Jing Yue
14 Published Stories
Jing Yue's Books and Stories
Pampered By The Rival Syndicate Don
Mafia As I lay in the cold underground clinic, terminating the unborn heir of the city's most feared mafia underboss, my phone lit up.
My fiancé of seven years had just publicly pledged his protection and a home-cooked meal to his ex-lover, moments after telling me to risk a deadly ambush by ordering takeout.
When I returned to our penthouse, bleeding and broken, he didn't even notice.
He gave my specialized prenatal milk to his ex because she had a "delicate stomach," leaving me only a hollowed-out egg white and dry crusts.
When I begged him to stay, he violently kicked my packed suitcase across the marble floor.
"Elena's medical needs take priority right now," he snapped, rushing out because his ex felt cold.
He even blocked my secure number when I frantically tried to reach him one last time.
For seven years, we had built an empire together.
I couldn't understand how a past flame playing the fragile doe could make him discard my life and our child's existence so callously, treating me like worthless scraps.
Sitting in the empty penthouse, I wiped my tears and opened the global Syndicate network.
"My betrothal to Vincent is officially dissolved. Act accordingly."
I powered down my phone, grabbed my tactical gear, and boarded a private jet to leave his territory forever. My Guardian's Fall, My Empire Rises
Modern For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world.
On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him.
But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!"
He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds.
Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe.
The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself.
The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.
I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt.
I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number.
Dad, I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York." The Queen They Lost, Now His
Werewolf spent three years saving every single credit to buy the Moonlight Grass. It was the only herb capable of healing my damaged wolf spirit.
But the moment I walked through the door, my eldest brother, the Pack Alpha, snatched it from my trembling hands.
"Willow has a migraine," Ryker stated, his voice devoid of warmth. "She needs this."
I begged him. I told him it cost a fortune. I told him it was my only chance to finally shift.
But Axel, my second brother and the Pack Doctor, just adjusted his glasses with clinical coldness.
"Don't be selfish, Ember. Willow is fragile. Your jealousy is ugly."
They boiled my entire future into a tea for an adopted sister who was faking it.
Desperate to prove I wasn't the villain, I spent my last emergency cash on gifts for them.
But when I handed Willow a silk dress, she smirked at me, stepped on the hem, and threw herself backward onto the carpet.
"My ankle!" she screamed. "Ryker, she pushed me!"
I rushed forward to help, but my bad leg gave out. I smashed my knee against the metal bed frame, blood instantly soaking through my jeans.
Axel didn't check my shattered knee. He roared at me, "You vicious snake! You wanted her to trip!"
Ryker loomed over me, his Alpha Command crushing my lungs like a physical weight. "Get out of my sight."
Bleeding, broke, and heartbroken, I dragged myself out into the storm.
They thought I would crawl to a friend's house. They thought I would always be their punching bag.
Instead, I accepted an offer from the rival Shadow Alpha to join a top-secret research facility.
A fifteen-year lockdown. No contact. A complete erasure of my existence.
As I stepped onto the private jet, I looked down at the house one last time.
"Happy Birthday, brothers," I whispered into the wind.
I hope you enjoy the silence when you realize the sister you tortured is gone forever. The Shadow Wife's Secret Billionaire Baby
Modern For five years, I was the shadow behind billionaire Julian Sterling—his top executive assistant by day and his secret wife by night. I lived by a strict contract, staying invisible to protect his public image while raising his son, Leo, as my own.
On New Year’s Eve, the silence of our penthouse was shattered. I watched on live television as Julian dropped to one knee at a high-society gala, proposing to Hollywood star Victoria Chase with a pink diamond that cost more than my life.
When he came home, he didn't offer an apology; he offered an insult. He revealed that Victoria was actually Leo’s biological mother and I was merely a "temporary caretaker" whose time was up. My world spiraled as Victoria staged a fall to frame me for assault, and Julian’s family treated me like a common criminal.
"You are a biological necessity, Serena. Do not make this emotional," he told me, his voice devoid of any warmth we had shared in private.
The betrayal cut deeper than I thought possible. Every sacrifice I made for our family was a lie, a five-year waiting period for his "real" life to begin. He handed me divorce papers with a staggering settlement, but it came with a chilling condition: I had to waive all rights for any future children. He wanted to ensure I couldn't claim a "golden ticket" if I turned up pregnant.
He didn't know I was already clutching a positive pregnancy test in my pocket.
