A Miao
18 Published Stories
A Miao's Books and Stories
Unwanted By The Alpha, Destined For The Wraith
Werewolf For three years, I was the dutiful, wolfless Luna of the Stone Pack. My family's immense wealth funded my Alpha mate's entire empire, keeping his pack from ruin.
But today, Angelo brought a human judge's daughter into our bedroom.
"I am taking Cecelia as my chosen mate," he declared.
He expected me to step aside, quietly manage their finances, and accept his mistress as a "sister." When I refused, his family mocked me as a defective burden. They thought because I had no inner wolf, I was powerless. They had already embezzled my dying mother's blood money to court his human fling, and now Angelo threatened to starve my younger siblings if I didn't submit. They wanted to keep me as a captive ATM while parading the new Luna.
He thought an Alpha's command would crush me. He forgot that he built his entire title on the sacred Blood Oath he swore to my dying mother. How could he be so arrogant to bite the very hand that kept his pathetic pack alive?
They thought they had drained my well, completely blind to the fact that I controlled the roots.
Since he had been too disgusted to ever Mark me, our bond was useless. I calmly locked down every cent of my trust fund, leaving his pack utterly bankrupt and drowning in debt. Then, I took my mother's ancient token straight to the apex predator of the North—the Lycan King, Damien Blackwood.
I wasn't just walking away. I was declaring war. From Burden To Unstoppable Queen
Modern My fiancé, Caleb Holder, saw me as a burden, a stain on his perfect image. In my past life, his constant cruelty and public humiliation drove me to suicide.
After I died, the truth came out. His mistress, Erica, had faked her pregnancy and the miscarriage she blamed on me. While the world celebrated their "true love," I was just a tragic, forgotten fool.
But then I opened my eyes.
I was back on the night of the gala, moments before Erica would throw herself down the stairs.
In a few minutes, Caleb would believe her lies without question, slap me until I bled, and call me a monster in front of his family.
"You evil, jealous monster! You tried to kill my child!"
Last time, his words destroyed me. This time, they would be my battle cry. Five Years Of Lies: The Wife's Awakening
Modern To an orphan like me, the Donovans’ approval was oxygen. I thought I was living a fairy tale as Ivan’s fiancée, finally finding a place to land.
That illusion shattered the night I overheard my future father-in-law whisper behind a study door.
"We can't keep paying Kayla forever. If this comes out, it ruins the merger."
The name hung in the air like toxic smoke.
Driven by a sickening gut feeling, I dug deeper. I found a tuition bill for a prestigious kindergarten for a boy named Leo—paid for by the Donovans.
I disguised myself as a pest control worker and infiltrated the address on the bill.
Inside the playroom of a massive mansion, I found the smoking gun.
It wasn’t a receipt. It was a commissioned oil painting.
It depicted my fiancé, Ivan, smiling with his arm around a beautiful woman, a young boy standing between them.
The plaque read: *Our Happy Family - 2023.*
They weren't just cheating; they were living a parallel life. They thought I was just the naive, grateful scholarship student who would never look too closely.
They were wrong.
At our lavish fifth-anniversary party, in front of five hundred of Manhattan's elite, Ivan waited for my loving toast.
Instead, I signaled the AV booth.
The giant screen behind us flickered to life. But it didn't show our wedding photos.
It showed the painting.
And then, I played the recordings. Betrayed By The Don: Her Ultimate Escape
Mafia On our anniversary, I was basting the roast when my husband’s encrypted laptop lit up on the kitchen counter.
Alex Bradley, the ruthless Underboss of New York, never made mistakes. But tonight, he left a chat room open.
The notification shattered my world: "Is the idiot eating the dog food yet?"
It was from his mistress, Charlotte.
They were betting on whether I would eat the red velvet cake she had spiked with her Rottweiler’s excrement.
I realized then that my marriage was a long-con. I was just a "placeholder" wife to secure his promotion to Don.
To survive, I had to play the part.
Alex sat on the bed, feeding me the tainted cake with a loving smile.
"Eat up, Jillian," he purred. "It’s to die for."
I swallowed every bite of the filth, forcing myself not to vomit until he left the room.
