Fumo Baobao
18 Published Stories
Fumo Baobao's Books and Stories
He Chose A Fake Heiress Over His True Queen
Mafia I waited seven years for Jax Vetti, the youngest Capo in New York, to finally claim me. Instead, five minutes before our scheduled engagement, he called me a burden behind a velvet curtain.
Standing on the center stage of the Gala, he didn't reach for my hand. He took the hand of Chloe Davenport, his rival’s daughter, and announced to the underworld that she was carrying his heir.
When the explosion tore through the ballroom moments later, Jax didn't hesitate. He threw his body over Chloe, shielding her completely, and dragged her to the safe room.
I was left behind, exposed and helpless, until a massive crystal chandelier crashed down, crushing my legs and slicing my throat.
While I lay bleeding out on the cold floor, Jax returned. He looked at my shattered body not with horror, but with disgust.
"You're a liability, Savvy," he sneered, ordering his guards to dump me in the courtyard like trash so I wouldn't upset his pregnant fiancée.
I clutched the bullet casing he gave me years ago—a blood oath he swore would bind us forever. He had promised to protect me, but tonight, he stepped over my broken body to comfort the woman who was secretly plotting his demise.
His second-in-command found me before the cold took me.
"He's lost his mind," Ben whispered, scooping me up and driving me to a private jet bound for Sicily.
I didn't die that night. But the girl who loved Jax Vetti did.
Six months later, I returned from the dead. Not as his victim, but as the woman who would turn his wedding into a funeral. The Billionaire's Asset: Carrying His Heir
Billionaires I stood in the marble bathroom of the Pierre Hotel, staring at the two pink lines that signaled the end of my life as I knew it. The dates didn't match my sterile, arranged engagement to a business heir; they matched a blizzard in Davos and a man whose name I had tried to scrub from my memory.
I thought I’d hidden the test deep in the trash, but my stepsister Kendall was a viper who had been watching. Moments later, in the middle of a high-stakes gala, she stood on stage and projected a giant image of my positive pregnancy test onto a screen for all of New York’s elite to see.
The fallout was instantaneous and brutal. My fiancé, Preston, didn't ask for an explanation; he simply announced to the room that our merger was terminated because I was a "fraudulent asset." My stepfather, Senator Hansen, didn't offer a hand as I was swarmed by reporters; instead, he had security drag me out into a freezing rainstorm, hissing that I was a liability who had tanked his campaign.
Barefoot and soaking wet on the sidewalk, I watched his black town car splash gutter water over me as I realized my bank cards were frozen and my apartment was already being sold from under me. I huddled in the rain, feeling the strange, protective heat in my abdomen, realizing my own family had orchestrated a public execution of my character. They didn't just want me gone; they wanted me destitute and destroyed.
"Who is the father?" the reporters screamed, their flashes blinding me as I collapsed on the wet concrete. I had been discarded like trash by the people who were supposed to love me, left with nothing but the secret growing inside me and a flash drive that could burn the city to the ground.
But I had one nuclear option left. When a black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb, I didn't beg for a ride. I held up the drive containing the evidence of Corbin Heath’s illegal offshore accounts—the cold-blooded billionaire who was the true father of my child.
"I want sanctuary, my father’s freedom, and my assets unfrozen," I told him, shivering but resolute.
Corbin looked at me with eyes like cold steel and offered a deal that felt more like a hostile takeover than a rescue. He would protect me, but only if I signed a contract that made me his wife and gave him total control over my life and his heir. I had escaped the wolves only to sell my soul to the devil, and as the car door clicked shut, I realized the war for my survival had only just begun. My Anniversary, His Secret Wife
Modern On my first wedding anniversary, I woke up pregnant and thrilled, waiting for my husband, Carter.
But a trending TikTok video shattered my world. It showed Carter celebrating the same anniversary with a famous influencer, Kenley Mendez. He had lied to me for an entire year with a fake marriage certificate while being legally married to her.
When I confronted him, he spun a story about Kenley dying of cancer, begging for my sympathy.
But his lies quickly turned to violence. During a fight, he struck me so hard that I collapsed, and later that day, I miscarried our baby.
To protect his perfect public image, Carter' s company then released a statement branding me as a delusional mistress. The internet exploded with hate, and I became the villain in his tragic love story.
