Breeze
6 Published Stories
Breeze's Books and Stories
The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Mafia I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Beyond Betrayal: Reclaiming Her Legacy
Romance I stood outside my apartment, key in hand, preparing for my late mother's annual charity gala-the most important night of my year.
Suddenly, Liam's voice seeped through the wood-my boyfriend of four years. "Don't worry, Chloe. I'll handle her." He confessed he was canceling on my gala for my manipulative cousin, proudly declaring he' d "manage" me. My world shattered. Four years of my life, a carefully constructed façade, all for a favor to Chloe.
He didn't inquire about my well-being, only about public appearances. Chloe later brazenly flaunted him online, laying public claim. The betrayal deepened when they explicitly left me behind for a family trip, Liam's car overflowing with Chloe' s luggage, with no room for me. My uncle then explicitly warned me to stay in my "lane," sneeringly dismissing me.
The ultimate humiliation came when Chloe shoved me into the pool, shrieking I tried to drown her, while Liam rushed to her rescue, leaving me to sink. Could this truly be my life? Constantly dismissed, betrayed, abandoned, and blamed for the cruelties of others? The injustice burned, transforming my grief into a cold, hard clarity.
But then, a sleek black Tesla glided to a stop beside me. "Need a ride, Clara?" Julian Vance, a figure from my distant past, calmly asked. He didn't just save me from walking; he dropped a bombshell that ripped through my two-faced family' s schemes, revealing a secret engagement and finally arming me with the power to reclaim my life. After the Divorce My Husband Regrets Deeply
Modern On our seventh wedding anniversary, Alan Begum and I had a heated argument because of my decision to choose not to have children, and it ended on a sour note.
Later, I saw a post on social media from his childhood friend, Danna Ahmed. "From the moment you entered the racing circuit to now being famous, I've always been by your side, and only I have been by your side."
She also posted a photo of her with Alan and other teammates.
The teammates had teasing expressions as they looked at them, while Alan and Danna exchanged smiles, appearing like a couple.
Yet in these seven years, he never allowed me to visit his racing events or meet his teammates.
Whenever I asked, he would gently and patiently reassure me. "There are high-speed races on the track. It's too dangerous. You're my dearest, and I'd be heartbroken if you got hurt."
But when I pressed further, his gentle demeanor often turned into impatience.
We had been married for seven years, and it turned out that the most important person in his heart had been his childhood sweetheart, Danna.
Without any drama, I calmly took off my ring, composed a message, and sent it to him. "Alan, let's get a divorce."
Then I slipped on the black gloves that had been preserved in the glass cabinet for many years.
Since when did high-speed racing become dangerous? No More Her Invisible Man
Romance The charity gala flashed smiling faces, then settled on a couple.
My Olivia was laughing, her head titled towards Ryan Stone. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It was a real kiss, slow and deliberate, for everyone to see.
I stood in the shadows by the exit, holding her coat. For eight years, I was the man she came home to. In public, I was just her personal assistant.
Then, at Ryan' s birthday party, my world shattered. He falsely accused me of stealing his newly gifted diamond watch-a setup, a cruel, orchestrated performance.
Olivia watched, cold and impassive, then lent her voice to the lie: "Ethan, just give it back. You know how much Ryan loved that watch. You even said you liked it yourself, remember? When you saw it in the magazine."
Her words were a final, brutal blow. I was stripped bare, literally, in front of the crowd, searched for a watch planted by Ryan' s friend. The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot wave of shame that washed over me.
No one spoke, no one helped, not even the woman I' d devoted eight years of my life to. She just watched, then walked away with him, leaving me utterly broken.
The next day, a grainy video of me being searched was everywhere. The headlines were brutal: "Tech Mogul's Gold-Digging Assistant Caught Stealing." My life was over.
Olivia then issued a statement, officially erasing me from her life, denying any personal relationship. It was perfectly managed, the damage control complete.
