Grump
10 Published Stories
Grump's Books and Stories
Reborn Heiress: Pampered By The Ruthless Don
Mafia The man smiling in the silver frame on my vanity was the very same man who, in exactly three months, would wrap his hands around my throat.
I knew this because I had already died.
I had felt the freezing, silty water of the Hudson River fill my lungs while Alexander watched the life drain from my eyes, his mistress laughing in the background.
I had hovered like a ghost above my own funeral, watching the betrayal continue even after my death.
My mother, the perfect Mafia widow, stood stoically next to my killer, unaware she had sold her daughter to a butcher. My fiancé checked his watch, bored, waiting to liquidate my inheritance.
But then I saw him.
Darrian Golden. The Don of the rival clan. The enemy.
He stood in the pouring rain, his expensive suit soaked through, staring at my coffin as if the world had ended. When the earth hit the wood, he didn't just cry; he roared in primal agony. My fiancé killed me, but my enemy was the only one who mourned me.
"The Commission is waiting," my mother’s voice snapped the timeline back into place.
She stood in my doorway, demanding I set the engagement date to secure the territory. She saw a charming Capo; I saw the rat who had cut my father's brake lines.
In my first life, I was a trembling bird. In this life, I was the match that would burn the cage down.
I smashed the photo frame against the marble table, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot.
"Contact the Golden Clan," I commanded.
My mother went pale. "He is a savage, Azalea. He butchers men for sport."
"Tell Don Golden that Azalea Kidd is offering a parley," I said, looking out the window at the city that would soon be ours.
"Tell him I am offering the only thing he has ever wanted: Me." Eighteen Days to Forget You
Modern Eighteen days after giving up on Jarrett Sheppard, Alayna Dickerson cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend the UC Berkeley College of Music.
Her father, Samuel Dickerson, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she'd always insisted on staying with Jarrett. Alayna forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Jarrett was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him.
That night, she tried to tell Jarrett about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Kisha Prince, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Jarrett's tender words to Kisha twisted a knife in Alayna's heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had given her her first harmonica when she was eight, becoming her musical mentor, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a love letter at seventeen, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!"
He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Kisha home and told her to call her "sister-in-law."
Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Jarrett out of her heart. Fifty Dollar Bet, Million Dollar Revenge
Romance For fifty dollars, I sold a piece of my dignity to the school's golden boy. I was eighteen, starving, and desperate enough to take his bet.
That single photo destroyed my life. I became "Fifty-Dollar Ella," the school slut, haunted by whispers and scorn.
My stepmother and stepsister reveled in my public humiliation, ensuring my life was a living hell.
I spent the next decade clawing my way to the top of Wall Street, but I died alone, filled with the bitter regret of a stolen youth.
Until the end, I never understood why they all hated me so much.
Then, I opened my eyes. I was eighteen again, back in that classroom, moments before the bet that ruined me. A shadow fell over my desk. It was him.
"Meet me after school," Javier Mack whispered, a smug look on his face.
But this time, the scared, hungry girl was gone. In her place was a shark. And I was ready to play. When Forever Crumbles: Love's Harsh Reality
Romance My husband, the tech billionaire Jackson Watkins, was perfect. For two years, he adored me, and our marriage was the envy of everyone we knew.
Then a woman from his past appeared, holding the hand of a pale, sick four-year-old boy. His son.
The boy had leukemia, and Jackson became consumed with saving him. After an accident at the hospital, his son had a seizure. In the chaos, I fell hard, a sharp pain shooting through my abdomen.
Jackson ran right past me, carrying his son, and left me bleeding on the floor.
I lost our baby that day, alone. He never even called.
When he finally appeared at my hospital bed the next morning, he was wearing a different suit. He begged for forgiveness for being absent, not knowing the real reason for my tears.
Then I saw it. A dark hickey on his neck.
He had been with her while I was losing our child.
He told me his son's dying wish was to see his parents married. He begged me to agree to a temporary separation and a fake wedding with her.
I looked at his desperate, selfish face, and a strange calm settled over me.
"Okay," I said. "I'll do it." From Ashes, A Queen Rises
Modern I woke up in the hospital after my husband tried to kill me in an explosion. The doctor said I was lucky—the shrapnel had missed my major arteries. Then he told me something else. I was eight weeks pregnant.
Just then, my husband, Julius, walked in. He ignored me and spoke to the doctor. He said his mistress, Kenzie, had leukemia and needed an urgent bone marrow transplant. He wanted me to be the donor.
The doctor was aghast. "Mr. Carroll, your wife is pregnant and critically injured. That procedure would require an abortion and could kill her."
Julius's face was a mask of stone. "The abortion is a given," he said. "Kenzie is the priority. Florence is strong, she can have another baby later."
He was talking about our child like it was a tumor to be removed. He would kill our baby and risk my life for a woman who was faking a terminal illness.
In that sterile hospital room, the part of me that had loved him, the part that had forgiven him, turned to ash.
