Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

I was the "perfect" fiancée for Harrison Vincent—regal, silent, and low-maintenance. For two years, I suppressed my career as a forensic accountant to be the "safe" choice that polled well with his family’s shareholders. But at a high-society gala, I found him in a VIP lounge with a socialite wrapped around him. He told her I was just a "boring art piece display stand" he had to drag around until his trust fund was unlocked. I didn't scream or make a scene. I mentally filed a "bad debt" report, tossed my emerald engagement ring into a glass of stale champagne, and walked out of his life. That same night, I found myself in a dark jazz club bathroom, using a strip of my velvet dress to stop the bleeding of a mysterious man with a gunshot wound and eyes like grey flint. The fallout was immediate. Harrison blocked my credit cards, assuming I’d crawl back once I couldn't afford rent. His mother called me a "nobody" while simultaneously begging me to handle the family's medical emergencies because they were too panicked to function. They treated me like a tool they could discard and pick up at will, never realizing I had already moved my things into a cramped Brooklyn apartment. I couldn't understand why they thought I was still their puppet, or why a black Maybach began following me through the city streets. I had saved a stranger's life and ended a toxic engagement, yet the air around me felt heavier and more dangerous than ever. The truth came out at the hospital when the most feared man in the city stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the bathroom—Collis Vincent, the ruthless head of the family. He didn't just humiliate Harrison; he took my hand in front of everyone and made a chilling declaration. "Harrison is a fool to have let you go, Helena. Your arrangement with him is terminated. From now on, you'll be working with me."

Chapters

Chapter 8

Three days later.

The Vincent estate in the Hamptons was a mausoleum of old money-dark wood, heavy drapes, and silence.

Helena was not there. Harrison had called her a dozen times, but she had blocked his number. Evelyn had sent the car anyway. It returned empty.

Now, the empty chair next to Harrison screamed louder than any argument.

Dinner was a disaster.

Sienna was wearing a dress that showed entirely too much cleavage. She was trying to charm Victoria Vincent, the matriarch of the family.

"So, Grandma," Sienna chirped. "I was thinking we could redecorate the sunroom."

Victoria, a woman of eighty with eyes like flint, stared at the empty chair next to Harrison.

"Where is Helena?" she asked.

"She's... under the weather," Harrison lied.

"She probably just didn't want to come," Sienna added, taking a sip of wine.

Victoria's face went grey. Her hand flew to her chest.

The crystal wine glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

"Mother!" Evelyn screamed.

Victoria slumped forward, her face hitting the linen tablecloth.

"Call 911!" Harrison yelled, fumbling for his phone.

Chaos erupted. Maids were running. Evelyn was sobbing.

"Call Helena!" Evelyn grabbed Harrison's arm, her nails digging into his suit. "She's the only one who stays calm! She knows people, she'll know who the best doctor is! Get her here!"

"But..."

"Do it!" Evelyn shrieked. "If she dies, the trust freezes! We lose everything!"

Helena was just stepping out of the shower when her phone rang. She saw Harrison's name. She reached to decline it.

Then she saw the voicemail transcription. Grandma collapsed. Ambulance. Please.

Helena cursed. She hated Harrison, but she respected Victoria. The old woman had been the only one to treat her with dignity.

She threw on jeans and a sweater, grabbed her keys, and ran.

St. Jude's Emergency Room was a war zone.

Helena met the ambulance at the bay.

She pushed through the chaos, her voice cutting through the noise as she spoke to the attending physician. "Status?" she barked.

"Acute MI. V-fib en route. Shocked twice."

"Get her to Trauma One," the doctor ordered the paramedics. "I need a 12-lead EKG. Prep the cath lab."

Harrison and Evelyn burst through the doors a moment later. When they saw Helena standing there, getting a direct report from the lead doctor, relief washed over their faces.

The surgeon came out ten minutes later. He held a clipboard.

"It's massive," he said, his voice professional. "She needs a triple bypass. Immediately. Or she won't make it through the night."

He held out the consent form. "I need a signature."

Evelyn grabbed the pen.

"Stop," the hospital legal counsel stepped in. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Vincent. You are not the medical proxy."

"I'm her daughter!" Evelyn screamed.

The lawyer checked his tablet. "The Vincent Family Trust covers this level of experimental, high-risk procedure, but the bylaws are explicit. All major medical decisions must be authorized by the primary trustee, Mr. Collis Vincent. Otherwise, you'll be paying out of pocket."

The room went silent.

Harrison went pale. "Uncle Collis? He... he never answers his phone."

Helena froze. That name again.

The monitor inside the trauma room started beeping rapidly. A high-pitched alarm.

"She's crashing again!" a nurse yelled.

The surgeon spun around. "I don't care who the trustee is! Find him! Or she dies right now!"