I had lost my baby, my husband, and my reputation. The man I had loved and supported for eight years had not only betrayed me but systematically destroyed my life.
Lying in that cold hospital bed, with nothing left to lose, I picked up my phone. I turned off the beauty filters, looked straight into the camera, and hit 'Go Live.' Her Sacrifice, His Blind Hatred
Modern My boss, August Ortega, forced me to donate bone marrow to his fiancée. She was afraid of getting a scar.
For seven years, I’d been the assistant to the boy I grew up with, the man who now despised me. But his fiancée, Harlow, wanted more than my marrow; she wanted me gone.
She framed me for shattering a five-million-dollar gift, and August made me kneel on the broken crystal until my knees bled. She framed me for assault at a gala, and he had me arrested, where I was beaten bloody in a holding cell.
Then, to punish me for a sex tape I never leaked, he kidnapped my parents.
He made me watch as he dangled them from a crane on an unfinished skyscraper, hundreds of feet in the air. He called my phone, his voice cold and smug.
"Have you learned your lesson yet, Cora? Are you ready to apologize?"
As he spoke, the rope snapped. My parents plummeted into the darkness.
A terrifying calm washed over me. The taste of blood filled my mouth, a symptom of the illness he never knew I had.
He laughed on the other end of the line, a cruel, ugly sound. "Feel free to jump off that roof if it hurts so much. It would be a fitting end for you."
"Okay," I whispered.
And then, I stepped off the edge of the building and into the empty air. The Unseen Scars of Love
Sci-fi My mentor, Dr. Vance, dedicated her life to a sustainable energy project. But her sudden, aggressive illness, too fast to be natural, told me it was an attack. Powerful people wanted her work stopped. So, when she whispered to me to protect it, to not let them win, I made the hardest decision of my life.
I reached for the plug on her life support machine, an act of mercy and protection. But just as my fingers closed around it, the door burst open. "Ava! What the hell are you doing?" It was Ethan, my husband, Dr. Vance's son. He saw my hand on the plug. He saw his mother, still and silent. He saw a murderer.
Chloe Hayes, his childhood friend, rushed to his side. "Oh my God, Ethan! She's... she's killing your mother!" Her words sealed my fate. He shoved me, calling me a murderer. He slapped me, snarling, "You bitch." He became a monster, fueled by grief and Chloe's lies.
He moved into the guest room, stopped speaking to me except to hurl insults. He drained our accounts, buying lavish gifts for Chloe. One night, drunk, he forced himself on me. A few weeks later, I was pregnant, a tiny, foolish hope. But Chloe's poisonous words ignited his rage. He shoved me. I fell, my stomach hitting the desk. The life inside me, gone.
I was cleaning the rug he loved, hand bleeding, when Chloe twisted the story. He forced me to my knees, then watched, unmoved, as I scrubbed. Then, to destroy Eleanor's legacy, Chloe burned her notebooks, tearing them right in front of me.
My birthday. Ethan stood on stage, Chloe by his side, her hand resting protectively on her stomach. "Chloe and I are getting engaged! And we're going to have a baby!" The public execution. My reputation systematically dismantled. I stood there, taking every lie, knowing if they all hated me, no one would look for me when I vanished.
So, I disappeared. I didn't understand how he could twist reality so violently, how his grief had blinded him to the truth. Why, after everything, did he hate me so much?
I shredded my identity. Ava Riley ceased to exist. I became Anya Sharma, the lead scientist of Project Legacy, ready to fulfill my promise and build a new life beyond the wreckage of the old. Love's Betrayal: A Digital Wasteland
Sci-fi My best friend Chloe and I were cybersecurity experts, surviving the digital wasteland after the world fell apart. We kept our small community thriving, a beacon of order in chaos.
Then, tech entrepreneurs Jake Anderson and Noah Carter appeared, promising to "fix" everything. Jake, charismatic and charming, made me believe he loved me. I poured my expertise, my hope, and my heart into their project: rebuilding the core economic systems.
During a critical mission, I almost died, fighting off a hostile takeover. Weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant with Jake' s child, a fragile joy in our grim reality. But then, Chloe, on what was supposed to be a simple mission, was ambushed. They held her for three days, violating her digitally, shattering her mind.
Jake and Noah swore vengeance, waging a ruthless war to eliminate their rivals. We thought we were finally safe, weathering the storm together.
