Elizabeth
11 Published Stories
Elizabeth's Books and Stories
His Unwanted Bride, Another Man's Queen
Mafia My fiancé, the ruthless Mafia Underboss, tore my dead mother's necklace from my throat and fastened it around another woman's neck.
"Diana needs it," Arthur said, his eyes cold. "My blood remembers loving her. It calms her anxiety."
He was referring to the bone marrow transplant that saved his life. Diana was connected to the donor, and Arthur believed his new blood made him belong to her.
I became a ghost in my own home, forced to watch him crown a usurper.
When Diana faked a fall at a gala, accusing me of pushing her, Arthur didn't hesitate. He decided to "discipline" me publicly to teach me respect.
He raised the whip.
"Arthur, please, I'm pregnant!" I screamed, shielding my stomach.
"Don't lie to me," he spat, and the lash came down.
I lost our baby on that cold marble floor in a pool of blood. He didn't believe me. He stepped over my body to take Diana to dinner.
He didn't stop there. He let my grandmother die in the ER to tend to Diana's bruised nose. He even dug up my grandmother's grave because Diana wanted the view for a garden.
I finally fled, vanishing into the night.
It wasn't until months later, when he found the autopsy report of our unborn child and the toxicology results proving Diana had been drugging him, that the fog lifted.
He tracked me down to a small town, where I was finally healing with a good man.
The feared Underboss fell to his knees in the pouring rain, holding the whip he had used on me, shaking violently.
"Beat me, Ella," he begged, tears mixing with the mud. "Hurt me. Make us even."
I looked at the monster I used to love and dropped his ring into the dirt.
"You can't bring back the dead, Arthur," I whispered. "And you are dead to me." The CEO's Secret Son and His Doctor Wife
Romance My husband's secret life walked into my office on my first day as Chief Resident: a four-year-old boy with his father's eyes and a rare hereditary allergy that I knew all too well.
Emilio, the man I married, the brilliant rival who swore he couldn't live without me, had another family.
At his company's anniversary gala, his son publicly called me a bad woman trying to steal his daddy. When I took a step toward the child, Emilio shoved me to the ground to protect him. I hit my head, and as the life of our unborn child bled out of me, he walked away without a second glance.
He never visited me in the hospital. He left me to deal with the loss of our baby alone. That's when I knew the man I loved was truly gone, and our five years of marriage had been a lie.
His mistress tried to finish the job, pushing me off a cliff into the sea. But I survived. And as the world mourned the death of Elana Thomas, I boarded a plane to Zurich, ready to begin my new life. My Husband Imprisoned Me for His Dead Lover
Modern I spent five years in a rehabilitation center for a crime I didn't commit. When I was finally released, my husband, Courtland, was the one waiting for me. He was the one who put me there.
He brought me back to our mansion not as his wife, but as a prisoner. I was to serve as a living penance for the death of his true love-my stepsister, Kinsley.
I scrubbed floors on my hands and knees while his mother and the staff watched with contempt. I was a ghost in my own home, a constant, breathing sacrifice to his grief.
Then one day, the woman I had supposedly killed walked into the living room.
Kinsley was alive.
She shrank back in fake terror, and Courtland rushed to her side, shielding her from me.
"You're frightening her," he snarled.
That night, Kinsley brought me a cup of tea, her eyes glittering with triumphant hatred. It was the same poison that had made me barren in my first life.
I knew their perfect, diabolical plan. They would break me completely, then get rid of me.
But they didn't know that this time, I remembered everything. In my first life, their cruel games led to the death of my innocent little brother, Aspen.
I took the cup from her hands and drank every last drop. I would endure their torture. I would play their game. And when they least expected it, I would escape and save the only person who ever mattered.
Seven Years, Instant Regret
Romance The picture arrived on my phone, a screenshot of a hotel booking for a presidential suite under my husband, Liam Thorne' s, name. My world didn' t shatter; it just went quiet.
That night, Liam came home to a shattered house and a shattered wife. He didn' t ask what was wrong. Instead, when I desperately tried to connect, he grabbed my wrists and asked with tired disgust, "What's wrong with you? You're acting insane."
His phone lit up with a call from "Chloe" -his assistant, his mistress. He pushed me away, stumbled over broken glass, and answered, soothing her with, "No, I'm home. Just... a small issue." He defended her from me, calling me hysterical.
I blurted, "Let's get a divorce." To my horror, he instantly agreed, producing already-signed papers from his jacket. Tears streaming, I begged him to stay, grabbing his pants, but he looked down with impassive disgust.
"It's too late for this," he said, dropping the divorce papers at my feet, dated three weeks prior. He chose her pride over our seven years, offering a settlement for my silence.
