Too Late, Billionaire: Watch Me Leave

For three years, Ciara played the perfect, invisible protocol wife to billionaire Jordon Webb. But on the day she finally held a positive pregnancy test, he abandoned her mid-sentence to rush to the side of his ex-lover, Jasmine. Seeking answers, Ciara went to his Wall Street office, only to be publicly humiliated by his family. His cousin intentionally poured scalding espresso over her hand, leaving her skin blistered and raw. "She's a protocol wife. She knows her place. She's replaceable." Hearing Jordon's cold words to his friends shattered her. When he finally appeared, instead of defending his injured wife, he furiously scolded her for causing a scene and ruining his company's image. That night, while Jordon stayed at the hospital holding a perfectly fine Jasmine in his arms, Ciara was left completely alone in their dark, empty penthouse. A sudden, agonizing cramp ripped through her abdomen. She suffered a devastating miscarriage, bleeding out on the cold marble floor with no one to answer her cries. A decade of loving him had left her with a dead baby, a ruined hand, and absolute despair. Why did she have to lose her child while he fiercely protected the woman who mocked her existence? The next morning, her sorrow burned away into cold, hardened ash. Ciara signed the divorce papers, waiving all alimony, and left them behind. Jordon had no idea that his docile, charity-case wife was actually LUNA, the world-famous anonymous couture designer. She packed her bags, walked out of the penthouse, and prepared to take her life back.

Chapters

Chapter 6

The taxi dropped her off in front of a rundown, red-brick walk-up in Brooklyn. Ciara paid the driver and stepped onto the cracked, wet pavement.

She used an old, slightly rusted key to open the main door, then climbed three flights of stairs. The smell of dust and old books hit her as she unlocked the door to her old apartment.

This was her secret. Her sanctuary. The place where she wasn't Mrs. Webb, but LUNA, the anonymous, sought-after designer behind a cult couture label.

She dropped her soaked blazer on the floor. She walked to the far wall and moved a large, abstract painting to the side, revealing a flush-mounted safe.

She entered the code. The safe clicked open.

Inside were stacks of cash, several fake passports under different names, and the keys to a series of offshore accounts. This was her freedom. Her escape fund.

A sudden, violent banging on the door made her jump. The old wood rattled in its frame.

Ciara's blood ran cold. She slammed the safe shut, pushed the painting back into place, and crept to the door.

She peered through the peephole.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. It was Jordon. His face was dark, furious. Behind him, two of his bodyguards stood like stone sentinels, completely blocking the narrow hallway.

The banging stopped. "Ciara, open this door right now," his voice was a low, dangerous command. "Don't test my patience."

She took a breath, unlatched the chain, and pulled the door open. She met his furious gaze with a calm, empty stare.

Jordon stormed into the tiny apartment, his large frame making the space feel even smaller. He looked around at the worn furniture with undisguised contempt.

"What is this? What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, turning on her. "Did you really think you could hide from me? I placed a micro-tracker in the lining of your vintage leather bag three years ago, the day we got married. You are my wife; you don't get to have secrets."

Ciara didn't answer. She walked to an old wooden desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a folder.

"You will come back to the penthouse now," Jordon continued, his voice laced with the arrogance of a man who had never been disobeyed. "If this little tantrum of yours affects the Webb family image, I will have our lawyers bury you."

A dry, humorless smile touched her lips.

She turned around and slapped the folder down on the scarred surface of the desk.

The title on the top page was in bold, black letters: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Her signature, Ciara Novak, was already scrawled at the bottom, the ink sharp and final.

Jordon's eyes locked onto the words. His pupils constricted. For the first time, she saw a crack in his iron control. A flash of pure disbelief.

He looked up, his gaze searching her face for a sign, any sign that this was a bluff, a game.

He found none. Her eyes were as cold and hard as diamonds.

"I don't want your money," she said, her voice steady. "I'm waiving all alimony. I just want out."