Until one night, I overheard them. My pregnancy was a "good move," tying me to Jake. Chloe was "broken," but useful. Our deepest traumas, our pain, our sacrifices-all planned, all for Olivia Reed, a socialite they were putting on the path to ultimate power.
The love I thought was real became the most painful cage of all. My child, leverage. Chloe, bait. Our lives, tools. I found Chloe, her eyes mirroring my devastation. We were trapped in a web of lies, but we would find a way to escape. When Love Finds Its Way Home
Modern The digital timer in my vision pulsed, counting down to my supposed obliteration-ten minutes until my existence was wiped clean.
Three years ago, a car crash stole my parents, leaving me, then just nineteen, to raise my two stepsons, Ethan and Caleb. I' d given up my Olympic dreams to give them a stable home.
I believed their promises, that we were a family, that they would always protect me.
Then Chloe Davis walked in, an intern, all wide eyes and sweet smiles, a delicate charm bracelet glinting on her wrist.
From that day, I became their personal scapegoat, my achievements overshadowed, my talent exploited, all to bolster Chloe' s image.
Last week, a sabotaged client presentation, files deleted, backups corrupted, and Chloe was responsible.
But Ethan, in the crowded boardroom, turned to me, his face a cold mask: "Sarah, this is your fault."
Caleb chimed in, refusing to meet my eyes, "Chloe is new, she's still learning. You should know better."
They didn' t even ask, just saw Chloe' s tears and blamed me.
I swallowed the familiar, bitter humiliation, the weight of their betrayal a physical pressure on my lungs.
But today, I chose to fail.
"I' m not abandoning it. I' m choosing to fail," I whispered to the empty room.
[Decision confirmed. Initiating protocol for mission failure. The consequences are irreversible. Host will be held fully responsible.]
The system' s voice was calm, but the penalty was clear: my existence would be erased, my "Goodness Value" transferred to Chloe.
Then, the office door burst open. Ethan and Caleb stormed in, accusing me of sabotaging Chloe again.
Chloe appeared, tear-streaked and fragile, playing victim once more.
"Sarah, find the contract. Now. And then you are going to go out there and apologize to Chloe in front of everyone for stressing her out."
I knew this was my final task, a deep dive into humiliation before freedom.
I had nowhere left to go.
So I stepped forward. Betrayed Ballerina: A Love Lost
Modern The pain was an old, familiar ghost, living in my leg, a constant reminder of the dancer I used to be.
My life had become a quiet echo of a forgotten dream, teaching kids the future I' d lost, marked by the silence of a world without applause.
Then, the Grand Metropolitan Ballet called. Not a friend, not a bill collector. It was a frantic stage manager reporting an accident, a fallen lighting rig, and my mentor, Mr. Harrison, in bad shape. They said it looked really bad.
My mind raced. Mr. Harrison, the man who shaped me, who was more a father than my own, lay broken. A cold dread, colder than the ache in my leg, crept up my spine.
"David? And Lily?" I asked, my words numb. My ambitious brother and my sweet, charming adopted sister, the new prodigy-the girl who effortlessly took everything that was once mine.
They were together, busy preparing for Lily' s debut, while Mr. Harrison lay critically injured. Not dread, but a sickening memory rose-the same crippling injury, the same cold indifference from my family.
I remembered David telling me Lily would take my Swan Lake role, casually, for the good of the company. I remembered Ethan, my brilliant ex-fiancé, saying my damage was irreversible, while a flicker of relief crossed his eyes as he looked at Lily.
In that memory, I gave up, watching them soar, isolating Mr. Harrison. I died a slow death, my spirit broken, then heard of his lonely, accidental death and saw their triumphant faces on magazine covers.
A sharp gasp snapped me back. This wasn' t a memory; it was a warning. The same people, the same motives, the same suspicious "accident."
But this time, I wasn' t a broken, passive victim. I looked at my useless leg, at the crutches-symbols of defeat. A slow, determined fire ignited within me.
No. Not again. They took my career, my future. They would not take another person I loved.
"I' m on my way," I said, my voice sharp and clear. This time, I knew their game. I knew the darkness behind Lily' s smile, David' s ruthless ambition, Ethan' s moral rot. Crippled, isolated, but not helpless. I was heading to that theater, not to watch the show, but to stop it. Some Things Are Just Meant To Be
Romance The rain hammered against the window, mirroring the frantic beat of my heart as my mother clutched her chest, her breathing shallow.