But as I packed my things, knowing I was done being her invisible man, I recorded Ryan' s confession.
And then, I walked out of that old life, straight towards a new beginning, ready to find out if she' d finally notice I was gone. The Ring I Sold For Freedom
Modern On the first anniversary of my daughter Maya's death, I went to her grave, feeling the chilling Chicago wind but nothing else.
My husband, Ethan, was supposed to be with me, but he texted that "something urgent" came up.
When I returned to our penthouse, the sound of a child' s laughter filled our home. It wasn't a memory.
There, on our sofa, was Ethan, not alone. A woman with bleached blonde hair, Nicole, sat beside him with a toddler, Leo, on his lap. My breath hitched. The boy had Ethan' s eyes.
Ethan, caught off guard, stumbled through introductions.
"He's my son," he finally admitted. On the day Maya died, he brought his new family into our home, her home.
Then his parents, cold and powerful, delivered their ultimatum: "You will not divorce him. You will forgive him, accept the situation, and give him another child. Or you will never see Maya's grave again."
My daughter's final resting place, held hostage. The thought was suffocating. I felt trapped, betrayed, consumed by an injustice that left me numb, yet screaming internally. How could they do this? How could he do this?
But a mother's love knows no bounds. I would not let them take Maya from me again. I began selling everything: my valuable art, heirlooms, even my wedding ring.
I needed the money to buy Maya a new plot, a final resting place far away from the Scotts, a place that was just ours. Woke Up to Yesterday's Terror
Fantasy The last thing I saw was Old Man Hemlock' s leering face before darkness consumed me.
I died, my leg broken, sold by my own family.
My father beat me, my brother tied me up, my mother screamed I was a curse.
All over a credit card statement for baby supplies.
I was just trying to help, saving them money with Black Friday deals.
Then, I woke up.
In my bed. My leg healed.
It was Friday, November 24th. Black Friday. The exact day it all went wrong.
My mother's voice drifted up: "Sarah? You up? Did you get those orders placed? For Jessica' s baby things?"
I was back.
I knew what came next: the rage, the accusations, the violence.
When my mom snatched my phone and saw the bank app- $487.00-her face contorted.
"Are you trying to ruin us? Again?!" she shrieked, calling me a "curse" and a "financial drain."
My sister-in-law appeared, her kindness replaced by dawning horror, quickly calling my dad and brother.
The same nightmare began to unfold.
How could a few hundred dollars, spent on things they asked for, trigger such overwhelming hate?
What hidden poison lay within that innocent financial number that turned my family into monsters?
I died wondering, and now I was living the horror again, completely baffled.
What was I missing?
I fled, screaming for help from our quiet Rust Belt town, desperate to expose their monstrous plan before history repeated itself.
But would anyone believe a terrified girl claiming her family wants to sell her to Old Man Hemlock?
And what if there was a deeper truth, a past my memory had erased, that explained their terrifying reaction?
My rebirth wasn't just a second chance, but a hunt for forgotten family secrets, a revelation that could either save me or condemn us all. You might like
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. Jilted Pet Becomes The Mafia Queen
Cornelia When I was eight, Dante Moretti pulled me from the fire that killed my family. For ten years, the powerful crime boss was my protector and my god.
Then, he announced his engagement to another woman to unite two criminal empires.
He brought her home and named her the future mistress of the Moretti family.
In front of everyone, his fiancée forced a cheap metal collar around my neck, calling me their pet.
Dante knew I was allergic. He just watched, his eyes cold, and ordered me to take it.
That night, I listened through the walls as he took her to his bed.
I finally understood the promise he’d made me as a child was a lie. I wasn't his family. I was his property.
After a decade of devotion, my love for him finally turned to ash.
So on his birthday, the day he celebrated his new future, I walked out of his gilded cage for good.
