Claimed By The Ruthless Alpha
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Jilted Girlfriend? I Am The Tycoon's Wife
Cara Lewis sat quietly as her boyfriend of three years pushed a plate of dessert across the table, wearing a rehearsed mask of sorrow. He claimed he had to break up with her for her own good, blaming his lack of connections on Wall Street and insisting he couldn't give her the life she deserved. He acted like a martyr making a tragic sacrifice, waiting for her desperate tears and trembling denial. Instead, Cara calmly pulled out a stack of glossy photos and an elegant engagement invitation. She exposed his secret affair with the wealthy Hailie Lewis, completely dismantling his hypocritical social climb. Leaving the cheating narcissist pale and humiliated, Cara paid the bill and walked out, thinking the trash had finally been taken out. But her newly single evening took a chaotic turn when a teenage gaming partner called in a panic. He begged her to crash his elite prep school and pose as his aunt to save him from expulsion. Cara agreed, flawlessly playing the role of the secret new wife to his uncle, a notoriously ruthless Wall Street titan. She was thoroughly dominating the snobby school board when the office doors suddenly swung open. The real billionaire uncle, Beck Greer, walked into the room. Cara's heart dropped into her stomach as his glacial eyes locked onto her, knowing her social existence in New York was about to end. Caught in a terrifying, inescapable lie, Cara made an insane calculation. She stepped forward, firmly hooked her arm through the billionaire's, and smiled sweetly. "Honey, what took you so long? Julian and I were being bullied." She waited for the executioner's axe to fall, but the untouchable tycoon simply covered her hand with his and played along.
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.
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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.
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Claimed By The Ruthless Alpha Dominic
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Claimed by the RUTHLESS ALPHA
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Abandoned by All, Claimed by the Ruthless Alpha
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Claimed By The Ruthless Mafia
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Claimed By The Ruthless CEO
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Claimed By The Cursed Alpha
Alpha Ronan is the feared Death Alpha, a ruthless ruler cursed to watch every bride he takes die. He trusts no one and keeps his emotions buried beneath power, control, and cold silence. Roselle is a mute, wolfless princess who has been starved and beaten in a cell for nearly a year by the man who
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CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA ENEMY
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Claimed by The Rogue Alpha
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After a heart-wrenching betrayal from her fiance, Kerris decides that no man or wolf is worth waiting for. Her dreams of a pure and sacred mating night is nothing but a little girl's silly fantasies. With her father's life on the line and no one to help her, the only way to save him is to finally r
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Claimed by the Alpha Twins.
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Claimed By The Alpha Queen
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Claimed By The Stubborn Alpha
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