Novel & Cerita The Billionaire Ceos Runaway Wife

Woods when I'm making fun of her, but when she claimed everything was because of how close we were, I felt awful. Does she consider me a hedonistic billionaire who sleeps with a different woman every day? After all, how could she act so normally following such a passionate kiss—hadn't my kiss even remotely affected her? She is not my wife, so from now on, I won't be calling her Mrs. Woods. My marriage to her is simply based on a contract that I have to use to restrain my feelings for her. "Oh no, Mr. Woods, your grandma sent only one pair of each item, so we should divide them up based on our individual needs." Hearing her voice, I came out of my dream world.

Even if she wanted to keep the baby, she lacked the means to support it. The dean couldn't quite understand, but he surmised that perhaps the big boss didn't want the child. After all, not just anyone could bear a child for the Luxton family. With this thought, his gaze softened with pity towards the young woman before him. What a predicament, he thought. So young, and to think that having a child could secure a position in the Luxton family? Such a long-standing and prestigious family wasn't simply accessible to the common folk.

I don't want another drama in my life. "We were talking about how Athena knew about my family." I said as the start of my confession. "What about your family?" Edward asked, a bit confused. Hannah started to share with them about my family, and they looked shocked after knowing it. "So that explains your luxurious fashion and taste," Monica blurted out. "Luxurious?!" I gasped. They all chuckled and shook their heads. "It's no surprise that Athena accused you of having a sugar daddy. No one in this office can afford limited edition bags from luxury brands except for Ms. Hailey. Also, some of your outfits are worth more than our annual salary," Monica explained.

“My friends, all from noble families, already have grandchildren with pure bloodlines. It is very beneficial. Their family names grow stronger.” Sarah swallowed her breath. “I just do not understand,” Madam Vexler’s voice came again, this time with a disappointed sigh. “Why is your wife different? She should have been a noble daughter with a clear career. The noble daughters I know are all CEOs, they own companies, they are successful. But your wife?” There was a brief pause, then the sentence was delivered without hesitation. “Your wife is only a housewife.” There was no anger in the voice. That was what hurt the most. The words were spoken as fact, as a final judgment, as if Sarah’s life w

He just stood there, staring at me across the crowded ballroom with an expression of complete devastation. The girl he'd thrown away, the wife he'd neglected and humiliated, the woman he'd told would never find anyone better, was Isabella Morrison. Granddaughter of Alexander Morrison. Heir to one of the largest fortunes in the country. One of the most powerful women in New York. And he'd let me go without a fight. The applause finally died down and I sat back down, accepting congratulations from the people at my table with grace and poise I'd learned from watching my brothers navigate society. But I was hyperaware of the Wei family table, of the chaos I knew was happening there.

“She said Cassie looks exactly like her mother, and is yet to give her the documents she needs to claim everything that belongs to her, and she’s out here married to some man she won’t even name. Even Mom knows about him, and she keeps saying that man is going to help her take everything back. I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m not even their son with the way they talk about her.” Franklin went completely still on the other end of the line, the silence stretching just long enough to say everything words couldn’t. His wife had no idea she was sitting on a legacy worth billions, and yet she had already built her own empire from the ground up, step by step, without leaning on any of it.

It was still early morning, and work hadn’t fully started, so gossip was welcome. When she reached Anna’s desk, where most of them had gathered, she paused and smiled again. “Well,” she said slowly, enjoying the suspense, “I just got some classified information.” Gasps followed immediately. “It turns out,” Nate continued, “that the tech billionaire divorced his wife not too long ago. And guess why?” Everyone leaned in. “Because of the woman he is about to marry now.” The hall erupted. “What?” “He was married before?” “Who would divorce such a handsome man?”

How lucky was I to have a billionaire husband, even if our relationship wasn’t perfect? The look on her face, Serena’s shocked, bitter expression when she realized I was no longer the shabby beggar she wanted me to be, was priceless. I could still see her eyes narrowing, her fake smile trembling as she searched for a way to drag me down again. She couldn’t stand seeing me clean, dressed neatly, and living well. So, of course, she brought up the debt. I sighed, brushing away the crumbs on my hand. How did we even get here? One moment we were like sisters, inseparable and the next, she had turned into my sworn enemy. Was I cursed to always end up alone?

Everything had been planned out. He had done his research and found out the billionaire’s wife had a history of running off without notice. This wasn’t her first disappearance. Sammy’s plan was simple: once he got the money, I’d vanish too—just like the real Mrs. Edwards. That way, no one would ask questions. People, including her husband, would just assume she had returned to her usual hide-and-seek lifestyle. It all sounded clever... but terrifying. My mind was full of questions. What if the billionaire was abusive? Controlling? Cold? Because honestly, what kind of man would make his pregnant wife run away when she needed the most care?

she murmured, “you always did think you could run from me.” But Isabella had run to the wrong place, into the arms of a billionaire, into wealth, into luxury. Luxury that she actually wanted for herself . Clarissa hadn’t missed the stories. The whispers on those obscure wedding blogs. She remembered the night she saw the headline. Runaway Russian secretary marries Wall Street’s most dangerous billionaire. Clarissa had dropped her wine glass. The single blurry photo of Isabella in a white dress beside a man whose face had the cold, lethal handsomeness of power.