The humiliation didn't stop there.
I found out our marriage license was void.
He publicly bought me a twenty-million-dollar necklace at a gala, then abandoned me to face the debt, forcing me to hand over my grandmother’s earrings as collateral.
He even watched calmly as his family beat me for a prank Charlotte orchestrated.
But the final blow came when I overheard him planning our "romantic" getaway.
"The blizzard hits Friday," he told Charlotte. "It’ll look like a tragic accident. Hypothermia."
He thought he was taking a lamb to the slaughter.
He didn’t know I had been counting down the days.
When we arrived at the cabin and he went to prepare my "accident," I didn't cry.
I tossed one of my boots over the cliff edge to stage my death.
Then I climbed into the black extraction van waiting in the snow.
Alex Bradley thought he had killed his wife.
He had no idea he had just set her free. The Invisible Girlfriend's New Start
Modern After three years of being the agreeable, invisible girlfriend to my tech CEO boyfriend, Edward, I finally left him. Then Brody Frazier, his charming rival, swept into my life, determined to use me to get under Edward's skin.
But at a tech gala, Edward cornered me, publicly declaring his love and flashing a "promise ring" he claimed he'd bought for me weeks ago.
He did this right after his high school crush, Jeannette, announced their engagement, and right before he accused me of humiliating him.
He insisted his feelings for Jeannette were a "youthful fantasy" and that I was his "anchor," his "stability." He said he loved me.
But I remembered the truth. I remembered the small, hand-carved wooden bird he'd once made.
A gift he'd had me send to Jeannette years ago, along with a love note he dictated himself.
And I knew his desperate confession wasn't love. It was damage control. From Mafia Wife to Rival's Queen
Mafia After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field.
But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me.
Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number.
"Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk."
It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family.
The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him—all dismissed as "just business."
Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer.
"Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him." Blinded By Her Betrayal
Romance The scent of lilies was thick, sweet, and suffocating.
It was my wedding day, a grand affair Chloe had meticulously planned, even insisting on a custom-designed lighting fixture for the venue.
Then the world exploded: metal twisted, glass shattered, and a crushing impact stole my sight, leaving me in a terrifying void.
Chloe stayed by my side, weeping as the doctors delivered their grim prognosis: permanent blindness.
She promised to be my "eyes," to take care of me, and swore our extravagant wedding would still happen, a beacon of eternal devotion.
Her words were a lifeline in the suffocating dark, and I clung to them, believing in a future where her love would guide me.
But then, the flickers started, ghost images resolving into light.
My sight was returning, yet an instinct deep inside told me to keep it a secret.
I continued to play the blind man, observing, listening, hidden in plain sight.
One evening, feigning sleep, I heard Chloe whisper to Mark Stone, her brother-in-law.
"Are you sure this was the only way?" she asked.
"It was the cleanest way," he murmured, "An accident. Now he's helpless. He'll never find out about us."
My heart stopped as I saw Mark kiss her-long and deep-before they spoke of my "inheritance" and a future built on my ruin.
They planned it all: the accident, my blindness, my slow, humiliating descent into a "charity case" to be exploited.
The betrayal was a physical blow, a cold, black void far worse than any darkness they thought they' d cast me into.
They thought me a sightless fool, an easy target.
They had no idea who I truly was, or what I was capable of.
A silent, burning rage ignited within me, hardening into an unbreakable resolve.
They wanted a show?
I would give them one tonight at the wedding-a spectacle they would never forget, where their carefully constructed lies would unravel. The Star Maker's Revenge
Romance I watched the man I loved, the star I' d built from scratch, standing on a stadium stage.
My heart hammered, knowing he was about to call me up, to begin our dreamed-of life together.
But then he smiled, a brilliant, camera-ready smile that didn' t reach his eyes.
"I' d like to welcome to the stage, my fiancée… Nicole Lawrence!"
The name hit me like a physical blow as the polished pop-country princess glided out to kiss him.
Later, when I confronted him with our old demo tape, he stared at me with cold, empty eyes.
"I' m sorry, I don' t know you. You should probably go home."
