Trading My Ex For His Billionaire Uncle
I spent three years working as my fiancé Cam's shadow analyst, writing his reports and securing his corporate bonuses.
But at a company banquet, I opened a lounge door and found him pinning my stepsister Kiley against a sofa.
"I'll cancel the engagement," Cam murmured against her neck. "She's just a boring machine."
Instead of crying, I dug into his accounts and found he had embezzled five million dollars to buy Kiley a luxury penthouse.
When I presented the irrefutable photos and bank statements to my adoptive family, my mother slapped me across the face.
She accused me of fabricating the evidence out of jealousy, fiercely protecting her biological daughter while throwing me out into the cold.
Cam even tracked me down on the street, raising his fist to beat me just for making his mistress cry.
Three years of my devotion were treated like absolute garbage, discarded for a fragile hypocrite.
They all thought I was an orphaned nobody who would swallow the humiliation and walk away empty-handed.
They didn't know that right after catching them, I had crashed into the chest of the most dangerous man in the room.
Hayes Cooper, the King of Wall Street, and Cam's ruthless uncle.
Sitting in the back of an Uber, I emailed Hayes a hidden file containing all of Cam's federal crimes.
I didn't just want the penthouse back. I wanted my ex in prison, and his Director's chair for myself.
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Chapter 2
Jocelyn woke up. The morning sun stabbed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, blinding her.
She pulled the heavy duvet up to her chest and sat up. Her muscles ached, a sharp reminder of the violence and passion of the night before.
She turned her head. Hayes was standing in front of the full-length mirror.
He was already fully dressed. His suit was immaculate. His face was a mask of cold indifference. It was as if the wild beast from last night had never existed. The air in the room felt freezing.
Jocelyn opened her mouth to speak.
Hayes didn't look at her. He picked up his phone from the dresser, tapped the screen a few times, and set it down. A second later, her old phone on the nightstand chimed with a message. It was a digital transfer notification from his assistant, Julian, showing a seven-figure sum deposited into a proxy account.
"Leave," he said. His voice was completely flat.
The glowing screen illuminated the sterile white sheets. Jocelyn's chest tightened with a sharp, humiliating sting. She clamped her jaw shut. She refused to let him see her break.
Suddenly, the phone on the nightstand vibrated loudly.
The screen lit up. The name 'Cam' flashed across the glass. The buzzing shattered the dead silence of the room.
Hayes paused. His fingers stopped adjusting his tie. His eyes flicked to the mirror, staring at the glowing screen on the bed. The temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees.
Jocelyn picked up the phone. She swiped to answer it right in front of him.
"Where the hell are you?" Cam's irritated voice barked through the speaker. "Get downstairs. We have the family brunch."
Jocelyn kept her voice perfectly steady. "I slept over at a friend's house. I overslept."
"You're wasting my time," Cam snapped, completely oblivious. "Hurry up."
Jocelyn ended the call. She threw the duvet off and stepped onto the plush rug barefoot. She picked up her ruined silk dress from the floor and slipped it on.
She didn't even glance at the notification. She walked straight past the bed, heading for the massive glass window that overlooked the Manhattan streets.
She looked down.
A familiar black Porsche was parked on the street below. Cam was leaning against the driver's side door, smoking a cigarette, looking annoyed.
A dark thrill of revenge shot through Jocelyn's veins. She spun around and walked right into Hayes's path as he headed for the door.
She blocked him. She looked up at his towering frame. Slowly, she reached up and pulled the collar of her dress down, exposing the dark red marks on her collarbone.
Hayes's eyes darkened. "The game is over," he warned. He reached out to push her aside.
Jocelyn grabbed his tie. She wrapped the silk around her fist and yanked hard. Hayes was forced to lower his head. Their noses almost touched.
"Is the King of Wall Street scared of his own nephew?" she whispered.
A storm erupted in Hayes's eyes.
He didn't push her away. His large hands gripped her waist. He lifted her entirely off the floor and carried her toward the window.
Jocelyn's bare back hit the freezing glass. She gasped.
Cam's figure down on the street suddenly felt terrifyingly close.
Hayes grabbed her chin, forcing her to look down. "Is this the cheap thrill you're looking for?" he sneered.
Jocelyn's heart pounded so hard it hurt her ribs. She looked at Cam, completely clueless below them. She refused to back down. She turned her head and crashed her lips against Hayes's mouth.
He didn't stop her. He kissed her back with brutal force. He pinned her against the glass, taking everything she offered.
The glass was freezing. His body was burning hot. Out of the corner of her eye, Jocelyn saw Cam shift his weight. He was getting ready to look up.
Panic seized her throat. Her body started to tremble. She tried to pull back, but Hayes's arm was an iron band around her waist. She dug her nails into his bicep.
Cam tilted his head back. His eyes scanned the upper floors of the building.
Jocelyn squeezed her eyes shut in pure terror.
A second before Cam's eyes locked onto them, Hayes reached out and slammed his hand against the wall panel. The electronic blinds dropped instantly, plunging the room into shadows.
Hayes broke the kiss. He stepped back. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, his eyes unreadable.
He adjusted his tie, smoothing out the wrinkles she had made. "Don't ever play these stupid games with me again," he said coldly. "Or I'll ruin you."
Jocelyn leaned against the glass, gasping for air. She watched him walk out the door. A slow, victorious smile spread across her swollen lips.
She quickly fixed her dress. She walked over to the bed, picked up her phone, and ruthlessly deleted the transfer message, blocking the proxy account entirely. She tossed the phone into her purse.
