Dashing Wave Rider
9 Published Stories
Dashing Wave Rider's Books and Stories
Left To Drown: The Heiress's Cold Departure
Mafia I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession. Forsaken for a Fake: The True Luna's Revenge
Werewolf My husband, Alpha Kaeden, once looked at me with adoration. But after he brought Clemmie home, his eyes turned cold, glazed over by the "herbal tea" she fed him.
Now, I lay chained to a steel table in the dungeon, the smell of my own burning flesh filling the air.
Kaeden stood over me, indifferent to my screams. He ordered the guards to electrocute me through silver cuffs—the poison of our kind—even though he knew I was carrying his pup.
But torture wasn't the end goal. I froze when I heard the doctor’s question.
"The transplant carries risks, Alpha. Taking a heart from a living donor..."
Clemmie didn't just want my husband; she wanted my heart to cure her "sickness" and steal my White Wolf power.
I waited for Kaeden to refuse. Instead, he rubbed his temples and delivered my death sentence.
"Harvest the heart. Dispose of the rest."
"And the fetus?" the doctor asked.
"Incinerate it."
Those words killed me faster than the silver. I died on the operating table that night, my heart flatlining for three minutes to stage my death.
Kaeden thinks I am ash in a jar. He thinks he saved his mistress.
But when I opened my eyes in the safe house, they weren't brown anymore. They were glowing silver.
Beside me, my daughter slept, alive and radiating ancient power.
The weak Luna is dead. The White Wolf has risen.
And I am going home to take back my pack. Framed By Family, Reborn By Love
Modern My family framed me for corporate espionage, and my uncle told me I was dead to them. So I obliged. I faked my own death and built a new life as Elia Parker, a successful architect married to a tech mogul.
But after five years, my past refused to stay buried. My cousin found me at my own grave and dragged me to a public event, parading me around like a ghost.
My uncle, who left me to rot in a hospital, feigned shock.
My aunt shrieked that I was a monster for faking my death.
Then she lunged, her nails raking across my cheek and drawing blood.
"You ungrateful bitch!" she screamed.
As I stood there bleeding, my so-called family just watched, not one of them moving to help. It was the same cold indifference that had destroyed me five years ago.
Just as I was about to break, a voice cut through the chaos, quiet but radiating power. "Is everything alright here, Elia?"
It was my husband, Javier Bates. And the look on his face told me their world was about to burn. Jilted Heiress: Her Billion-Dollar Payback
Romance My fiancé, Drew, had a crippling germ phobia. Our wedding was a merger in disguise-a deal where my fortune would save his family's failing company.
But at the altar, in front of the world, he left me for his intern. He declared he was choosing "love over money," painting me as the cold-hearted villain who tried to buy a husband.
He wasn't done. He staged a suicide attempt from my office building, live-streaming to the world how my "cruelty" had pushed him to the edge.
Then, he and his new love came to my office with their final demand: twenty percent of my company and my late mother's priceless necklace.
"Cassidy is quite fond of it," he sneered.
The next day, during the emergency board meeting called to fire me, he called, gloating.
"It's checkmate, Jaeda. Just accept that you've lost."
I put him on speakerphone for the entire board to hear. "Actually, Drew," I said, as federal agents walked into the room, "I own the entire board." Escaping His Obsession, Finding Love
Romance I woke up gasping, the memory of my first life still fresh: my fiancé, Elliott, watching coldly as I drowned, his mind poisoned by a woman named Katarina after an accident gave him amnesia.
This time, I had a plan to escape before his fateful yacht trip. But the doorbell rang. It was Elliott, home early. And holding his arm was Katarina. He claimed he'd had a "small incident" on the yacht, but his eyes were clear. He remembered me. He had no amnesia.
He brought her into our home anyway, moving her into my deceased mother's studio. He ordered my parents' priceless mementos thrown in the trash. When I protested, he threw me against the wall. When Katarina "accidentally" shattered a photo of my family, he slapped me and locked me out of the house in the pouring rain.
In my first life, I could blame his cruelty on his memory loss. I told myself he was a victim, too. But now, he remembered everything—our childhood, our love, our promises. This wasn't a man being manipulated. This was a monster, deliberately choosing to torture me.
When Katarina smashed the last gift from my mother, I finally snapped and attacked her. Elliott's response was swift. He had his guards drag me to a soundproofed room in the basement and strap me to a chair. As the electricity seared through my body, I understood. My second chance wasn't an escape. It was a new level of hell, and this time, my torturer was fully aware of what he was doing. The Call He Never Answered
Romance At my company' s anniversary party, my husband Mark, beaming, played a game with his assistant, Lily, a cookie balanced on his forehead. As the room erupted in applause when he succeeded, I cheered, "Go, Mark!" The room fell silent. Lily' s smile vanished, her eyes welling with tears as she whimpered, "Oh, Mark."
Mark, furious, snapped at me, "What' s wrong with you, Olivia? You always have to ruin everything. You're such a killjoy. So boring." Then, in front of everyone-our colleagues and friends-he bent down and kissed Lily, deeply and passionately.
On our tenth wedding anniversary, watching Mark kiss another woman, I felt absolutely nothing. Later, Lily, riding comfortably in the passenger seat of our car, flashed a sickeningly sweet smile and called me "Sis-in-law." I remembered Mark once scoffing at my handmade charm, saying it didn' t match his car' s style, yet he found a custom pink paint job acceptable.
The next morning, Lily posted a photo of red roses on Instagram: "This big silly man always remembers my birthday." In the corner, my wedding ring rested on a man' s hand. When Mark returned, he joked, "What' s the occasion? You even made a cake?" He then smeared frosting on my cheek, remarking on the cake' s poor presentation.