They wheeled me into surgery. As the anesthetic flowed into my veins, I felt a strange sense of peace. This was the end, and the beginning.
When I woke up, my baby was gone.
With a calmness that scared even me, I picked up the phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in ten years.
"Dad," I whispered. "I'm coming home."
For a decade, I had hidden my true identity as a Horton heiress, all for a man who just tried to murder me.
Florence Whitehead was dead. But the Horton heiress was just waking up, and she was going to burn their world to the ground. Revenge Of The Discarded Fiancée
Romance For seven years, I dedicated my life to Liam Miller, the charismatic CEO, building his empire and standing by his side as his quiet fiancée. I was his unwavering support, his peace in a world of ambition and noise.
Then, an anonymous text ripped my world apart: "Liam is in danger. The Ophidian Club. Now."
I found him laughing, his arm around a notorious poker player, Isabella Ross, betting away millions of his company' s money, my contribution, on her. My head hit the floor, and in the haze, I heard his voice, cold and dismissive, "Don' t worry about her. She' s just a charity case." At home, I heard Isabella's cruel words, "She's like a lost puppy you picked up, Liam. Loyal, but ultimately just a pet you can get rid of."
"A charity case? A pet?" The words tasted like ash. My seven years, my identity as a software engineer who built his company, reduced to a "convenient background" for his rise. Why had I meant so little? Why was I just a substitute, a cheap copy of a woman he truly loved?
Standing on that stage, forced to smile as his "perfect partner" for the cameras, I vowed that when his deal was secured, I would take my settlement and disappear forever. But when Alex Vance, Liam' s ruthless rival, stepped into my life, claiming Liam had turned my existence into a cruel experiment, I knew I had to fight back, not just for freedom, but for survival. Revenge Wears a Soft Smile
Modern The morning sun streamed into my penthouse, just like any other day.
My fiancé, Liam, walked in with coffee and a croissant, his perfect smile radiating devotion.
But the world had been dark just moments before, stained with the taste of blood and the memory of his smiling face as I lay dying on the cold floor of an institution.
Now, it was two years before that horrific end.
Two years before he destroyed everything and had me committed to a mental asylum.
The last thing I remembered was his betrayal, his cruel laughter as my life, my company, and my sanity were systematically stripped away for his ambition.
I watched him now, playing the part of the loving partner, reminiscing about the "Project Titan" software that was once my life' s work, the very foundation he would steal and rebrand as his own.
He told me I was working too hard, that he would "take the pressure off."
It was the same speech, the same insidious opening move he' d used before.
A practiced performance that had once fooled me completely.
How could I have been so blind, so naive, to open my heart and my world to such a snake?
The memories of his lies, his manipulation, his ultimate act of sending me to an early grave, burned through me.
But this time, the pain was fuel, not weakness.
My smile might have been soft, but inside, a cold certainty settled deep in my bones.
This wasn't a dream.
It was a do-over.
He thought he had won.
He thought this was the start of everything for him.
He was right.
It was the start of his end.
And I was going to enjoy every second of it. The Art of Starting Over
Fantasy At eighty, I lay dying in a sterile hospital room, a life I felt was utterly wasted flashing before my eyes.
My wife of sixty years, Olivia Hayes, sat beside me, her stoic composure a familiar mask.
Then, her whispered confession shattered everything: "Tell Daniel… I've always loved him."
Daniel, her colleague from decades ago.
Sixty years of quiet resentment, of being a placeholder, a fool.
Rage burned in my dying body-a useless, consuming fire.
Then, darkness.
Light. Soft blankets. My young mother' s beaming face.
It was 1987. I was a baby again, but the memories of my eighty-year life, and Olivia's betrayal, were searing.
"Mom," I squeaked, my infant voice unwavering, "I won't marry Olivia Hayes."
Years later, at eighteen, the name Olivia was a constant dread.
Our families had an arranged engagement, a relic I had accepted in my past life.
This time, it was a prison sentence.
I saw her with Daniel Lee at the community center, laughing the unguarded laugh I rarely saw in our marriage, her caring gestures confirming the truth.
She approached me, that familiar stoic calm in place, perhaps to touch my arm.
I stepped back, a deliberate movement.
"Are you avoiding me?" she asked, her tone flat.
I met her gaze directly. "We should keep our distance, Olivia. It's better for everyone."
I walked away. My past life, a suffocating nightmare.
This life would be different. This life was for me.
I would be free. Wedding Day Showdown: I Married My Best Friend
Romance Vegas wedding day. I stood in my dress, heart pounding, ready for my fiancé, Bryce. Then, a scene out of a nightmare unfolded: a woman and a child burst in, the boy crying, "Daddy!" Unbelievably, Bryce revealed this was his ex, Kelli, and their son, Jayden. He announced he was marrying her instead—right then and there—and asked me to pose for a "friend photo" for social media. My world shattered as they walked into the chapel, leaving me publicly humiliated.