A private jet was waiting to take me to my real father—his greatest enemy. He Chose The Mistress, Losing His True Queen
Lively I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed. Spring Beneath the Grave
Rabbit Elora Griffiths was on her way to drop her daughter off at school when her husband's enemies opened fire in the street.
The bodyguard her husband had personally assigned to protect them abandoned the car the instant the shots rang out.
Mother and daughter were hit multiple times, teetering on the brink of death.
Elora frantically called her husband, Rodger Griffiths, but he didn't answer.
Her brother, Hugh Dale, arrived just in time and saved them both.
"How could this happen? Didn't Rodger assign someone to protect you?" Hugh asked.
Elora sobbed uncontrollably, "The bodyguard ran away!"
On the way to the hospital, Elora kept trying Rodger's number, desperate.
One call after another...
Finally, on the ninety-ninth attempt, the line connected. On the other end was the female bodyguard, trembling, her voice barely holding back tears.
"Rodger, it's really not my fault!
There were so many assassins. I would've died if I tried to stop them! I was so scared..."
Elora held her breath, waiting for her husband's wrath to thunder down.
But Rodger just sighed.
"Forget it. The important thing is you're safe," he said.
Meanwhile, Elora's daughter took her last breath in her arms.
The pain was suffocating.
She held her daughter close as her body went cold and stiff, teeth gritted in fury, "Hugh, I'm divorcing him! I'll cut off every single arms shipment to the Griffiths family from the largest arms company in Crownport!" Saved By The Ruthless Rival Don
Maverick For nine years, I was the perfect mafia wife. I laundered Marcus Thorne’s money through my design firm, smiled at his dinners, and ignored the lipstick stains on his collars.
I believed in the Omertà of our marriage. I thought my loyalty was my armor.
I was wrong.
On the night of our anniversary gala, a car lost control and barreled straight toward us in the parking lot.
Marcus didn't look at me. Not once.
He lunged for his mistress, Izzy, tackling her to safety behind a concrete pillar.
I was left standing in the open.
The impact threw me like a ragdoll. I lay bleeding on the cold asphalt, my body broken, watching through the haze as my husband frantically checked his mistress for scratches.
"My ankle," she whimpered.
Without a backward glance, he picked her up and carried her to his limousine, leaving me to bleed out on the pavement.
He didn't leave me because he panicked. He left me because I was just a shield he used to protect what he actually loved.
As darkness crept in, a shadow fell over me. It wasn't Marcus.
It was Julian Croft, his sworn rival.
I looked at the empty spot where my husband should have been and made a choice.
"Get me to the hospital," I rasped, staring into the eyes of the enemy.
"And then help me burn his empire to the ground." The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir
Shu Yu I stood alone at the center of my art gallery opening, clutching a glass of warm champagne, while the guests whispered behind their hands.
My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, wasn't there.
A breaking news alert on my phone explained why.
It was a high-definition photo of Dante shielding his mistress, Isabella, from the rain. He was touching her with a protective possessiveness he had never once shown me.
Then came his text:
"Isabella needed me. Go home."
That was the moment the cage door unlocked. I didn't go home to cry. I went to his office the next morning with a stack of papers disguised as "gallery insurance forms."
While Isabella sat on his desk, mocking me for being a boring housewife, Dante was too annoyed to read the fine print.
He just wanted me gone so he could get back to her.
He signed the divorce decree.
He signed the asset dissolution.
Most importantly, without looking, he signed the irrevocable relinquishment of parental rights.
I walked out with my freedom, but fate had a cruel sense of humor. That night, I stared at a positive pregnancy test.
I was carrying the Sovrano heir he had always demanded.
And he had just legally signed away his right to ever know his child.
I fled to the Swiss Alps, vanishing into the snow to raise my baby away from his world of blood and bullets.
I thought I was safe, until six months later.
Dante hadn't just sent men to look for me.
He had burned his own shipping empire to the ground, destroying his status as King, just to prove he would trade it all for the wife he threw away.