Married To The Vulture Of Wall Street

I had exactly forty-five minutes to get married, or I would lose the voting shares needed to stop my father from laundering millions through our family foundation. Everything was riding on this one legal signature at the City Clerk’s office. But just as I reached the front of the line, my phone buzzed with a high-definition photo of my fiancé, Preston, tangled in sheets with a junior associate at a SoHo hotel. The man I was about to tie my life to was a fraud, and my deadline was ticking toward zero. When I shoved the evidence in his face, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he gripped my wrist until the bone ground together, whispering that I was just a "junkie" fresh out of a Swiss clinic and that no one else would ever marry a liability with a personality disorder. My father was already standing by with a fraudulent medical affidavit, ready to force me into a conservatorship and strip me of my freedom the moment the clock hit 5 PM. They had spent years using my fake "instability" as a leash, treating me like a broken doll while they bled the company dry. I was the only one with the evidence to take them down, yet I was being discarded like a sunk cost by the very men who were supposed to protect me. I looked at Preston’s smug face and realized I didn't need a husband; I needed a predator. I scanned the room and spotted Dominik Mack, the "Vulture of Wall Street," a man who specialized in hostile takeovers and stripping men like my father of everything they owned. I walked straight up to the most dangerous man in New York and offered him a business transaction. "Do you want to get married?" I asked. He looked at my trembling hands, then at the man chasing me, and adjusted his collar with clinical detachment. "Deal," he said. I didn't just find a groom; I found an accomplice. This wasn't a wedding anymore—it was a declaration of war.

Chapters

Chapter 2

Ivy forced air into her lungs. Fear was a chemical reaction; she could control it. She turned her back on Preston, using a cluster of tourists taking selfies as a shield.

She walked toward the man in the corner.

Every step felt heavy, like walking through water. As she got closer, the details of him came into focus. He was tall, taller than Preston. His shoes were Italian leather, hand-stitched, scuffed slightly at the toe-someone who walked, not just someone who was driven. No logos. No flash. Just quiet, terrifying quality.

He was looking at a phone now, a sleek device with a privacy screen. His brow was furrowed, a microscopic line of tension between his eyes.

A younger man stood next to him, holding a tablet. He looked like a lawyer or an assistant, nervous energy radiating off him in waves.

She stopped three feet away. She had breached his perimeter.

A large man in a suit-security-stepped forward to intercept her.

The man in the coat raised a hand. One finger. The security guard froze and stepped back.

The man slowly lifted his eyes from his phone.

When his gaze met hers, she felt a physical drop in her stomach, like missing a step on a staircase. He didn't just look at her; he assessed her. He dismantled her. And she recognized him instantly. Dominik Mack. The Vulture of Wall Street. His file was flagged in three different international databases she monitored. This wasn't a random encounter; it was an opportunity she hadn't dared to plan for.

Preston was shouting her name somewhere behind her, his voice rising in pitch.

She didn't have time for introductions. She didn't have time for sanity.

"Do you want to get married?" she asked.

The words hung in the air, absurd and sharp.

The assistant, the nervous one, dropped his stylus. His mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

The man in the coat didn't blink. His expression didn't change. He looked at her as if she had just asked him for the time, or perhaps for a light.

"I need a U.S. citizen," she said, the words tumbling out faster now. "No criminal record. Immediate signature. It's a business transaction. I can pay. Or I can owe you."

His eyes dropped to her hand. She was gripping her phone so hard her fingers were numb. He looked at the white knuckles, then back up to her face.

Something flickered in his eyes. Not amusement. Calculation. It was gone before she could read it.

He slid his phone into his pocket.

"Ivy!" Preston had broken through the tourists. He was coming.

Her body went rigid. If Preston dragged her out of there, if he caused enough of a scene to get them detained, the window would close.

She looked at Dominik Mack again. She let the mask slip. She let him see the desperation. Please.

It was the only leverage she had.

He tilted his head slightly. His voice was deep, a baritone that vibrated in the floorboards.

"Terms?" he asked.

She blinked. She hadn't expected him to negotiate. She expected him to call security.

"Mutual non-interference," she said, her voice steadying. "Divorce on demand. Separate assets."

Preston was five meters away. She could hear his heavy breathing.

The stranger straightened up. He towered over her, casting a shadow that blocked out the harsh overhead lights. He adjusted his collar.

"Deal," he said.

He extended his arm. It wasn't a handshake. It was an invitation.

"Take my arm," he said.