The nightmare, I soon learned, was just beginning. Not content with abandoning me, Bryce and his crew invaded my beautiful Malibu home, trashing it, defiling my most cherished possessions. The very next day, they threw a brazen party on my private lawn, mocking my pain. When I confronted them, their malicious posse turned violent, shoving and hitting me, screaming accusations that I was the "homewrecker." Bryce, the coward, just stood by. I was bruised, violated, and utterly alone, my sanctuary desecrated.
How could someone I loved unleash such monstrous cruelty? How could I, the victim, suddenly become the villain in the eyes of a hostile crowd? My spirit was crushed; I felt utterly helpless against this wave of injustice.
Just as I thought all hope was lost, a sleek black SUV screeched to a halt. Nolan. My oldest friend for ten years. He'd left a multi-billion dollar deal mid-signing to get here. He stepped out, eyes blazing, and in a voice that brooked no argument, he simply said, "I'm her husband." You might like
After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises
Rabbit My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool.
For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office.
The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation.
My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order.
Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve.
Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. After My Husband Cheated, I Married His Greatest Rival
Rabbit The rain assaulted the glass, mirroring the storm inside me. For three years, I, Vivian Sterling, played the perfect wife to Julian Kensington, draining my life. The antique clock ticked, a reminder of time lost.
Then, I found it: a blonde hair on Julian's suit, reeking of Midnight Rose, and a text, ""Candy: You left your cufflinks on my nightstand. I'm already missing you."" My world shattered, revealing his betrayal.
This was just the beginning. I exposed Julian's fraud and his family's violent plots, surviving assassination. But their malice stole my past. Then Alexander Vance, my protector, uncovered a terrifying truth: my birth mother was alive, held captive by a shadowy order. My life was a lie, built to shield me from my dangerous bloodline.
I found strength and love with Alexander, the man who walked into fire for me. Yet, as I prepared to rescue my mother, a new life stirred within me, a secret threatening to complicate the impending war. Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir
Shirlee Melnick Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit.
The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena.
This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone. The Disowned Wife's Revenge: Buried Secrets and Billionaire Love
Rabbit Eleanor Vance had spent a lifetime trying to earn her family's love, offering them her heart, her talent, and her quiet devotion. But on Cassandra's birthday, her peace offering was met with a vicious lie and a stinging slap across the face. In that single, shattering moment, Eleanor realized she had been buying tickets to a bus that would never come, and something inside her snapped.
Her adopted sister, Cassandra, always commanded their parents' adoration, leaving Eleanor a perpetual shadow. So when Cassandra theatrically dropped Eleanor's painstakingly restored emerald brooch, blaming her, Eleanor's mother, Vivian, lashed out with a stinging slap. Her father, Robert, coldly demanded an apology, choosing a manipulator's tears over his own daughter's truth. The familiar ache in Eleanor's chest confirmed their twisted love was not for her.
A quiet, terrifying resolve settled within her. She knelt, not in humility, but with chilling purpose, tossed the emerald brooch into the roaring fireplace. ""You don't deserve it,"" she stated, devoid of warmth. Later, from a hidden compartment, she pulled out a sleek, black burner phone. ""It's time,"" Eleanor whispered. ""Initiate Phase One. Prepare the assets."" 
/0/96928/coverorgin.jpg?v=702c4cf99160bd723165da2a002e4134&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/104546/coverorgin.jpg?v=a507b036bc2411e0a32ac9e6c3a6f2f1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103141/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc479ab7cfb86f183524c7da0f595dfb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/96929/coverorgin.jpg?v=27768d4adec894fee28c2ddb1b4a8e94&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/90452/coverorgin.jpg?v=43abbfc90fcea2a254e82a5e99923541&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/90267/coverorgin.jpg?v=983ec4ac3c30665959bad076a55836cd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86586/coverorgin.jpg?v=e144a3f30dfe57baffe877718b5aefea&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85447/coverorgin.jpg?v=49d5bddfa2dea0950c7f44bf0d3a6e3e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84785/coverorgin.jpg?v=610e614df031ea555b563c4a6b19aa32&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80278/coverorgin.jpg?v=15f6232252eebd514aac48021f784862&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102856/coverorgin.jpg?v=ab447bb3dfea8a92331d6f2abd61bff7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102860/coverorgin.jpg?v=fd4279179a94dd229627ce7640bf190d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101423/coverorgin.jpg?v=46b8ac4ba2161e0b69a9b73304ac43c3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101927/coverorgin.jpg?v=51f6847b2406445f6142e9710ec1d533&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79054/coverorgin.jpg?v=248fd387f8a7ef06a95d551925555a22&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101926/coverorgin.jpg?v=368e7983714c1a0bd18be7d5ea10f6b7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/71834/coverorgin.jpg?v=a02c11e70d1035f06cc6cfb5b697a8a7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102857/coverorgin.jpg?v=5276123ce725745b44ab39f7aa4668f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101428/coverorgin.jpg?v=a6edc7fa863c44c8d677b68f6b8753a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102855/coverorgin.jpg?v=abc05f4c73c6316f447b3882cbe8f03a&imageMogr2/format/webp)