Hei Baidong
12 Published Stories
Hei Baidong's Books and Stories
Rejected by the Mafia Don, Claimed by His Rival
Mafia For eight years, I was raised to be his queen. My entire world was built on the promise that I would marry Dante Moretti, the future Don of the city's most powerful family.
But on the eve of our betrothal, I overheard his plan. He was going to cast me aside for another woman, Isabella, and a street orphan he would pass off as his heir.
He publicly humiliated me at his party, introducing her as his true queen. When a crystal chandelier fell from the ceiling, he used his own body to shield her, leaving me to be crushed beneath it.
Later, after falsely accusing me of attacking her, he shoved my head under the freezing water of a pool, hissing that my love for him was "disgusting."
But the truth that finally destroyed me was worse. For ten years, Dante had been obsessed with a scent he thought was mine. It was all a lie—a custom perfume Isabella had been wearing all along. I was never the one he wanted; I was just a case of mistaken identity.
After he broke my bones and shattered my spirit, I finally made a choice. I accepted my brother's offer to escape to the rival Falcone territory. As our jet prepared for takeoff, I blocked Dante's frantic calls without looking back. This time, I was leaving for good. Marrying His Rival: The Jilted Wife's Sweet Revenge
Modern "Her blood type is a match. It’s the only option."
I froze outside the conference room door, the quarterly reports digging into my ribs.
I knew that voice. It was Ben, my husband’s best friend and doctor. But the next voice, cold and devoid of warmth, shattered my world.
"Then we do it," my husband Ethan said. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution."
For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health, insisting on daily "vitamins" and endless checkups. He called it love.
Standing in that hallway, I realized he was actually shopping for spare parts.
"She is your wife, Ethan," Ben argued weakly. "You can't just harvest her like a crop."
"She became my wife because she was useful," Ethan replied, his indifference cutting deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this."
The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The nausea I’d been feeling wasn't stress.
I was pregnant.
And those "vitamins" he fed me every morning? They weren't supplements. They were poisons designed to ensure I remained a viable donor.
He was killing his own child to save his mistress.
To him, I wasn't a partner. I was livestock. An asset to be liquidated for parts.
I didn't burst into the room. I didn't scream.
I walked away in silence, my hand hovering over my stomach.
He wanted my kidney? He wanted to carve me up?
I decided right then. I wouldn't just leave.
I would terminate the pregnancy, fake my death, and burn his entire world to the ground. The Price of a Perfect Lie
Billionaires My husband, the real estate magnate Gregory Thompson, had a five-year affair and a secret son. When the scandal broke, he went on national television, his face a mask of sorrow. He swore I was the only woman he had ever truly loved and that he would spend the rest of his life earning back my trust. I believed him.
That belief shattered tonight at a charity gala. I saw him speaking quietly with his mistress, Holly, and overheard their conversation.
"The stupid bitch actually believed you," she whispered.
Gregory chuckled. "Of course she did. It's what makes her so easy to handle." He promised Holly that he would break me slowly, first my heart, then my spirit, until the Thompson fortune belonged to her and their son.
The champagne glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor. My perfect marriage was an elaborate, cruel lie. Across the room, his eyes met mine, not with panic, but with cold calculation. He took the microphone and proposed a toast to me, his "beautiful wife," the "light of his life."
The room erupted in applause for the devoted husband. I saw a monster hiding in plain sight. He leaned in close as I stood beside him on stage, his lips brushing my ear.
"Smile, darling. The whole world is watching."
I smiled as my world burned to the ground. But as soon as the ceremony ended, I slipped away and booked the first flight out of the city. I had to escape. Love's Redemption: A Second Chance
Romance The city lights blurred, mirroring the chaos inside me. It was supposed to be our night, the gala where Jake, my fiancé, finally got recognition for a project built on my designs. But he was on stage, smiling under the bright lights, with my sister, Chloe, clinging to his arm.
Just moments before, backstage, Chloe had stepped out of the shadows, a smug smile on her face. "He's with me now, sis." My world tilted. "The Skyline project… that was my work, Jake!" He had the nerve to look sad. "Ava, I took your concepts and improved them. I made them viable."
I rushed to my parents' house for comfort, but found none. My father, with cold anger, declared, "Jake Peterson is now the most promising young architect in the city. And your sister is by his side. You made a scene. You embarrassed us." My mother dismissed my pain: "Chloe has always been better with people. This was bound to happen." My father added, "The Petersons are an old-money family. This connection is important for our business. You will not jeopardize that with your whining."
It wasn't just Jake and Chloe. It was my own family, betraying me without a second thought. "They ruined me," I cried, "And you're worried about being embarrassed?" Their response was a brutal slap: "It's your own fault. You were always too trusting."
