Bei Ke
17 Published Stories
Bei Ke's Books and Stories
Betrayed Heiress: Marrying The Ruthless Mafia Boss
Mafia After five years in a federal prison, framed by my stepmother and fiancé, I was finally released.
Instead of a welcome home, my stepmother tossed me a one-way ticket to Geneva and a threat: renounce the family name and disappear, or end up in the Hudson River.
When our limo was suddenly ambushed by military-grade SUVs on the highway, their cowardice almost got us killed.
I took the wheel, crashed the attackers, and saved their lives.
But the moment the danger passed, my stepmother tried to slap me, called me a psycho, and abandoned me on the desolate roadside.
My ex-fiancé later cornered me in public, trying to assert his dominance by grabbing my arm.
They still thought I was the broken girl they sent to a cage just so they could steal my dead mother's biochemical research.
I didn't feel heartbreak, only a cold, absolute certainty.
They threw me to the wolves, not realizing the federal penitentiary had burned away my capacity for mercy.
I hacked into the dark web and found out Dante Meltoni, the most dangerous Mafia Don in New York, was tearing the city apart to find a legendary underground doctor.
I am that doctor.
I walked straight into his heavily guarded fortress, pulled out a syringe, and saved his dying grandfather.
Then I looked the terrifying Don right in the eye.
"Marry me. And let me use your empire to wipe my family off the map." From Broken to Queen: The Rejected Luna's Rise
Werewolf I shattered my knee jumping in front of a silver bullet meant for him.
The poison seeped into my marrow, putting my wolf into a coma and leaving me crippled.
I thought my sacrifice would secure his love forever.
Instead, five years later, Brennan stood in a warehouse while a Rogue held a silver-laced dagger to my throat.
Beside me sat Debbi, his mistress—a spy who had staged the whole kidnapping.
"You can only save one," the kidnapper sneered.
Brennan didn't even hesitate.
He looked me in the eye, his gaze cold and devoid of the bond we once shared.
"I choose Debbi," he said.
He walked out with her in his arms, leaving his Fated Mate to bleed out on the concrete floor.
As the blade dug into my skin, I felt the mate bond snap.
He thought I died in the explosion that followed.
He spent weeks howling in grief when he finally realized Debbi was a traitor and he had killed the only woman who truly loved him.
But he was wrong.
I didn't die.
A federal agent pulled me from the fire, and the trauma didn't kill my wolf—it woke her up.
A year later, Brennan walked into a small bistro in Italy, looking for redemption.
He fell to his knees when he saw me standing there, healed and glowing with the aura of a White Wolf.
"Alyssa," he wept, reaching for me. "I'm so sorry. I'll do anything."
I looked him dead in the eye, my gaze icy blue.
"Get out," I said. "We don't serve traitors here." Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband
Mafia On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family.
I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown.
But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic.
He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event.
"She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity.
"You will give her whatever she needs."
I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm.
As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing.
"Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted.
Dominick didn't even turn around.
He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table.
I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic.
He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins.
He was wrong.
I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match.
I let the room burn.
By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London.
I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty.
He wanted a war? I would give him one. The Don's Regret: She Saved His Life
Mafia On our fifth anniversary, instead of a ring, I gave Elena a death sentence.
I believed her father killed mine. So, I spent five years making her fall in love with me just to break her.
I replaced her with Sofia, the woman I thought donated her kidney to save me.
I stripped Elena of her dignity, forced her to crawl over hot coals, and locked her in a freezing cellar until her artificial heart gave out.
She died alone in the mud, pulling the plug on her own life to escape me.
It was only when I saw her body on the autopsy table that I found the truth.
Sofia’s skin was flawless. It was Elena who had the scar.
Elena gave me her kidney. Elena saved me while I destroyed her.
Broken by the truth, I drove a knife into my own chest to join her in hell.
But I didn't die. I woke up ten years in the past, back in high school.
I thought God gave me a second chance to fix it. I saved her father. I cleared the path for our love.
