of the building and burst out onto the chilly autumn street. Her eyes scanned the pavement wildly.
Near a small patch of grass by the corner, a little boy—maybe seven years old—was on his knees. He was screaming, tears streaming down his face as he shook the shoulder of an elderly man lying flat on his back.
Aimee sprinted toward them, shoving past three bystanders who were just standing there with their phones out. She dropped to her knees on the damp grass.
The old man's hands were clawing desperately at his own throat. His face was rapidly turning a horrifying shade of purple.
"I'm a doctor! Back up! Give him air!" Aimee screamed at the crowd.
She leaned over the man, pressing her ear close to his mouth. She heard a high-pitched, whistling gasp—stridor. His airway was closing.
Aimee placed her hands on the angles of his lower jaw and pushed upward, performing a jaw-thrust maneuver to open the airway. It didn't help.
She forced his mouth open and checked for food or objects. Nothing.
"A big bee bit him!" the little boy, Leo, sobbed hysterically. "Right on his neck!"
Aimee's blood ran cold. She ripped open the collar of the old man's flannel shirt.
Right over his carotid artery was a massive, rapidly swelling red welt. A black stinger was still embedded in the center of the swollen flesh.
Her brain fired rapidly. Anaphylactic shock.
"Who has an EpiPen?!" Aimee roared at the crowd, her voice cracking with desperation.
The bystanders stared at her blankly. No one moved.
The old man's lips were turning blue. Cyanosis was setting in.
Aimee pointed a shaking finger at a teenager holding a phone. "Call 911! Tell them we have a severe anaphylactic reaction with airway compromise! Now!"
She used the edge of her fingernail to carefully scrape the stinger sideways off the skin, making sure not to pinch the venom sac and inject more poison into his bloodstream.
Suddenly, the old man's body seized. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his hands fell limply to the grass. He lost consciousness.
Aimee didn't hesitate. She interlocked her fingers, placed the heel of her hand on the lower half of his sternum, and locked her elbows. She began deep, rapid chest compressions.
One, two, three, four... She counted the rhythm in her head. Sweat broke out on her forehead, stinging her eyes.
Leo wailed louder. Aimee kept pumping the chest, turning her head to lock eyes with the terrified boy. "He is going to be okay," she said, her voice projecting absolute, commanding calm.
Her intense focus worked. Leo stopped screaming and just gripped his grandfather's pant leg.
Two agonizing minutes later, the wail of a siren cut through the air.
Aimee didn't stop her compressions. "Go wave them down!" she yelled at a bystander.
A red and white FDNY ambulance slammed on its brakes next to the curb. Two EMTs jumped out, hauling heavy orange trauma bags.
"Elderly male, bee sting, severe anaphylaxis, airway is completely swollen shut!" Aimee barked the handover without missing a beat of her compressions.
The younger EMT immediately pulled an EpiPen from the bag and jammed it hard into the outer muscle of the old man's thigh.
But it was too late. The monitor they hooked up began to emit a rapid, high-pitched alarm. His oxygen saturation was plummeting.
The senior EMT grabbed an Ambu bag and clamped the mask over the man's face, squeezing the bag hard.
"The air isn't going in!" the EMT yelled, panic bleeding into his voice. "The airway is totally locked!"
Aimee stared at the monitor. The jagged line of his heart rate was widening, preparing to flatline. Her eyes narrowed into deadly slits.
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9.3
My father ordered me to marry into the cursed Vaughn family.
Their heirs were rumored to die young from a mysterious genetic agony. My sister Kayden laughed, saying she wasn't going to waste her youth planning a funeral. So, I became the sacrificial lamb.
When I refused, my father slammed his hand on the table and threatened to throw my dead mother's ashes into the city dump.
"You are a struggling actress with no money and no power. You have no choice," he told me coldly.
To make matters worse, my own agent drugged my drink at a business dinner, trying to sell my body to a sleazy investor just to secure project funding.
I was completely cornered, suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could be so vicious, treating me like a worthless pawn to be traded and discarded.
But none of them knew that while escaping the drug-laced dinner, I crashed directly into the terrifying Vaughn heir, Algot.