I was completely alone, in the house I grew up in, a stranger in my own home. My career, my reputation, my love-all were gone. But then, a phone call. Jake, with fake sincerity, invited me to a dinner to show "no hard feelings." My response: "I have one condition. The engagement ring. I'll bring it to the dinner. I want to give it back to you in person." It wasn't just an ending; it was an exorcism. His Other Woman, My Broken Heart
Romance It was our third wedding anniversary, and I sat alone at a dinner table set for two, a positive pregnancy test clutched in my hand.
I' d imagined telling Ethan a thousand times, picturing his joy, the final piece of our life together clicking into place.
But then headlights swept across the living room window, and relief turned to ice as I watched him help Chloe, his college sweetheart and the ghost of our marriage, out of the passenger door.
I knew, in that single, shattering moment, that it was over.
Chloe had waltzed back into our lives months ago, claiming heartbreak, and Ethan had swallowed it whole, canceling our plans to "cheer her up."
Now, she was in our living room, draped on our couch, with Ethan stroking her hair, a tenderness he hadn't shown me in months.
He accused me of being selfish for pointing out it was our anniversary, twisting our wedding vows into a weapon against me, defending Chloe with a venom I' d never seen directed at myself.
The fight left me, all hope draining away as I realized the man I loved was gone, replaced by a stranger who saw me with annoyance and disdain.
Then Chloe, with a smirk, told me I was just a placeholder, sending a photo of Ethan asleep in a hotel room, a kiss mark on his neck, sealing my fate.
My world went silent, the brutal truth hitting me: I had never stood a chance against her, the great love of his life.
I found the hidden divorce papers, a secret escape hatch he'd prepared, and signed my name.
When he finally stumbled in, smelling of whiskey and her perfume, I showed him the photo, and then he left again, for her, leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces of my life.
I was done being the quiet, steady one, the convenient wife.
I called my best friend, Sarah, determined to leave, ready to protect the tiny, secret life growing inside me from this poison. No More Secrets: The Agent's Redemption
Horror Five years of silence, a ghost in Eastern Europe for the CIA, and all I dreamt of was coming home to my husband and our daughter.
My handler gave me a burner phone, a sliver of connection to the life I' d left.
With trembling hands, I tapped into my home security feed, desperate for a glimpse of them.
The flickering screen showed my elderly, stroke-ridden mother being slapped and force-fed spoiled mush.
Then, my eight-year-old daughter, Molly, on her hands and knees.
"Lick it up, you little brat," the nanny, Jennifer, sneered, kicking Molly, forcing her to clean spilled food off the marble floor.
My blood ran cold, a primal scream trapped in my throat.
I stormed through the door, only to be branded an intruder by Jennifer and her mother, Debra.
My husband, Matthew, paralyzed by his manipulative mother Rosalynn' s control, watched as I was humiliated and assaulted in my own living room.
They beat me, in front of my daughter, in the very house I' d fought to protect.
How could the life I sacrificed everything for have become this twisted nightmare, where I was a stranger, an outcast in my own home?
Just as despair threatened to consume me, a fleet of black SUVs swarmed the property, and my CIA handler, Andrew Blakely, walked in.
He held up a tablet, and the unedited footage of my mother and daughter' s abuse began to play on our living room TV. The Debt Collector's Wife
Romance My life was a carefully constructed story, and I was its star.
Elara Caldwell, the graceful "American Princess" adored by the public.
An investigative journalist, married to rising Congressman Julian, our life was a perfect Georgetown fairytale.
Seven months pregnant, I believed I had it all.
Then, one quiet night, a live stream from Julian's "charity poker game" changed everything.
He wasn't betting money with senators and lobbyists.
He was betting "the exclusive rights to a dossier. Kompromat. On my wife."
My name, my life, was being auctioned off.
He planned to leak fabricated dirt, declare me mentally unstable, seize my assets, and gain full custody of our unborn son.
His chilling motive: "This is for Scarlett. It's time to collect the debt."
Julian returned home, his face a perfect mask of affection, while taunting texts and media alerts painted me as unraveling.
He forced sedatives on me, trapping me in our "perfect" home.
The immense stress became a physical weight, and I collapsed in the nursery.
I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my hand flying to a now-flat stomach.
Our baby was gone.
Through the slightly ajar door, I heard Julian' s furious voice, not grieving, but raging about political timing, eager to spin my tragedy for his gain.
His "love" was a practiced act, his ambition a poison.
I was not his wife; I was a placeholder.
My unborn son, a final payment in a twisted game I never knew I was playing.
The tears stopped.
An icy resolve settled within me, replacing the hollow emptiness.
I looked at the monster masquerading as my loving husband.
And I began to plan. Jilted Bride, Billionaire's Wife
Romance My rehearsal dinner was meant to be the perfect prelude to marrying Silicon Valley' s golden boy, Ethan Hayes.
