His Mistresses Made Me a Billionaire

My husband dragged a weeping, pregnant damsel through our front door and called it true love.

I didn't see a homewrecker. I looked at that face—the absolute peak of the "innocent-but-seductive" aesthetic—and my occupational instincts kicked in.

I slapped an S-tier contract on the table with a backhand flick. "Base salary twenty thousand. Full benefits, social insurance, and housing fund. Sign or walk?"

The damsel froze. My husband looked like he'd swallowed a fly.

Eventually, his entire harem became my cash cows.