I walked toward her in the school courtyard, ready to be the hero she deserved.
But she didn't look at me with love.
She looked at me with absolute, freezing terror.
I wasn't the only one who remembered the previous life. His Perfect Lie, Her Vicious Truth
Modern For five years, I was the loving Mrs. Clayton, enduring painful fertility treatments to give my husband, Bronson, the heir he deserved. He was my rock, my protector since a college hazing incident left me barren.
Then I overheard the truth from behind his study door.
Our marriage was a sham, never legally filed. He' d had a vasectomy before our wedding. It was all an elaborate lie to protect Bridgett-his childhood love and the very woman who orchestrated the assault that destroyed my future.
He wasn't my savior. He was her accomplice, and I was just his compensation. Every gentle touch, every reassuring word, was a performance.
He thought I' d never find out. He thought I' d always be his devoted, clueless wife.
But when his precious Bridgett harmed my sick brother, my grief turned to ice. I smiled sweetly, played the part of the forgiving wife, and began gathering the evidence that would burn their entire world to the ground. He Traded A Diamond For Cheap Glass
Mafia I was the "Ice Queen," the perfect Mafia wife who managed the De Luca empire's millions while my husband, Alessandro, played the part of the feared Underboss.
I thought my silence and competence earned me respect.
That was until I woke up in the estate's medical bay with a shattered leg.
My saddle had snapped mid-jump. It wasn't wear and tear; it was sabotage.
Lying in the dark, feigning sleep, I heard Alessandro whispering outside my door with his enforcer.
"The buckle was filed down," the enforcer said urgently. "Aria tampered with it. She could have broken her neck."
I waited for Alessandro’s rage. I waited for him to execute the mistress who tried to kill his wife.
Instead, his voice was cold and dismissive.
"Bury it," Alessandro ordered. "It’s just a broken leg. Aria was upset about the credit cards. She just wanted to teach Katarina a lesson."
A lesson.
My husband wasn't just cheating on me; he was protecting the woman who tried to cripple me.
Three days later, at the Family Charity Gala, he humiliated me publicly. He outbid me for my grandmother's heirloom necklace and clasped it around Aria's neck while I watched from my wheelchair.
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a piece of furniture to be rearranged.
He didn't know I had bugged the entire villa while I was recovering.
He didn't know I had the recordings of what Aria was really doing when he wasn't looking.
I gripped the USB drive in my pocket and signaled the tech team to lock the doors.
The statue was broken, but he was about to learn that shattered ice is sharp enough to slit a throat. My Dying Heart, His Cruel Vows
Billionaires My fifth wedding anniversary gift was a call from my husband's publicist. He told me to come down to the 5th Precinct because there was a "situation." With my billionaire husband, Elijah, there was always a situation.
When I got there, I saw a young influencer accusing him of kidnapping. But the real shock wasn't the accusation. It was her face-she looked exactly like me, five years younger.
Elijah arrived, but instead of being angry, he showered her with affection, calling her "Kiley" and gifting her a diamond necklace. He treated the kidnapping claim like a lover's quarrel.
When his eyes finally met mine, the warmth vanished, replaced by ice. He looked at me like I was a piece of furniture. A cop muttered to his partner, "That's Mrs. Peters. The real one. Or, well, the first one."
He hates me. He blames me for his sister's death five years ago, believing I ran away and left her to die. He doesn't know I collapsed while running for help. He doesn't know about my terminal heart condition.
So he tortures me with my living replica, slowly killing the woman he vowed to love "till death do us part." The irony is, he doesn't have to try so hard. My doctor just told me I only have a few weeks left to live. A New Chapter, A New Wife
Romance I flew back from London, eager to surprise Sarah, my childhood sweetheart and the woman I was set to marry. I drove straight to her house, imagining her joyful expression.
But then I saw her through the window, cradling a baby, with my best friend, Mark Stevens, his arm possessively around her. My world stopped.