As I reached for the pen to sign the papers and disappear with Leo, a violent pain exploded in my stomach. I felt the warmth of blood soaking through my clothes, and the room began to spin.
I looked at Julian’s cold, expectant face and realized I was no longer just a wife or an assistant. I was a liability he intended to erase. But as I collapsed into the darkness, I made one final vow: he would never lay a finger on my unborn child. Six Years of Poisoned Love
Modern My husband, Alexander, gave me "fertility supplements" every morning for six years. I drank every drop, desperate for the child he promised we'd have. But my body remained stubbornly empty.
Then, on my 40th birthday, I discovered the truth. The supplements were contraceptives. And his mistress was pregnant with the son he'd always wanted.
She sent me a video of Alexander kissing her pregnant belly.
"He's always loved me," the text read. "You were just the placeholder. Enjoy your barren life."
The man I trusted had systematically poisoned me, stealing my dream of motherhood while building his real family with another woman.
He had gaslighted me for years, making me believe I was the one who was broken, all while living a double life that began on our wedding day.
That night, at the lavish birthday party he threw for me, he planned a "romantic surprise" on a giant screen for all our friends and family. He had no idea I had a surprise of my own. His Secret Life, My Shattered Dreams
Modern Hazel Ware. That was my name. Not Hazel Harrell. It was the only thing I hadn't changed for Emmett, and now, watching him on stage, his hand brushing Keeley Osborn's as the applause thundered, I felt like a stranger to my own life.
For five years, I was the perfect wife to my successful architect husband, Emmett. I happily put my own ambitions aside for his, believing our life was a shared dream.
Then, one night, I discovered the truth. He was living a secret life, caught in a five-year emotional affair with his old flame, the filmmaker Keeley Osborn, a woman he depended on more than me.
He abandoned me on our anniversary to celebrate her success and left my bed at 3 AM to soothe her 'creative block.' When I found out I was pregnant, I was utterly alone.
During a desperate confrontation, I told him about the baby. His first instinct was to defend her. The shock sent me to the hospital, where I miscarried our child.
The ultimate betrayal was learning he was in the same hospital that day, comforting Keeley while I was losing our baby down the hall.
Lying in that cold hospital bed, I looked at the man I no longer recognized.
"It's over, Emmett," I said. "I want a divorce." Ballerina's Vow: His Empire Will Burn
Modern My husband, Alexander, systematically destroyed my career as a prima ballerina. For years, I was the star of the New York City Ballet, but he ensured every major award went to his mistresses. The final insult was watching him hand my Starlight Award to his latest plaything, Cassie.
Then I discovered a truth far more monstrous. He had helped Cassie' s brother escape justice after brutally assaulting my fragile sister, Grace.
For two years, he used Grace' s expensive medical care as leverage, holding her hostage to ensure my obedience while he paraded his affairs in my face.
At a public gala, Cassie tormented my sister with the truth of her assault until Grace, broken and terrified, jumped from the rooftop to her death.
In a desperate attempt to save her, I leaped after her into the abyss.
I had endured everything for Grace. His cruelty, the public humiliation, the death of my career. Now she was gone, murdered by his twisted games.
But I survived the fall. And as I lay in that hospital bed, I made a new vow. I wouldn't just get a divorce. I would gather the evidence, expose his crimes, and burn his entire empire to the ground. Eight Years, A Single Word
Romance The sharp, twisting pain woke me from a dead sleep. Ethan wasn't home, and his phone was answered by Chloe, my husband' s childhood friend.
She dismissed my agony, urging me not to be "so dramatic" before hanging up, leaving me alone to dial 911 through blinding pain.
At the hospital, the doctor's words blurred: "Ectopic pregnancy. Ruptured. Internal bleeding. Immediate operation." The nurse couldn't reach Ethan, so I signed the consent form myself, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. I was truly alone.
I woke in a sterile room; the baby was gone. Ethan's voicemail mocked me, calling me "dramatic" and "jealous," accusing me of making "everything about myself." My despair was a vast, silent ocean, and I was drowning.
Yet, a cold realization clicked: I was merely a bystander in my own marriage, overshadowed by Chloe and Mrs. Davis. The cold clinical words of my medical report, "Ruptured Ectopic Pregnancy. Emergency Salpingectomy," became my shield. I sent the picture to Ethan.
His text, "Is this some kind of joke?" followed by "I'll compensate you for whatever you feel you' ve lost," twisted the knife. Compensate me? As if our baby was a business deal gone wrong. How could he be so blind, so cruel?