When his glowing crimson eyes locked onto me during a violent episode of his cursed pain, we discovered an impossible truth: my physical touch was the only cure for his agony.
Looking at the dark bruises he accidentally left on my neck, I chose not to run. Instead, I pulled out the private business card he gave me and dialed his number.
"You need me," I whispered to the dangerous billionaire. "And I am going to use you to destroy them all."
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
8.0
Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street.
To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon.
But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever.
"Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it."
Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her.
Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end.
Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?
8.3
Hovering as a translucent soul in the freezing cemetery, I watched Corbin Mendez—the ruthless billionaire I had spent my entire life despising—violently smash open my tomb.
I thought he had come to desecrate my corpse. Instead, he collapsed to his knees, reverently kissed my dead lips, and swallowed a lethal bottle of pills without a drop of water.
In my past life, I was betrayed by my ex-fiancé, framed by my vicious step-family, and trapped in a suffocating marriage with Corbin. I thought he was a paranoid, abusive monster who only wanted to control me. I fought his madness every single day until I died sick, exhausted, and utterly defeated.
But watching him climb into my casket, wrapping his massive arms around my cold body to die beside me, my non-existent heart shattered.
Why hadn't I seen the truth? He wasn't a monster; he was a deeply traumatized man suffering from severe PTSD, and his obsessive love for me was his only tether to sanity.
The regret and agony tore my soul to pieces.
"My love, I'm too late."
Those were his last words before his heart stopped.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't floating in a dark tomb. I was lying in Corbin's bed, exactly two years in the past.
This time, I wouldn't run away. I would heal the broken beast who died for me, and I would personally put a bullet in everyone who ruined us.
9.0
I died on the cold delivery table, bleeding out while the heart monitor flatlined.
Through the blinding surgical lights, I heard my husband Damon's cold, final order to the doctors.
"The child is the priority."
He didn't care about my life. To him, I was just a vessel to produce an heir, a tool to fulfill his prenuptial clause and secure his billionaire empire.
While I took my last agonizing breath, he was already planning his future with his fragile, theatrical mistress, Jasmin.
In my past life, when he first brought her into our home claiming she was a helpless victim, I shattered.
I screamed, threw vases, and played the hysterical wife perfectly.
My desperate pleas for his affection only gave him the exact weapons he needed to ruin my reputation, isolate me, and ultimately force me onto that fatal delivery bed.
Until my very last moment, the suffocating pain in my chest wasn't just physical.
I couldn't understand how the man I loved could treat my death like a simple business transaction.
Why was my absolute devotion rewarded with a carefully calculated execution?
But then, my eyes snapped open.
I was sitting on the edge of my king-sized bed, exactly three years before my death.
From downstairs, I heard Damon's voice echoing in the foyer, bringing Jasmin into our home for the very first time.
This time, the scream building in my chest turned to ice.
I didn't cry or throw a fit.
Instead, I calmly swallowed a secret birth control pill, smiled at his mistress, and dialed the most ruthless divorce lawyer in Manhattan.
7.2
For ten years, Aurora was abandoned by her wealthy family to rot in the countryside.
When she finally returned, there was no warm welcome. The Lott family only brought her back to replace her adopted sister in an arranged marriage with Damian Yates, a notoriously violent, crippled billionaire, just to save their bankrupt company.
Her grandmother mocked her as uneducated trash. Her fake sister feigned disgust at her very presence.
When her biological father desperately tried to stop them from sending his daughter to her death, the family turned on him.
Her grandmother struck her father across the face, kicked the three of them out of the manor into the freezing rain, and arrogantly declared they would starve on the streets by nightfall.
They thought Aurora was just a helpless, pathetic hillbilly who would quietly accept being sold as livestock.
They had no idea that over the past decade, she had survived the darkest corners of the world, becoming a lethal operative with unimaginable power.
Standing in the cold rain, Aurora didn't shed a single tear.
She calmly pulled out her encrypted phone, personally canceled the billionaire's marriage contract, and ordered her hacker to completely freeze the Lott family's accounts.
"Total financial annihilation. Burn them to the ground."
But as she watched her abusers' legacy crumble, a classified file arrived on her phone, revealing that the very billionaire she just rejected was tied to her mother's unsolved murder.
The real hunt was just beginning.