Their voices drifted out:
"He's just an immature nuisance," Mark agreed, "We don't need him disrupting our perfect family."
"God, he can be such a child. Can you imagine if he came back and saw this?" Sarah laughed bitterly.
They were talking about me-the man who was counting the days until he could come home to them. They hadn't just moved on; they had conspired against me, hiding their marriage, their child, for over a year.
I felt like a fool, a punchline to a joke I was the last to hear. The love I believed was waiting for me was a phantom. The friendship I cherished was a lie.
I showed up to her house, hoping for an explanation, only to be met with feigned innocence and gaslighting. I realized she was wearing her wedding ring, hidden in plain sight on a necklace she' d worn in every video call. The cruelty was breathtaking.
I couldn't endure the lies. The person I loved didn't exist. She was a cruel, manipulative stranger. There was nothing left but the cold, hard truth. So, I walked away from the house, from the yard, from twenty years of memories that now felt like they belonged to someone else. Love's Final Condemnation
Modern The antiseptic smell of the hospital clung to me as I watched my brother, Leo, fight for every shallow breath-his life fading, his only hope an experimental surgery with an impossible price tag. My art, once my passion, gathered dust, while my father' s legacy, his architectural masterpiece, was brazenly stolen.
Julian Vance, my father' s apprentice, stood before the towering Skyline Spire, a perfect replica of my dad' s unpatented dream, "Helios." He smiled, sharp and confident, taking all the credit at its grand unveiling. Rage, hot and sharp, coursed through me. He had stolen my dying father's masterpiece, building an empire while Leo lay dying.
I confronted him, shouting the truth amidst flashing cameras. He dismissed me as distraught, a hysterical girl consumed by grief, his hand on my shoulder a public brand of instability. The crowd believed him, the powerful mogul, not the desperate girl in frayed denim. His eyes, though, flickered with a fleeting, inner turmoil that I inexplicably heard, a frantic whisper of guilt and terror.
Humiliated, abandoned by my own family who valued Julian' s influence over my truth, I stumbled into the cold night. A sharp pain seized my chest, and blood stained my palm. It wasn't just Leo who was sick; I was too, and time was running out.
He bought my silence, evicted me, and forced me into his gilded cage. I was now his servant, subjected to endless degradation by his cruel lover, Isabella, and Julian himself, whose every action, though outwardly cold, seemed driven by a terrifying internal war. I found myself trapped, desperately trying to survive, with a new life unexpectedly growing inside me, a secret I couldn't keep. The Phoenix Sisters Rise
Modern The social worker cleared her throat, her voice tight with forced professionalism.
"Jocelyn, Stella, we have some incredible news."
I looked at my sister, Stella, and a cold dread crept up my spine.
This was the beginning of the end; I had lived this moment before.
In my last life, this was the day our biological families found us, only to tear us apart and send us to separate hells.
I remembered the Clarks, my so-called family who let my "sister" Nicole frame me, break my leg, and destroy my track career, then threw me away into a life of abuse.
Stella remembered the Lawrences; her jealous cousin Debra drugged her, stole her recipes, and had her locked away to rot in a mental institution.
We both died, in our own ways.
And now we were back, high school seniors, with the full, horrific memories of that future burned into our souls.
"Your biological families have been located," the social worker chirped, her smile not reaching her eyes.
"They' re waiting downstairs to take you home."
My stomach churned, but Stella' s hand found mine under the table, her grip an iron promise.
This time, no one was separating us.
This time, we would fight back. A Father's Rage
Horror My son Leo, valedictorian, MIT-bound.
On his graduation day, my heart swelled with pride as I ironed his gown.
He was my entire world, the only light left in it.
Then, my ex-wife Victoria called, her voice flat: "Problem at the old industrial freezer.
Go now."
Dread seized me.
I ran.
The massive door creaked open to darkness and a metallic scent.
My phone's light revealed the horror: Leo, grotesque, hundreds of construction spikes pinning him.