I called 911, but the streets were flooded, and the ambulance was delayed.
Desperate, I called my wife, Sarah. Her voice, bright and cheerful over the noisy clatter of plates and loud music, promised to hurry, to be right there.
She never came.
An hour later, the paramedics arrived, their grim faces confirming what I already knew. She was gone.
Hours later, an unfamiliar text buzzed my phone. It was from my friend, Dave. Below his bewildered message was a screenshot that froze my blood: my wife, Sarah, laughing, head thrown back, a wine glass in hand, seated opposite her ex-boyfriend, Mark Wilson, his arm possessively draped around her chair.
The timestamp screamed betrayal: an hour after I' d called her, while my mother lay dying, Sarah was at a lavish restaurant with her past.
The caption, "Some things are just meant to be," shattered my world.
The distracted voice, the turned-off phone, the broken promise-it wasn' t an accident. It was a choice. My grief for my mother, a raw, open wound, was now burning from this fresh betrayal.
With trembling hands, I typed two sentences, fueled by pure, distilled pain: "It's over. Don't come home." From Rags to Riches (Again)
Billionaires For seven long years, I, Ethan Vanderbilt, the heir to a vast real estate empire, played the part of a humble city planner.
I sacrificed my ambitions, poured my family's wealth into funding my fiancée Chloe's "struggling artist" career, all for her, all for love.
Tonight, at her prestigious art preview, my world shattered when she unveiled her centerpiece: a "wedding photo" of her and her best friend, Leo, eyes locked in an intimate smile that screamed betrayal.
Leo, her "tragic muse," whose "degenerative heart condition" I suddenly realized was nothing but a manipulative lie designed to trap her.
My entire seven-year relationship, our engagement, felt like a cruel, expensive joke.
Chloe dismissed my shock, telling me I was "unsupportive" and that this public display of infidelity was merely "art" and a "powerful statement."
How could she casually toss away years of my devotion, my secret identity, the life I' d put on hold for her, for this preposterous charade?
But in that moment of profound clarity, a cold resolve settled over me.
My bohemian charade was finally over.
I pulled out my phone and texted my mother a single, decisive message: "Mom, I'm ready. I'll marry Sophia Sterling." No Pity For The Man Who Broke Me
Romance My eighth wedding anniversary. The house felt as cold as the lilies Michael' s assistant sent, a bouquet chosen by the woman he spent more time with than me.
He was on another "business trip" with Chloe. When I finally reached him, his voice was dismissive, distant. "I want a divorce, Michael. " He just hung up.
What truly broke me wasn't the flowers, but his chilling indifference when I confessed my miscarriage, alone, the night he' d chosen Chloe' s manufactured crisis over me. He simply dismissed my grief, then refused to sign the papers.
He then tried to lure me back by faking our son Leo' s illness, trapping me at his family's Hamptons estate. There, his ice-blooded mother, sneering sister, and Chloe ganged up, publicly questioning my stability. "If you can't behave, you can eat in the kitchen," Michael snarled, treating me like hired help.
Years of quiet endurance, of shrinking myself to fit his world, shattered. How could the man who once swore "forever" become this stranger, this monster who actively conspired to humiliate me? My disgust was absolute.
But the old Sarah was gone. I snatched my wine glass, looked his smug sister straight on, and slowly, deliberately, poured the entire contents over her pristine dress. "You disgust me," I declared, tossing the divorce papers at Michael. I walked out, finally free. The Unbreakable Spirit of Sarah
Billionaires My life was a gilded cage, a loveless arrangement with the powerful Hamilton heir, Mark, designed to save my father' s legacy.
Battling postpartum depression, my only solace was my precious daughter, Lily.
Then, Mark weaponized my vulnerability, declaring me unfit and sending Lily to his ex-girlfriend, Tiffany, her glamour hiding a sharp, cruel edge.
When I finally managed to reach Lily, she was neglected, trapped on a sun-drenched balcony, bearing the faint, angry marks of abuse.
My desperate phone call to Mark for help was met with gaslighting and dismissal: "Are you having another episode?"
Then, the world stopped: a small cry, a sickening thud.
Lily was gone, a silent victim of Tiffany' s malice and Mark' s chilling indifference.