The raw shock on his face was quickly replaced by a possessive fury. He lunged forward, his fingers clamping around her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

"You don't end this," he snarled, his face inches from hers. "I do. This is my game, my rules."

The pressure on her jaw was immense, but she didn't flinch. She didn't look away.

She raised her right hand, the one with the angry, blistered burn, and smacked his hand away.

The sharp sound echoed in the silent apartment.

"Sign it," she said, her voice a blade of ice.

---

Continue to next part

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.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.8

One Night Stand with the Love Struct Billionaire

8.8

Bella Danvers aka Isabella Powell is a 20-year-old college student who encountered the hot and ruthless CEO of the Rinaldi Corporation, Gabriel Rinaldi. They had a forgetful one-night stand that took a turn for the worst. Will he be able to find her before he is forced into an arranged marriage? Will she be able to tell him the news? Or will they be forced apart?

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.5

Reborn And Pampered: The Genius Heiress Returns

7.5

I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters. When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love. Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess. The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open. "Get out of my house!" My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home. In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me. But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them. I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx. Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate. As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower. Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle. "I want him to be my new guardian."

Billionaire Fantasy Romance

7.7

Reborn Heiress: Divorcing The Ruthless Billionaire

7.7

Alondra spent three hours making soup for her husband, only to find him at the hospital tenderly holding another woman's hand. "I'm four weeks pregnant, Gerard," the woman said softly. Gerard coldly handed Alondra a divorce agreement, claiming their three-year marriage was just a placeholder because this woman had once saved his life. Heartbroken, Alondra fled in her car, only to realize her brakes had been completely disabled. She spun out of control and crashed head-on into a massive delivery truck. As she lay trapped in the mangled wreckage with her ribs crushed and blood filling her mouth, Gerard's black Maybach pulled up to the curb. He stared at her dying body through the window with a completely blank expression. He didn't call an ambulance or even open his door. He simply rolled up his tinted window and drove away into the rain. A raw, suffocating hatred burned in her chest, hotter than the pain in her shattered bones. She couldn't understand how the man she had loved and served so devotedly could just coldly watch her die like a piece of trash. Opening her eyes again, Alondra gasped for air. She had returned to the exact morning two years ago, right before she was supposed to deliver that pathetic soup. When Gerard walked in and threatened her with divorce, she didn't cry or beg. "I agree. Let's divorce," she said calmly, packing her bags to reclaim her true identity as a billionaire heiress.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.9

Reborn Mother: The Billionaire's Ruthless Bride

7.9

In my past life, I was the naive surrogate who fell desperately in love with Karson King, an untouchable Wall Street billionaire. I thought my blind devotion would earn me a place in his family. Instead, his cruel mother forced me to sign away my parental rights to my three-year-old daughter. I was locked in a dark, freezing basement. I watched helplessly as his arrogant relatives tormented my child, pushing her down a flight of marble stairs and shattering her tiny arm. When we finally died in a horrific car crash, my face covered in blood amidst the shattered glass, Karson didn't shed a single tear. To him, my death was just the convenient erasure of a cheap mistake. I sacrificed my dignity for his approval, but they treated us worse than stray dogs. Why did my innocent daughter have to pay the ultimate price for their ruthless arrogance? Opening my eyes again, the harsh glare of a massive crystal chandelier pierced my vision. I was back in the grand foyer of the King estate, exactly five years ago. "Sign it. You are nothing but a gold digger." My soon-to-be mother-in-law slammed the thick legal contract onto the marble table, demanding I give up my daughter. This time, the paralyzing fear evaporated, replaced by absolute, icy clarity. I didn't cower. I picked up the pen, looked right at the billionaire who despised me, and prepared to manipulate his entire empire.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.0

Reborn To The Wife of a Billionaire with Disabilities

9.0

Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress. Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door. Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest. "Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises." The original owner had left her an absolute mess. Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings. If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days. Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic. Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies? She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim. Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest. "I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm. She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Too Late, Billionaire: Watch Me Leave

Chapter 6

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