"Dad?" he whispered.
Then he was gone.
Trapped with his body, I called Victoria.
She scoffed, dismissing his death as a "prank."
My own father only wanted money.
At the hospital, Victoria' s security blocked Leo' s ambulance while she discussed a new family with Chad.
He then tricked me into a "miracle procedure" to save Leo – actually, to dissolve his body and destroy evidence.
I burst into the OR: hazmat suits, acrid chemicals, Leo' s desecrated remains.
They were dissolving my son.
My grief transformed into pure, black rage.
Victoria then called this unspeakable horror a "prank that got carried away."
The profound betrayal and boundless cruelty were incomprehensible.
Something inside me snapped.
As Victoria's men dragged me away to a forced psychiatric committal, her mocking words echoed.
I looked at her, at Chad, at the vile scene.
My voice, flat and emotionless, was a vow: "You will pay.
Both of you.
You will pay for this."
This was no longer just sorrow; it was a chilling promise. The Forensic Artist's Revenge
Billionaires My sister Tiffany, an aspiring Instagram model, stood before me, her eyes glittering with ambition.
News of tech billionaire Elijah Vance's wife, Anna Reid, first missing, then found dead in what was called an accident, had shaken our small town.
"Chloe," she whispered, her voice low and urgent, "you're a forensic reconstruction artist, right? I need you to make me look exactly like Anna Reid."
Then came the chilling confession: "I arranged her little 'accident,' sis. It was easy."
My refusal was met with a terrifying snarl as she lunged, brutally assaulting me until darkness swallowed everything.
I gasped, jolting upright, back in the exact moment before her deadly attack, the horrifying memory of my own murder by my sister still searingly fresh.
The naive, kind-hearted Chloe was gone, burned away by betrayal and the cold reality of my family's capacity for evil.
I realized my own parents, in that brief glimpse of a future, had covered up my death, protecting their precious Tiffany.
A bone-deep chill settled in me, replacing the disbelief with a hardened, calculated fury.
How could my own sister, my own flesh and blood, be so utterly monstrous, willing to commit murder and then attempt to extinguish me for her twisted ambition?
The profound injustice of it all fueled a chilling resolve I'd never known.
Meeting her impatient gaze, I managed a neutral expression.
"Yes," I said, the single word a quiet promise of a future Tiffany couldn't possibly imagine.
She wanted to walk into the fire, and I, reborn from the ashes of her betrayal, would be the one to light the match.
I would become the architect of her destruction, using my very skills to set the stage for her downfall, turning the fearsome Elijah Vance into a weapon against her. Shamed by Design: The Heiress's Reckoning
Modern My roasted turkey usually brings me joy, but this Thanksgiving, it turned my stomach.
My stepsister, Brittany, had cornered my husband, Richard, and was practically living at our house.
Knowing my daughter Sophie' s severe nut allergy, I carefully asked Brittany if her son, Leo, had any, before serving my pecan pie.
"None at all, Amy. He loves nuts," she lied, smiling sweetly.
Minutes later, Leo was gasping, turning blue.
Richard rounded on me, his face a mask of fury.
"You did this! You knew he couldn' t have nuts!" he roared, shoving pie into my mouth as the guests stared.
The public humiliation was just the beginning.
My home became a battleground, my husband a stranger.
He dismissed my concerns about another nut-laced cookie, leading to our precious Sophie' s near-fatal allergic reaction.
But instead of remorse, he jetted off to Aspen with Brittany and Leo, flaunting their "healing trip" on social media while Sophie lay in a hospital bed.
Every tag, every beaming photo was a fresh stab, painting me as the villain, the negligent mother, the crazy ex-wife.
I endured the whispers, the stares, the viral video portraying me as a monster.
My world crumbled, and I felt utterly alone, trapped in a nightmare created by the very people who were supposed to love me.
The injustice was unbearable. How could I have been so blind? How could they destroy me so easily?
Then, when I was at my lowest, a miracle.
