The Unwanted Daughter's Secret Billionaire Identity

For a decade, I was the perfect wife to tech mogul Carson Jarvis. I cleaned up every scandal and endured every affair, trapped by my father's "poison pill" inheritance clause that would leave me with nothing if I divorced him. His latest mistress was pregnant, but that wasn't what finally broke me. It was when he shut down our mansion's power grid for their tryst-and turned off my grandmother's life support. He murdered her. At a charity auction days later, he paraded his new love while she announced her pregnancy. When I confronted her for stealing my money, Carson watched as his guards broke my arm, leaving me bleeding on the floor while he comforted her. He thought I was his unbreakable wife, a possession with nowhere else to go. He expected me to clean up this mess, just like all the others. He was wrong. As I watched him shield her during the chaos of an explosion I secretly arranged, I knew my old life was over. Tonight, the world would learn of my death. And with it, Carson Jarvis would lose everything.

Ethan Miller, a tech mogul, believed he had it all: a thriving empire and a fiancée, Seraphina Blackwood, his pure and minimalist sanctuary. He' d poured millions into her "spiritual journey," building her a lavish, soundproof studio for meditation and yoga. But one day, a system alert about unusual power consumption led him to an unimaginable scene. The serene studio was a den of debauchery, filled with loud music, champagne, and Seraphina, who shrieked with laughter that he "totally bought it!" She bragged about bleeding him dry for ruining her life, revealing her "pure and spiritual" facade was a calculated act of revenge to fund a reunion with her criminal ex-boyfriend. His world shattered; love turned to a cold, hard rage. He reeled from the betrayal, realizing he wasn' t her savior but her target, a naive fool he vowed would see his vengeance. This time, his "lucky touch" wouldn't be for her benefit but for his own absolute reclamation.

My parents' living room, usually a haven, felt like a courtroom as I delivered my verdict. "The brownstone goes to Emily' s son, Leo." The silence cracked with my mother' s gasp, Lily' s heartbroken whisper, and my father' s stunned roar. They saw a monster, cold and unfeeling, sacrificing my own daughter' s future for a perceived wrong. My husband, Mark, seized the moment, orchestrating a public spectacle that branded me an unfit mother, a betrayer of my own flesh and blood. He paraded Emily, my supposed best friend, as the wronged party, while Lily, my sweet Lily, crumpled under the weight of my manufactured cruelty. On live television, before a horrified nation, I was forced to declare my daughter worthless, to shatter her trust with words that tasted like ash in my throat. I watched her collapse, her little body convulsing, knowing I had just broken her heart to save her life. But what kind of mother drives her child to such despair? What unforgivable sin did I commit to warrant this public condemnation? They think they' ve won, that they' ve stripped me of everything. But they haven' t taken Lily. Not yet. And in the silent, strategic war I' m waging, their every move, every lie, every smug act of triumph, is only bringing them closer to their inevitable downfall.

For nine years, I poured every ounce of my sweat and soul into building a future. As a carpenter, I paid for Chloe's law school, seeing her as the only family I had since taking her in as a teen. My dream, a new house-our home-was finally within reach. But the moment I burst through the door, beaming after closing on the house, Chloe wasn' t smiling. She held out her hand, the silver ring I'd given her resting in her palm. "I can' t, Leo," she declared, her voice flat, "We need to end this." My heart shattered. Nine years of sacrifice, reduced to a cold business transaction. "We were partners in survival," she stated, eyes cold, "My life is starting now. You' re not compatible." Then I saw it: a luxury Swiss watch for Julian, her wealthy new mentor. She didn't even know my shirt size; she saw my calluses, not me. The bitter truth crashed down. My promise to her, that she would be my only family, had become a cage of my own making. How could the person I' d given everything to betray me so utterly? Nine years felt like a devastating lie. As I sat in the desolate apartment, I remembered a crumpled business card, long ignored. Hollis Investigations. They' d been searching for my biological parents. It was time to find out. I picked up the phone.

The call seemed routine, a possible sprain in a quiet Vermont town where I, a paramedic, lived a seemingly quiet life, waiting for my FBI agent wife, Jessica, to return from her latest dangerous assignment. But when I arrived, I saw her, not in Oregon, but here, pushing a little boy on a swing, laughing with a man I didn't recognize. Then the boy called her "Mommy," and my world shattered. I drove home numb, only to find her waiting, smiling, with an excuse about "leave" and a "layover." When I confronted her, she offered pathetic lies, then slapped me hard across the face when I called out her lover. She even tried to force me to sign papers for "our" child's health insurance, then brought my brother's cheating ex-wife to my house for a "reconciliation." How could someone be so brazenly deceitful, creating a whole fake life while pretending to love me? But the moment I handed her the divorce papers and the formal complaint I filed with the FBI, I knew it wasn't over.

The last thing I saw was my sister Chloe' s cold, satisfied smile as the wrench came down, followed by an explosion of pain and darkness. She whispered, "She knew too much. She was always in the way." Then, nothing. I was dead, brutally murdered by my own sister because I stumbled upon her insane scheme to impersonate a missing socialite for money. But then, I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my narrow bed. Sunlight filtered through my grimy window. I was alive. It was June 14th, the day it all began, the day that, in another life, ended with my murder. My heart hammered, my head throbbed. I' d seen the blood, the callousness of my sister, and the boundless greed of my parents previously. Last time, I had tried to reason with her, and it got me killed. This time, things would be different. A chilling calm settled deep inside me. Chloe wanted to play a dangerous game? Fine. I wouldn' t stop her. I would watch her step right into the fire she was so eager to light. When her knock came, saccharine sweet, I took a steadying breath. "Coming," I called out. "Okay, Chloe," I said, a faint, cold smile touching my lips as I opened the door. She had no idea.

Her fiance and her best friend worked together and set her up. She lost everything and died in the street. However, she was reborn. The moment she opened her eyes, her husband was trying to strangle her. Luckily, she survived that. She signed the divorce agreement without hesitation and was ready for her miserable life. To her surprise, her mother in this life left her a great deal of money. She turned the tables and avenged herself. Everything went well in her career and love when her ex-husband came to her.

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.

The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road. Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city. "Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around." Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding. They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag. What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased. I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York. "I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down. "But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister."

Corinne devoted three years of her life to her boyfriend, only for it to all go to waste. He saw her as nothing more than a country bumpkin and left her at the altar to be with his true love. After getting jilted, Corinne reclaimed her identity as the granddaughter of the town's richest man, inherited a billion-dollar fortune, and ultimately rose to the top. But her success attracted the envy of others, and people constantly tried to bring her down. As she dealt with these troublemakers one by one, Mr. Hopkins, notorious for his ruthlessness, stood by and cheered her on. "Way to go, honey!"

Elena, once a pampered heiress, suddenly lost everything when the real daughter framed her, her fiancé ridiculed her, and her adoptive parents threw her out. They all wanted to see her fall. But Elena unveiled her true identity: the heiress of a massive fortune, famed hacker, top jewelry designer, secret author, and gifted doctor. Horrified by her glorious comeback, her adoptive parents demanded half her newfound wealth. Elena exposed their cruelty and refused. Her ex pleaded for a second chance, but she scoffed, "Do you think you deserve it?" Then a powerful magnate gently proposed, "Marry me?"

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.