ANASTASIA GRAVES
11 Published Stories
ANASTASIA GRAVES's Books and Stories
The Runaway Wife: Hiding The Don's Heir
Mafia The combination to my husband's private safe was the date of his mistress's birth.
Inside, arranged beside his gun and stacks of cash, I found a legal document that shattered my world.
Clause 4: Upon the birth of the heir, my architecture firm is absorbed into the Moretti Trust.
Clause 5: Primary guardianship is transferred to the father and his proxy, Kaleigh.
Kaleigh is my step-sister. She is also the woman currently warming my husband's bed.
When I confronted Jacob, the Don of the city, he didn't offer a shadow of shame.
He simply gripped my chin, his eyes cold as ice, and whispered, "There is no divorce in this life. You leave in a coffin."
My lawyer betrayed me. The police were on his payroll. I was trapped in a gilded cage, waiting to be discarded.
Then came the final blow—an intercepted audio recording.
"The moment the head crowns, she is done," Jacob's voice said on the tape. "If she fights, she dies on the table."
They didn't just want my baby. They wanted to erase me completely.
I realized I couldn't win in court, and I couldn't win in a street fight.
To escape a man who owned the city, I had to cease to exist.
I drove my car to a desolate ravine and doused the leather seats in gasoline.
I took off my wedding ring, placed it on the dashboard, and lit a match.
I wasn't going to kill my son.
I was going to burn the world down for him. Secrets Of The Betrayed Wife's Revenge
Romance My wealthy husband Bentley sent me a cold text saying his newly divorced friend, Cassie, and her two kids were moving into our Long Island villa.
When I frantically reminded him that Cassie had deliberately pushed me down a flight of stairs a year ago, he called me insane and jealous.
He threatened to throw me out of my own home if I didn't welcome her. The moment Cassie arrived, she let her children destroy my prized possessions and played the tearful victim to perfection. Bentley immediately took her side, cradling her child and giving them the fatherly love he had strictly denied me for three years. He treated me like a toxic intruder in my own marriage. Behind his back, Cassie sneered at me, slashed my personal diary with a letter opener, and openly bragged that she was going to take over my entire life.
I was suffocating, completely isolated and gaslit by the man I loved. Why did he blindly protect a manipulative psychopath over his own wife?
But I refused to be the victim who gets driven away in tears.
I secretly planted hidden cameras around the house, cornered a smirking Cassie in my bedroom, and locked the door behind us with my phone recording.
"What are you doing in my bedroom, Cassie?" His Mark Of Shame, Her Awakening
Werewolf Ten years ago, I was banished from my pack, branded a whore and a traitor for allegedly drugging and stealing my sister's fated mate.
Now, I was summoned back because my father, the Alpha who disowned me, was dying from a poisoned attack.
Standing by his deathbed, a locked memory finally surfaced—I didn't drug anyone. My husband and I were both victims, poisoned with wolfsbane to force our mating.
But before my father could reveal who orchestrated the setup, his heart monitor flatlined.
My brother instantly shoved me to the ground, pointing a trembling finger at my face.
"You killed him. I will hunt you, I will break you, and I will make your life a living hell."
Even my husband, Kieran, the man I was forced to marry to save our unborn child, walked right past me in the hospital corridor.
He didn't spare me a single glance, choosing instead to gently comfort my mother while I sat bruised and shattered on the cold floor.
I didn't understand why my own family hated me so blindly, and I understood even less who had framed me a decade ago.
What terrified my father so much in his final moments that he couldn't even speak the culprit's name?
Watching my cold husband walk away with the family that abandoned me, the last shred of my naive hope died.
I wiped my tears and stood up. This time, I was going to tear this pack apart to find the truth. The Ruby Shackle: Bound To The Billionaire
Modern I’m a CIA operative known as "The Auditor," and for months, I’ve played the role of a pathetic, abused ward in Basil Dean’s mansion. My mission was simple: gather intel on a paranoid billionaire while pretending to be a girl who flinches at her own shadow and knows nothing of the world.
The balance shattered when Basil found a photo of me smiling at a local mechanic. He didn't just get angry; he dragged me into his soundproof vault, his leather-gloved thumb pressing into my carotid artery to feel the frantic, terrified thrum of my heart.
He tagged me with a ruby bracelet—a high-tech tracking device that reported my GPS and biometrics to his phone every second. His stepsister, Corine, smelled blood in the water, accusing me of theft while Basil watched my heart rate spike on his screen like a lab rat in a cage. I was trapped in a gilded nightmare, forced to scrub floors and endure his predatory stares while a fifty-thousand-dollar shackle recorded my every breath.