My lawyer uncovered a massive, hidden trust fund – fifty million dollars my stepmother had stolen from me.
That was when something inside me snapped.
Tonight, at Richard' s award gala, they expect me to apologize, to publicly grovel.
But I will not break. Tonight, I claim my freedom and burn their perfect lies to the ground.
This isn' t an apology; it' s my reclamation. Their Betrayal, My Rebirth
Romance My brother, Michael, and my fiancé, Ethan Hayes, were my whole world after Mom died.
I was finalizing designs for a prestigious architecture fellowship, honoring her legacy.
Then Chloe Jenkins appeared, a shadow whispering poison into their ears.
At a high-society gala, Ethan publicly humiliated me, ending our engagement and shaming me, while Michael watched silently.
They soon gave Chloe our mother’s cherished summer home and her invaluable architectural blueprints, which Chloe used to steal my fellowship and destroy my career.
On Mom’s anniversary, they chose a puppy party over her grave, and when I confronted them, Ethan violently assaulted me, Michael defending Chloe.
My entire life, my family, my identity, everything was systematically stripped away, bought by a manipulative stranger and enabled by the men who swore to protect me.
How could the two men I trusted most turn so utterly against me, for her?
The agony of such absolute betrayal consumed me, leaving only a chilling clarity.
So, on a stormy night, I meticulously staged my own death in a fire that consumed my past, emerging from the ashes as Anna Reed, ready to forge a new future, free from their toxic world. From Betrayal To Billionaire's Bride
Romance The scent of lilies hung heavy, a grim reminder of my father's sudden death.
My world was already shattered by his passing, leaving me deep in grief and the chaotic planning of his funeral, with my fiancé Ethan Vance supposedly offering comfort.
But then, during that very funeral, I discovered Ethan's cruel betrayal: he'd been extensively unfaithful with his assistant Tiffany, who had just given birth to his child three days prior, and he had the audacity to call me proposing a "modern arrangement" for our future.
He scoffed at my pain, publicly flaunted his "perfect family" online, and later, when I went to collect my belongings, he and Tiffany attacked me, smashing my father’s cherished watch and violently shoving me against a wall, leaving me bruised and terrified.
How could the man I was meant to marry be so monstrous, so utterly dismissive of my pain, confident I'd return because our families' business interests were intertwined?
Bruised and broken, alone on a park bench, I made the only desperate call I could imagine: "Marry me, David," I whispered to an old acquaintance, "Help me protect my father's legacy, and I'll be the partner your family always hoped for." The Cinderella Project: A Betrayal, A Fortune
Billionaires I was just a diligent sales associate, trying to make ends meet in a luxury boutique on Rodeo Drive.
After refusing a notoriously cruel socialite's outrageous demands, I was unexpectedly offered a breathtaking new life by charming billionaire Ethan Vanderbilt.
No more retail hell, just endless luxury.
I accepted, clinging to it as a desperate chance for my family to escape East LA's struggles.
But then, a chilling message flashed on his unlocked phone: "How’s our little Cinderella project coming along, E? Is she suitably dazzled yet? Can’t wait for the one-year mark. Payback’s a bitch. ;)"
My heart seized.
The "fairy tale" wasn't a rescue; it was a cruel, elaborate game orchestrated by the very socialite I’d defied.
I was the unwitting star of their 'Cinderella project,' a pawn meant to be adorned, built up, then publicly crushed.
Every lavish gift, every forced laugh at their condescending jokes, every demeaning glance from their elite circle felt like a tightening chain.
I was just their entertainment, watched by snickering socialites on a private 'countdown' account, cheering for my inevitable downfall.
They thought I was easily manipulated, a poor girl blinded by glitz and glamor.
How could they be so callously cruel, playing with someone’s entire future?
But beneath the shock, a fierce defiance ignited.
This wasn't just their bet; it was my fight for survival.
A cold, determined smile touched my lips.
Okay, Vanderbilts and Van der Woodsens.
