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She Stole My Billionaire Husband,Now She's Begging Me to Spare Her Daughter Novel Cover

She Stole My Billionaire Husband,Now She's Begging Me to Spare Her Daughter

Betrayed by her own mother on her engagement day to Clyde Harding, the city's wealthiest man, she believed love would conquer all. But a cruel setup on her wedding eve leaves her framed in her sister’s boyfriend's bed. Disgraced and abandoned, she watches her sister steal her groom. Two decades later, the cycle of vengeance begins. When her wealthy son brings home his new girlfriend—the spitting image of her treacherous sister—she finally has the power to deny them their happy ending.
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Chapter 1

The day I got engaged to the richest man in the city.

My mother picked up the microphone in front of everyone, smiling:

“The truth is, my daughter used to do online porn. A different man for every video.

“Now she's finally found a sucker to take her off the market.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

But Clyde Harding pulled me behind him:

“Ma'am, please don't make jokes like that again.”

Afterward, my mother apologized to me:

“I just wanted to see if he was sincere about you.”

But the night before the wedding, I took one bite of the food my mother had made.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in bed with my sister's boyfriend.

Clyde arrived to pick up his bride and saw the scene. His eyes turned red instantly:

“So your mother really wasn't lying after all.”

My sister slapped her boyfriend through her tears:

“How could you do this to me!”

In the end.

My sister became the bride.

My sister's boyfriend burned every piece of clothing that carried my scent:

“I've never met a woman as shameless as you.

“Going after your own sister's husband!”

I looked at my mother through my tears.

She didn't bat an eye:

“Your sister is more suited to be the wife of the richest man.”

Twenty years later, the new generation's richest young man brought his girlfriend to meet me:

“Mom, if she meets your approval, we'll get engaged.”

I looked at that face, identical to my sister's:

“She doesn't.”

——

“She doesn't” spread through the entire room.

Every guest at the banquet froze.

My sister's daughter. Linda Harding.

Honors graduate from Berklee College of Music.

Five foot seven.

A hundred and ten pounds.

Her mother was a well-known socialite. Her father had once been the richest man in the city.

Her grandmother was an even more famous philanthropist.

Even my own son, Morris Manning, looked stunned.

“Mom……when I told you about Linda before, didn't you like her?”

“I'd never met her then. Now I have.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

After all, Linda's face was a near-perfect copy of her mother's.

At Berklee, she'd been the campus beauty queen.

Linda Harding had never been rejected like this in her life.

Her face flushed scarlet:

“Ma'am, was it my manners? My outfit? Something else?

“Just tell me. I'll fix it!”

“There's nothing to fix.”

I took a sip of my tea:

“You will never set foot inside the Manning family. Not in this lifetime.”

“Ms. Manning.”

Someone couldn't hold back any longer:

“You may not have heard, but Linda's grandmother

“is a philanthropist known around the world. She's helped a great many people.”

“Exactly. Her grandmother raised this girl wonderfully. You don't need to worry about her character.”

Ha.

So my mother had been pouring her heart into my sister's child, too.

Morris looked at me, bewildered:

“Mom……did Linda do something wrong?”

“It has nothing to do with that.”

My voice was flat.

Linda panicked:“On what grounds!

“On what grounds are you keeping me out of the Manning family!

“Tell me what's wrong with me! You just say no without a reason, and I……I……”

I looked at her:“You what?”

“I won't accept this!”

I narrowed my eyes:“I am the sole head of Manning Group. When I say you are not the one for my son, do I owe you an explanation?”

“You!”

Linda clapped a hand over her mouth.

She turned and ran out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

I sipped my tea without a flicker of expression.

The banquet carried on.

No one would cross me on my own turf.

And my son had been raised by my hand alone.

He had always respected my decisions:

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