Earning Billions From My Cruel Fiancé

I spent fifty million dollars and hid my true identity as the White Wolf heiress to buy my mate, Felix, a seat on the Werewolf Council. But right before our mating ceremony, he dumped me. He pinched his nose in disgust, claiming I reeked of human money and was too low-level for a rising Council Beta. He openly chased after the rumored White Wolf heiress, completely unaware that he was talking about me. He even smashed my late mother's sacred moonstone relic to pieces, declaring he would use it to court the heiress. "I can offer you a position as a bottom-tier Omega maid in my new household. That's the best you'll ever get," he sneered. I looked at the broken shards of my mother's relic and the pathetic, ungrateful street dog I had pulled from the gutter. He had forgotten who fed him her own ancient blood to keep him alive when his impure bones were tearing themselves apart. He wanted to abandon the woman who gave him everything to chase a rumor of myself. He wanted the legendary White Wolf? Fine. I withdrew every single dollar, stripped his packhouse bare, and prepared to attend the grand Council banquet in my pure white silk gown. Tonight, I was going to let him meet the heiress he so desperately desired, and take back every single thing I ever gave him.

Eleanora was pinned inside her crushed car, her blood mixing with the freezing rain. The footsteps approaching the wreckage didn't belong to paramedics, but to her trusted older sister, Destiny, and the man she loved, Justen. "I cut the brake lines myself, Ella," Destiny smiled, her voice barely a whisper over the storm. Destiny mocked Eleanora for being a naive ATM, revealing they had forged the financial reports to steal her inheritance. Then, she whispered one final, sickening secret. Heinrich Mcdowell, the cold fiancé Eleanora hated and ran away from, was dead. He had just burned to ashes in a warehouse fire, sacrificing his life to save a girl who didn't even want him. The crushing weight of guilt and betrayal hit Eleanora harder than the crash. She had fought her own family to give Destiny everything, while the man she treated like garbage had died for her. As Destiny casually tossed a lighter into the leaking gasoline, the flames instantly swallowed the cabin. In the fraction of a second before the fire consumed her entirely, Eleanora carved a vow into her soul: she would tear them apart piece by piece. "Beep. Beep. Beep." Eleanora's eyes snapped open to the sterile white ceiling of a VIP hospital ward. It was October 2018. She had returned to five years ago. This was the exact day she swallowed sleeping pills to force her parents to cancel her prenuptial agreement with Heinrich. This time, Eleanora ripped the IV from her hand and ran barefoot into the cold night. She was going to get her fiancé back.

My adoptive sister drugged me and sent me to a hotel for a fake audition, where a powerful stranger assaulted me in the pitch-black suite. When I escaped home, my fiancé, Ethan, and my entire family ambushed me. They threw staged photos in my face, accusing me of selling my body to a sleazy director. They called me a whore, stripped me of my trust fund, and threw me onto the street. But Ethan refused to let me go. He had me blacklisted from every job and even froze my only friend's bank accounts, trying to break me completely. Forced into a corner, I had no choice but to attend a high-society party as his date, where he and my sister made sure everyone in New York saw me as worthless trash. I couldn't understand the depths of their cruelty. Why would the very family who took me from an orphanage orchestrate such an elaborate plot to ruin me? But during a sudden blackout at the party, I ran straight into the arms of my attacker. When the lights came back on, I finally saw his face. He wasn't a director—he was Abraham Bush, the most ruthless billionaire in the country. And just as my ex-fiancé is about to strike me after discovering I'm pregnant, Abraham's men have surrounded the house.

My fiancée sacrificed five years of her life to save my family, falling into a deep coma. But when she finally woke up, I didn't greet her with love. I greeted her with pure hatred. Convinced by my mistress, Hailie, that Ericka was a traitor faking her illness for sympathy, I became her tormentor. When she told me she had stage four cancer, I laughed and accused her of manipulation. I locked her in a freezing safe house. I forced her into a sauna until her skin blistered, then doused her failing lungs with ice water. I dragged her out of the hospital to kneel in the rain until she collapsed. Even when she fell from a balcony, broken and bleeding, I let my men beat her. I watched her waste away, believing every one of Hailie's lies over Ericka's desperate truths. It wasn't until I saw her cold, blue body on the rocks below the cliffs that the truth finally shattered me. The autopsy confirmed the cancer I mocked was real. A hidden recording revealed Hailie had framed her all along, admitting she treated me like a dog on a leash. I realized I had tortured the woman who saved my life until she bought her own grave just to escape me. I burned Hailie alive at Ericka's funeral, but death was too easy a punishment. I lived in agony, a scarred monster praying for the end. But when I finally closed my eyes in the fire, I didn't die. I heard a beep. I opened my eyes, and the date on my phone was three years ago. The day Ericka woke up.

I stood behind the velvet curtain, clutching a positive pregnancy test, waiting for the perfect moment to tell Dante our family was growing. Instead, I heard him laugh. "She is not the bride," Dante told his Consigliere, swirling his fifty-year-old scotch. "She is the bulletproof vest I wear until it is safe for Sofia to enter the city. When the bullets stop flying, we throw the vest in the trash." My world shattered. When Sofia arrived that night, she didn't just take my place; she boiled my beloved cat for dinner. Dante didn't defend me. He told me to clean up the mess or face punishment. To prove his devotion to her, he had his men drag me to "The Pit"—an underground fight club. I was thrown into a cage with a starving Doberman. I looked up at the VIP box, begging the man I loved to save me. Instead, Dante pressed the intercom button, his voice booming over the speakers. "One million dollars on the dog," he said. "She won't last three minutes." He covered Sofia's eyes to protect her innocence while the beast tore the flesh from my arm. That night, Elena Vance died in the dirt. One year later, the grieving Dante Moretti attended a gala for a mysterious new artist in New York. He dropped his champagne glass when he saw me on stage, alive, wearing a dress that revealed my ruined, scarred arm. "I didn't leave you, Dante," I said into the microphone, my voice cold as ice. "You killed me. And now, I'm here to collect my winnings."

My name is Gabrielle Johns, a rising architect with everything going for me – a dream career, a great apartment, and loving parents who sacrificed for my future. I was heading to my family's lake house for a long weekend, my best friend, Jen, complaining beside me as usual. That' s when the vintage hearse hit my car, a minor fender-bender that Jen immediately declared my "lucky day." Bizarrely, her words seemed to come true: my career soared, and my parents had the full down payment for my new condo. Jen, consumed by envy, became convinced the hearse was a source of "luck," deliberately getting herself hit by it. But her "luck" turned into ruin. The hearse was priceless, and its owners sued her for damages that would devastate her. Spiraling into a paranoid rage, she blamed me for "stealing" her luck. One night, as I left my new condo, her madness culminated in the ultimate betrayal. Jen, my childhood best friend, plunged a knife into my chest, hissing, "This was supposed to be mine." Darkness consumed me, my last thought of my parents and their future, stolen. How could someone I loved become such a monster? Why did she believe my hard work was just "luck" she was entitled to? Why did this happen? Then, I gasped awake. I was in my bed, in my old apartment, on the very morning the nightmare began. My phone buzzed: a text from Jen, "I've got a feeling this is going to be a very, very lucky weekend. ;)" She was back. And this time, I wouldn't be kind.