Then I heard his manager whisper: "Good job. The amnesia story is perfect. We can' t have any small-town baggage dragging you down."
My blood ran cold. It wasn' t amnesia. It was a choice. I was baggage.
The humiliation only escalated.
Nicole publicly mocked me, then staged a fall, screaming I pushed her.
Caleb rushed to her, snarling, "What the hell is wrong with you, Stella? Get her out of here! She' s poison to my career."
Security guards dragged me out, dumping me on the sidewalk.
Days later, Nicole broke my father' s beloved guitar, his legacy.
And Caleb, seeing her theatrical tears, finished the job, stomping on the splintered wood.
He blacklisted my name, starved me of work, and used his fame to have me arrested for a staged poisoning attempt.
I became a pariah, selling my father' s precious mementos to survive.
How could he do this? How could a lifetime of love and shared dreams be erased so easily?
Was I just a forgotten memory, or something worse?
Was this all part of a calculated plan, or was he truly that cruel?
My world shattered, left homeless and brutally attacked in an alleyway, I lay dying.
But then, a shadowy figure appeared, a hand reached down.
I woke up in a sterile room, face-to-face with Wesley Hughes, "The Wanderer."
He told me the truth: Caleb' s betrayal was a calculated move, and Nicole' s malice was intentional.
He had proof.
And more importantly, he revealed our fathers' long-lost pact.
My father' s legacy, our legacy, was waiting to be reclaimed.
This wasn' t the end. This was the beginning of my reckoning. Erase Me? I'll Erase You
Modern The air in the upstairs hallway was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, and I paused, my hand hovering over my bedroom door.
For three decades, I was the unseen force behind my husband, the Governor of Texas, building his dynasty brick by painful brick.
But then, voices from my son' s room shredded that illusion: my daughters-in-law, their hushed tones revealing a chilling plot.
"Stress-induced heart failure within five years," one whispered, detailing my supposed "natural decline" as a pre-programmed exit for a new woman, Sabrina, my husband' s dead college sweetheart' s daughter.
My breath hitched-they were discussing a "system" and a payoff for my demise, orchestrated by my own husband and sons.
The family I built, the sons I raised, saw me as nothing more than a placeholder, destined to conveniently die so a younger, 'fresher' face could inherit my life.
A cold dread, sharp and sickening, turned into a burning rage that pulsed through my veins.
They wanted me gone? They wanted a compliant, tragic matriarch?
I ripped open the door to Andrew' s room, my voice dangerously calm as I asked, "Tell me more about this 'system' ."
They were speechless, frozen in fear, but I wasn't going to die quietly for their convenience.
I was going to burn their carefully constructed world down. The Jilted Bride's Revenge
Romance My New York apartment smelled of lilies and roses, and my perfect Hamptons wedding was just three days away.
Mark Olsen was everything I'd ever wanted: charming, successful, and devoted.
I was about to become Mrs. Mark Olsen, stepping into the solid, perfect future we' d planned.
Then a text from an unknown number shattered my world: "Can't believe you're still going through with this sham wedding. Last weekend was proof you belong with ME. Call it off like you promised, or I will. - T."
My breath hitched.
The words swam before my eyes.
Mark was supposedly at a finance conference that very weekend, but my investigative dive into "T" (Tiffany Hayes, his high school ex) revealed glossy photos of her at his hotel, captured during his supposed conference.
To add insult to injury, Tiffany was already engaged to another man, Alex Walker.
I wasn't just betrayed; I was Mark's desperate fallback plan.
Every cherished moment, every promise over our year-long engagement, felt like a sickening, elaborate lie.
Why propose, why plan this lavish wedding, if I was just a convenient consolation prize?
The thought was humiliating, the destruction of everything I believed our relationship was.
My excitement curdled into icy rage.
I wouldn't just call off the wedding.
I decided to expose them both.
This wouldn't be a celebration of love; it would be their public downfall, and I had just the stage for it: our pre-wedding brunch. My CEO, My Prison
Billionaires My 30th birthday, and my wife, the brilliant tech CEO Izzy Hayes, was late-again.
