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My Billionaire's Ex Husband's Secret Heir

My Billionaire's Ex Husband's Secret Heir

Romance
last updateLast Updated : 2026-09-23
By:  Krystal BahmzUpdated just now
Language: English
goodnovel18goodnovel
10
3 ratings. 3 reviews
62Chapters
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Synopsis

Contemporary

Independent

Dominant

CEO

Divorce

Runaway with a Baby

Pregnant

Five years ago, Sasha Rivera left Rafael Moretti on the night that should have changed their lives forever. She had just found out she was pregnant and planned to tell her husband after dinner with the Moretti family. Instead, his family accused her of cheating with evidence that had been cut, twisted, and arranged to destroy her. But Rafael chose to believe his family, called her a gold digger, and let her walk away without chasing her. So Sasha left. Without Moretti money. Without telling Rafael she was carrying his child. Now, she is no longer the wife looked down on by an old Milan family. She is a successful architecture and interior design firm in Los Angeles, and the single mother of a four-year-old boy with someone’s blue eyes and unmistakable face. Her life is finally under control, until the biggest project of her career pulls her back into the past. Her client, Noelle Jamesson, is a wealthy heiress who wants Sasha to design her family’s Malibu mansion. And Noelle’s boyfriend is Rafael Moretti.... Colder. More powerful. As Noelle’s boyfriend, Rafael is suddenly everywhere Sasha has to be. In meetings. At dinners. On the Malibu site. Standing too close, watching too carefully, saying her name like he still knows exactly where to cut. Sasha can handle his coldness. She can handle his new woman. She can even handle the way her body still remembers him before her pride can stop it. What she cannot handle is Maxime. Her whole world. Because if Rafael ever learns the truth, he will not simply ask for a place in Max’s life. Rafael takes what he believes belongs to him. And Sasha is terrified that ....he will come for the only thing she cannot survive losing.

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Chapter 1

The Stain in the Room

QUEEN NATASH, the most powerful woman in Los Angeles and the boss of NATEL casino where all the games take place.

Natasha Garcia was born to the family of Smith and Helen Garcia. Me Smith worked as a driver for a very influential politician, but one day he witnessed a murder scene that cost him his life and that of his wife.

Little Natasha had to grow up alone in the street eating from the waste and she grew up desperate for a way out of poverty.

She was finally scouted by Mrs. Cruz who took her into her casino. Her job was as a stripper who had to tend to all the needs of their clients.

But soon after, Natasha didn't want to remain like that, so she began to do more than just be a sex toy.

She began to help influential men and women clean up their mess which includes a murder scene.

She was finally holding the secrets of the most influential people in Los Angeles and that made her more powerful.

Soon she opened up her casino, beating Mrs. Cruz off the game which made them sworn enemies.

Slowly, she began to climb up the ladder of success, she would do anything to make herself successful, she became a beast and the badass in the game, and within a few years

She started up a company producing her clothing, shoes, and makeup collection. Everything related to beauty was produced at NATEL FASHION WORLD.

Mrs. Cruz became curious and badly wanted to know how Natasha made her money, she was so desperate to beat Natasha until she met Adam Madison.

Adam Madison is a thirty-seven years old young man who dropped out of college and had to do multiple jobs to provide for his mother and sister.

They were everything to him, he badly wanted to provide for his mother and sister, and he was ready to do anythiwith with respect the risk involved to give his family a better life.

He badly wanted to leave the slumber until he met Mrs. Cruz who offered him a job of a lifetime that would change his life for good, but it was almost an impossible one.

She gave him a new life and a new identity and had his work as a spy at NATEL casino with just one mission which was to make Natasha fall in love with him at all costs.

Natasha has never been in love, she got everything she wanted and threw them after use, love didn't exist to her, but Adam who understands what was involved, will go to any length to make it work.

Who is bound to win the game?

