The man who saves me
/1/127579/coverbig.jpg?v=2ea34f2e2c2f3053a637d5acfe2fbf25)
His Unwanted Wife, The Hidden Genius
I flew back to New York on my twenty-fifth birthday, carrying vintage gold cufflinks I spent weeks finding for my billionaire husband, Declan. But when I walked into our townhouse, I found him throwing a massive victory party with Sloane, a glamorous socialite, standing by his side as the proud hostess. "Don't cause a scene. Go upstairs." Declan coldly dismissed me in front of his guests. Even Poppy, the rookie player whose shattered ankle I had painstakingly rebuilt, rolled her eyes and ignored me to suck up to Sloane. Hiding in the shadows, I heard the maids gossiping that everyone thought Sloane was the future Mrs. Hartford. To make matters worse, I discovered Sloane had stolen my anonymous, groundbreaking medical algorithm and was planning to present it as her own. First my husband, then the girl I mentored like family, and now the scientific foundation I had built with my own hands. Declan even texted me to cancel our birthday breakfast without a single apology, treating me like an annoying afterthought. My tears vanished, replaced by a freezing clarity. I signed the divorce papers, leaving them on his desk with zero demands for his money. Then I packed my bags, booked a one-way ticket to Boston, and prepared to destroy them on the global stage.
Chapter 1
Aurelia Vance POV:
I had been married to Declan Hartford for three years.
Today was my twenty-fifth birthday, and I had flown back from Boston in secret, hoping for one quiet evening with my husband.
I'd spent a week carefully picking out a pair of gold cufflinks as a gift for my husband.
But the laughter spilling from the front door told me I was already too late: the woman who had taken my place at his side was already inside.
The heavy oak door swung open before I reached the porch. Three young players from the New York Titans, Declan's NHL franchise, stumbled out with crystal tumblers of scotch, laughing loudly. They barely glanced at me as they passed.
I stepped into the grand foyer. The heat hit me instantly,expensive champagne, roasted tenderloin, cigar smoke.
Dozens of people filled the double parlor: executives, scouts, wives in designer dresses.
In the center stood Declan, tall and broad in a bespoke charcoal suit. Beside him, laughing into his ear, was Sloane Whitfield, her backless silver dress catching the chandelier light. Her hand rested on his forearm like she belonged there.
Before I could take another breath, a blur of blonde hair darted past my elbow.
"Sloane!" Poppy Delacroix cried, throwing her arms around Sloane's slender waist. "You were completely right about the catering! This is literally the best victory party the team has ever had!"
Poppy is fourteen, a junior elite forward prospect.
I scouted her two years ago from a crumbling youth league, back when she was at her lowest.
Her parents had once shown me great kindness, and I knew they had already passed away, leaving her all alone in the world.
Declan and I adopted her together.
I rebuilt her shattered ankle with a custom rehabilitation plan.
I had always loved and cared for her as both a mother and a sister.
Now, she did not even glance in my direction.
Declan turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd until his eyes locked onto mine. The easy grin on his sharp jaw vanished instantly. His brows drew together in a hard, irritated line.
He excused himself from Sloane, cutting through the throng of players with long, impatient strides.
"Aurelia," Declan said, stopping two feet in front of me. His voice carried zero warmth. "What are you doing here?"
My throat felt like sandpaper.
"I took the four o'clock flight from Boston," I whispered, clutching the strap of my bag until my knuckles turned white. "It is my birthday, Declan. I thought we could—"
"We are celebrating the division win," he cut in, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. "The board is here. The sponsors are here. Sloane spent four consecutive days coordinating this event so the organization could project stability."
He did not look at me. His gaze slid past my shoulder to the bar, like I was a waitress who had wandered into the wrong room.
"Don't cause a scene," he added quietly. "Go upstairs."
A soft, mocking murmur rippled through a cluster of players' wives standing near the grand staircase. Two women with platinum blowouts exchanged knowing glances over their flutes of Dom Pérignon.
"I didn't know," I said, my voice barely audible over the swelling music. "I am sorry."
I turned toward the staircase, my legs trembling beneath my wool trousers.
Near the landing, Poppy was adjusting her designer jacket in the hallway mirror.
"Poppy," I said softly, pausing beside her. "How is your ankle feeling after Thursday's third period? Did you complete the isometric sequence I sent?"
Poppy rolled her eyes, sighing loudly as she pulled out her phone.
"Aurelia, please, not right now," she muttered without looking at me. "Sloane is introducing me to a marketing director from one of our partners. I don't have time for your spreadsheets."
