Alfred
11 Published Stories
Alfred's Books and Stories
The Day My Fairytale Died
Romance My life with Ethan Hayes was a true New York fairytale. He was devastatingly handsome, a brilliant tech CEO, and our engagement was the stuff of lifestyle blogs and glittering society columns. I poured my heart into our eight years together, building a perfect future, a "Golden Couple" image people envied.
Until I found the texts: "Can't wait until she's out of the picture for good. You promised." And then the photos, the eggplant emoji, the casual cruelty of a Cartier bracelet – "one-of-a-kind," he'd said – glinting on *her* wrist, identical to mine. Chloe Vance, an old college acquaintance, was his secret "escape," his "excitement." Not just a fling, but a long-term, calculated betrayal.
He lavished gifts on me, charming me even as he publicly defended her, dismissing my concerns. He even gave his pregnant mistress his family heirloom, the one he swore was meant only for me. My birthday ended with him ditching me for her manufactured crisis, only for me to receive a photo of Chloe's pregnancy report. Eight years. A lifetime of promises. All built on his lies.
How could someone be so utterly, flawlessly deceptive? My love for him turned to ice, replaced by a searing ache of betrayal and a cold, quiet rage. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't scream. I pressed call on Liam Walker's name, a man from a past I’d left behind, and uttered four words that would change everything: "Marry me, Liam." It was time for a reckoning. And I knew just how to deliver it. Mafia Wife's Revenge: Unleashing My Fury
Mafia For five years, I lived a beautiful lie. I was Aliana Hughes, the cherished wife of the city's most feared Mafia Capo and the beloved daughter of the Don. I believed my arranged marriage had blossomed into love.
On my birthday, my husband promised me the amusement park. Instead, I found him there with his other family, celebrating the fifth birthday of the son I never knew he had.
I overheard their plan. My husband called me a "naive fool," a placeholder to legitimize his secret son. The ultimate betrayal wasn't his affair, but the sight of my own father's car parked across the street. My family wasn't just aware; they were the architects of my ruin.
Back home, I found the proof: a secret photo album of my husband's other family posing with my parents, and records showing my father had bankrolled the entire deception. They had even drugged me on weekends so he could play happy family.
The grief didn't break me. It turned into something cold and sharp. I was a ghost in a life that was never mine, and a ghost has nothing to lose.
I copied every damning file onto a USB drive. As they celebrated their perfect day, I sent a courier with my parting gift: a recording of their treachery. While their world burned, I walked toward the airport, ready to erase myself and start over. The Rejected Omega: Rise of the White Wolf
Werewolf I was the dust beneath the pack's feet, an Omega nobody wanted.
Yet, the Moon Goddess paired me with Ethan Reed, the Alpha heir.
He told me he had amnesia, that he couldn't feel our bond. I was foolish enough to wait for him.
Until I saw him running away with his mistress, Chloe.
When their SUV flipped and caught fire on the highway, I didn't hesitate.
I dragged Ethan from the wreckage, my hands bleeding, my heart racing.
But as soon as he was safe, he didn't check on me.
"Save her!"
He roared, his eyes flashing gold.
He used the Alpha Command.
My body locked up, forced to obey against my will. I dove back into the burning car to drag Chloe out, shattering my leg as the fuel tank exploded.
I lay in the dirt, dying, while Ethan cradled Chloe—who had barely a scratch.
When the healers arrived, Ethan stood over me, cold and indifferent.
"Do not touch the Omega until Chloe is treated," he ordered.
He looked me in the eye and called me weak. He left me to bleed out in the cold night air for the sake of a woman who smirked at my pain.
Something inside me snapped.
With my last breath, I didn't beg. I rejected him.
They buried an empty coffin the next morning.
Three years later, I walked back into the Blood Moon Pack.
I wasn't Ava the servant anymore.
I was the White Wolf.
And I was ready to burn his kingdom to the ground. He Chose A Fake Heir Over His True Wife
Mafia My husband studied the fertility report on his desk with the same cold precision he used to order executions.
On our fifth anniversary, he didn't give me diamonds. He checked his Rolex and delivered the sentence that ended my life.