As I knelt over my daughter's lifeless body, Mark, standing with Tiffany, utterly dismissed my agony, suggesting only: "We can try again. Tiffany could even carry it for you."
That horrific moment, his callous offer to replace my dead child, burned away the last remnants of my naive hope and illuminated the brutal truth.
My entire marriage, my very being, had been transaction; Lily' s innocent life had paid our family' s debt in full.
Fueled by a grief that transformed into an unyielding resolve, I looked the Hamiltons in the eye and declared my divorce, severing every tie to their toxic world.
I walked away with nothing but Lily's memory, choosing to rebuild my life from the absolute devastation, far from their shadow. When an Engineer Divorces a Traitor
History I tried to breathe, trapped in the gilded cage of 1900s New York, a silent observer overshadowed by my brilliant sister Bea.
My marriage to Arthur Pendleton, the influential industrialist, was supposed to be a safe harbor, a quiet escape from the era' s suffocating expectations.
But then, an anonymous letter slipped under my door, revealing his carefully hidden life: a mistress, Daisy Miller, and a secret son residing in Greenwich Village.
When I confronted him, Arthur didn't flinch; he simply suggested I, his wife, discreetly "manage" his affair and illegitimate child, appealing to my "renowned compassion."
The audacity, the utter disgust of becoming the caretaker for his betrayal, stole my breath and shattered every illusion of our life.
My humiliation was complete as Daisy Miller herself appeared, heavily pregnant again, desperate and blaming me for Arthur' s sudden abandonment.
His pleas for me to accommodate his expanding secret brood, his appeal to my "compassion," were the final insult to my intelligence.
How could the man who pledged lifelong fidelity demand such a monstrous thing, expecting me to legitimize his lies?
But then, Bea, my whirlwind sister, uttered a single word – "Google" – and the silent understanding between us, our shared 21st-century secret, finally broke through.
In that earth-shattering moment, the quiet engineer in me awakened; I would no longer be a doormat or a tragic victim of this strange, old world.
I crushed the diamond necklace he gave me, a symbol of his worthless promises, and vowed to use every bit of my future knowledge to not just leave Arthur, but to utterly destroy him. No Mercy, No Return
Modern The music throbbed at my sister Claire' s engagement party. Ethan Prescott, the man I was supposed to marry, stood beside her, glowing. I watched from the sidelines, a polite smile glued to my face, my family' s legendary Aegis Locket cool against my skin.
Then Claire screamed. Stumbling into the ballroom, her dress torn, a bruise blooming on her cheek, she pointed directly at me, her voice cracking. "She did this! Rory attacked me! She said I stole Ethan, that I' d pay!"
My fiancé, my brother Sam, and even my own mother, instantly believed her lies.
They called me a monster.
Without a second thought, Ethan ripped the Aegis Locket from my neck, banishing me to "The Hollows," a desolate commune in Maine, for "rehabilitation."
Five years I endured there: systematic torture, starvation, brutal beatings, and the ultimate degradation – a searing brand announcing "Property of The Hollows." My once-sharp mind shattered, my identity erased.
I became a feral, cowering creature, unable to comprehend the monstrous injustice.
How could my family, my beloved Ethan, mistake my horrific abuse for madness, my broken pleas for manipulative acts? Why did they choose to believe the twisted narrative of my venomous sister?
When Ethan and Sam finally came to retrieve me, repulsed by the shattered woman before them, my raw, branded body was exposed during a cruel "penance" ritual.
With nothing left but shame and despair, I lunged towards the cliff's edge, escaping their judgment, escaping everything, by throwing myself into the raging abyss below. No More Foolish Love: Her Empire, Her Rules
Romance It was the day my grandfather would announce the man I’d choose to lead Reddington Global, our corporate empire. My “Keystone”—the family’s immense capital and crucial knowledge—was meant to ensure his success.
In my first life, I poured everything into Jamie Vance, my childhood sweetheart, making him CEO. But his cruel sneer still echoes: "If it weren't for needing your Keystone to help Candace build her own empire, I would never have pretended to care for you!"
He paraded his true love, Candace Dubois, using all the power I gave him to elevate her. He shredded my reputation, seized every asset for Candace, then left me with nothing. “This CEO position,” he’d spat, “even without you, I could have eventually grasped!”
It wasn’t just betrayal; it was annihilation. I died utterly broken, wondering how I could have been so blind, so foolish, to hand over my very essence to a monster.