The chandeliers of the Rosewood Ballroom cast a warm glow, but a sudden, sickening thud extinguished all light in my world.
Ethan dramatically slipped, hitting his head, and when his eyes fluttered open, he looked straight at me, his fiancée, with chilling non-recognition.
"Who are you?" he asked, sealing my fate and public humiliation.
My world crumbled around me as "transient global amnesia" became the official diagnosis, conveniently erasing me from his memory.
My own assistant, Chloe Vance, became his unwavering shadow, her public concern masking an undeniable triumph only I could see.
The wedding summarily postponed, I was left to contend with the cruel whispers that followed me everywhere: "He faked it," "She wasn't good enough."
I became a ghost in my own life, a pariah in Silicon Valley, branded as "the girl whose fiancé conveniently forgot her."
Was his amnesia truly an accident, or was it a meticulously orchestrated betrayal, planned with Chloe, to destroy my life for her own ambition?
This agonizing question haunted my every waking moment, fueling a silent despair deep within me.
Five years later, having quietly rebuilt myself and secretly married the formidable tech titan Liam Knight, I unexpectedly faced Ethan and Chloe again.
Their arrogant smiles and disdain were still sharp, but so was my strength, forged in the fires of past betrayal.
This time, our paths crossing wasn't a tragedy, but the precise moment for an unforeseen reckoning. The Queen They Discarded
Fantasy For years, I lived a quiet life as Sarah, deeply in love with Beau Harrison, tirelessly helping him and his brother Clay rise through the ranks.
I poured my heart into a protective Woven Ward for Beau, believing we were building a beautiful, shared future towards our sacred Haven.
My Cinderheart sister, Ashlyn, found her own love with Clay, and our gentle Shadowfox, Whisper, curled at our feet, a constant comfort.
Then, a knock on the door shattered our world into a million pieces.
Clay stood there with a smug Crystal Thorne, his voice chilling as he callously abandoned Ashlyn.
Crystal brazenly demanded Ashlyn's very essence, her Spirit-Spark, for her own selfish ascension.
But the true horror struck when she casually confessed they' d already murdered Whisper, harvesting his spark for Crystal' s gain.
Ashlyn' s raw scream tore through the cabin as untamed flames erupted around her, shedding her disguise like a burning cloak before she rocketed away in a desperate escape.
My heart was a burning stone of grief and rage.
Moments later, Beau arrived, his face a stranger' s, summarily dismissing our love as he told me I was too "gentle" and "unambitious" for the Haven.
He stood there with Crystal, expecting me to hand over my own Spirit-Spark after witnessing my beloved sister' s torments and our innocent pet' s murder.
How could they be so utterly blind, so incredibly callous?
They saw only Sarah, the soft woman they thought weak and easily discarded.
They had no idea I, Scarlett, held the keys to the very divine realm they craved, no idea about the Guardian Spirit they had just so heinously betrayed.
But their triumph would be short-lived, their stolen glory a trap.
A cold resolve solidified in my core; my own vengeful plan was already set in motion.
With a feigned, heartbroken resignation, I handed Beau the Woven Ward again, knowing it was now not a gift, but a tether ensuring their destined fall.
"Oh, I' ll be there," I whispered, as Sarah was irrevocably gone, and Scarlett, the ancient Guardian, returned, ready to make them pay. The Vanderbilt Vendetta
Romance For nine years, my life as Mrs. Ethan Vanderbilt was a gilded cage, perfect on the outside.
Inside, it was a daily torment of his cheating, gaslighting, and relentless cruelty.
Then came the divorce papers-not just another empty threat, but grotesque terms that demanded I serve his pregnant mistress, Brittany.
He even snatched my mother's heirloom ring to give to her.
Brittany, emboldened, then deliberately ran me over with a car, causing a devastating miscarriage.
Ethan's response?
A shrug.
Later, he forced me to undergo surgery to provide skin for her minor scratches.
My body and spirit were being systematically broken.
The pain, the dehumanization, the monstrous audacity of it all was suffocating.
How could anyone be so calculatingly cruel?
He had taken everything-my music, my unborn child, my mother's last token, even my flesh.
But he didn't know I had secretly reconnected with his older brother, James, my quiet protector from years past.
He didn't know about the hidden prenuptial clause, nor the bakery shares I'd rediscovered-my leverage.
And he definitely didn't know James's flight was booked, with a promise: "City Hall, 4 PM. Be ready."
This wasn't the end of me; it was the beginning of his downfall. Sister's Shadow, Brother's Betrayal
Young Adult My mom' s cough was a constant reminder: ace everything, win that scholarship, or her medical bills would drown us. A top university was my only shot.