You're nothing without me, Elara. You'll be crawling back within a month, begging me to take care of you. His words echoed as he walked out, leaving me amidst the ruins of our life. But a cold fury began to simmer. He wanted this easy? Not a chance. Stolen Scripts, Shattered Life
Romance My film career was soaring, my dreams finally within reach.
Then, the word "Plagiarist!" echoed through the festival hall, a death knell for everything I' d built.
Industry contacts vanished, my name became a hashtag for fraud, and my working-class parents, who' d sacrificed everything, disowned me.
Just as I contemplated tearing up my life, producer Ethan Scott appeared, a charismatic savior who saw through the lies, stood by me, and whisked me away to a secluded Austin home.
He built me a private editing suite, framed my old scripts, and became my biggest fan, my only audience, convincing me the outside world was too dangerous.
For five years, I was safe, loved, and completely isolated-until tonight.
Scrolling Instagram, I saw a Sundance hit, "Dust Devil Heart," hailed as a masterpiece by Sabrina Lawrence.
Its story was identical to the script I' d just finished, the one I' d read aloud to Ethan.
And there, in the background of Sabrina's celebratory photo, was my husband, his arm possessively around her, a look of adoration I hadn't seen in years etched on his face.
My "savior" was at Sundance, not in L.A., and everything I believed about my perfect, safe life shattered into a million pieces.
I had married the man who orchestrated my downfall and stole my art, turning my life into his "content farm."
But he underestimated me.
He broke my spirit once, but this time, he just ignited a fire. The Woman He Discarded
Billionaires I used to play my saxophone for joy, but for three years, it was a soundtrack to my gilded cage.
My brother, Leo, was gravely ill, and I lived in Ethan Vanderbilt' s high-rise, his secret, his "charity case."
He paid for Leo's life, and in return, I endured his cold disdain, his casual cruelty.
But then, I heard him call me "old news," "desperate," "nothing special" to his friends, mocking the woman who sacrificed everything.
His new lover, Chloe, became the focus of his manufactured kindness, and I was just a "practice" run, a "charity case" to be displayed, then dismissed.
The final blow: he deliberately canceled Leo's life-sustaining payment, handing the weapon to Chloe, who gleefully blocked me.
Leo died that night, and the world I' d built for him turned into ash around me.
They gave me flowers I was allergic to, tweeted about new diamond bracelets, and celebrated birthday parties while my brother slipped away.
How could the man I gave my life to so carelessly destroy the only thing I lived for?
My chains snapped.
I walked out of his gilded cage forever, taking only my saxophone and Leo' s ashes, ready to reclaim the rhythm of my own life. Adam Carter: Rebuilding a Life
Romance I was Ethan Miller, an aspiring architect, deeply in love with Olivia Beaumont, the formidable CEO of a New York luxury empire.
Our bond seemed unbreakable, her passion fierce, almost consuming.
I was her world, or so I believed.
But that possessive love, tangled with her power, brought three devastating betrayals.
It began with a jarring public humiliation involving a charismatic musician she' d "discovered."
My quiet professional dream was mocked.
Then my trust was shattered further when she confessed a desperate, illicit pregnancy, blaming family pressure for the child being his, not mine.
My heart broke again, but I still clung to the hope of the woman who once chased me.
The final, soul-crushing blow: she publicly gifted my late mentor' s priceless manifesto, a symbol of my core identity, directly to the man who' d stolen my place.
How could the woman who claimed to live for me so relentlessly dismantle my life, leaving me a ghost of my former self?
Every painful revelation left me questioning if her love was a blessing or a curse.
Broken beyond repair, I shed my old life.
I became Adam Carter, fleeing to a quiet Oregon town to rebuild.
But Olivia Beaumont, unwilling to relinquish her hold, tracked me down.
Her desperate, final attempt to reclaim me involved a shocking revelation and a treacherous act, forcing a confrontation that would decisively close our destructive chapter and reveal the true depths of betrayal. The Second Life of Ashley: A Bitter Payback
Modern Kevin' s sharp, accusing voice sliced through the heavy haze. He stood in my old room, its faded floral wallpaper mocking me, holding up a therapeutic massager. "What' s this, Ashley? Something dirty?"
My heart hammered, a wild bird trapped. I blinked. It was real. I was back.
This exact moment, this very massager, had been the fuse of my first life' s destruction.
My younger brother, Kevin, had whined for it, then vilely twisted its purpose, spreading insidious rumors about my promiscuity at college.
My mother, Brenda, instead of defending me, had blindly believed his lies. She' d screamed, called me a disgrace, and summarily forced me to drop out, shattering every one of my dreams.