But then, I woke up. I was back. The same day, the same announcement, but this time, things would be different. Jamie Vance would not ruin me again. I’m ready to rewrite my destiny. The Price of His Pride
Romance Sarah Miller had it all: a successful tech career she traded for family, investing millions into her husband Ethan's architectural empire.
Their seven-year-old twins, Leo and Luna, were her world, buzzing with excitement for their promised Fourth of July trip to Universal Studios.
But Ethan had other plans – a yacht trip with his "pregnant" personal assistant, Tiff.
Then, a chilling note: he'd taken the kids to the desolate Nevada wilderness for "character-building," leaving them with minimal water, one tent.
Panic turned to horror when Sarah found them.
Days later, search and rescue called: Leo and Luna, gone, victims of heatstroke and dehydration.
While Sarah identified their ravaged bodies, Ethan threw a lavish pre-baby shower with Tiff, dismissing Sarah's call about their dead children as a "dramatic stunt."
He returned only to smash their photos, allow Tiff to spill their ashes, and brutalize Sarah for trying to mourn.
How could a father abandon his children to such a horrific fate?
How could he deny their deaths, celebrate with his lover, and then violently silence their grieving mother?
The cold, calculated cruelty was unfathomable.
But a desperate, heartbreaking voicemail from Leo’s last moments and a shocking truth about Tiff would shatter Ethan’s narcissistic world, setting off a chain of events that would force him to confront the monstrous consequences of his actions, and leave Sarah to pick up the pieces of a life utterly destroyed. Graduation Day's Cruel Ultimatum
Young Adult My high school hunger was a secret I carried, a constant, gnawing emptiness in my gut.
My mother's decree echoed daily: "You're smart enough for honors classes, you’re smart enough to figure out food," leaving me to navigate lunchtimes with only a sloshing stomach and burning cheeks as friends clattered trays and devoured greasy pizza.
But the true test came the Wednesday before Thanksgiving break.
My mother, her face cold and impassive, delivered an ultimatum that slashed through my fragile existence: drop out and work, or forever lose the right to call her house home.
I chose school, my voice barely a whisper, and seconds later, the front door clicked shut, severing ties, leaving me to the brutal, biting November night.
With nothing but a backpack, I ended up huddled in a forgotten corner of a community center gym, the chill piercing through my thin clothes, my dreams feeling colder still.
Each shiver was a reminder of her harsh rejection.
How could a parent abandon their child, especially one striving for a better future?
Was my entire life a misguided 'fantasy' in her eyes, a burden she could simply cast aside?
The injustice burned, leaving me utterly adrift and alone.
Then, through the flickering lights of the gym, I saw him again – Jake Peterson, the golden boy, unexpectedly volunteering.
His laughter died when his gaze landed on me, a travel-worn vagrant in his world.
Instantly, his kindness, the same compassion that had once offered me half a sandwich and pulled me back from hunger, resurfaced.
"Sarah? What are you doing here?" he whispered, and then, without hesitation, extended his hand: "You're not staying here. Come on. My place." 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. 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.
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.* 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. 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. 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?
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." You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello
JENNIFER JARVIS My father sold me to the Vitiello Crime Family to settle a three-million-dollar gambling debt.
For three years, I was Dante Vitiello’s property. I warmed his bed, tended his wounds, and let him own every part of me.
I thought I was earning my freedom. I thought I mattered.
Then his "true queen," the Mafia Princess Sofia, returned to the city.
Dante pushed me off his lap the moment she walked into the room. He ordered me to leave because, in the presence of his equal, I was nothing more than "the help."
The humiliation didn't stop there.
He evicted me from the penthouse to renovate it for her.
At a gala, he outbid me for my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet—my family's last scrap of dignity—just to gift it to Sofia in front of the entire city.
But the final blow came when he came to my bed drunk one last time.
He kissed me with a desperate hunger, whispering that he was only "practicing" his technique on me so he would be perfect for her.
I realized then that I wasn't a person to him. I was a training dummy. A debt with a pulse.
He told me to wait for him while he took her to Paris. He thought I would stay in the kennel like a good pet.
He was wrong.
While he was gone, I accepted a surgical fellowship in Switzerland.
I snapped my SIM card in half, left his millions on the floor, and boarded a one-way flight.
By the time the Wolf comes home to find his cage empty, I will be gone. 
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