I typed a single word: "Okay." Then, I turned off my phone, packing up eight years of my life, leaving only a ghost of what we once were. No Pity, No Regret
Romance I spent four years sacrificing everything for my fiancé, Mark, supporting him through college, only for him to return with Sarah, his childhood sweetheart, and announce their wedding.
The day he came back, this new woman pushed her way into our home and into my bedroom, forcing me to give up my space. I asked Mark about our engagement, but he just ignored me.
Then, he accused me of stealing from the factory I' d poured my life into, the one my parents built, and had me thrown in jail. My uncle, a frail old man, sold everything he owned, even his only two cows, to bail me out.
I couldn' t understand why he would betray me so completely and utterly. Why would he humiliate me and destroy my future for a woman who was a near-stranger? What was I missing?
With nothing left to lose, I left town, vowing never to look back. I had my bus ticket to New York, and a burning desire to start over. The Billionaire's Secret, Their Fury, Our Fight
Billionaires The sterile hospital room smelled of disinfectant and my mother' s fading life, her hand a fragile anchor in mine.
Then, a bombshell dropped: Mr. Sterling, the tech mogul plastered on magazine covers, was my biological father.
My mother's dying breaths were a desperate plea to him: "Promise me you'll take care of her." He promised, just as the machine flatlined, leaving me an orphan.
Thrown into his opulent world, I faced his glacial children, Olivia and Liam, who saw me as an unwelcome stain on their perfect lives, a "charity case," a "problem."
Their disdain was a constant torment, especially when Tiffany and her clique at the elite boarding school used my illegitimate status to bully me relentlessly.
No one helped. I was utterly alone, humiliated, my mother's death still raw, the world an unbearable weight.
But when a fight in the hallway escalated, and I was blamed and abandoned, something inside me snapped.
I was a castaway, drowning in their world, until Olivia and Liam returned, their cold indifference replaced by a terrifying, protective rage.
They shattered Tiffany's bullying reign with brutal efficiency, and for the first time, I felt a strange, fierce belonging.
In the aftermath, they revealed their own gilded cages, their dreams crushed by the same man who was now my father.
Their pain became my purpose, their silent suffering a call to arms.
They offered me a weapon, a chance to fight back for all of us: "Be our weapon, Chloe. Let us teach you."
And in that moment, I knew I would learn their world, master their rules, and turn their father's own game against him. No More Tears, Only Retribution
Sci-fi The eviction notice, a cruel red rectangle, mocked me from my door.
Just months ago, I was Chloe, the artist poised to revolutionize the world with Aura, my groundbreaking AI.
Now, the world was closing in, air squeezed from my lungs.
Then, at the sprawling Innovatech conference, the stage set for our triumph, my fiancé Mark unveiled Aura, which I poured my soul into, as his own.
"I call her... Genesis," he boomed, "created solely by me."
My best friend, Sarah, whose hand I held moments before, gazed at him with adoration, not outrage.
The fallout was swift and brutal.
Mark, the instant tech celebrity, branded me a disgruntled ex.
Sarah, leveraging her gallery connections, systematically blacklisted me, painting me as unstable, a fraud.
Calls unanswered, doors slammed shut-my life, my legacy, evaporated.
I was a ghost in a rundown apartment, bearing an eviction notice, with nothing left.
How could they? How could the two people I trusted most, the two people who were my family, betray me so completely, so publicly?
The world had become a twisted, unrecognizable place where truth was irrelevant, and loyalty meant nothing.
But in the ashes of utter despair, sifting through the remains of my life, my fingers brushed against my estranged father' s dusty hard drive-a digital arsenal of hacking tools and encrypted journals.
The artist in me was dead, but something else, a chilling new resolve, began to stir.
I would change my destiny, not by going back, but by going forward with skills they never saw coming. Silence On The Main Stage
Romance My name is Ethan Lester. I' m a humble community college music teacher, engaged to Nicole Anderson, a brilliant Silicon Valley CEO.
She worships an anonymous DJ, "Aethel," whose music, she says, saved her from deep depression.
She doesn't know "Aethel" is me.
After our engagement party, I saw a text on her phone, not meant for my eyes.
It was from her assistant, Brian: "He' s boring. He' ll never understand you like I do. Like Aethel does."
Her reply shattered my world: "I know, my Aethel. I' ll handle him. The festival is all that matters."
I followed her to a penthouse where she funded Brian' s music studio and promised him a headline festival spot – my comeback.
