Max. A

Faye spent three months of secret commissions to buy a limited-edition watch for her boyfriend's anniversary. But when she keyed into his apartment, she found the red-soled heels she had just gifted her best friend, Penelope, kicked carelessly on the floor. Through the crack in the bedroom door, she saw them tangled in the sheets, with her boyfriend murmuring that Faye had no idea what she was missing. Devastated, Faye got blackout drunk and accidentally woke up in the bed of Julian Carlisle—Penelope's ruthless, billionaire stepbrother, who coldly offered her a check to buy her silence. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, when Faye returned home, she found her own mother and brother comforting a fake-crying Penelope. Her mother even took the diamond necklace meant for Faye's upcoming 21st birthday and fastened it around Penelope's neck to make up for Faye causing a scene. "Faye Hayes, you will apologize to Penelope right now, or you won't get another dime from this family." Faye stared at her mother, the betrayal freezing her blood. She was the one who had been cheated on, yet her own flesh and blood were treating her like a liability. Why was she always the outcast, stripped of everything while her abusers played the victim? The last frayed thread of hope for her family's love died in that instant. Instead of apologizing, Faye walked right up to Penelope, grabbed the diamond necklace, and violently ripped it from her throat. It was time to stop begging for affection and start burning it all down.

I spent years poring over ancient medical texts, working tirelessly as an Omega healer just to prove myself worthy of my fated mate, Alpha Jaxon. But he treated me like dirt, preferring the company of my best friend, Beta Serena. They even made a cruel bet in the dining hall, using my sacred mate bond as a jealous joke to win a rare dessert. The ultimate betrayal came during a critical emergency surgery. Serena's hand trembled, dropping a silver scalpel that sliced an Elder's vein and nearly killed him. Instead of holding her accountable, Jaxon used his Alpha Command to force me to my knees. "How could you make such a rookie mistake? You almost killed the Elder, Chloe!" He wasn't blind. He knew exactly what happened. But he deliberately blamed me to protect his perfect Beta's reputation, sacrificing my hard-earned career and letting the council publicly humiliate me. I had dedicated my entire life to soothing the beast inside him, and Serena was the loyal girl who used to defend me from bullies. I couldn't understand how the two people I trusted most could sacrifice me without a second thought. But as I looked at their cold, unapologetic faces, the heavy iron chain of our mate bond finally snapped deep within my chest. I calmly handed in my resignation, rejected the Alpha, and packed my bags. It was time to leave this toxic pack for good, and awaken the ancient White Wolf bloodline dormant in my veins.

I was Asset 7, a "ghost" kept in a high-security facility with no memory and paralyzed vocal cords. My only value was my silence, making me the perfect disposable tool for the world's elite. Everything changed when I was sold to Culver Lancaster, a media billionaire drugged with a dangerous synthetic aphrodisiac. His staff needed a woman who couldn't talk, couldn't sue, and didn't exist in any official directory. They scrubbed my skin raw like a piece of meat and threw me into a dark penthouse with a man who had lost his mind to the drug. Culver didn't treat me like a human; he choked me against a door and used my body as a shield against his own madness. When I tried to run, his security hunted me down with dogs, and Culver threw me into a freezing wine cellar. I spent days in total darkness, starving and dehydrated, lapping dirty water off the floor just to stay alive. I lay on that cold stone, wondering why my life had become a series of cages and scars. I couldn't even scream to let the world know I was dying. How could a man claim to protect me while treating me like a disposable object? But when Culver finally came to the cellar to feed me, I didn't surrender. I bit him hard enough to draw blood, watching the shock in his eyes as I communicated the only way I could. Now, I wear the silk uniform and the velvet mask he bought for me, playing the role of his obedient "Shadow." Culver thinks he owns a broken girl he can lock in a velvet panic room, but I'm a weapon who just found her target. Every kiss is a reconnaissance mission, and I'm going to burn his empire to the ground.