If this had happened any other year, I would have screamed and cried. Instead, I calmly dumped the cake in the trash. He tried to appease me with expensive jewelry, a routine apology after every fight. But when I saw Lily' s text on his phone-"Mark, I had so much fun tonight, see you tomorrow~"-he erupted in a rage.
He shoved me, throwing me off balance. My arm sliced on the coffee table, and my ankle twisted. He simply muttered, "For God' s sake, Olivia," before rushing to Lily' s side after she called him, leaving me injured and alone. Why did he care more about her fake sickness than my real injury?
I was numb. I was utterly done. What else could I do but finally set myself free? That night, for the first time in a decade, I slept soundly, knowing I had made the right decision. My life had to change. No More Naive: The Heiress's Reckoning
Fantasy My eyes snapped open.
I was five years old again, held in my father's strong arms, his face etched with worry as he sighed, "Alright, Ava, I'll marry her."
The words struck me cold: Chloe Raine, my art tutor, my future stepmother, my murderer.
In my last life, that exact sentence sealed my grim fate.
I, a naive child, had cried for him to marry her, desperate for a mother.
Chloe used my innocent longing to infiltrate the Hamilton name and wealth, only to end my life years later, once she was pregnant with her own child, by exploiting my severe peanut allergy.
I remembered the chilling staged kidnapping, the car trunk, and her cold voice arranging to dump my body, every detail of the darkness, fear, and ultimate betrayal.
Now, I was inexplicably back, reborn at this precise, fateful moment.
My five-year-old body sobbed in my father's embrace, but inside, a cold, adult rage simmered, burning away any trace of childish innocence.
This time, things would be profoundly different.
Chloe, standing nearby with a barely hidden triumphant smirk, believed she had won.
She wanted into the Hamilton family, but I would ensure she regretted that wish for the rest of her miserable life, turning my doting father, my powerful grandmother Eleanor, and our fiercely loyal staff into my unsuspecting instruments of a long, agonizing vengeance. Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Lost Your Sarah
Romance I gave him a kidney, built his empire beside him, even risked my life for our son.
My world revolved around my family, and for years, it felt perfect.
Then, Michael' s old flame, Jessica, reappeared, infecting our home with venom.
My own son, Ethan, twisted by her influence, turned hostile, wishing me dead and abusing our pet.
Michael' s words confirmed my worst fears: "She needs me. She wouldn't know how to survive without me."
They left me injured on a dark, rain-soaked street after my son pulled me from the car.
I found my beloved cat, Buddy, brutalized by Ethan.
Then came the final photo: Michael and Jessica, naked, mocking me.
My life, my sacrifices, were meticulously shredded, leaving me utterly annihilated.
Emotionally, I was already gone, my spirit extinguished by their calculated cruelty.
How could the very people I cherished betray me so utterly?
It was then I whispered to the interface, "Confirm activation of Protocol Chimera. Simulated demise. New identity. Complete severance."
The Sarah they brutalized was dead.
It was time to make it official. The Heiress Reborn: A Legacy Unleashed
Billionaires I was Isabella "Izzy" Montoya, sole heiress to a fortune that swayed nations, groomed to choose a husband who would secure my family's legacy.
In my first life, that man was Ethan Ashford, my charming, long-standing crush.
I poured the Montoya empire into his rise, gifted him power beyond measure.
Then he soared, destroyed everything I held dear, seized our assets, and left me with nothing but ash and a shattered heart.
He blamed me publicly, left me utterly ruined.
I died, heartbroken, and Marc Vance, the good man who quietly loved me, died trying to expose Ethan, trying to save *me*.
Our dynasty was decimated.
The memories of his betrayal, the destruction of my family, and the quiet heroism of Marc Vance were vivid, cruel.
How could I have been so blind?
How could one man cause so much devastation?
Then, I woke up.
It was the day of the Legacy Gala, the day I was to announce my choice – the man who would receive the "Montoya Midas Touch."
This time, Ethan Ashford would not win.
This time, I would choose wisely, and the Midas Touch would not turn to dust in my hands. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. 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. Marrying The Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Mafia Brother
Nero Daniels My fiancé left me standing alone at the podium during our rehearsal dinner to rush to the side of a woman whose only illness was a desperate need for attention.
He humiliated me in front of the heads of the Five Families, abandoning our alliance to scoop his "dying" mistress off the floor.
I didn't cry. I didn't run. I walked straight to the head table, to the most terrifying man in the city—his older brother, the Don.
"The Woodward family owes me a husband," I declared calmly.
An hour later, I was married to the Capo dei Capi. But my ex-fiancé didn't accept his demotion.
He kidnapped me, strapping me to a chair in a soundproof basement.
For three days, he drained my blood pint by pint to "save" his mistress, Jaidyn, who watched me fade while she casually ate an apple.
"Take another bag," she ordered, smiling at my agony. "She still has too much fight in her."
As the cold crept up my chest and my vision blurred, I realized I was going to die for a lie, drained dry by a madman.
Then, the steel door detonated.
Through the smoke and debris walked my husband, not with a ransom, but with a serrated knife and a promise to burn them alive. To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival
Rabbit Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts.
The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage.
I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter.
But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous.
Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared.
He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground.
With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes.
"Take me with you." My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister
Tabbie Platt I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.
For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.
On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.
Donovan didn't hesitate.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.
Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.
He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.
He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.
He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.
When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.
He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.
Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.
He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.
I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her." The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." 
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