Living in her opulent New York apartment, I, Ethan Cole, a once-promising surgeon, felt like a ghost, a consequence of a transactional marriage that saved my mother' s life five years ago and simultaneously crushed my own dreams.
Fed up with her absolute indifference, I finally decided to break free.
I accepted a prestigious surgical fellowship in Germany and served her divorce papers.
She signed them on the spot, without a second glance, mistaking them for adoption forms-a brutal testament to how little I meant to her.
But escaping Izzy' s orbit proved impossible.
Her manipulative ex, Marcus Vance, resurfaced, systematically sabotaging my reputation and career.
He staged a fake "assault" at the hospital that got me suspended, and Izzy, completely blind in her work-obsessed world, effortlessly believed his lies, her family joining the cruel chorus, painting me as a jealous villain.
Just as my visa was finally approved, offering me a clear path to reclaim my life, I found her waiting at the airport.
Tears of frustration blurred my vision as she snatched my passport.
"Going somewhere, Ethan Cole?" she smirked, then, with chilling nonchalance, she ripped it in half.
"Oops. Clumsy me." She still believed we were married, choosing to live in that delusion even as her own company began to tank due to Marcus' s cunning schemes.
"You are my husband," she declared, grabbing my arm, dragging me back into her chaotic, high-stakes world.
She forced me to play the role of the devoted spouse, a public facade to salvage her company' s image.
Trapped, bewildered, and furious, I knew this wasn't just a crisis for her, but a crucible for me.
Can I survive this charade? And what will it take to truly escape? From Background Character to Leading Lady
Romance My life as Marcus Thorne's personal assistant was a tightrope walk, fueled by debt and a desperate need for invisibility.
He was Hollywood's most feared mogul, and I was just the anonymous competence making his world run.
Then Tiffany arrived, a caricature of a woman whose perfume assaulted the senses, declaring herself Marcus's "leading lady" and dismissing me as mere "help."
Her delusion quickly escalated from annoying pronouncements to outright malice.
She openly resented a simple silver pendant Marcus had given me, dismissing it as "charity."
She deliberately sabotaged my work, sweeping crucial files across the floor.
Once, she even sloshed scalding coffee onto my hand and keyboard, her smirk dripping with false sympathy.
Her threats grew bolder, hinting she knew a dangerous secret about Marcus's most guarded Blackwood deal.
I tried to endure, focusing on my duties, but her fervent belief in her own rom-com script, coupled with her growing aggression, was deeply unsettling.
How could she be so dangerously unaware of reality, or worse, so brazenly malicious?
The breaking point arrived when she, in an overly dramatic gesture, spilled steaming coffee directly onto Marcus Thorne's immaculate suit.
The room fell silent.
But Marcus didn't look at her; his icy gaze found me.
"Sarah," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Handle this."
It was the first time he truly saw me, not just as background noise. The Party Barn Massacre
Billionaires It was Leo and Lily' s fifth birthday, a bright morning, and my husband Ethan, the real estate mogul, was showering our twins with laughter and kisses.
He promised to see me at my parents' that night, his hand tenderly resting on my pregnant belly, blissfully unaware of the horror about to unfold.
Hours later, the world shattered.
My car was ambushed, my children and I dragged to a remote barn, and then I saw them: Tiffany Monroe, a socialite I vaguely recognized, and... my husband, Ethan, by her side.
They stood watching impassively as men brutally beat my twins, Leo and Lily, to death.
My twins screamed, fought, and then fell limp, moments before Tiff, with Ethan's cold encouragement, burned me with a cigarillo.
Even when I screamed his name, when they ripped my custom locket off, he dismissed me as "trash," declaring his wife "safe" because she had her locket-the very one they'd stolen from me.
The final blow came when he ordered a C-section in front of me, taking my unborn child as a "souvenir" for Tiff.
How could he not know me?
How could the man who promised me forever, the father of my children, casually order my baby carved from me, all because a locket wasn't on my neck?
The pain of his betrayal, his utter blindness, was colder than death itself.
Yet, as one loyal employee saved me from oblivion, I watched Ethan's horror when he finally saw the truth, confirming he was a monster, not an unwitting participant.