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My fiancé always told me he loved me. But not long after our engagement, I woke up suffocating in the dark. He was pressing a pillow over my face, his eyes cold and dead, while my half-sister stood by watching with fake pity. They had orchestrated everything just to steal my trust fund. It all started with a massive hotel scandal. They had drugged me, thrown a cheap escort into my bed, and brought a mob of paparazzi to ruin my reputation. When my fiancé broke through the crowd, playing the heartbroken victim, he knelt down with a massive diamond ring. "I know things have been hard, but I love you. If you come home with me, I will forgive all of this." In my past life, I cried tears of gratitude and let him slide that ring onto my finger. That ring sealed my death warrant. I lost my company, my dignity, and eventually, my life. Until my lungs burned and my heart stopped, I didn't understand. How could the people I trusted most plot my murder so ruthlessly? Why did they have to tear my entire life apart? Opening my eyes again, I was back on the morning of the hotel scandal, exactly one year ago. But the man lying bare-backed in my bed wasn't a random escort. It was Johnathan Chase, my family's biggest corporate rival and the most ruthless predator on Wall Street. Listening to the paparazzi pounding on the door, I smiled coldly.

Action Modern Romance

8.4

Between Ruin And Revenge: Her Regret

8.4

I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen. But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg. She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini. "I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog." Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull. Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage. She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic. "He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!" When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever. My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust. I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle. I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes. This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.

Action Modern Romance

7.7

Bound By Revenge: His Unwilling Wife

7.7

I was suffocating in a borrowed Valentino gown at the Met Gala, but it wasn't the corset that was killing me. It was the debt collector, Vargo, stalking me through the crowd like a wolf. Desperate to hide, I ducked into a private lounge and threw myself at the silhouette of a man sitting in the shadows, pressing my lips to his in a frantic plea for cover. When I pulled back, the air turned to ice; I was staring into the ocean-blue eyes of Kingsley Osborn, the billionaire who believed I’d sold his company secrets six years ago. Kingsley didn’t save me; he trapped me. The next morning, he slid a "Marriage Service Agreement" across his desk, revealing he knew everything about my father’s illegal Ponzi scheme and the quarter-million dollars I owed to loan sharks. He offered to pay my debts and protect my father, but only if I signed over two years of my life to be his trophy wife. "I don't want your money, Cassidy. I want your life." The marriage was a cold, calculated war. He forced me into his glass fortress, banned me from contacting my friends, and treated me with a distilled hatred that felt like a physical weight. When I accidentally broke his grandfather’s vintage watch during a nightmare, he didn't see an accident—he saw a crime, threatening to destroy my father if I didn't "charm" his board of directors into submission. I was a prisoner in a three-piece suit, until I found a mislabeled file buried in his company’s server. It contained evidence of a massive, illegal hostile takeover that would ruin Kingsley if the Feds ever saw it. I held the gun that could destroy the man who had cornered me. But as I looked at the champagne roses he’d secretly kept from my "peace offering," I realized I didn't want to pull the trigger. I wanted to see how far he’d go to keep me from leaving.

Action Modern Romance

9.2

Deal With The Devilish Wall Street Tycoon

9.2

Ami Cleveland's family empire was destroyed overnight by a malicious short-selling attack, leaving her mother facing federal prison and hunted by ruthless loan sharks. To secure a hundred-million-dollar lifeline, Ami risked her life as a blindfolded co-pilot in a deadly cliffside street race, all just to get five minutes alone with Jerad Kidd, the elusive Wall Street titan she had accidentally slept with the night before. But instead of saving her, Jerad completely crushed her dignity. "What makes you think you are worth a hundred million dollars?" He mocked her desperate pitch, calling her family's equity garbage, and coldly walked away. Two days later, he forced her onto his Miami superyacht as a political decoy, making her wear a backless silk gown that offered zero protection and throwing her into a sea of wealthy predators. When a drunk tech billionaire pinned her against a sofa and tried to rip the thin straps of her dress, Ami screamed for help. She looked up at the VIP balcony in absolute despair, only to see Jerad looking away, treating her like she didn't even exist. She didn't understand why he was torturing her. Why did he let her risk her life in his car, only to humiliate her and feed her to the wolves? With no one to save her, Ami grabbed a whiskey glass and violently smashed it into her attacker's face. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the man's brutal retaliation slap. But the hit never came. A large hand, wearing a heavy Patek Philippe watch, shot out of nowhere and clamped down on the man's raised arm like a steel vice.

Action Billionaire Modern

8.0

His Unwanted Wife Is A Genius Designer

8.0

For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world. But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle. The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch. When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son. "Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing. And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down. I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile. The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe. It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.

Action Modern Romance

7.9

My Best Friend Framed Me for Sabotage

7.9

Betrayed by his closest friend and falsely accused of sabotage, the protagonist finds his life in ruins. Forced into a dangerous journey of survival, he must navigate a world of high-stakes action and hidden conspiracies to clear his name. Along the way, he builds unexpected alliances and finds a chance at romance amidst the chaos. Driven by a quest for justice, he seeks to expose the truth and reclaim the life stolen by a bitter betrayal.

Action Adventure Romance

Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

Chapter 8

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