Pregnant And Hunted By The Billionaire

My treacherous half-sister and my fiancé were holding their grand Mating Ceremony. In my previous life, they conspired against me, stole my mother's perfumery to use as her dowry, and locked me in a cold, damp cellar. My body became a canvas of bruises and broken promises. Amber's triumphant laughter echoed with Preston's sneering voice as they mocked my pathetic existence. My father and stepmother turned a blind eye to my suffering, eagerly handing over my rightful inheritance to secure a powerful alliance with the Alpha's family. I was branded a crazy, wolfless outcast by the entire pack, completely abandoned and reviled. In the end, I was hunted down by a terrifying predator with golden eyes. He ripped my mother's silver locket from my neck and brutally ended my life in the dark. Until my last breath, I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much. Why did my father let them steal my mother's legacy? And who was that monstrous man in the shadows who took my life? Opening my eyes again, I was back on the night of their Mating Ceremony. This time, I put on a simple black dress and walked straight into their perfect celebration with the real inheritance documents in my hand. "This union, I object."

I woke up naked and drugged on a luxury yacht, only to find a marriage license thrown at my face. The groom was King Bennett, the ruthless, paralyzed billionaire titan. I wasn't supposed to be the bride. My stepsister Kassidy was. But my own father had drugged me and swapped us out like livestock just to secure his corporate deal. Trapped at sea, I hacked the yacht's network to find proof of my innocence, only to uncover something far worse. A hidden video of Kassidy in a hotel bed with Evan, my boyfriend of three years. "She's just so boring," Evan laughed on screen, kissing my stepsister's neck. My family and my lover had coordinated my absolute destruction. When I tried to show King the evidence, a glitch blasted the obscene audio instead. Disgusted, he shattered my tablet, branded me a cheap whore, and forced me to clean up broken glass on my hands and knees until I bled. I was entirely alone, stripped of my dignity, and framed as a manipulative gold-digger by the very people who sold me. The betrayal was a cold, hollowing void. I had no one left to lose, and no weaknesses left to exploit. But they made one fatal mistake. When I helped King back into his wheelchair, I felt a faint, involuntary twitch in his supposedly dead leg. The world's top doctors said he was paralyzed forever, but my medical training told me otherwise. I wiped the blood from my hands and smiled. I didn't need to escape anymore; I had just found the ultimate leverage to make them all pay.

My father' s life depended on a $50,000 payment my billionaire husband could easily afford. But every dollar I spent was controlled by his chief of staff, Keri-a woman who hated me and managed my life through a humiliating expense app. When my father was diagnosed with a rare leukemia, the doctors gave him one chance: an experimental treatment. The cost was exactly $50,000. Keri rejected the request, citing "non-essential family health." My husband, Axel, told me not to be "so dramatic." While I begged them to reconsider, my father died. Hours after the hospital called, Keri posted a photo of her and Axel at a gala, celebrating a business deal. Her caption read: "#PowerCouple." I left a comment. "Inspiring how you celebrate wins on the day my father died because you withheld the $50,000 he needed. Your efficiency is unparalleled. Perhaps you'll find it equally efficient to process these divorce papers."

I spent three years as the hidden mistress of Wall Street tyrant Damon Vaughn. Our no-strings arrangement meant I was his to command, a secret he kept locked away in the dark. Then I saw the Instagram post. It was Damon, raising a champagne glass with his perfect high-society fiancée, the caption hinting that wedding bells were just around the corner. I ended it that night, leaving his black card on his nightstand and blocking his number for good. But a man like Damon doesn't accept being told no. He retaliated by buying the entire building my tech startup was in. He cornered me on the street, slamming his fist into my car's hood, his face a mask of terrifying rage. He was a possessive monster, planning his perfect marriage while refusing to release me from my cage. The humiliation of being his disposable secret burned hotter than my anger. To finally break him, I lied about having a blind date. But the lie became a terrifying reality when my mother forced me into that exact date. Now, Damon has kidnapped me, and as he shoves me out of his car in front of the restaurant, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper meant only for me. "Remember who you belong to."

I returned to New York with two scuffed suitcases and a broken heart, ready to end my three-year exile as a ghost wife. All I wanted was to sign the divorce papers, move my dying mother to hospice, and vanish from the billionaire Spears family forever. But the moment I stepped into the penthouse, I saw a pair of expensive red-bottomed heels by the door that weren't mine. Carlyle, the husband who hadn't spoken to me in years, was already moving his mistress into our home before the ink on our separation agreement was even dry. The humiliation was only the beginning. Carlyle treated me like an intruder in my own house, yet he forced me to attend high-society galas as his "perfect" wife to protect his reputation. When I tried to leave, he froze my bank accounts, leaving me unable to pay for my mother’s life-saving treatment. He watched my desperation with cold, predatory eyes, flaunting his new romance in the tabloids while keeping me trapped in his freezing home. My mother’s doctors warned me she was running out of time, but Carlyle only used her illness as a leash to keep me from running. I didn't understand why he was doing this to me. I had clearly signed away the money and the name, so why wouldn't he let me go? Why did he have me watched for years if he hated me so much? Why was he flaunting another woman while refusing to sign the papers that would set us both free? What did he want from a woman he claimed to despise? When I finally cornered him with the final decree, Carlyle didn't pick up the pen. He snatched the folder, a flicker of cold triumph in his icy eyes. "The terms are wrong, Beatrix. I'm adding an employment clause. You’re going to work for me, in my office, where I can keep you under my thumb 24/7." He didn't just refuse to sign the papers; he had just turned my divorce into a permanent prison sentence.

On my twenty-fifth birthday, I discovered my boyfriend of seven years and my best friend were having an affair. They gave me matching necklaces-a sea and a mountain-the very set I had picked out for him as a symbol of our love. It was their silent confession, a confirmation of the betrayal I had just witnessed. Later that night, my best friend was attacked. I rushed to her side, only to be met with my boyfriend's fury. He accused me of being selfish and late, then broke up with me, leaving me alone and bleeding in the snow after I coughed up blood from my terminal lung cancer. He didn't see the blood. He didn't know I was dying. He just saw me as an inconvenience. My world shattered. I had been hiding my illness to spare them pain, only to find they were building their happiness on my quiet suffering. I received his call from the hospital, not out of concern for me, but because he had just discovered the truth about my cancer. He was too late. I was already on a plane to Oregon, having sent my final message: "I love you both. Always. Find your happiness. I'll be okay." This was my last gift to them-their freedom, bought with my life.