It sparked a new life within me, not one of grief, but of ice-cold, calculated revenge.
He took everything.
Now, I will take his empire, his freedom, and his sanity, piece by agonizing piece. A Mother's Deadly Confession
Modern Ava Rodriguez's brilliant brother, Leo, won the acclaimed American Justice Fellowship.
His future was supposed to shine, a beacon of hope for their family.
Then, he died.
They called it suicide, but Leo's last scrawled words to her were: "Don't accept the fellowship."
Ava knew they were lying.
He was murdered, just like every other fellow who threatened the powerful.
For three years, she buried herself in law, watching, waiting, preparing to expose the truth.
Now, she's won the fellowship herself, her proposal a direct challenge to the corrupt system.
But as she publicly declares her brother was murdered and vows to expose the truth, the trap springs shut around her.
Suddenly, she's not the grieving sister seeking justice, but the prime suspect in a series of horrific murders.
Evidence - her brother's unique custom pen, her IP address near other "suicide" scenes - mysteriously emerges, painting her as a cold-blooded serial killer.
Even her own mother, distraught and masked, appears, "confessing" to the crimes to protect Ava, unknowingly deepening the meticulously planned frame-up.
The world spins into a nightmare of accusations and twisted truths.
She' s being set up not to shine, but to be destroyed, with her "suicide" in federal custody as the perfect final act.
How could they twist everything so perfectly? Why her mother' s desperate, bizarre act?
The narrative has been set: Ava Rodriguez, brilliant law graduate, or monstrous serial killer?
Refusing to be another silenced victim, Ava stages a high-stakes escape from federal custody.
She races to the darkest secret her family holds, the one place she believes the real truth lies-her father's grave.
Under the harsh glare of news cameras and the FBI, a shovel in hand, she prepares to dig.
What she unearths will either expose a shocking family secret and a vast conspiracy, or bury her forever. The Runaway Wife's Resolve
Billionaires My life with Ethan was a dream.
High school sweethearts, married five years, he was a charismatic tech mogul, and I loved him deeply.
Then, I got pregnant, and he seemed absolutely over the moon, especially when we learned it was twins.
That dream shattered when I overheard a hushed conversation between Ethan and our fancy OB-GYN.
He was demanding an early C-section for me-not for my health, but to align with his mistress Chloe's due date.
The "twins" he cried tears of joy over? One was hers, a sickening ploy to pass off her baby as ours for a crucial inheritance.
My world tilted on its axis as I discovered I was only carrying one healthy baby.
His tearful joy, his endless doting-every cherished moment was a well-rehearsed performance.
When I fled, he staged a massive "missing person" search, dragging me back to his hospital while still talking about our "high-risk twins" to control me.
Then, on our wedding anniversary, I found him with Chloe, kissing her passionately, planning their wedding right there in the hospital wing he always steered me away from.
How could the man I'd loved for a decade be such a monstrous deceiver, using my body, my pregnancy, and my life as pawns in his twisted game?
The hypocrisy burned, the casual cruelty a punch to the gut.
Everyone around him, even our doctor, was complicit in this horrifying web of lies.
But as I watched his humiliating, live-streamed "wedding" to his mistress from my hospital bed, my heartbreak hardened into icy resolve.
I finally understood the extent of his betrayal, and that very realization ignited a fierce determination within me.
I signed the divorce papers, ready to escape this gilded cage and fight for my freedom and my child's future, no matter the cost. You might like
His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
Hei Baidong I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair.
They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves.
Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment.
But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger.
In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all. Reborn, I Wed the Untamed Playboy
Bone Possolo On my wedding day to Julian Moretti, the future Mafia Don, I was deliberately sent to the wrong penthouse.
My half-sister Sofia had crawled into my fiancé's bed, leaving me to be discovered by the family's exiled, alcoholic cousin.
In my past life, I was shattered by this orchestrated betrayal. I cried and begged when Julian publicly humiliated me, choosing his illegitimate mistress over his rightful bride.
I played the perfect, dignified Mafia wife for years. I swallowed his insults, ignored his infidelities, and accepted my ruined reputation to keep the peace.