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reviews

Miranda
Miranda
I really enjoy your writings. It’s still ongoing I hope you continue updating. What I really like all your FL are a strong and not hesitate to leave the bad marriage once they got treated wrong. Keep it coming
2026-07-20 21:24:02
3
0
Shubby Doo
Shubby Doo
12 chapters - jul 5 2026
2026-07-06 04:12:22
0
0
Kirsten Thiel-Rise
Kirsten Thiel-Rise
Denne bog er fantastisk Håber der kommer flere afsnit
2026-05-17 23:40:59
1
1
62 Chapters
The Stain in the Room
SASHA :The Moretti family house in Milan had always felt like a museum that somehow still breathed.It was the kind of place built to remind everyone that old money never needed to raise its voice. The ceilings were so high the sound of a spoon touching a plate came out small. Old paintings in gilded frames lined the walls like ancestors who still weren’t done judging. The candles on the long dining table burned with a steady glow. Crystal glittered. Silver gleamed cold. Everything was too perfect for ordinary human hands to touch.And I....was the stain in the room.I sat straight beside Rafael, spine aligned, shoulders loose, smile measured. My black dress fell neatly to my knees, simple and clean. I wore my hair down, smooth and glossy, covering one side of my neck. Small diamond studs. Dusty rose lips and I was trying to remember how to breathe correctly.A server set the next course in front of me. I thanked him in Italian polished enough to make people forget I wasn’t one of th
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Choose Me, Please
If this were ordinary drama, maybe I would have stood up, rolled my eyes, and told them all to get a hobby. But there was something in the way the entire room held its breath that made my spine go rigid.Vittoria pulled out the first photo and set it on the low table between us.I recognized it before I really had the chance to look.An underground parking garage. Bad lighting. The angle was too far away, too grainy. I was standing there with one shoe off, my body tilted slightly because my heel had snapped. Marco, one of the external project managers who had worked with my studio a few times, had a hand on my waist to keep me from falling.If someone wanted badly enough to believe I was cheating, well, be my guest. Imagination was free.I blinked once.Then twice.The second photo.A printed hotel keycard log under my design studio’s name.The Mandarin Oriental, two months ago.I remembered it. My assistant had booked the suite under the studio because a client from Los Angeles refus
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Marble, Whiskey, and Ruin
The front door closed softly behind us, the quiet click echoing through our mansion in Brera, too beautiful, too silent, too expensive to be the home of a broken marriage.The foyer lights glowed softly over pale marble. The white flowers in the console vase were still fresh. Rafael’s coat had been hung up by the staff an hour earlier, before we left for his family’s house.I stood in the middle of it with my throat dry and a thin wave of nausea curling through my stomach, and for the first time since we left the Moretti house, I realized Rafael hadn’t touched me once on the drive home.I turned.He took off his watch first, then set it on the small table by the door with the kind of precision that made me want to scream. His black suit was still perfect. His tie still neat. His face, too.Rafael always looked most dangerous when he didn’t look angry. When everything about him was too calm. Too clean. Like a man who had already made a decision and was now just waiting to see whether y
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What I Made
Five years later.Los Angeles felt like a city built out of glass, sunlight, and people far too confident to ever admit they were confused.I stood in the twenty-third-floor boardroom at Jamesson Holdings, facing a presentation screen the size of a mortal sin, while Noelle Jamesson stared at the house renderings in front of her as if they’d been assembled in some ancient dead language.Noelle was blonde, beautiful, and dressed in a cream suit that was clearly more expensive than her understanding of the project. She was the daughter of an American tycoon. An heiress. A social fixture. The kind of last name that opened doors before she even had to knock.The problem was, this week her father had apparently decided it was time for his darling daughter to “lead something,” and unfortunately for me, that something was a major residential project in Malibu with a price tag high enough to make people pretend they had a great deal of patience for idiots.My firm, Aster House, had been appoin
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Five Years Ended at the Door
“Do these earrings make me look like I’m trying too hard?”I tilted my head to the left, then to the right, studying my reflection in the bedroom mirror.The ivory dress fell straight along my body without making a production of it. No sequins, no strange cutouts that required me to stand in one specific position all night, no excess fabric waiting to get caught on the leg of a table. Just heavy silk, a clean neckline, enough of an open back, and a hem that stopped just below my calves.Simple.Which, in woman language, meant the dress cost enough to cover someone’s rent for several months.“You’re wearing diamond drop earrings to a billionaire’s family dinner.” Gabriella, who had been sitting at the edge of the bed answering messages, looked up.“Small diamonds.”“Still diamonds.”“I asked if they looked like too much, not whether I had financial problems.”I tried to slip the hook of the earring through my left ear. For some reason, the hole seemed to have moved since the last time I
