Amigo
10 Published Stories
Amigo's Books and Stories
When Love Turns to Ash
Romance My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend.
From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down."
That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny.
But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded.
I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said."
Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off."
My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers.
I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal.
Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing.
As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury.
In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho."
How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me?
Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault?
Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred?
I would not be his victim.
Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done.
I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties.
This was not an escape; this was my rebirth.
Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises. Reborn To Reign: Choosing The Monster Over The Prince
Mafia The bullet tore through my chest, ending my life as the perfect mafia princess.
My fiancé, Connor Walls, watched me bleed out on the cold tile floor while he calmly cleaned his gun.
Standing beside him was my cousin Jana, the girl I trusted with my life, looking at him with adoration as I took my last breath.
I died realizing that the "Golden Prince" of the Chicago Outfit was actually a monster who had beaten me behind closed doors for years.
And the man I had been terrified of—his brother Brannon, the "Butcher"—was the only one who had ever truly protected me.
I died full of regret, hatred, and the metallic taste of blood.
But then, I gasped, my body jolting upright on a blue gym mat.
My skin was smooth. My heart was beating.
Connor stood above me, young and arrogant, offering me a hand.
I was twenty-one again.
The beatings, the betrayal, the murder—none of it had happened yet.
Connor smiled, thinking I was still the naive girl he planned to break and discard.
He thought I would walk into the Rite of Choice tonight and obediently become his property.
He was wrong.
That night, under the crystal chandeliers, the Don asked me to pledge myself to the heir.
The entire room held its breath, waiting for the rehearsed "I do."
I looked at Connor, then turned my gaze to the terrifying shadow in the corner.
"The debt requires a union with the Walls bloodline," I said, my voice steel. "It does not specify the heir."
I pointed at the monster everyone feared.
"I choose Brannon Walls." The Price Of A Mafia Queen
Mafia My marriage to Marco Ricci was a contract signed in blood, a promise to unite the two most powerful families on the East Coast. He was my future, the king chosen to rule beside me. Everyone said our union was destiny.
But he came home smelling of cheap perfume and another woman's lies. It was the scent of Angelia, the fragile orphan his family had taken in, the girl he swore he protected like a sister.
I followed him to a private club. From the shadows, I watched him pull her into his arms and give her a hungry, desperate kiss—a kiss he had never given me. In that instant, my entire future shattered.
I finally understood the whispers from his men that I was just a political prize, while Angelia was their true queen. He wanted my empire, but his heart belonged to her.
I would not be a consolation prize. I would not be second to anyone.
I walked straight into my father's study, my voice as cold as ice. "I'm calling off the wedding."
When he protested, I delivered the final blow. "I will uphold our family's need for an alliance. I will marry Don Dante Valentino."
My father's whiskey glass shattered on the floor. Dante Valentino was our greatest rival. The Call That Ruined Me
Billionaires The world was a blur, not of neon, but of fear, as I made a frantic 911 call after witnessing a horrific car crash involving social media influencer Chloe Stone.
I thought I was doing the right thing, saving a life, but that single phone call destroyed mine.
Chloe' s ruthless tech-mogul brother, Liam Stone, twisted my act of good Samaritanism into an act of malicious ruin, systematically dismantling my career and coercing me into a horrifying marriage contract.
His demand was simple: provide him an heir to secure his family' s legacy because his sister was "broken."
I became his prisoner, my body and future no longer my own.
During a coerced fertility procedure, everything went horribly wrong; I woke up in a hospital bed to the devastating news that I' d needed an emergency hysterectomy-I could never have children.
The one thing he forced me into, the one purpose I was meant to serve, was now impossible, violently taken from me.
Liam, enraged by my "uselessness," dragged me home to humiliate me further, demanding I play the grieving wife at a public gala despite his own role in my suffering.
But as I stood on that stage, forced to perform my pain, a piece of something snapped inside me.
I had lost everything, but I would not let him break my spirit entirely.