I registered for the Electric Odyssey festival under my real name, determined to expose the fraud.
But backstage, just before my performance, two men grabbed me.
Then, they broke my hands.
Pain erupted as my bones snapped. My career, my identity, gone in an instant.
As my vision blurred, Nicole emerged from the shadows.
"Electric Odyssey is for ' Aethel' !" she snarled, her voice cruel. "I' ll destroy anyone who threatens his comeback, including you."
She watched me bleed, letting me lie broken on the cold concrete.
I woke up in my own bed, gasping, my hands miraculously whole.
I grabbed my phone: The date was ten days before the festival.
I was back, with the terrifying memory of my murder fresh in my mind, courtesy of my fiancée.
This time, I wouldn' t be the one getting destroyed. The Heiress Who Broke My World
Modern My family and I sacrificed everything, our entire lives and savings, for my fiancée Isabelle, who lay in a coma for a year after a seemingly minor car accident.
We moved mountains, sold our home, and poured every penny into her recovery, believing in a love that demanded ultimate devotion.
But the day she "woke up"-healthy, laughing, and throwing cash at my feet after her luxury SUV clipped my leg-she revealed it was all a cruel "loyalty test."
Her "test" had already cost me everything: my mother, who skipped vital heart medication to save for Isabelle and died; my father, overworked to death at an unsafe Vance Corporation construction site; and my little sister, trafficked and murdered for trying to earn money for Isabelle' s fictional medical bills.
While I stood numb, having just identified my sister's body hours before, she, surrounded by her aristocratic circle, merely laughed, celebrating her "recovery" and my "loyalty" as her casual cruelty sliced through what little I had left.
The half-million dollars she and her manipulative ex-husband then offered me as "compensation" felt like blood money for my lost family.
I took my mother, father, and sister with me-their ashes in a small suitcase-left everything else behind, and walked away from her gilded cage forever, seeking a quiet peace far from the monsters who devoured my world. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
The Don's Wife Is His Executioner
Deeply Engaged My husband swallowed a ten-year prison sentence to save me from my abusive stepfather. When he got out, he built a mafia empire and made me his Queen.
But last night, his encrypted tablet lit up with an ultrasound photo and a text from another woman.
"Our little secret is growing."
The mistress soon called to mock me. She was pregnant, while I had been barren for four years. When I confronted my husband, he didn't apologize. Instead, he assigned heavily armed guards to protect her and burned my divorce papers with his cigar.
"The only exit from this Family is death," he warned.
The nightmare deepened when I uncovered her true identity. The mistress was my half-sister, and her mastermind was the mother who had abandoned me at six. My husband knew. He even whispered our sacred vow to her-"I will shield you from the blood"-the exact words he used when I lost our child on a freezing concrete floor for his syndicate.
I took bullets for him. I waited a decade outside those prison gates. Yet he used my absolute loyalty to lock me in a cage, handing my crown to the family that threw me to the wolves.
He thought I was just a helpless wife, entirely dependent on his mercy.
He didn't know I was Vanguard, the shadow billionaire controlling the very lifelines of his empire.
I calmly picked up my phone and called my head operative.
"Liquidate his supply chains. Let's see whose empire turns to ash first." Burned by Poison, Saved by the Devil
Gale Kaaya My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement.
To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia.
It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping.
But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished.
She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug.
She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago.
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash.
Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name.
She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant.
I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead.
I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye.
"Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you."
Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth.
"Prove it," he growled.
I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip. Sold To The Mafia Don
Jay kings "My gift has finally arrived, a perfect specimen, perfect for an heir."
***
If only I had known that I wouldn't ever return to my house. Never see my mother, my siblings, or Violet... I never would have gotten in that car.
My father remarked, "She's all yours,"
"Dad? Dad? Dad?! " I yelled. I squirmed as tears began to stream, attempting to break free.
***
Years have passed...
"My gift has finally arrived," said a voice I recognized. That voice was the catalyst for my downfall.
"Well, now that we're acquainted, I think we can go see my son." You know, I purchased you for him. "A perfect specimen, perfect for an heir," he murmured, a nasty smirk on his face.
***
"Son!" Antonio applauded.
"What do you want, father?" I felt a little chill at the sound of the fresh voice. The Italian accent in the words, together with how deep, velvety, and dominating it was, shook me to my very core. I was a little pleased that he spoke so harshly about his father.
