Discarded Ex: Claimed By The Boss

Elise’s contract marriage to the wealthy, terminally ill Holt Knight was supposed to guarantee her mother’s medical care. But the Knight family suddenly froze the $374,000 trust fund, leaving her mother waiting to die. To force her out, her vicious in-laws publicly humiliated her. They made her serve as a waitress at their own charity gala, laughing as they threw money at her feet and called her a gold-digging leech. "You'll always be trash," her sister-in-law sneered. Even worse, Elise was ambushed in a pitch-black hospital elevator by a masked assassin who nearly crushed her throat before vanishing into the night. But during the gala, her sharp medical instincts caught a terrifying detail. The deadly assassin's muscular build and iron grip perfectly matched her frail, wheelchair-bound husband. Why was her "dying" husband secretly a highly trained killer? And why did he suddenly collapse from an untraceable neurotoxin right in front of her, coughing up black blood? Instead of fleeing the viper's nest, Elise pulled two custom meteorite needles from her hair and dragged her dangerous husband back from the brink of death. Then, she pushed his wheelchair straight into the hostile family boardroom. She looked her stunned in-laws in the eye and staked her entire marriage on an impossible corporate bet to seize control of their empire. This time, she was going to tear the Knight family apart from the inside out.

On the night of our third anniversary, I prepared a lavish candlelit dinner, waiting for my husband, Julian, to come home. But when he finally walked through the door, he didn't even look at the table. He just coldly ordered me to go to the hospital to donate blood for Seraphina, the woman he had always kept close. When I refused, he left me alone in the storm and spent the night guarding her. The next day, he accused me of leaking her hospital location to the paparazzi. To "protect" her, he brazenly moved Seraphina into our marital estate. When I packed my bags to leave, Seraphina intentionally faked a fall in the hallway. Julian didn't hesitate. He violently shoved me out of the way to catch her. My lower back slammed hard against the solid wood doorframe. I gasped in pain, clutching my stomach, while he glared at me with murderous rage. "If you say one word to my family about her, I will destroy the orphanage you grew up in." I looked at the man I had loved with a desperate passion for three years, cradling a manipulative liar in his arms. My heart turned entirely to ash. He didn't know that my hands were trembling not from fear, but from the terror of losing what was inside me. I had just found out I was six weeks pregnant with his child. I slowly stood up, hiding the ultrasound photo deep in my bag. This time, I didn't argue or cry. I just drove away from the estate, silently vowing that I would disappear and he would never see this child.

I am the true heiress of the Falcone mafia family. My fiancé, Julian, swore a blood oath to protect me and promised to win my murdered mother's crown for me at the underground auction. But as the auctioneer raised his gavel, Julian bid eleven million dollars—only to place the crown on the head of Chloe, the adopted imposter who stole my life. He publicly stripped me of my succession token just because Chloe shed a few fake tears. When I tried to leave the hall, the three childhood friends I had secretly funded and protected with my life blocked my path. They pushed me down a flight of marble stairs, shattering my knee. When I struggled to stand, they violently wrenched my arm until my shoulder popped from its socket. "Stop playing the sympathy card, Scarlett," they mocked coldly. "You are just faking a theatrical act to steal Julian back." They watched me suffer in agony, completely devoted to Chloe's fragile facade. Even my own father used this humiliation to strip my inheritance and force me into a cheap arranged marriage. I endured the blinding pain of my mangled arm in the dead of night, realizing my years of bleeding for these men meant absolutely nothing. So, I decided to sever the dead weight. I dialed the private number of Dante Vitiello—Julian's deadliest rival in the underworld. "I need a groom in three days," I told him. "In exchange, you get my territory."

My husband stole my life. He took my groundbreaking dessert concept, the one we were supposed to build an empire on, and left me with nothing but dust. Then, he served me divorce papers through a stranger and plastered his new relationship with my intern, Celina, all over the internet. They built a culinary empire on my stolen recipes, their sickeningly bright smiles a public declaration of my replacement. I became a cautionary tale, the talented chef who couldn't keep her husband or her ideas safe. My reputation was shattered, and I was forced to disappear. For six years, I rebuilt from the ashes, running my own small bakery, finding peace in my quiet, fiercely independent life. I thought that chapter was closed. But then they stormed into my shop, ready to destroy me all over again. They came to shatter my new life, but they made one critical mistake. They had no idea who my new husband was.

Seven years later, they met again when Eileen had lost weight from 75 kilograms to 45 kilograms. She even changed her name. So her ex-boyfriend, Greg, didn't recognize her at all. He was critically ill and needed her blood to survive. Eileen refused the million-dollar reward and made one request: that Greg act as Lottie's father for a month. Lottie was Eileen's daughter. Greg agreed without hesitation. But he soon abandoned their plans of having fun in the amusement park due to Rena. He missed the parent-child sports event, and all the students mocked Lottie because she claimed to have a father who never showed up. When Eileen confronted Greg, he dismissively handed her a check. "Lottie isn't my daughter. We're just in a fake marriage. Why should I waste my time on her?" Greg didn't know that Lottie was indeed his daughter. Perhaps it was not a bad thing. Once the surgery was over, Eileen planned to disappear from his world forever with her daughter.

My daughter Emily' s sobs were the only sound in the car. Her dream, a spot in a prestigious summer research program, had vanished, "reallocated due to unforeseen administrative changes." But then, I saw the name on the payment authorization for the new candidate: Sarah Williams. My wife. The woman who was supposed to be at a spa retreat, who had hugged Emily that morning and told her how proud she was. In that single, searing moment, everything clicked: Sarah' s secretive phone calls, vague explanations for large credit card bills, and suspicious insistence on a supplementary card with a higher limit. It wasn' t a spa retreat; it was a lavish affair, funded by my company, and she was trying to buy her lover' s daughter a spot in Emily' s program. My blood ran cold. Betrayal wasn't a strong enough word. This was a demolition of my family, financed with my own money. "MARK, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO? ANSWER YOUR PHONE NOW!" Her voice, usually gentle, was now sharp and accusatory. There was no shame, only entitlement. I realized this wasn't a mistake; it was a pattern. She saw my generosity as a weakness to be exploited. "No," I said simply. "The cards are staying off." I looked at Kevin, the man who believed he held all the power. "You were saying something about winning? Let's see how long that feeling lasts."