But my blind obedience only paved the way for my murder. Julian discarded me, and I was poisoned to death so Sofia could steal my crown as the Mafia Queen.
Until my agonizing last breath, I didn't understand. I had honored our families' blood alliance flawlessly.
Why was I the sacrificial lamb while they were rewarded for their treason?
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the dark leather sofa, suffocating in my heavy silk wedding dress.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I grabbed a heavy brass letter opener, marched straight into the Don's main study, and slapped the Underboss across the face in front of the entire family.
"A Valdez woman does not share her husband," I declared coldly. "To honor the alliance, I will marry Dante."
If they wanted to make my humiliation a fact, I was going to make it a funeral. You Called Me Barren, Mr. Sterile Don
Gong Zi On my birthday, my husband Dante asked for a divorce over a plate of cold lasagna.
He held my hand, tears in his eyes, and told me his mistress was pregnant.
"It’s a miracle, Elena," he wept. "God has finally given me a son."
He looked at me with pity, calling me "broken" because I hadn't given him an heir in eight years.
He moved his pregnant mistress into the penthouse I paid for, and his mother mocked me as a "dry vine" while cooking tonic soups for the new woman.
They didn't know the truth I had buried three years ago.
I remembered the day the doctor slid the file across the desk: *Azoospermia. Zero sperm count.*
Dante was the sterile one.
I had burned the results to protect his fragile ego as a Mafia Don. I took the blame. I drank his mother's vile herbal poisons every morning until I vomited, just to keep his secret.
Now, he was discarding me for a "miracle" that was biologically impossible.
I signed the divorce papers without a tear.
Then I bought the debt of his company, put on a blood-red dress, and walked into his heir's Christening.
I didn't come to object.
I came to plug a USB drive into the projector and show the entire underworld exactly whose "miracle" that baby really was. 99 Roses for the Underboss's Wife
Natala O'neal I was the brilliant money launderer for the most feared syndicate on the East Coast, and the fiercely loyal wife of its Underboss, Dante.
While I worked sleepless nights to build his underworld dominion, he secretly diverted my operations to fund a luxury club for his naive barista mistress.
When I confronted them and publicly exposed her, Dante didn't show a shred of guilt.
Instead, he slapped me across the face in front of the entire syndicate.
He draped his tailored jacket over his crying mistress to shield her, then turned his cold eyes on me.
"Apologize to her right now, or I will send every single soldier in your crew to the slaughterhouse."
He then weaponized the mafia's whisper network to destroy my reputation, painting me as a hysterical, paranoid woman just to legitimize his affair.
For years, I had blindly endured his psychological torture, believing my devotion would eventually earn his respect.
But looking at the brutal purple handprint on my cheek, and the ninety-nine dried bouquets of white roses he kept in the attic to carelessly patch over his toxic abuse, my heart finally turned to ice.
I didn't throw a tantrum, nor did I beg for his love anymore.
I left his apology blood diamonds on the table, drafted my mafia severance papers, and walked out of his territory for good.
This time, I would build my own empire, and let him drown in the ruins of his. Substitute Bride: Taming The Masked Mafia Don
Hei Baidong I was dragged back from the countryside by my father for one purpose: to be a sacrificial lamb.
He ordered me to marry the mafia Don Damien Valachi in place of my sister. Everyone in the underworld knew that this Don's brides never saw the light of the next day. My stepmother put on a fake smile and took my hand, calling it an "honor"; my sister hid behind her, unable to conceal the gleam of triumph in her eyes.
I smiled coldly and held up two fingers: "Twenty million dollars. Now."
My father tried to play tricks, planning to take back the money from my trust fund after I died, but I had someone transfer every cent out before the wedding, leaving him a zero balance.
The next day, the wedding car pulled up to the Valachi estate. The butler ordered the driver to use the service entrance-it seemed my groom didn't think I was worthy of the front gate.
I got out and switched to an armored vehicle. I floored the accelerator, crashing straight through the estate gates. The gates shattered, and I didn't stop until I reached the main steps. I jumped out, the heel of my shoe crushing a broken iron railing, and shouted:
"The bride is here."