The dismissive edge in her voice hit me harder than Declan's coldness. I had stayed up until three in the morning reviewing her biomechanical scans while she was recovering from surgery, and now I was just an annoyance in the way of her social ascent.
I walked up the rest of the stairs and entered the primary suite—the massive, sterile bedroom allocated to me under our prenuptial agreement.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled out the velvet box. The gold cufflinks gleamed under the bedside lamp, cold and useless.
Downstairs, cheers erupted. The sound vibrated through the floorboards.
I walked to the French doors overlooking the rear garden. Down on the illuminated patio, Sloane was directing two servers by an ice sculpture. Declan stood beside her, his head bent down as he listened to her speak, his hand casually brushing the small of her back.
They looked like the couple the city expected them to be.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out, hoping against hope.
It was an email notification.
"Happy Birthday, Aurelia. Remember that true science requires patience and solitude. You are meant for greater arenas than New York boardrooms. -Dr. Edmund Sterling."
My mentor at Harvard was the only person in the world who had remembered.
I typed a brief "Thank you, Professor" and shut off the screen.
Hours passed. The bass eventually quieted, replaced by the occasional clatter of glassware and slamming car doors. My throat burned with thirst.
At two in the morning, I padded downstairs in my stocking feet to fetch a glass of water from the butler's pantry.
As I rounded the corner near the service hallway, the voices of two newly hired catering maids stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Miss Whitfield is stunning," the first girl whispered, scraping dessert plates into a bin. "Mr. Hartford's girlfriend carries herself like royalty."
"A girlfriend?" the other asked, pausing. "But isn't Mr. Hartford rumored to be married? Is it inappropriate to be this close with Whitfield?"
"Married?Where did that come from? Even if there was one, they must have split long ago. I've worked three events here this month, and Miss Whitfield is the only woman hosting by his side. Everyone knows she's the future Mrs. Hartford."
I shrank back into the cold shadow of the archway, my blood turning to ice.
In the home where I held a legal marriage certificate, my presence had already been wiped clean.
/1/106611/coverbig.jpg?v=39fb3a6dbe1ba1bcd2231302d860131e)
Bought By The Man Who Hates Me
I sat at a mahogany table in River Oaks, clutching the strap of a pilled black dress from a life I’d lost five years ago. I was an exile in a world of old money, just trying to survive a dinner party I didn't belong in. Then the doors opened, and Baron Lowery walked in. He was no longer the boy I’d
/0/66378/coverbig.jpg?v=20241224070627)
Billionaire Heiress - The man who saved me.
As I walked down the aisle, bouquet in hand, I scanned the crowd-the very people I'd paid to attend. My heart raced, searching for my husband, but he was nowhere in sight. Panic set in. Was I about to be abandoned on my wedding day? I could already picture the headline: Daughter of Late CEO of Nova
/0/80092/coverbig.jpg?v=bf402e6bec71274ee466af025f2b3c2c)
Married to the Man Who Killed Me
My empire crumbled, my life, cold ash. Olivia was gone. In their derelict New York apartment, a sealed box yielded her unseen journals. I opened one. Inside: a meticulous record of my casual cruelty—my blatant affairs, sneering dismissals, every humiliation. Then, the chilling truth: her hidden ter
/0/82356/coverbig.jpg?v=8a386d9ab33b1766780ea8c2222c59f2)
The Man Who Truly Saw Me
For fifteen years, my life revolved around Ethan Hayes. I sacrificed everything to follow him to New York, even changing myself because he liked "no-fuss" girls. Our marriage, he said, was just a practical arrangement for his company's IPO. I worked tirelessly as his Director of Operations, alway
/0/86813/coverbig.jpg?v=78c2bc2fdb30471f9ec1b1d1121789e8)
Marrying The Man Who Saved Me
My engagement party was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. The ballroom glittered, my custom silk gown flowed, and my fiancé, Liam Thompson, smiled charmingly beside me. Everything was perfect, almost suffocatingly so. Then, Liam leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, and whispered, "
/1/108169/coverbig.jpg?v=d5d7eec68d506045e3b9157167802d96)
Married to the man who ruined me.