For ten years, I waited for my childhood sweetheart, Adonis, to marry me. But every year, our future was delayed by a ridiculous family ritual where he had to draw a "Fortunate" tarot card. For three years, he drew the "Unfortunate" card, enduring brutal penance that left him scarred and broken. I believed it was fate. Then, on the fourth year, I saw him draw the Fortunate card. My heart soared. We were finally free. But in a swift, practiced move, he swapped it for an Unfortunate one, choosing more suffering. I was frozen in shock. Later, I overheard him confess to his cousin. He' d been swapping the cards for four years. He couldn't marry me yet because of his assistant, Ariel. She' d threatened to do something drastic if he left her. He said he owed her. My world shattered. Every lash he took, every moment of pain I shared, was a lie. A charade performed for another woman. He had chosen his guilt for her over his love for me. He even accused me of monstrous cruelty based on her lies, shouting, "I can't believe I wasted ten years on someone so vindictive. Apologize to Ariel. Now." That was the moment I knew the man I loved was gone. So, I left. I flew to Hong Kong and married another man. But just as I found my new beginning, Adonis burst in, his eyes wild with regret, begging me to come back. And right behind him was Ariel, her face twisted with madness, a gleaming knife in her hand.

My name is Arlie Stevens, and I was a mute girl who grew up in the shadows of the Rust Belt. My street art was our daily bread, and Bowen McClure was my protector, my first love, and my voice. But the boy who once fought off bullies for me decided to climb the social ladder by getting engaged to a ruthless corporate heiress, Kassandra Woodard. On their engagement night, Kassandra falsely accused me of ruining her gown. Bowen, my Bowen, publicly whipped me as punishment to appease her family. He told me it was to protect me, a necessary evil. Then he locked me in my room. As the party's fireworks lit up the sky, I smelled smoke. The apartment was on fire, and the door was locked from the outside. Through the flames, I heard Kassandra's voice, "Bowen locked her in. He wanted her out of the way." He didn't just abandon me; he tried to burn me alive. But I survived. And when a broken, guilt-ridden Bowen finally found me years later, begging for forgiveness after destroying the woman who orchestrated it all, I had only one thing to say to him.

For seven years, I was his secret. His brilliant, naive Elodie. Last night, he held me and called me his future. Today, his sister, my best friend, showed me the pictures from his engagement party. My life's work, a revolutionary bio-printed kidney, was meant to save his dying fiancée. But then I overheard his real plan. If my research failed, he had a backup. "She's got a nice pair of kidneys," he told his friends. "Perfect match." He'd secretly filmed our most intimate moments, blackmail to force me onto the operating table. I wasn't his love. I was his insurance policy. A spare part. He thought he had me cornered. He underestimated his "naive little scientist." So I faked my death and disappeared. Five years later, I'm back, my name on the cover of every scientific journal. And he's about to find out that the woman he tried to butcher is now the one who holds his entire world in her hands.

At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south. But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband. In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family—a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire. His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach. "We're terminating this complication," she said coldly. As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.

The sterile scent of a hospital clung to me, even in my own sun-drenched room. Today was the presentation, the day my life was supposed to begin. Instead, it ended. Memories, sharp and brutal, flooded back: me, confidently presenting my skyscraper design. Then, the fatal error: File Not Found. My mother, Eleanor, fussing over my desk the night before, "accidentally" deleting everything. My father, Richard, dismissing my tears, "Listen to your mother. She knows what's best." My brother, Liam, smirking, "A skyscraper isn' t as important as Mom, is it?" Later that night, Eleanor offered a thick, green smoothie. "A special health smoothie, just for you." I drank it, trusting her. Minutes later, the tightening throat, the hives, the desperate fight for air. Anaphylactic shock. I was severely allergic to kiwi, and the smoothie was full of it. As my vision tunneled, I saw my family. They weren't calling 911. They were comforting Eleanor, who sobbed into my father' s shoulder. Liam shook his head, "She' s always so dramatic." And then, nothing. Until now. Waking up here. I saw the date on my phone. It was Wednesday morning. The day of the presentation. Cold, hard clarity settled over me. They hadn't just sabotaged my dream; they' d tried to kill me to control me. And now, I was back. Back to build a new blueprint. A blueprint for their ruin.

For ten years, I was Ethan Vance, the Silicon Valley "fixer," the "soul mediator" everyone trusted to clear digital ghosts and optimize karma. Then Kevin, my girlfriend Sarah' s adopted brother, showed up with his charming lies and half-price "digital shaman" tricks, stealing my clients and my reputation bit by bit. My downfall culminated in a botched "karma optimization" where the client died a gruesome digital death, Kevin vanished, and I was framed for his sabotage. The mogul' s enraged family and my disgruntled former clients, convinced I was a greedy fraud, beat me to death, unable to scream the truth about Kevin' s betrayal. But then, I opened my eyes, and I was back-standing in a luxurious smart home, the day before my life crumbled, the tech CEO handing me a data chip, Sarah and Kevin by my side; this time, things would be different.