"Your genetic profile is defective, Catarina."
He didn't just ask for a divorce. He pressed a button on his intercom, and a woman walked in. She was loud, chewing gum, and wearing a dress that was too tight.
"This is Aria," Alex said, his voice flat. "She is a vessel. She will carry the heir your body cannot produce."
He claimed it was just business, that she would be exiled once the child was born. But at my birthday gala, when Aria tripped into a champagne tower, the truth shattered along with the glass.
I was the one bleeding, a jagged shard slicing my arm.
But Alex didn't look at me. He threw his body over her. He cradled his mistress, screaming for a doctor to check the baby, while I stood there with blood dripping onto the marble floor, completely invisible.
I watched him give his own blood to save her in the clinic later that night. I saw the way he looked at her—not like a vessel, but like a prize.
He thought I would stay. He thought I was the obedient Mafia wife who would raise his mistress's child to save the family image.
So when he handed me a stack of papers to "protect the assets," he was too arrogant to read them.
He didn't notice the header read *Decree of Divorce*.
While he was busy buying baby clothes for a child that didn't even exist, I wiped my identity from the servers, signed the papers he blindly authorized, and boarded a one-way jet to Paris.
By the time he realizes his "heir" is a fraud, I will already be a ghost. Erased No More: My Symphony
Modern I sold my vintage Fender bass to pay for Jarvis' s med school tuition, believing his promise that we would conquer the world together.
Ten years later, I found a hidden folder on his laptop titled "Exit Strategy," detailing exactly how to leave me homeless while he moved our daughter's tutor into my house.
He wasn't just cheating; he was systematically erasing me.
On the nanny cam, I watched him laugh as Chrissy, the "angelic" tutor, wore my silk robe and mocked my music as childish noise.
He told her I was nothing but a stepping stone, a connection to my father's influence that he had finally outgrown.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg.
I quietly gathered the evidence, secured my assets, and served him divorce papers that shattered his carefully curated reputation.
But when Chrissy, driven mad by his lies, dragged our daughter to a snowy cliff' s edge, Jarvis finally fell to his knees.
He wept, begging for a second chance, swearing I was the only woman he ever loved.
I looked at the man who had plotted my ruin, then down at my daughter who saw right through him.
"It's too late, Jarvis," I said, my voice colder than the wind.
I walked away into the snow, holding my daughter tight, leaving him alone in the cold with nothing but his regrets. The Coach's Lie, My Final Truth
Modern My husband and coach hadn't answered my calls in five days. I was home, sick and nursing a career-ending injury, when I found him on another woman's social media, his arm draped around her shoulders, a smile on his face I hadn't seen in years.
The next time I saw him was at the hospital. She was with him, pregnant with his child.
When my bad ankle gave out and I collapsed, he ignored me on the floor to protect her. My medical reports scattered across the tiles, and she deliberately stomped on them with a smirk.
He didn't defend me. He just called me pathetic for making a scene.
"You got injured, Aria," he sneered, his voice cold. "You fell apart. You're a mess."
But that report she stomped on held my terminal diagnosis. I had months, maybe a year, left to live.
With nothing left to lose, I filed for divorce and booked a one-way ticket to see the world. My life was ending, but for the first time, I was going to live it for myself. His Friend, My Living Hell
Romance My father's routine heart surgery went horribly wrong, leaving him in a coma. The surgeon was Fabiola, my husband Julian's celebrated childhood friend.
When I begged Julian to use his immense resources to save him, he gave me a chilling ultimatum: my father's life for Fabiola's career.
To protect her, he stood by as she deliberately scalded my hand with boiling soup.
He locked me in a rat-infested wine cellar to "teach me a lesson."
He even force-fed me peanuts, knowing I had a deadly allergy, and had me committed to a psychiatric hospital when I still wouldn't break.
I didn't understand how the man who once promised to build a fortress around me had become the one launching the attack, all for a woman he claimed was just a friend.