Ariella Quinn never imagined that survival would come with a wedding ring. Once, her life was quiet. Ordinary. Safe. Then her family's name was dragged into a scandal they did not create, their finances collapsed overnight, and every door that once opened to them slammed shut. Behind it all stood on
/0/72355/coverbig.jpg?v=9ef1e41ed6f41cc30b8af26a52caaf20)
Marrying The Man Who Hates Me
Leandro Castellano, a wealthy businessman known for being cold and heartless, has lost faith in love. Every woman who approaches him wants nothing more than his money and status. Fed up, he takes drastic measures-disguising himself as a poor old man named "Enzo" and living a simple life in a small
/0/81405/coverbig.jpg?v=f30d8454909d2ff8ff7d79324f66e300)
The Man Who Remembered
I once believed in love, in forever. I was an architect, building a life, a future, with the woman I adored, Olivia. She was my world, my wife. But then her past, in the form of Julian, her "true love," re-emerged. They framed me for his "death," sending me to prison. Now, years later, Olivia stoo
/0/8346/coverbig.jpg?v=c6dccd2c1422dece5238c1ec2d7aaf2e)
The Man Who Knew
Richard Horatio Edgar Wallace (1 April 1875 – 10 February 1932) was an English writer Born into poverty as an illegitimate London child, Wallace left school at 12. He joined the army at 21 and was a war correspondent during the Second Boer War for Reuters and the Daily Mail. Struggling with de
/0/88035/coverbig.jpg?v=0202114626827d125c3845bcd13532a8)
The Man Who Forgot Her
My fiancé, Floyd Meyers, announced he was canceling our engagement. He was proposing to Jaylah Ryan, an heiress, all because a psychic claimed I was the cause of his misfortune. Jaylah then falsely accused me of tearing her expensive gown. Floyd ordered his guards to slap me fifty times and forced
/0/16399/coverbig.jpg?v=3e0092282ff156550aaa87a73d021f0a)
/0/801/coverbig.jpg?v=20171121195443)
The Man Who Was Afraid
OUT of the darkest depths of life, where vice and crime and misery abound, comes the Byron of the twentieth century, the poet of the vagabond and the proletariat, Maxim Gorky. Not like the beggar, humbly imploring for a crust in the name of the Lord, nor like the jeweller displaying his precious sto
/0/8347/coverbig.jpg?v=a9b93a689209bb8b180336a52fa8712a)
/0/8348/coverbig.jpg?v=09fa1716a03cc8b8f6ef3c23ae2ea7a8)
/1/105748/coverbig.jpg?v=abc6a3f7e7e923da58507d795bd7c4c6)
Married to the man who loved me first
To save her brother's life, she signs a one-year marriage contract with a cold, powerful billionaire. No love. No intimacy. No feelings involved. At least-that was the deal. Living under the same roof with Adrian Blackwood, she slowly discovers a man who protects her in silence, shields her from his
/0/83027/coverbig.jpg?v=0e7b939168909a168a650a276a3ad8c5)
No Pity For The Man Who Broke Me
My eighth wedding anniversary. The house felt as cold as the lilies Michael' s assistant sent, a bouquet chosen by the woman he spent more time with than me. He was on another "business trip" with Chloe. When I finally reached him, his voice was dismissive, distant. "I want a divorce, Michael. " He
/0/4962/coverbig.jpg?v=67759505f13ff0cf91f94083e3cecac9)
The Man Who Rocked the Earth
From the book:It was three minutes past three postmeridian in the operating room of the new Wireless Station recently installed at the United States Naval Observatory at Georgetown. Bill Hood, the afternoon operator, was sitting in his shirt sleeves with his receivers at his ears, smoking a corncob
/0/94518/coverbig.jpg?v=afeb9fa30cd944b89e6038bc33d7f4c0)
The Forsaken Man Who Shook The World
The Poor Son-in-Law Turned Out to Be the Richest Man in the World! So wealthy that people said Jackson Raksa Hethawey possessed endless money-enough to buy the entire world! Once mocked as the "worthless beggar son-in-law" of Madam Ester's powerful family, Jackson spent his days treated lower than a
/0/85352/coverbig.jpg?v=084101ffbf4058a0921a263ad10d5c73)
The Man Who Faked His Own Death
The sterile white walls of the hospital room were my first sight, a blinding canvas reflecting the nothingness inside me. Just days ago, I was Scarlett, a nurse, a wife; now, I was a widow, grieving the hero firefighter who died saving me from our burning home. My childhood friend, Liam, found me
/0/55735/coverbig.jpg?v=401d97c434793f187a61fc7fcf73884e)
THE MAN WHO WAS ONCE MINE
Amelia’s story traverses the intricate web of love, betrayal, and self-discovery. From the tender roots of infatuation in her youth to the tumultuous reunion with Dorian years later, every twist and turn unveils a new layer of complexity. Their chance encounter at a class reunion ignites a spark th