The cold moonlight painted shadows across the floor, doing nothing to warm the chill that had settled deep in my bones as I knelt before my husband, Valerius. Just a year ago, he had promised me forever, swearing he' d always be my shield. Now, he looked at me with cold disgust. "Explain this," he demanded, tearing open my nightgown to reveal the withered flower branded into my shoulder – a symbol of shame, a mark of the lowest. Tears welled, blurring his furious face. I couldn' t tell him the truth, a horrific secret I' d sworn to keep to protect him. He shoved me away, calling me soiled, then laughed cruelly, refusing to "dirty his hands" on me, before storming out, slamming the door on everything we were. Driven by desperation, I tried to carve the mark off, nearly taking my life before my maid, Clara, stopped me, suggesting a brutal herbal remedy instead. The agony was blinding, but I endured it, for him, for us, for the love I yearned to reclaim. With a raw, weeping scar where the brand once was, I found him, hoping to see a flicker of the man I knew. He stared at my wound, then laughed, a short, ugly sound. "A scar is just as ugly as a brand. It proves nothing." My hope shattered, he delivered the final blow: he was marrying my cousin, Isabella, in a week. The physical pain from my scar was nothing compared to the gaping wound he' d torn in my chest, leaving me an empty void.

The house was eerily silent, the kind of quiet that sinks into your bones. Ethan searched every empty room, calling her name, but only the silence echoed back. Then he saw it on the kitchen island: a divorce agreement, her elegant signature a final, chilling statement. He raced to all their special spots-the bookstore, the café, the park where he proposed-but she was nowhere. Finally, he arrived at the art studio he' d built for her, a sanctuary poured out of his millions, only to find it as desolate as his heart. Her drafting table was bare, canvases gone-everything that made it hers, vanished. He remembered her warning, words brushed off as a lover's insecurity: "I don't tolerate betrayal. Even once, and I'll vanish completely." He' d laughed then, sure he' d never give her cause. But the words now echoed, a haunting judgment. Thousands of miles away, the woman who was once Ava whispered, "From now on, there is no Ava. Only Olivia." A news article flashed on her phone: "Real Estate Mogul Ethan and Architect Wife Ava: A Perfect Partnership." Perfect, she scoffed, a bitter laugh in the quiet taxi. It had all been a perfect lie, and she, the architect who built dreams, was about to meticulously dismantle his.

My husband, Mark, and I had built a life on a promise: dual incomes, no kids. For our freedom, our shared dreams, he even urged me to get a hysterectomy. I agreed, believing it cemented our bond. Years later, he brought home two “orphans,” Kevin and Kate. They were small, dark-haired, and oddly resembled Emily White, his high school flame, now a rising exec in my own company. I played the loving mother, pouring my heart and billions into them for eighteen years. Then, at their fake graduation party—a party for a future they weren’t remotely qualified for—Mark cornered me. With a smug grin, he demanded I sign over my entire multi-billion dollar empire to Kevin and Kate. Emily White glided over, divorce papers in hand, her voice dripping with venom: “Thank you for taking care of Mark and *my* children. It’s time for our family.” My parents’ pleas and warnings were ignored as I signed away everything. I watched my life unravel, my legacy stolen by the people I cherished most. The children I raised, his own blood with Emily, mocked me. As I lay bleeding on the asphalt, victims of their orchestrated “accident,” Kevin even kicked me, “Stupid old bitch.” Kate laughed, “Thanks for the money, Mom.” Dying, the betrayal was unbearable, a sharp, cold satisfaction mixed with burning rage. Why? How could they? The injustice screamed, a silent vow forged in darkness. Then, light. I woke up. Back at that dinner table, years ago, where Mark first uttered the word “hysterectomy.” This wasn’t a second chance. This was my turn. My eighteen-year revenge began now.