Let's play.
I would use their money, their arrogance, their connections against them.
By the time they realized what was happening, I wouldn't just survive their game; I'd build an empire on its ashes.
My empire.
My rules. You might like
From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." 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. 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.
Reborn To Love My Outlaw Husband
Little Red Riding Hood "Once she's finally dead, I want you to take me - right there, in that outlaw President's own bed... promise me, Blaze."
Lying in a freezing pool of my own blood, I watched the man I had loved for three years flirt shamelessly with my cousin. Meanwhile, my so-called "best friend" greedily stripped the wedding ring off my bleeding finger. "Take her. Have your fun with her, just don't let that pretty face go to waste," the scumbag sneered, kicking me aside. As a group of tattooed thugs approached with sickening, lustful grins, I was swallowed by absolute, shivering despair.
Just as I prepared to bite my own tongue to end it all-a deafening engine roar shattered the night. My husband, the ruthless MC President Axel, the "monster" I had spent my life trying to escape, charged into the hellfire covered in blood. He used his massive frame to shield me from every bullet. With his dying breath, his normally cold eyes held nothing but desperate, humble tenderness. "Don't be afraid... I love you..."
When I opened my eyes, I was reborn a year before our fatal fallout. To completely sever ties with the cheating scumbag, I secretly liquidated all my designer assets, transferring the funds into an untraceable offshore account. But the financial report was handed straight to Axel.
He forcefully cornered me against the wall, his eyes swirling with a devastating mix of soul-crushing heartbreak and violent obsession as he ruthlessly bit my lip. "Chloe, even if you run to the ends of the earth, I will drag you back in chains!" he growled, his voice hoarse and his eyes red. "But from tonight on... until I see your lover's corpse with my own eyes, don't you ever try to touch me again."
I wrapped my arms tightly around his solid waist from behind, my small hands slipping under his half-open leather jacket to trace the hard lines of his tense abs. Feeling his massive body instantly freeze into stone, I stood on my toes and whispered breathily against his ear: "Okay. But before you kill him... hubby, don't you want to come back to bed and fulfill your duties as my husband first?" The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
Diversion Three days before the wedding.
I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman.
Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress.
The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem.
It didn't spell Elena.
It read Sofia.
He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name.
Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife.
He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance.
I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared.
"The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?"
"Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport."
"Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys."
I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday.
He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead. His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
Hei Baidong I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair.
They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves.
Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment.
But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger.
In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all. 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. Abandoned Heiress, Now His Mafia Bride
Priority I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them. Reborn From Fire: The Ex-wife's Revenge
Lunacy Heidi gripped the sterile hospital bedsheets as violent contractions ripped her body apart.
The heavy door opened, but it wasn't the doctor. It was Brigette, wearing the exact custom wedding dress Heidi had spent six months designing for herself.
Brigette held up her phone on speaker. When the doctor warned that a natural delivery would kill the mother, Christian Page's voice echoed through the room, ice-cold and devoid of any warmth.
"Prioritize the Page heirs. Let her die."
The man she loved had just signed her death warrant over the phone.
Brigette stole her newborn twins, dragged her to an abandoned warehouse, and poured gasoline over her bare legs.
Flicking a lit cigar into the puddle, Brigette left Heidi tied to an iron pillar to burn alive.
But as the flames formed a deadly circle around her, Heidi's body convulsed with a terrifying truth.
In the heart of the blazing inferno, she miraculously gave birth to two more babies she didn't know she was carrying.
Using her own back as a human shield against the falling embers, she survived the fire, but the ultimate betrayal burned deeper than her ruined skin.
Four years later, Heidi returned to New York with a reconstructed face, two brilliant children, and a terrifying new identity as the world's top underground surgeon.
When Christian, entirely unaware of who she was, signed a waiver begging her to save his dying grandfather's life, Heidi looked into his desperate eyes with absolute, clinical boredom.
"The game starts now," she said coldly. 
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