Jocelyn opened the penthouse door and walked to the elevator. It was time to go downstairs and face the man she had just betrayed.
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9.3
On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began.
9.7
Clarissa rushed into a crowded nightclub for one simple reason: to save her wildly drunk best friend.
But her ruthless billionaire husband, Giovanny, was watching from the VIP room. After effortlessly ruining a man just for grabbing her wrist, Giovanny punished Clarissa for breaching their public image contract with an impossible curfew.
When she inevitably arrived back at his penthouse late, he didn't just yell. He forced her to her knees by his bathtub to wash his back, making her watch an explicit, humiliating video as punishment.
A sudden family medical emergency dragged them to his parents' estate. Still in her soaked, transparent dress and his misbuttoned shirt, Giovanny's mother caught them. She joyfully assumed they had been passionately intimate.
Instead of clearing her name, Giovanny pulled Clarissa close and lied to his mother's face.
"We are working very hard on the family's future, Mother."
He locked her in the guest suite, tossed a sheer silk nightgown on the bed, and literally shattered the tablet holding their "no-contact" prenuptial agreement. He then slapped a file against the window—he had secretly bought all her father's toxic debt.
Clarissa was terrified. They were supposed to be business allies bound by a strict contract. Why was he suddenly acting like a predator determined to own her body and soul?
"Give me an heir, or your father goes to federal prison," he whispered.
Stripped of all choices, Clarissa picked up the white silk. She would surrender tonight to save her family, but as his shadow swallowed her, she made a silent vow to survive this monster, and one day, tear his empire to the ground.
8.4
Carissa's son was dying in the ICU, and the bone marrow match had just failed.
The billionaire father, Guilford Gates, cornered her with a cruel ultimatum: naturally conceive a "savior sibling" to save their son. But what shocked Carissa more was his family's sudden accusation that she had heartlessly sold her baby to them three years ago.
"You sold your own flesh and blood to us for five million dollars, so your body belongs to the Gates family."
She was dragged into their gilded estate, treated like a filthy, rented womb. Guilford's new fiancée mocked her, the matriarch humiliated her, and Guilford looked at her with pure disgust. When she desperately tried to feed her sick son and accidentally made him vomit, Guilford violently shoved her away and banned her from the room.
Carissa was devastated and entirely confused. She had never seen a single cent of that five million. Driven by a desperate need for the truth, she investigated and uncovered a horrifying reality: her own father and stepmother had secretly trafficked her baby to the billionaire behind her back, leaving her to bear the ultimate blame.
Looking at the bank transfer record bought with her son's life, the last shred of Carissa's vulnerability died.
She signed the conception contract without asking for a single penny. She was going to use the Gates family's immense power to destroy the blood relatives who sold her, and she would survive this hell to take back her son.
9.7
For three years, I endured being treated like a walking ATM and a maid by my husband's family, biting my tongue to keep the peace.
Then, my husband's buddy suddenly dropped off a nine-year-old boy at my front door.
The crumpled note from my husband casually explained it was his illegitimate son, blaming me for being barren and demanding I raise the kid as our own.
My mother-in-law was absolutely thrilled, parading the boy around as the true heir at the dinner table.
"Some trees just don't bear fruit, no matter how much water you give them," she sneered.
My brother-in-law cheered, and my drunk father-in-law demanded I cook a feast to celebrate.
They actually expected me to continue paying the mortgage, buying the groceries, and cleaning up their endless messes, all while raising the living proof of my husband's betrayal.
I looked at the parasites who had drained me dry for years, acting like they were doing me a favor by letting me stay in a house that my money paid for.
I didn't scream, and I didn't cry.
I simply called my lawyer to file for an immediate divorce, froze every single bank account and credit card they relied on, and drove off to my grandmother's secluded cabin in the woods.
Let them see how long they survive without my money.
8.6
Marrying Theron Draix in a few days was a life long dream come true.
For seventeen years, I'd loved him, revolving my life around him, and in just three days, we should be married.
"Let's break up. I won't be attending the wedding," he said.
My life shattered in that instant.
Finding out he was in love with my adopted sister was worse. They had played me and controlled my emotions.
At the end, Mireya had killed me.
If I was given a second chance, I would never love Theron and never trust Mireya.
7.1
The night before her wedding to Wall Street billionaire Everette Baird, Deliah Quinn stood happily in her haute couture gown.
Then, her younger sister Arvilla walked in, handed her a drugged glass of champagne, and slammed an ultrasound on the vanity.
"I'm pregnant with Everette's child," Arvilla sneered.
Before Deliah's paralyzed body could react, Arvilla dragged in a canister of industrial gasoline, soaked the bridal suite, tossed a lighter, and locked the heavy oak doors from the outside.
To escape the roaring inferno, Deliah smashed the glass balcony and threw herself into the freezing, violent waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
For five agonizing years, everyone believed the Quinn heiress was dead.
Deliah returned to New York entirely reborn—a top architectural designer and a single mother, having scrubbed her past clean and forgotten the people who destroyed her.
She only wanted a peaceful life with her five-year-old genius son, Leo.
But she had no idea her son was secretly hacking airport security cameras to find himself a wealthy stepdad.
Leo deliberately bumped into a terrifying, cold-blooded tycoon, spilling scalding coffee on his custom suit to get his attention.
When Deliah frantically rushed over to protect her son and apologize, the air in the terminal vanished.
Everette Baird stared at the exact face he had obsessively mourned for five years, his eyes turning pitch black as he crushed his phone in his bare hand.