I looked him dead in the eyes and refused to give him the performance he craved.
I would expose his lies, reclaim my narrative, and start fighting back to survive. Love Lost, Self Found
Billionaires The invitation sat in my hand, a gilded lie addressed to "The Chen Residence," leading me into a lavish hall humming with triumph.
On a giant screen, my husband, David Chen, was hailed as a visionary billionaire, the man behind Genesis Inc.-a stark contrast to the humble app developer who used to struggle for our rent.
My mind reeled as I remembered selling my grandmother's treasured necklace, donating every penny of my art money to his "struggling startup," and watching him feign humility while I slaved away at three jobs, my dreams gathering dust for ten years.
Then, I saw her: Emily Hayes, his COO, his collegiate sweetheart, their public smiles melting into an intimate embrace as I overheard her murmur, "She' s still useful," and David dismissively add, "The story of my 'struggle' is good for PR."
My stomach churned-my entire married life a calculated performance, my sacrifices the fuel for his betrayal, leaving me with nothing but raw hands and a shattered heart.
The truth hit me like a physical blow: he hadn't just taken everything; he had laughed while doing it, while I counted pennies in our hovel as he built an empire with another woman.
Back in our cramped apartment, memories flooded back of his manufactured poverty, the cruel deception surrounding my miscarriage, and his chilling inaction as my father died, money he had all along.
The final insult came in a lavish penthouse suite where David and Emily, dripping with feigned concern for his "debt," demanded I kneel and then crawl before them, a twisted game designed to bleed me dry of dignity.
My fury finally broke through the numbness as David, mask discarded, grabbed me, warning, "You're not going anywhere. You'll do as you're told."
Then, Emily slapped me, showering me with hundreds of dollars, sneering, "Pick it up. Isn't that what you're good at? Scrabbling for scraps?" as David watched, complicit.
His final betrayal arrived with Emily, wearing my deceased mother's sacred jade bracelet, stolen by David, prompting me to lash out and her to feign injury.
He believed her instantly, his eyes pure hatred, so I grabbed a plate shard, dragging it across my own arm-a desperate, bloody truth in their world of lies.
Abandoned, bleeding, and aching for justice, I made a choice: there would be no more lies, no more victims, only the chilling dawn of revenge. The Price of Familial Betrayal
Modern The front door of my childhood home opened, and my mother' s face soured.
"Sarah." Her voice was flat, holding no warmth. "What are you doing here?"
I' d stopped by, thinking it might bridge the endless chasm between us. Instead, another demand was already forming in her eyes, even before I stepped inside.
For years, I was their bank. I paid Mike' s overdue rent, his credit card debt, even their mortgage-a mortgage only high because they' d refinanced to bail him out yet again. My entire adult life had been spent cleaning up their messes, while they praised my brother, Mike, the "heir" who hadn' t worked a steady job in a decade.
Then, my father gathered the family and announced his updated will: everything-the house, the family business-would go solely to Mike. My years of sacrificing, of financially propping them up, were dismissed as merely "my duty as a daughter." "You' re just a daughter," he' d hissed, "Your only duty is to support your family."
The injustice burned, yet it wasn't the first time they' d declared me less for being a girl. But this time, watching my brother' s smug, triumphant grin, something inside me finally snapped.
"Fine," I said, my voice calm, but filled with a resolve they' d never heard. "From this day forward, you won' t get anything from me." I walked out, leaving their shock and fury behind, finally free. When Forever Crumbles
Romance For ten years, my life was a dedication, a detailed blueprint for his Broadway dreams, meticulously built with every dollar from my three jobs, every hour as his unpaid assistant.
Our tenth anniversary was approaching, but a strange dizziness sent me to a clinic where I received a devastating diagnosis: a rare, aggressive illness, with only a month left to live.
I rushed home to tell the man I sacrificed everything for, only to find a pair of unfamiliar red stilettos discarded by the door and a woman' s bright laughter echoing from our bedroom.
