A Miao
15 Published Stories
A Miao's Books and Stories
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." 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. Jilted Pet Becomes The Mafia Queen
Cornelia When I was eight, Dante Moretti pulled me from the fire that killed my family. For ten years, the powerful crime boss was my protector and my god.
Then, he announced his engagement to another woman to unite two criminal empires.
He brought her home and named her the future mistress of the Moretti family.
In front of everyone, his fiancée forced a cheap metal collar around my neck, calling me their pet.
Dante knew I was allergic. He just watched, his eyes cold, and ordered me to take it.
That night, I listened through the walls as he took her to his bed.
I finally understood the promise he’d made me as a child was a lie. I wasn't his family. I was his property.
After a decade of devotion, my love for him finally turned to ash.
So on his birthday, the day he celebrated his new future, I walked out of his gilded cage for good.
A private jet was waiting to take me to my real father—his greatest enemy. He Chose The Mistress, Losing His True Queen
Lively I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed. Spring Beneath the Grave
Rabbit Elora Griffiths was on her way to drop her daughter off at school when her husband's enemies opened fire in the street.
The bodyguard her husband had personally assigned to protect them abandoned the car the instant the shots rang out.
Mother and daughter were hit multiple times, teetering on the brink of death.
Elora frantically called her husband, Rodger Griffiths, but he didn't answer.
Her brother, Hugh Dale, arrived just in time and saved them both.
"How could this happen? Didn't Rodger assign someone to protect you?" Hugh asked.
Elora sobbed uncontrollably, "The bodyguard ran away!"
On the way to the hospital, Elora kept trying Rodger's number, desperate.
One call after another...
Finally, on the ninety-ninth attempt, the line connected. On the other end was the female bodyguard, trembling, her voice barely holding back tears.
"Rodger, it's really not my fault!
There were so many assassins. I would've died if I tried to stop them! I was so scared..."
Elora held her breath, waiting for her husband's wrath to thunder down.
But Rodger just sighed.
"Forget it. The important thing is you're safe," he said.
Meanwhile, Elora's daughter took her last breath in her arms.
The pain was suffocating.
She held her daughter close as her body went cold and stiff, teeth gritted in fury, "Hugh, I'm divorcing him! I'll cut off every single arms shipment to the Griffiths family from the largest arms company in Crownport!" Saved By The Ruthless Rival Don
Maverick For nine years, I was the perfect mafia wife. I laundered Marcus Thorne’s money through my design firm, smiled at his dinners, and ignored the lipstick stains on his collars.
I believed in the Omertà of our marriage. I thought my loyalty was my armor.
I was wrong.
On the night of our anniversary gala, a car lost control and barreled straight toward us in the parking lot.
Marcus didn't look at me. Not once.
He lunged for his mistress, Izzy, tackling her to safety behind a concrete pillar.
I was left standing in the open.
The impact threw me like a ragdoll. I lay bleeding on the cold asphalt, my body broken, watching through the haze as my husband frantically checked his mistress for scratches.
"My ankle," she whimpered.
Without a backward glance, he picked her up and carried her to his limousine, leaving me to bleed out on the pavement.
He didn't leave me because he panicked. He left me because I was just a shield he used to protect what he actually loved.
As darkness crept in, a shadow fell over me. It wasn't Marcus.
It was Julian Croft, his sworn rival.
I looked at the empty spot where my husband should have been and made a choice.
"Get me to the hospital," I rasped, staring into the eyes of the enemy.
"And then help me burn his empire to the ground." The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir
Shu Yu I stood alone at the center of my art gallery opening, clutching a glass of warm champagne, while the guests whispered behind their hands.
My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, wasn't there.
A breaking news alert on my phone explained why.
It was a high-definition photo of Dante shielding his mistress, Isabella, from the rain. He was touching her with a protective possessiveness he had never once shown me.
Then came his text:
"Isabella needed me. Go home."
That was the moment the cage door unlocked. I didn't go home to cry. I went to his office the next morning with a stack of papers disguised as "gallery insurance forms."
While Isabella sat on his desk, mocking me for being a boring housewife, Dante was too annoyed to read the fine print.
He just wanted me gone so he could get back to her.
He signed the divorce decree.
He signed the asset dissolution.
Most importantly, without looking, he signed the irrevocable relinquishment of parental rights.
I walked out with my freedom, but fate had a cruel sense of humor. That night, I stared at a positive pregnancy test.
I was carrying the Sovrano heir he had always demanded.
And he had just legally signed away his right to ever know his child.
I fled to the Swiss Alps, vanishing into the snow to raise my baby away from his world of blood and bullets.
I thought I was safe, until six months later.
Dante hadn't just sent men to look for me.
He had burned his own shipping empire to the ground, destroying his status as King, just to prove he would trade it all for the wife he threw away. 
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