He had midnight-black hair that fell in a part of his onyx eyes, which was lengthy in the center but short on the sides. Deeply tanned complexion, full pink lips, and a jawline with a five o'clock shadow.
He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt beneath that had the first three buttons undone, revealing some tattoos. His hands were encrusted with silver rings, some of which had black jewels. Both hands and backs of both had tattoos.
I was intrigued by the creative swirls since I was ignorant of the whole tattoo.
Not if he made the decision to remove his shirt.
***
Lucy was sold to Antonio Martinelli, the former boss of the biggest Italian mafia when she was 14 years old. After spending years in the "safe house," Lucy is delivered to his son Luca Martinelli, the new leader, as a birthday gift. Luca fights the urge to fall in love with the ebony beauty as Lucy attempts to keep a promise she made and regain her former self. Will they endure all the deceit, lust, murder, and betrayal committed in the name of love together? Pampered By The Rival Syndicate Don
Jing Yue As I lay in the cold underground clinic, terminating the unborn heir of the city's most feared mafia underboss, my phone lit up.
My fiancé of seven years had just publicly pledged his protection and a home-cooked meal to his ex-lover, moments after telling me to risk a deadly ambush by ordering takeout.
When I returned to our penthouse, bleeding and broken, he didn't even notice.
He gave my specialized prenatal milk to his ex because she had a "delicate stomach," leaving me only a hollowed-out egg white and dry crusts.
When I begged him to stay, he violently kicked my packed suitcase across the marble floor.
"Elena's medical needs take priority right now," he snapped, rushing out because his ex felt cold.
He even blocked my secure number when I frantically tried to reach him one last time.
For seven years, we had built an empire together.
I couldn't understand how a past flame playing the fragile doe could make him discard my life and our child's existence so callously, treating me like worthless scraps.
Sitting in the empty penthouse, I wiped my tears and opened the global Syndicate network.
"My betrothal to Vincent is officially dissolved. Act accordingly."
I powered down my phone, grabbed my tactical gear, and boarded a private jet to leave his territory forever. 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. Return of the Queen: He Chose His Mistress Over My Son
Our Time My five-year-old son stumbled into the hall, his cheek marred by the livid, blistering print of a hand. My phone buzzed with a message from my husband’s mistress, warning me to teach my brat some manners before she taught him a real lesson.
Franco Moretti, my husband and the acting Boss of the Romano Syndicate, had allowed his mistress to strike the heir to our empire. When I confronted him, he dismissed the assault as a mere reflex and demanded I stop being dramatic.
The silence that followed was heavy and cold. I realized then that my years of playing the docile, obedient wife had only invited disrespect upon my own blood. My mother-in-law echoed his coldness, telling me to look the other way for the sake of peace, as if my son’s pain were merely a trifle to be ignored.
I looked at Leo, his small shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, and felt something ancient and hard wake up within me. The man I had married—the predator who ruled Chicago with an iron fist—believed I was weak, a shadow that existed only to serve his crown. He had mistaken my silence for stupidity and my restraint for submission.
I stared at the countdown on my phone, the numbers marking the final moments of my long, hollow marriage. I had spent four years playing the role of a placid wife, but the script had dissolved the moment his mistress touched my child.
I tapped the screen, silenced my alarm, and ended the call. The time for talk was over; the vendetta had begun. The Capo's Surgeon
Gu Mumu I was five months pregnant and the top underground surgeon for the Chicago mafia.
On Christmas Eve, I was called in to perform an off-the-books C-section on a VIP patient.
But through the operating room glass, I saw my mafia boss husband, Julian.
He wasn't there for me. He was slamming his fists against the door, screaming in desperation for the bleeding mistress on my table.
"I swear on my life I will marry you, Lyla. Just hold on."
I delivered his illegitimate son while he completely ignored my existence, kissing her knuckles with a reverence I thought was mine alone.
The nightmare didn't end there. When I returned to our cold penthouse, I had my prenatal vitamins tested.
They were laced with black-market hormones designed to cause severe fetal deformities and force a late-term miscarriage.
Julian, the man who once took a bullet for me and swore a blood oath to protect me, had been secretly poisoning our unborn child.
His entire family had been covering up his four-year affair, praising the mistress while using me as a convenient shield.
How could the fiercely protective husband I loved be the very monster plotting to destroy me from the inside out?
The last shred of my affection for the Capo instantly turned to ash.
I calmly booked a discreet termination, drafted ironclad annulment papers, and walked out to build my own empire.
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