/1/113259/coverbig.jpg?v=146ed0f1be121c4d3da56636bd4bbd2d)
Adela stood outside the private room, holding the obsidian necklace she had spent three months hand-crafting for her boyfriend. But through the cracked door, she heard Juston laughing with his friends, calling her a stupid, obedient pawn and her art "garbage." After she shattered the necklace and walked out into the freezing rain, Juston texted her a far more horrifying truth. Her own family didn't just hate her-they had actively tried to kill her. Two years ago, her brother Kayden intentionally slipped deadly shellfish into her food at a gala, sending her into anaphylactic shock. Worse, her parents had covered up the attempted murder as a simple kitchen mistake, all to protect the family name and elevate her adopted sister, Kara. Adela collapsed on the wet pavement, suffocating under the weight of the ultimate betrayal. She had spent her entire life begging for their love, secretly working as the anonymous designer keeping their failing company afloat, only to realize she was nothing but a disposable tool. She had absolutely no one, and nowhere to go. Just as the storm threatened to swallow her whole, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Harmon Holland, the ruthless Wall Street billionaire she was originally arranged to marry, stepped out into the rain. He didn't offer her pity. Instead, he handed her a legal document. "Marry me, Adela. For one year." She took the pen. This time, she wouldn't be an obedient pawn; she would be their executioner.
Contents
Abandoned Heiress: Married to My Brother-in-Law Chapter 1 False Treasure
Adela Richmond never expected that Harmon Holland, who was still her brother-in-law yesterday, would now become her husband.
A day ago.
"So, you really aren't going to dump that boring Adela Richmond?"
The door to the Peacock Room was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light and sound escaping into the corridor. The words bled through the crack.
Adela's hand froze inches from the brass handle. The velvet jewelry box in her other hand suddenly felt like a block of lead. Inside rested an obsidian necklace. She had spent three months sourcing the stone, grinding and polishing every single link by hand for their one-year anniversary.
Her heart, which had been racing with sweet anticipation just a second ago, slammed against her ribs.
A lazy, familiar laugh echoed from the unlatched gap of the private room. It was Juston.
"Dump her? Why would I dump her?" Juston's voice dripped with a casual cruelty she had never heard before. "She's a Richmond. She's the perfect, obedient little pawn for a strategic marriage. She doesn't cause trouble."
The blood drained from Adela's face. The dim light of the Elysium club's hallway seemed to flicker, the marble floor tilting beneath her designer heels.
"But I heard the Richmonds actually care about the adopted girl, Kara," Brock, Juston's friend, pressed, his tone thick with amusement. "Kara is the real socialite. Adela is just... there."
"So what?" Juston scoffed. The clinking of a whiskey glass against a table punctuated his words. "Adela is stupid enough to be loyal. She's desperate for validation. She thinks I actually give a shit about those ugly little design projects she makes. I throw that garbage out the second she leaves my apartment."
Adela's stomach violently contracted. Acid burned the back of her throat.
She pressed her spine against the cold wall of the corridor. Her fingernails dug so hard into the leather of her purse that the seams groaned. The obsidian necklace. The sketches she stayed up until 3:00 AM perfecting for him. Garbage.
"Her only real value to me," Juston continued, his voice lowering into a vicious sneer, "is that keeping her pisses off Harmon Holland. We all know Adela was supposed to be Harmon's little arranged bride. Taking her from him is just good business."
The room erupted into a chorus of mocking laughter.
"I'll kick her to the curb when I get bored," Juston added over the noise. "She's got nothing but the Richmond last name anyway."
Adela couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt like they were packed with wet sand. Her knees shook, threatening to give out right there on the expensive carpet. Every sweet text, every kiss, every promise of a future-it was all a calculated, sterile transaction.
She closed her eyes. The stinging heat of tears threatened to spill over her lashes.
She forced them back.
She dug her nails deeper into her palms until the sharp sting of pain grounded her. The violent churning in her stomach hardened into a block of solid ice. The ringing in her ears stopped.
The color was gone from her cheeks, but her jaw locked into place. She didn't turn around. She didn't run away crying like the weak, boring girl they thought she was.
She stepped away from the wall. She reached out, her hand perfectly steady now, and gripped the brass handle.