Our engagement felt like a fairytale, complete with a gleaming diamond and seven years of shared history. I believed Michael and I were building our future, hand in hand. But at the annual gala, the illusion shattered. Michael was on the dance floor, not with me, but intimately whispering to his intern, Jessica. Moments later, in his car, I found a diamond necklace – not for me, as he coldly snatched it away. “That’s not for you,” he said, his voice flat. From then on, the disrespect spiraled. He threw Jessica's misplaced scarf at me, denigrated my dream wedding dress, and abandoned me for her petty dramas. My health issues were met with harsh insults and dismissed as “bad manners.” While he flaunted Jessica online, I was expected to cater to her bizarre demands, like making special chia seed pudding for her made-up “episodes.” Each blow chipped away at my belief. How could the man I’d dedicated seven years to treat me with such casual cruelty? Was I truly so disposable? The overheard truth pierced deepest: “Love Sarah? Not really. But she’s been around like a puppy…” No more. The tears dried. I cut my wedding dress into ribbons, packed my bags, and left him a note: “We’re done.” He could chase, she could scheme, but my patience was exhausted. My life, finally, was mine again.

Their encounter was a mistake. Natalie mistook Carter for the senior she had a crush on, so she saved him from danger and even gave him her first time. To get him out of trouble, she married his young brother, but the one she loved was him. As finding her pregnancy, she got nothing but his suspicion. To get things worse, she ended up with losing her child and her beloved father. A car accident took away all her memories and she came back three years later. When they meet, it's her turn to strike back. It's a game of wit and brawn as she tried to avenge all the memories and people she had lost.

On our third anniversary, my husband canceled our dinner, claiming a sudden work emergency. I tracked his phone to an exclusive French restaurant, only to find him tenderly fastening a blessed bracelet—one I had flown across the world to get for him—onto his college ex-girlfriend's wrist. The sheer shock triggered a violent placental abruption. Bleeding out in my car just across the street, I frantically called his number. Through the window, I watched him glance at his screen, frown in annoyance, and press decline to focus on his lover. While I was wheeled into a freezing operating room for an emergency C-section utterly alone, he took his mistress back to our marital bed. He didn't even bother to check if I was alive, completely oblivious that our premature daughter was fighting for her life in the NICU. I soon discovered our entire marriage was a sham. He had used my family's wealth to save his company, and now he was trading me to secure a massive business deal with his ex's father. The man I loved didn't exist; he only saw me as a disposable asset. "I'm going to make him wish he had never been born." After secretly securing my baby in a private retreat, I ordered a medical-grade silicone pregnancy belly to hide my flat stomach. I stepped back into our penthouse, ready to burn his precious empire to the ground.

I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family's social standing. During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me. I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn't care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst. She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side. "Men get angry," she told me coldly. "It's your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house." I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip. My heart went completely dead. So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn't hesitate. I walked back into my parents' house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table. "I won't be apologizing to Preston. I got married today."

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

For three years, Cali Sullivan abandoned her brilliant tech career to be the quiet, accommodating wife of billionaire Halsey Donovan. But on her thirtieth birthday, she returned to their London mansion only to find it empty. The housekeeper, looking at her with deep pity, revealed that Halsey had taken his female friend, Brittaney, out shopping to celebrate her birthday instead. He had even taken their young daughter, Lily, with them. When Cali called him, Halsey coldly dismissed her, his attention entirely on Brittaney's bright laughter in the background. The crushing blow came the next morning when Cali stood outside Lily's bedroom and overheard her own daughter's innocent wish. "I wish Auntie Brittaney could be my new mommy. I think Daddy would like that, too." Later that afternoon, Cali saw them through the window of a private club. Halsey was wiping a smudge from Lily's face with a tender focus he never showed his wife, while Brittaney casually fed him cake. They looked like the perfect, happy family. All of Cali's desperate love and sacrifices felt like a cruel joke. She had been entirely erased from her own family. In that moment, the agonizing pain just stopped, replaced by a cold, absolute clarity. Cali drafted a divorce agreement waiving every cent of his wealth, left her platinum wedding rings on the nightstand, and booked a one-way flight back to New York. She was no longer Mrs. Donovan; it was time to get her real name back.

