Trapped By The Billionaire Doctor's Debt

Eva Brooks, a 25-year-old woman, was set up by her best friend. Her fiancé broke up with her and demanded compensation for allegedly cheating on him. Eva had a one-night stand with the richest CEO in Dominic City, Ethan Owen. He was arrogant and offered her a job as his secretary. As his secretary, Ethan couldn't shake his fondness for Eva. He became obsessed with her, worrying that she was cheating on him. He broke up with his fiancée to become engaged to Eva, but will his fiancée let him go? Will Eva accept a relationship with her boss?

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."

On the eve of my glamorous Waldorf Astoria wedding, I went to the penthouse to surprise my fiancé, Hugh, wearing my late mother's heirloom pearls. Instead, I heard my stepsister's familiar laugh and caught them tangled together on the sofa. Through the cracked door, I heard Hugh slur that he was only marrying me for my family's financial backing. "As soon as I secure my inheritance, she's the first thing I'm getting rid of," he promised her. Floy giggled and asked for my mother's pearl necklace, my only legacy. Hugh agreed without hesitation, mocking my dead mother's naivety and my desperate dreams of building a family. Every sweet word he had ever said was a lie, a knife he had been patiently sliding between my ribs for years. They planned to strip me of everything the moment I signed the prenup. I didn't cry or scream. The crushing weight of their betrayal hollowed me out, leaving behind a terrifying, absolute calm. Why should I be the one to lose everything while they stole my future and insulted my mother's memory? I calmly walked down the hall, set the prenuptial agreement on fire, and vanished into the rainy night. If Hugh wanted to play dirty for the Maxwell empire, I would play for keeps. Using a forgotten, century-old family covenant, I was going to marry Hugh's uncle-the comatose, paralyzed war hero, Fleet Maxwell. I would return not as a naive bride, but as their worst nightmare: his aunt, and the new lady of the house.

Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs. On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles. Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door. Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever. Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall. But her nightmare wasn't over. When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive. There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara. They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet. "Well, maid, you better clean that up." Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos. Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone. She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power. What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach. He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.

When I woke up on the muddy bank of the freezing river, I unlocked a brutal, unfiltered preview of my actual future. For the past six months, I had been the town's ultimate joke, chasing after a city boy who looked at me like a diseased insect. Everyone thought I jumped into the river because he rejected me. But the nightmare didn't stop there. In the future I foresaw, my entire family was destroyed. My eldest brother was handcuffed and dragged into a squad car. My second brother died in a pool of blood on the asphalt. My parents passed away from sheer grief and humiliation, and our farm was foreclosed. Meanwhile, Bart Hawkins—my family's sworn enemy, the boy everyone accused of pushing me, but who actually jumped in to save my life—became a billionaire tech mogul. I ended up starving to death in a damp, moldy basement, completely alone. I finally understood that I was just a pathetic, tragic side character meant to drag my family into hell. My own sister-in-law, Felicie, had been stealing our food and money, laughing at my misery behind my back. But right now, my mother was still alive, my brothers were safe, and the farm was ours. When Felicie walked into my bedroom, playing the devoted sister-in-law with a bowl of clear, meatless broth while a stolen roasted chicken thigh leaked grease through her apron pocket, I didn't play along. "What's in your pocket, Felicie?" This time, I was going to tear that horrific future apart with my bare hands.

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.