He emerged, annoyed by my early arrival, while his starlet mistress, Scarlett, wrapped in our bedsheet, smirked triumphantly, reducing me to a forgotten piece of furniture in my own home.
His cold dismissal, "It's not a good time. We need to talk later," shattered something inside me, confirming I was nothing more than a tool, malfunctioning at the most inconvenient moment for his career.
Later, from a borrowed couch, I heard him on the phone, his voice tender for her, then contemptuous for me: "She's just being difficult… terrible timing. Don't worry about her. I' ll handle it."
The foundation of my entire world, built on his promises and my sacrifices, crumbled into a bitter lie.
But then, a twisted irony: the experimental treatment that could save me was fully funded by a grant awarded to his new Broadway production with Scarlett, essentially using my life's hope to fuel his infidelity.
As I walked away, clutching my old art portfolio, leaving the key behind, I heard him celebrating his "miracle," utterly unaware it was built on my death sentence.
My world ended, only to reveal the deeper, darker truth: the illness, the betrayal, his ultimate downfall – it was all part of a loop.
A loop that began when a shattered man, drowning in grief and regret, was given an impossible second chance, returned to the very moment we first met, desperate to rewrite our tragic ending. He Wanted 50/50, She Took 100%
Modern My six-figure tech career was just wiped out, leaving me, four months pregnant, vulnerable and reeling.
But nothing prepared me for the chilling "family budget meeting" called by my husband, Kevin, and his mother, Brenda.
They proposed a draconian 50/50 split of every expense, from utilities to groceries, and even my pregnancy and delivery costs.
Worse, they demanded I pay Brenda $2,500 monthly for her non-existent "household management" services, effectively turning her into a tenant I funded.
Then Kevin delivered the gut punch: any extra cost for a C-section would be "my body's issue," my financial responsibility alone. My stomach churned, not from morning sickness, but from the chilling realization that my husband and his mother saw me not as a partner or a parent, but as a walking ATM and a mere incubator.
The air in the room felt toxic. My entire being, my baby, my potential medical needs-all reduced to heartless figures on a spreadsheet.
How could the man I loved, the father of my child, and his own mother, demonstrate such ruthless greed and absolute disregard for my well-being? Every hidden red flag from our relationship now screamed in my ear.
They watched me, triumphant smiles on their faces, as I calmly agreed to their outrageous terms. But they had no idea. They wanted to play with spreadsheets? Fine. A cold, steel clarity washed over me. The deal wasn't off; it was just about to be rewritten – by me. Rising From Ruin: A Gold's Unstoppable Comeback
Billionaires My hand trembled as I prepared to call Kevin.
I had sacrificed everything for him, cutting ties with my tycoon father, Harrison Gold.
But finally, my father had agreed to meet Kevin, even considering funding his tech startup.
Peace and success felt within our grasp.
Then, a new Instagram post from Jess Vance, Kevin's business partner, popped up.
It was an ultrasound picture, captioned, "Love knows no timeline."
My blood ran cold when Kevin called moments later.
"Jess is pregnant," he stated flatly.
"It's mine," he continued, "and she' s Harrison Gold's daughter."
He demanded a divorce, claiming it was "just business" to secure vital funding.
He violently shoved me as I resisted, sending me crashing into a table.
A searing pain ripped through me as I crumpled, bleeding profusely.
I was losing our baby, and he just walked out, leaving me there.
The man I loved and gave everything for had brutally betrayed me.
He destroyed our marriage, our future, and our unborn child for a lie and for money.
How could he commit such a monstrous act, all for a fabricated identity for his mistress?
But he made one critical mistake: he provoked a Gold.
He dismissed me as unsupported, never realizing my powerful father's true reach.
My father, seeing my brokenness and the loss of his grandchild, vowed cold, absolute revenge.
This wasn't just a breakup; it was a war, and I, Sarah Gold, was about to rise from its ashes. 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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