But then, Jake gave me a "good luck" bracelet before the physics exam. I aced it, naturally. Except, my score came back a C-. Jake' s? An A+.
"Coincidence," I thought, until I overheard Maya, my best friend since kindergarten, admit she'd gotten Jake the 'Swapper's Charm'-a cursed trinket designed to steal my success and bind me.
That charm wasn't just stealing grades; it was destroying my life. My GPA plummeted, scholarships vanished, and I was forced to take the fall for a vandalized science project.
Suddenly, I was a pariah, jobless, beaten within an inch of my life. Maya, the 'sister' I trusted, abandoned me for Jake, even poisoning my sick mother against me. My mom ended up in the ER, her fragile health shattered by the stress they inflicted.
How could the girl who called me 'family' orchestrate such calculated cruelty? How could the friend I considered a brother betray me so completely?
My life, my entire future, was crumbling around me, sacrificed for their ambition, all while a bizarre, cursed bracelet tightened its hold. Was this magic real, or was I losing my mind?
But lying in the hospital, watching my mother fight for her life, a cold resolve settled in my gut. I had been their sacrifice, their pawn.
With the help of a mysterious street vendor, I learned how to break the charm' s hold-and how to make its twisted magic boomerang. They wanted my success? Fine. Now, they' d get a taste of their own cursed medicine. You might like
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Marrying His Rival: The Ex-Fiancé's Nightmare
Moria Anninger I was the "Caged Canary" of the underworld, a biological asset designed to merge two crime families. My fiancé, Bryant Barnes, didn't love me. He loved the power I brought, and he loved his mistress, Kalia.
The night Kalia broke into my penthouse and stomped on my hand, crushing the bones and my fashion career, Bryant didn't help me. He told the police she was my guest and warned me not to embarrass him with a cast.
That was just the beginning. When Kalia lied about feeling unsafe, Bryant dangled me off a balcony. When she faked a kidnapping, he locked me in an industrial freezer for six hours until I turned blue. And when I fell into the marina, he swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown in the freezing water.
He destroyed my body and my dignity for a woman who was stealing my designs and faking a pregnancy. He thought I was just a broken obligation he could discard.
But he made a fatal mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead.
I dragged myself out of the water and made a call to his greatest rival.
On the night of our grand merger, I walked onto the stage wearing royal blue instead of white. I rolled up my sleeve to reveal the scars he gave me, looked him dead in the eye, and grabbed the microphone.
"I hereby terminate my engagement to Bryant Barnes. And I am proud to announce my betrothal to the true King of this city." 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. 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. Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Runaway
Tangye Wanzi I watched my husband, the most feared Capo in New York, sign away our marriage with the same cold indifference he usually reserved for ordering a hit.
The nib of his Montblanc pen scratched against the paper, drowning out the rain hitting the coffee shop window.
He didn't bother to read a single word.
He thought he was signing routine shipping manifests for the family business.
In reality, he was signing the "Dissolution of Union" papers I had hidden beneath the cover sheet.
He was too distracted to check. His eyes were glued to his encrypted phone, frantically texting Sofia—the widow, the tragic beauty, the woman who had haunted our marriage for three years.
"Done," he grunted, tossing the stack into his armored SUV without even glancing at me.
"Business is concluded, Elena. We leave."
Moments later, his phone rang with her special emergency tone.
His demeanor shifted from cold boss to frantic protector instantly.
"Driver, divert. She needs me," he roared.
He looked at me with zero affection and ordered, "Get out, Elena. Luca will take you home."
He kicked me out of the car into the pouring rain to rush to his mistress, completely unaware he had just legally granted me my freedom.
I stood on the curb, shivering but smiling for the first time in years.
By the time the Don realizes he just signed his own divorce, I will be a ghost in San Francisco.
And he will have nothing left but his shipping logs and his regret. Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Older Brother
EVA PINK I was a Vitiello, sold to the Morettis to secure an alliance. For five years, I quietly loved Dante, counting down the minutes until our wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral.
But it ended with a single text three minutes before the ceremony.
"Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene."
His ex-girlfriend, the love of his life, had woken from a coma with no memory. Just like that, I was erased.
For thirty days, I waited in the shadows while Dante played hero to a woman who didn't remember him. He told me he was protecting her fragile mind.
But then I found the truth.
I stood outside the doctor's office and heard Dante refuse a treatment that would restore Sofia's memory.
"If she remembers, she might leave again," Dante told the doctor. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. Let me have my fantasy."
He wasn't protecting her. He was keeping her broken to feed his ego, banking on my submission. He thought I was furniture he could put in storage.
He was wrong.
I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I dialed a number every made man in New York feared.
"Matteo," I said to Dante's lethal older brother, the King of the underworld.
"I am done waiting. I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's." 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. 
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