She pushed the door open.
The heavy wood swung inward with a soft click. The raucous laughter inside the Peacock Room died instantly.
Juston was leaning back on a leather sofa, a cigar between his fingers, a smug grin plastered on his handsome face. Brock was sitting across from him, mid-laugh. Five other men froze, their eyes darting to the doorway.
Adela stood there. Her face was a mask of pale, terrifying calm. She looked at Juston not with heartbreak, but like she was staring at a stranger.
At the far end of the dimly lit corridor, hidden entirely in the shadows of a private alcove, a man slowly lowered his crystal tumbler.
His sharp, blue eyes locked onto the scene unfolding at the door.
"Sir," Donovan Tate, his assistant, murmured from the darkness. "That's Miss Richmond."
Harmon Holland didn't reply. He adjusted the silver cufflink at his wrist. A slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
View More Comments on App
Other books by Culp
More/0/98086/coverbig.jpg?v=a47041151a1959d121ead6d63f911679)
The Family iPad's Hidden Secret
ModernA suggestive iMessage on the family iPad was the first crack in my perfect life. I thought my teenage son was in trouble, but anonymous Reddit users pointed out the chilling truth. The message wasn't for him. It was for my husband of twenty years, Anthony. The betrayal became a conspiracy when I overheard them talking. They were laughing about his affair with my son's "cool" school counselor. "She's just so... boring, Dad," my son said. "Why don't you just leave Mom and be with her?" My son didn't just know; he was rooting for my replacement. My perfect family was a lie, and I was the punchline. Then, a message from a lawyer on Reddit lit a fire in the wreckage of my heart. "Gather proof. Then burn his entire world to the ground." My fingers were steady as I typed back. "Tell me how."
/0/80864/coverbig.jpg?v=2f7b1f5e2b0445c2b76e4453caf5569f)
Reborn to Rewrite: The Heiress's Second Chance
ModernMy 21st birthday was supposed to be a joyous occasion, a display of family pride and wealth as I chose my future husband. But a horrifying secret simmered beneath the celebratory facade: I was reliving my life, and this very day, my previous choice of fiancé, Ethan Vanderbilt III, had led to my family’s empire crumbling and their agonizing death in a fiery jet crash. The chilling memory of their screams, the inferno, and the realization that Ethan's charm was nothing but a weapon, clawed at my sanity. How could I possibly explain to my loving, unaware parents that their perfect daughter had already lived a nightmare version of this life, where their trust in me—and my choice—had damned us all? Trapped by a past only I remembered, with the venomous name of Ethan Vanderbilt still lurking on my pre-approved marriage list, I made a radical, desperate decision: I would choose a man entirely outside his orbit, defying fate and claiming my second chance to keep my family safe.
/1/113246/coverbig.jpg?v=0d46ef3fb89df578b3b91c2b6682f2b5)
Zero Assets: Divorcing The Cruel Billionaire
RomanceA car crash erased my husband Apollo's memory. I brought his favorite vintage watch to the club, praying it would remind him of our love. Instead, standing outside the VIP room, I heard him coldly tell his friends that I was just a greedy gold digger. He accused me of slipping drugs into drinks at a party, completely unaware that he was fiercely protecting Brynlee, the woman who actually set me up. He froze every bank account in my name to force me to my knees. When I confronted them and threatened to call the police, he shielded Brynlee. He even grabbed me by the throat, choking me until I slipped and fell backward into a freezing outdoor pool. As blood poured from a deep gash on my forehead, he just looked down at my thrashing body. "Disgusting," he spat, his eyes filled with murderous hatred. The man who used to treat me like his entire world was dead. He didn't just forget our marriage; he forgot my humanity, torturing me to protect a calculated liar. That single word killed the last pathetic shred of hope I had been clinging to. So, when he finally discovered the truth at the hospital and desperately tried to stop the divorce, I didn't shed a single tear. I just handed him the divorce papers claiming zero assets. "I'll see you at the courthouse tomorrow at nine."