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

Ava had been married to Wall Street titan Damian Carlisle for three years, an orphan chosen by his late grandmother solely to provide an heir. But at the matriarch's funeral, Damian stood intimately before the flashing cameras with his childhood sweetheart, Isabelle. The entire elite family deliberately excluded Ava, leaving her standing alone in the shadows. The guests whispered about how perfect Damian and Isabelle looked together, completely ignoring the actual wife standing right there. To Damian, Ava was nothing more than a piece of inherited furniture he didn't know where to place. Realizing she was just a discarded placeholder, Ava quietly left the estate and sent him divorce papers. But Isabelle secretly intercepted the legal documents to keep Damian in the dark. Enraged when he finally discovered her escape, Damian tracked Ava down to her shabby Brooklyn rental. He smashed through her door, physically dragged her out in the middle of the night, and forced her back to the sprawling estate. He installed new locks on the reinforced windows, pinned her to the bed, and coldly commanded her to fulfill her biological duty. "You owe this family, Ava. You were given everything, and this is how you will repay that debt." Trapped in the dark, a chilling despair washed over her as she realized a piece of paper could never free her. Against his absolute wealth and power, her rights and her tears meant absolutely nothing. But as her gaze fell on the corporate financial reports she had been secretly analyzing, her fear vanished. If the law couldn't beat him, she would use the only language he understood. She would accept the executive position at his rival's firm, dismantle his empire piece by piece, and personally ruin him.

I woke up from a coma in the hospital, universally condemned as the vicious daughter who pushed the beloved fake heiress, Georgina, down the stairs. My ruthless billionaire brother, Angelo, stood over my bed with cold eyes, ready to destroy me for hurting his precious sister. But as I looked at him, a terrifying prophecy from my coma flooded my brain. Our entire family was doomed. In the original timeline, Georgina would team up with corporate rivals to bankrupt the company, frame Angelo, and send him to federal prison, while our parents would abandon me to die miserably. Lying there, I didn't dare speak. I just desperately cursed my idiot brother in my head. "This stupid brother is still yelling at me for that fake heiress. He doesn't even know he's going to be framed and sent to prison next month!" I just wanted to stay quiet, let them ruin themselves, and run away from this toxic family. But strangely, Angelo didn't strangle me. Instead, his attitude took a shocking turn. He abruptly fired the driver plotting to kill him, destroyed the abusive fiancé of a family ally, and publicly humiliated Georgina at a high-society gala. He even shielded me from our abusive parents, declaring to the world that I was the only sister he would ever protect. I was completely terrified and confused. Why was the tyrant brother suddenly acting like a protective beast? It wasn't until he flawlessly crushed a massive corporate attack using the exact financial secrets I had just complained about in my mind that a horrifying realization hit me. He could hear my inner thoughts!

On the night before her wedding, Navia Harrison discovers her fiancé in bed with her step-sister-and worse, the two of them are already planning how to get rid of her after the marriage. Humiliated and consumed by hatred, Navia exposes their affair during the wedding ceremony itself, destroying both families' reputations in a single move. Then, she meets him. Leonel Crawford - the cold and dangerously powerful head of the Crawford family. Untouchable. Ruthless. A man no woman has ever been able to keep close. He's also her ex-fiancé's uncle. One impulsive proposal changes everything. "If you need a wife... marry me instead." "Honestly... we'd make a pretty good match."

Elaine woke up with a splitting hangover after a wild one-night stand, desperate to just sneak out and forget it ever happened. But when the man beside her shifted in his sleep, her blood ran cold. It was Alaric Caldwell—the notoriously ruthless billionaire, her best friend's terrifying uncle, and the very man who had caught their respective fiancés cheating together six months ago. Panic-stricken, Elaine fled the hotel and anonymously couriered him $5,000 to buy his silence, only to discover her controlling father had just frozen her entire trust fund. Things spiraled out of control when she arrived at her office to find that Alaric had just taken over as the new CEO. He immediately summoned her to his top-floor office, trapping her against the wall. Slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he revealed the deep, angry scratch marks she had left on his back the night before. "Does this look like a mistake, Elaine?" He threatened to fire her and ruin her career if she dared to walk out the door. Elaine was trembling with sheer terror and confusion. She had insulted a ruthless tycoon by paying him off like a cheap gigolo. Why was he cornering a junior employee? Why didn't he just bury this scandal like he always did? Instead of handing her a termination letter, Alaric locked his cold, calculating eyes on hers and dropped a demand that shattered her reality. "Marry me."