So, as Fabiola shoved me from the deck of our yacht into the dark water below, I didn't fight. I let myself fall, because faking my death was the only way to destroy them both. No Longer Your Perfect Husband
Romance For seven years, I was the perfect husband, or rather, the perfect live-in help, trapped in a gilded cage after the Davies family took me in following my parents' death and arranged a marriage to their daughter, Olivia. I gave up my dreams, working a stable job and tending to their every need, becoming a well-dressed butler to a wife who treated me like a convenience and a daughter who called me Ethan.
But then, one night, after celebrating a major promotion, I returned home to find the smart lock code changed. Access denied. My own daughter, Lily, saw me through the frosted glass and walked away, refusing to open the door.
Olivia's phone went straight to voicemail, the house line just rang. A profound cold settled in my bones as I realized one small deviation from seven years of perfect service meant I was literally cast aside. The next morning, I drove to a diner and called a divorce lawyer.
When Olivia finally called, annoyed I wasn't home for Lily's school ride, I simply said, "I'm with my lawyer. I'm filing for divorce." She laughed, bewildered, asking if one night outside was worth it. I thought of the endless chores, my abandoned art, Lily calling me Ethan, the cold silence of the house, and the shadow behind the glass. "Absolutely," I replied.
Her tone shifted, sharp and authoritative. "Fine. You can divorce me. But you can't take Lily. She's a Davies. She stays here." I smiled grimly. "Don't worry," I told her, "I'll waive my parental rights. You can have full custody." I then quit the job, gave up the car, and hung up, feeling a wave of liberation I hadn't known in years.
I shed the role of their dutiful servant, moving back to my dilapidated childhood home. I rebuilt it with my own hands, filmed the process, and watched in stunned silence as my online channel, "The Rebuilder," exploded, bringing me more success and peace than I'd ever known. This was my life now, simple, honest, and truly mine. Duchess's Advocate: Reborn For Justice
Modern The acrid smell of antiseptic and fear hit me first, a phantom scent from a life I' d already lost.
I was back, standing under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the 24/7 animal emergency hospital, on the same exhaustion-laden shift I' d worked before.
My phone buzzed with a text from Molly, my best friend: "Thanks again for covering, Gabs! You' re a lifesaver. Brian and I owe you one!"
Brian. My husband. Molly. My best friend.
The names twisted in my gut, bringing back the crushing weight of their betrayal, the public shame, the cold click of a bathroom door.
I remembered the screaming, the accusations, and Duchess, the champion show dog, lifeless in her kennel.
I remembered Brian' s cold eyes, Molly' s fake concern, and the news of their luxury car business, bought with my life insurance money.
They didn' t just ruin my life; they murdered it.
But they failed. I was back, at the exact moment my universe began to unravel.
This time, I wasn' t the broken woman who ended it all.
My name is Gabrielle Fuller, and this time, things would be different. The Master of Illusions: Unveiling the Truth
Fantasy I lay dying on the cold Chicago asphalt, Nightfall's attack tearing through me.
My last hope, the Heartstone Amulet, was clutched in my hand, meant for Mark, our fallen leader, the one the Order truly needed.
Then Olivia, the orphaned girl I' d raised and loved like a sister, knelt beside me.
I gasped, holding out the Amulet: "Give it to Mark, he needs it!"
Her hand reached for it… and then tightened, not gently, but with a bone-chilling strength.
She ripped the Amulet from my grasp.
"I need him to live, Ethan!" she whispered, her eyes fixed solely on Mark.
She scrambled away, leaving me to the cold embrace of death as she revived him.
She never looked back.
The betrayal, from her, was a physical blow, worse than any wound.
My selflessness, my sacrifice… wasted on a fool.
It wasn't for the Order, but her desperate desire for him. Mark always got what he wanted.
How could I have been so blind, so utterly foolish, to die for someone who could betray me with such chilling indifference?
But then, darkness faded into a blinding flash.
I stood, years earlier, in the grimy Chicago alley where I'd first found Olivia.
The skirmish was ending, she was there, injured. Before, I would have rushed to her side, full of compassion.
But this time, I felt nothing but ice. I remembered. And this time, the illusionist would play a different game. You might like
After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything
Rabbit My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune.
For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me."
He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster.
He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous.
The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built. 
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