/1/107258/coverbig.jpg?v=3482d590d21d21774836c11a997f3581)
The Rejected White Wolf and Her Lycan King
WerewolfOn our third anniversary, I went to the Pack Registry to submit a design portfolio, hoping to surprise my husband. The clerk looked at me with pity and whispered, "Honey, the system won't let me. Your Mate Bond was severed three years ago." I stared at the screen in horror. Not only had Alpha Bennet quietly rejected me, but he had also registered a "Companion Contract" with Gianna—my former best friend who had maimed my right hand in an "accident." I tracked them to the Sacred Lake. Hidden behind a tree, I heard Bennet laugh. "I love that she's helpless," he told Gianna, pushing her on the swing he built for me. "I love that she can't Shift or draw. It makes me feel like a god." He wasn't protecting me; he was clipping my wings to keep me in a cage. When Gianna later framed me as a Rogue intruder, Bennet didn't recognize me in the dark. He whipped me five times with a silver lash, savoring every scream, unaware he was flaying his own wife. He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die in that basement. Instead, I severed the bond myself and vanished across the ocean. One year later, I returned to Paris as a renowned architect with a mechanical arm and the Lycan King by my side. When Bennet saw me and fell to his knees begging for a second chance, I simply turned my back and revealed the scars he gave me to the cameras. "You didn't love me, Bennet. You only loved my pain."
/0/92060/coverbig.jpg?v=043cc05fe4fe0fb59df52e57a8d3f9de)
From Cliffside Betrayal to Unbreakable Love
RomanceMy husband of five years, Mark, told me he was taking me on a romantic clifftop picnic. He poured me a glass of champagne, his smile as warm as the sun. He said it was to celebrate our life together. But as I admired the view, his hands slammed into my back. The world dissolved into a blur of sky and rock as I plunged toward the ravine below. I woke up broken and bleeding, just in time to hear his voice above. He wasn't alone. It was his mistress, Chloe. "Is she... gone?" she asked. "She fell a long way," Mark's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "No one could survive that. By the time they find the body, it'll look like a tragic accident. Poor, unstable Clara, wandering too close to the edge." The casual cruelty of his words was worse than the impact. He had already written my obituary, crafting the narrative of my demise while leaving me to die in the storm. A wave of despair washed over me, but then something else ignited: a white-hot, furious anger. Just as my vision started to fade, headlights sliced through the rain. A man stepped out of a luxury car. It wasn't Mark. It was Julian Thorne, my husband's most hated rival, and the one man who might want Mark destroyed as much as I did.
/0/86940/coverbig.jpg?v=27623b3c220e85048e9c96f60dfbd66d)
Beyond Betrayal: A Wife Reborn
BillionairesThe sharp, shattering pain was familiar. This was the eighth time. The eighth baby. My husband, Ethan, the perfect CEO, held my hand as grief suffocated me in the hospital bed. He looked like the picture of a devastated spouse. But then, I heard voices from the hallway-Ethan' s and the doctor' s. "Mr. Hayes, why insist on… eliminating the one in your wife's belly? It's your own child!" the doctor strained. "Scarlett is particular, and she has needs. This is the safest method," Ethan replied, chillingly calm. Scarlett. His proclaimed "childhood friend." The words didn't make sense until their horrifying truth crashed down: my miscarriages weren't accidents. They were harvests, orchestrated by my loving husband to feed his mistress' s mysterious medical condition. My love for him curdled into black hatred, my grief for our children blazing into a white-hot rage. I was an architect who designed buildings to withstand earthquakes; I wouldn't crumble. I closed my eyes, feigning sorrow, but inside, a new blueprint for revenge was being drawn. Then I heard the doctor's terrified whisper: "And the hysterectomy? Paralysis? Ethan, that's going too far. She's your wife." His voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the haze: "She's too strong-willed. This will keep her safe. And quiet." They were going to gut me, cripple me, take everything. They had no idea what they had just created. Later, I overheard Ethan on the phone again, his voice a low murmur: "She's sedated. You can proceed with the surgery. The hysterectomy first. And make sure the nerve block is permanent. I don't want any surprises." Hysterectomy. Permanent. You bastard, Ethan, I thought as darkness pulled me under. You' re not just taking my children. You' re taking my future. You' re taking my body. But you haven' t taken my mind. And it will be the instrument of your destruction.