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The Ring Mark No One Saw
I looked at the man beside Noele and decided fainting only looked adorable when Max did it on the carpet. On a thirty-year-old woman wearing ivory silk and expensive shoes, it would only become someone’s terrible I*******m video.So I smiled.Not too wide. Not too stiff. The professional smile I had used on lying contractors, clients who wanted to move structural walls, and men who explained my own business to me.“Mr. Moretti,” I said, as if the name had never passed over my tongue before.I held out my hand.There was one second when he only looked at it.One second too long for two strangers, but short enough for Noelle to miss while she still hung happily on his arm.Then Rafael took my hand.His palm was warm. His grip was firm, clean, not too strong. Very formal.The human body apparently stored useless things.The way his fingers used to slide between mine when we walked through Manhattan. The pressure of his thumb against my wrist whenever I started speaking too sharply in fron
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A Tiny Hand Around My Lie
Max’s room was lit by a moon-shaped nightlight that washed the walls in pale yellow.I lay on my side on top of the blanket, still wearing the thin slip dress I had changed into after my shower. The ivory gown was already hanging on the closet door, zipped inside a garment bag, as if tonight had only been another event that needed to be sent to the dry cleaner.Max slept facing me.Somehow, he had managed to take up almost the entire bed even though his body was only as long as a few pillows. One leg had escaped the blanket. His dinosaur pajamas had ridden up a little over his round stomach. His black bangs stuck to his forehead, too long again. I had already told him I was taking him for a haircut on Saturday.He refused because, according to him, long hair made him look like “a rock star with fast cars.”I touched the ends of his bangs and brushed them away from his eyes.Max made a small sound without waking, then shifted his face closer to my hand.I stroked his cheek with the back
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The Life I Built Had Windows
This morning, Max decided school uniforms were a form of oppression.“I can’t wear this,” he said, standing on his bedroom carpet with his navy shorts halfway up and his white shirt only on one arm. His black bangs fell over his eyes, and his cheeks were still pillowy with sleep. “I’m an artist.”“You’re a preschooler.”“I can be both.”I sat on the edge of his bed, holding the tiny dark blue tie that always looked far too serious for a child who had tried to draw on the wall with Tom Ford lipstick yesterday. “Artists wear pants too, Maxime.”“Picasso didn’t.”I stared at him.He stared back at me with a face that was much too innocent.“How do you know about Picasso?” I asked.“Gaby.”From the doorway, Gabriella, who was packing Max’s snack box into his bag, immediately lifted her head. “I only said Picasso had a blue period. I never gave a lecture on his pants policy.”Max pointed at Gabriella with the arm still trapped inside his shirt. “She said blue.”“I said it was an art phase,
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Joint Oversight
I left the house twenty minutes later with a second coffee in the cup holder and a key fob I’d briefly failed to find because Max had hidden it inside one of my loafers.He said it was a garage.For keys.I did not ask any further questions because there was a limit to how much four-year-old philosophy the human body could tolerate before nine in the morning.The gate opened automatically as my car rolled down the driveway. The side road was empty now. No dark metallic Range Rover, no suspicious person, no potential new neighbor standing in front of the vacant mansion making poor decisions in white linen.Good.One mystery solved without involving paranoia.I turned on the old R&B playlist I had saved under a very mature name: songs for when people are annoying.Soft bass filled the car. A woman’s voice poured through the speakers, too smooth for Los Angeles traffic, which had clearly been built entirely out of sin and ego. I tapped the steering wheel to the rhythm, humming without act
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Executive Review Authority
I read the sentence again.Then again.Then one more time, because apparently I had developed a new habit: torturing myself with eleven-point legal font.Mr. Rafael Moretti designated as executive review authority.The name stayed there.It didn’t move. It didn’t become the name of some other man who had never married me, never called me a gold digger in the Brera sitting room, and never stood in the Jamesson family home last night with his hand on Noelle’s back.Rafael Moretti.Black on white.I lowered the document onto the desk.I straightened the corner of the page so it lined up with the gray folder beneath it, because apparently the most unhinged part of me still had visual standards while my life was actively setting a warehouse on fire.Nina once said the easiest way to tell I was angry wasn’t from my tone of voice.It was when I started arranging things too slowly.I closed the folder.My index finger pressed against the middle of it for one second too long.“Puta madre,” I mu
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