I couldn't tell if he was a grieving recluse or a shark playing with his food, but every time my signal dropped, he was there, looming in the shadows, waiting for me to slip up. I was drowning in a game where the rules changed every time I tried to fight back, and the agency was starting to think I’d turned.
To end the charade, I handed the bracelet back to him in front of the entire kitchen staff, a public rejection of his twisted ownership. Basil didn't blink; he took a heavy meat mallet and smashed the ruby to dust right in front of me before making a phone call that turned my mission into a death trap.
"Get the prenup ready," he hissed, his eyes burning with a terrifying, sane obsession.
"I'm marrying her." His Fatal Mistake, My Sweet Revenge
Modern Trapped 3,000 meters beneath the sea, the submersible I designed was my coffin. The air was turning to poison.
But my fiancé, Jeffery, gave our only long-term life support-a CO2 scrubber I invented-to his social media star mistress.
"You're strong, Elaina," he said. "You can figure something out."
When I tried to use the emergency comms, he broke my wrist and smashed the console.
He and his mistress sealed the hatch, leaving me to die alone in the crushing dark.
He chose his career over my life. He chose her over me. The man I was supposed to marry would rather I suffocate at the bottom of the ocean than face a failed mission.
But as the blackness closed in, I remembered a secret. A tiny, personal emergency pinger I' d built into my glove. With my last bit of strength, I tore the seam with my teeth and slammed my hand against my head. A faint click echoed in the silence. My revenge had just begun. The Fiancé's Cruel Deception
Modern I was kidnapped with my fiancé, Charlton Morris. In that dark, damp room, he was my hero, shielding me from our captors and whispering promises of safety.
After our rescue, he proposed in front of the world's cameras. But the fairytale was a lie. The kidnapping was a sham he orchestrated with my own father, a cruel plot to ruin my reputation.
I was just a pawn, a public pariah to make his family accept his true love, Giuliana. They humiliated me with a degrading video, had me committed to a mental asylum where I was nearly assaulted, and then discovered I was pregnant.
They forced me to abort the child I was secretly carrying-his child. They thought they had broken me, that I would disappear quietly with my shame after they had taken my dignity, my reputation, and my baby.
But on the day of their wedding, I sent them a gift: the preserved remains of the child they made me kill. Then, I burned my old life to the ground and bought a one-way ticket to London. They thought the story was over. They had no idea my revenge was just beginning. His Wife, Her Child: A Twisted Truth
Modern The cold bit deep, followed by a throbbing pain. My eyes, impossibly heavy, finally opened to a sterile white room. My last memory? My own son, Alex, his face twisted in a rage I' d seen countless times, brought a vase down on my head. Again and again.
As consciousness faded, a horrific truth surfaced: Alex wasn't my son. He was hers. My best friend, Lisa Hayes, had swapped our babies at birth. My sweet, healthy Emily for her violent Alex, cursed with a genetic disorder. Lisa had doomed me to a lifetime of hell, raising her monster while she raised my perfect child.
I' d died, discarded on my living room floor, wondering why my life had been a constant struggle, why my child was so broken. I' d endured years of Alex' s violent outbursts, the judgmental stares, Lisa' s fake sympathy, and my mother-in-law' s relentless criticism. My marriage crumbled under the weight of a secret I never knew existed, and my love and patience were worn thin.
Then, a nurse' s voice. "The epidural should be wearing off soon. You did wonderfully." Epidural? My stomach was flat. I looked at the calendar: October 12th, 2008. The day I gave birth, 16 years ago. I was back.
A second chance. A chance to save my daughter, to protect my husband, to reclaim the life Lisa stole. This time, there would be no swap. This time, I would rewrite our fate. Dear Wife, Let's Divorce!
Romance The boardroom was silent, captivated by my Apex Tower presentation-the culmination of my career, projected onto the massive screen.
But instead of my schematics, a live feed of our meditation room flickered on, revealing my wife, Sarah, in a tender embrace with another man, Mark.
A collective gasp, then stunned silence. My meticulously built world crumbled, my dignity in ruins before my investors and team.
How could the woman I' d worshipped for fifteen years, the angel who supposedly saved my life, do this? It was a betrayal so profound, I couldn't comprehend it. Was our entire life a carefully constructed lie?