Then, she tried to marry me off to Earl, a monstrous, predatory man who delighted in breaking me, beating me, and finally, ending my life.
I remembered their callous faces afterward, a chilling indifference as they collected money over my corpse. The suffocating stench of that past clung to the air, a physical manifestation of their betrayal.
The sheer, burning injustice of it all had consumed me in my dying moments. How could my own family be so utterly cruel?
But now, standing here again at the precipice of my past, a cold fire ignited deep within my chest. This time, I wouldn' t be the victim. This time, I would be the master manipulator. And their dance of destruction was about to begin. From Greasy Queen To Polished Power
Romance For a decade, I built a life with Jax, riding shotgun through the grit and glory of the Road Vipers.
I was his "old lady," stained with grease and unwavering loyalty, believing I was his unshakeable queen in that wild world.
Then, he looked across our cluttered loft, smoking a cigarette, and dropped the bomb: "We're done. I'm going legit with Lily. She's clean, simple. Not like you."
He handed me a wad of cash, a pathetic severance package for ten years, while his new, "undamaged" girlfriend stood by.
My heart hammered, but I stayed quiet, even as I threw the silver dog tags—symbols of his fierce possessiveness, engraved with 'Mine'—into a construction dumpster, watching his stunned, pale face.
The bitterness was scorching, but the confusion was a cold, aching void.
Was I truly just a disposable relic of his past, easily replaced by some sweet kid?
And then, just as I felt utterly discarded, my childhood connection, Julian—impeccably tailored and utterly unexpected—pulled up in a sleek Audi, offering sanctuary from the pouring rain.
What I didn't know then was that Lily wasn't just a random waitress.
She was a carefully placed pawn in Julian's long game to break Jax's hold over me.
He'd orchestrated my "clean break" to finally claim me himself.
Now, I'm faced with a deeper betrayal and a startling truth: can I navigate a future where my 'rescue' was a calculated manipulation, and will I expose the shocking truth that shattered Jax's shiny new empire, or choose my own path entirely? The Assistant Who Claimed Her Heart
Romance Ethan Hayes, a dedicated academic, was on the cusp of an exciting future.
Seven years intertwined with Chloe Vance, his brilliant fiancée, had built a life they meticulously planned, including a prestigious joint fellowship.
But their perfect world shattered when Liam Miller, a charming undergraduate research assistant, became a fixture in their lives.
One late night, Ethan found Chloe in Liam's arms, a scene of shocking intimacy that made him an intruder in his own home.
Chloe, inexplicably swayed, defended Liam, inviting him into their apartment and dismissing Ethan's discomfort as jealousy.
Liam, a master manipulator, escalated the betrayal—faking injuries, weaving elaborate lies, and ultimately, convincing Chloe to file a police report accusing Ethan of assault.
Ethan watched in disbelief as Chloe’s unwavering loyalty to Liam overshadowed their seven years together, her eyes filled with cold condemnation, utterly convinced of his supposed cruelty. Was he losing his mind, or was the woman he loved truly this blind, this easily manipulated?
Desperate to escape the suffocating web of lies and betrayal, Ethan made a drastic decision: cut all ties.
With the help of his former mentor, he decided to leave everything behind—his fellowship, his fiancée, and the painful memories of Archwood—for a fresh start across the country. The Phone Call That Unraveled My Life
Romance I was stuck.
Ten years.
Ten years married to Ethan, and now he looked at me like inconvenient furniture.
My sister, Jessica, stood there, a smirk on her face, demanding my grandmother’s antique necklace for her “career-making audition.”
Ethan, my husband, the man I loved, told me she needed it.
His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.
He was sleeping with her, with Jessica, my own sister.
And he didn't even bother to hide it anymore.
When I finally whispered "No," his eyes narrowed.
"Don't be difficult, Sarah. It's just a necklace," he sneered.
He dismissed my pain, ridiculed my anger.
I tried to divorce him, but he just laughed, "You're mine, Sarah. Don't forget that."
I was trapped, defeated, retreated to the dusty attic, my sanctuary of forgotten things.
How could the man I married, the boy who wrote clumsy love poems, become this monster?
This cold, controlling stranger who openly cheated with my sister and wouldn't let me go.
Was there any escape from this personal hell?
Any way to reclaim the life he had stolen?
Then, my old college phone, a relic I hadn't touched in years, flickered to life.
A desperate, wild thought struck me as I saw his old number.
What if?
I dialed.
A young, hesitant voice answered, "Hello?"
It was him.
Ethan. Nineteen.
My Ethan. You might like
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. 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.* Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. 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." 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. Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. 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. 
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