I looked up, scanning every window until my gaze stopped on one dark pane. I knew Damien was watching.
I brushed the dust off my skirt, raised my voice a notch, and smiled: "What, the Don of the Valachi family doesn't dare come out to meet his new wife?" Reborn To Ruin The Capo's Wedding
Felix Turner My mother is marrying a monster tomorrow.
I'm the only one who remembers.
My widowed mother was arranged to marry Lorenzo, a powerful Mafia Capo. I thought his status would finally bring us protection.
But on the third day of their marriage, Lorenzo moved his pregnant mistress, Camilla, into the estate's master suite.
She loudly claimed the child in her womb was the orphaned blood of a fallen soldier.
"A Capo of Lorenzo's stature is doing your mother a service," the Syndicate wives mocked me, demanding we accept our place.
Camilla systematically seized my mother's territory cuts and subjected her to endless psychological torture, while Lorenzo simply turned a blind eye.
When the baby was born, it bore the exact same distinct birthmark on its neck as Lorenzo.
Only then did we realize Lorenzo had used my mother as a convenient shield for his illicit affair, stealing my dead father's legacy and slowly draining our lives away.
I didn't understand why the Family's brutal justice allowed a thief to siphon funds under the guise of caring for a martyr's widow, leaving us to die in absolute disgrace.
Opening my eyes again, I was back to the day before the mob wedding.
Looking at my six-year-old hands, I grabbed the torn marriage petition and stole the secret trust documents.
This time, I ran straight to the heavily guarded gates of Don Salvatore, the most ruthless executioner in the city. Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
Dying To Escape The Obsessive Mafia Don
Priority I spent three excruciating years building an underworld empire for Cassius, only for him to give the ultimate symbol of his protection to a fragile girl named Serena on the very day he proposed to me.
My biological brother Julian, my protector Enzo, and my ally Lucian all followed suit, prioritizing Serena's fake tears over my life.
They forced me into a lethal bone marrow extraction to save her. When I welcomed the agony—using it to trigger my system's extraction protocol, my only way home to the real world—they violently aborted the procedure. They accused me of twisted manipulation and locked me in a high-security medical prison. There, they handed my care over to Serena, who tortured me in secret, calibrating my pain to hover just below the medical alarms.
"You will live," she whispered, "so that you may watch them choose me—until the act itself becomes a prayer."
I didn't understand. Why was my physical agony never enough to make them stop, yet a single tear from Serena became their absolute law? Why wouldn't they just let me die so I could go home?
Then I saw my real brother Arthur, exhausted by my hospital bed, through the system feed—and I realized I couldn't die. Not yet.
I wiped all emotion from my face and calmly signed the papers for their live public reconciliation broadcast.
Before I leave this world for good, I will tear Serena's perfect facade to pieces. Too Late For Regret, Underboss
LARA MORRISON For two years, my world was circumscribed by the biometric lock on our penthouse and silent prayers for my husband, Vincenzo, the most feared Underboss of the Cosa Nostra.
But when he finally returned from a brutal three-week smuggling route, he tossed me a cheap five-dollar tourist scarf, while his ex-lover Camilla flaunted the flawless pearl necklace he had just bought her.
He abandoned me with a bleeding hand to rush to her side, ignored my severe medical emergencies to comfort her over trivialities, and publicly humiliated me at a Syndicate banquet by seating her in my rightful place at the head of the table.
Camilla cornered me in the powder room, her fragile victim facade dropping instantly as she smirked at my reflection.
"The thing a powerful man fears most isn't a wife who screams. It's a useless one who refuses to bow out gracefully."
I endured his blatant disrespect and broken Omertà, wondering why my unwavering loyalty meant nothing compared to the manipulative tears of a woman who was actively leaking his classified safehouse coordinates.
I didn't understand why he treated his sacred vows like garbage, eagerly feeding her Syndicate intel just to play the big, strong hero while leaving me to face cartel death threats entirely alone.
But I was done being the neglected mafia wife waiting in the shadows.
I calmly activated the covert audio recording device hidden inside my designer clutch.
It was time to present this irrefutable evidence to the Don's Tribunal, strip my husband of his title, and build my own empire.