She reached out. Her hand was trembling. She hated that he could see it. She laid her hand on his forearm. Beneath the expensive wool of his coat, the muscle was hard as rock.

Continue to next part

My husband left me to die in a fire, choosing to save his mistress while I lost our baby in the flames. But my suffering had only just begun. He and his lover then tried to poison me, swapping my life-saving medication for tranquilizers. When that didn't work, he orchestrated a car crash that shattered my legs, leaving me crippled and helpless. His final act of cruelty was on his yacht. He watched as his mistress framed me, then locked me in a room with a group of thugs who left me for dead. I threw myself into the ocean that night, choosing the cold, dark water over the monsters on that boat. I survived. I rebuilt my life, found a man who cherished my broken pieces, and was about to get married. Then, August crashed my engagement party. He told me he'd destroyed his mistress and was giving me his entire fortune. He thought he could buy his way back into my life. He was about to learn that some things can't be fixed with money.

Action Modern Romance

7.5

His Unwanted Wife, My New Dawn

7.5

For six years, I was the wife of a tech billionaire with crippling mysophobia. To my husband, Killian, I was a contaminant he was forced to tolerate for a business merger, a ghost in my own home. But for his mistress, the influencer Isabel, every rule was broken. He worshipped her, believing she was the angel who' d saved him from a near-fatal climbing accident two years ago. The truth was, I was the one who braved a blizzard to rescue him, suffering severe frostbite in the process. But he laughed in my face, calling me too fragile. He knelt on a filthy police station floor to touch her bare feet, yet he' d recoiled from my touch for years. He destroyed my grandmother' s priceless locket because she wanted it. He forced me to kneel and apologize for her lies, threatening my family's company if I refused. The final humiliation came when he publicly declared her the true mistress of the house and made me climb a dangerous, thorny hill on my injured ankle to pick roses for her. As I stumbled back, covered in mud and blood, I felt nothing. The love I had stubbornly held onto was finally, completely dead. I walked away that night with the signed divorce papers in my hand. My old life was over, and my fight for a new one had just begun.

Action Modern Romance

8.9

My Baby, My Strength, Our Future

8.9

The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below. I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty. Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first. I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated. Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child? I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.

Action Modern Romance

7.3

My Stepbrother's Deadly Game of Love

7.3

I started a dangerous game to break my perfect, cold stepbrother, Hunter. Our forbidden affair became a secret inferno, and I thought I was the one in control, the one teaching him how to feel. Then an anonymous video arrived on my phone. It showed Hunter with a young intern, repeating our most intimate lines, my words, my lessons, verbatim. "Does this need to be taught, too?" he asked her, his voice a chilling echo of our past. He confessed it was all a calculated revenge plot against my mother. He left me to collapse in the street, sick and alone, and the car crash that followed shattered my legs, ending my ballet career forever. My love was a weapon he used to burn my world to the ground. My body was broken, my dreams turned to ash. I had lost everything to a man I thought I had broken, but who had instead destroyed me. But from the ashes, a new dream was born. I became a choreographer, my pain fueling my art. Now, years later, as I stand on the world stage, he watches from the shadows, a ghost consumed by a regret he can never atone for.

Action Mystery Romance

8.6

Old Team's Costly Mistake

8.6

Elite operative Elias Thorne was once the backbone of his tactical unit until a botched mission led to his betrayal. Framed for a crime he didn't commit, he vanished into the shadows. Now, his former teammates are being targeted by a mysterious assassin, forcing Elias out of hiding. To clear his name, he must navigate a web of lies and high-stakes conspiracies. The past is catching up, and the cost of his team's original error might be their lives.

Action Modern Mystery

8.5

She Built Him, Then She Destroyed

8.5

I built my husband' s career from nothing. I was the architect of his rise, the woman who would make him mayor. But the one thing I didn't plan for was the cheap perfume on his collar-the scent of our new intern. When I confronted him, he didn't apologize. He called me a burden. "She's simple," he said. "She's not... complicated like you." He claimed the affair was a necessary escape so he could tolerate coming home to me. Then, when his campaign fraud was exposed, he tried to pin it on his mistress and used the deepest wound of my life-my brother's death, which he caused-to demand I clean up his mess. He looked at me, the man I had sacrificed everything for, and warned me not to "fall apart on him now." He wanted me to bury the scandal. I looked him in the eye and agreed. "Fine," I said. "I'll bury it." He didn't realize I meant I would bury him.

Action Modern Romance

Married To The Vulture Of Wall Street

Chapter 2

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