I retreated, shattered, only to uncover a chilling conspiracy that turned my heartbreak into a burning desire for retribution, setting in motion a fight for my very survival. The Pastor's 63rd Bride
Horror The town of Havenwood smells of damp earth and blind faith, but I only came back for my sister Maria's funeral. She was Pastor Morris' s 63rd bride, and like the 62 before her, she died on her wedding night.
Instead of grief, my parents were celebrating, beaming with pride as they informed me that Maria had "ascended" and that Pastor Morris had chosen me to be his next bride.
My own family, then my best friend Wendy, and finally even my fiancé Matthew, betrayed me, selling me out to a man they believed was holy, a man who had murdered my sister.
I was utterly alone, tied to an altar, staring at portraits of his previous victims, wondering why anyone would celebrate such horror.
But when Pastor Morris offered me a choice of how I wished to "depart," something snapped, and my defiance brought an unexpected reprieve. Then I witnessed Wendy, my own best friend, ecstatic as venomous snakes bit her, realizing this wasn't murder, but a horrifying, willing ritual suicide.
Driven by a desperate need to understand the madness, I confronted the supposed "master," who claimed to be my long-dead great-grandfather and that these sacrifices saved our town. But remembering my real great-grandfather's true teachings about grace, not blood, I saw through the imposter's lies.
Realizing he was the blight twisting our town' s faith, I plunged the knife meant for me into him, shattering the collective delusion and freeing Havenwood from its long nightmare. When Love Dies, Justice Rises
Romance For five years, I, Ethan Hayes, a tech billionaire, adored Chloe, showering her with every luxury, believing my love would finally win her over.
Then, a frantic call put me in the Cedars-Sinai ER, facing consent forms for emergency surgery after Chloe's ex, Ryder, joyrode my gift G-Wagen while drunk, critically injuring two.
My phone buzzed; Chloe, on her way to Aspen, brushed off my urgency, snapping, "I handled it. I sent the money. Just stay out of it."
My blood ran cold when the doctor emerged from the OR with grim news: her parents, on their way to the anniversary dinner I arranged, were dead.
Chloe only cared her Centurion Card was declined days later, furious I'd "ruined her trip."
She strolled home, demanding to know who died, then dismissed the truth from my housekeeper as "my dramatic attempts for attention."
In that sterile hospital hallway, my love for Chloe died; not faded, but extinguished, leaving a cold, clear emptiness, like I was replaced by a stranger.
The reality hit me: she paid a fixer to cover up her own parents' murder, and Ryder's old letters, hidden in a shoebox, revealed a years-long scheme to bleed me dry, confirming I was just their "ATM."
I knew then I wasn't just losing; I was fighting back, ready to use my wealth, not as a source of affection, but as a shield and a sword.
It was never a competition for her love; it was a conspiracy, and the fraud would end now, starting with cutting off every financial tie and bringing the full weight of justice down on them both. You might like
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.
The Underboss's Wife, Now His Queen
Hydro Therapy 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. Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don
Ebony Pete "You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly.
Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!"
"You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now."
"Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him.
Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly.
"I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly.
She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud.
"Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!"
"You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine."
"I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!"
Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked.
Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.
Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..."
"I can't," he whispered.
And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
***************
Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark.
But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den.
The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows.
Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive.
Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down? 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. Too Late, Vitiello: The Bride Strikes Back
Jia Zhong I was about to walk down the grand staircase to marry Dante Vitiello, a feared mafia Don, sealing a powerful blood oath between our Families.
But at the bottom of the marble steps, I found his former mistress wearing an exact replica of my three-million-dollar bridal gown, bleeding from a minor scrape and screaming that I pushed her.
Dante immediately stormed into the foyer, his dark eyes furious, and crushed my wrist in a violent grip.
"Bow your head and apologize to her," he demanded in front of the entire underworld elite.
His mother stepped forward and spat at me, calling me a vicious, jealous girl who brought shame to their empire.
The surrounding made men and high-society guests whispered in condemnation, entirely taking his side.
But the deepest betrayal wasn't his mistress crashing the wedding.
I soon discovered Dante had ordered his legal team to draft a predatory annulment contract the night before.
It was titled "Major Fault of the Bride," a meticulously planned trap designed to frame me and strip my family's port territories as reparations for this staged disaster.
I looked at the man I was supposed to marry, realizing he thought I was just a naive pawn he could humiliate, rob, and discard.
He truly believed I would break down in tears and submit to his power.
Instead, I pulled out my encrypted phone and summoned the Mafia Commission's Arbitrator.
"Cancel the marriage ceremony," I commanded coldly, preparing to shed my heavy bridal gown. "Tonight, there is no wedding."