Johan Gorski
11 Published Stories
Johan Gorski's Books and Stories
Worshiped Him, Whipped By Him
Romance I was just a 20-year-old NYU art history student, interning at my dad’s real estate firm. But my world privately revolved around Marcus Thorne—my father’s handsome, brilliant business partner. My crush on him was pure, all-consuming, utterly naive. He’d always been so kind, a true gentleman.
At a charity gala, I watched Izzy Vance, Marcus’s associate, subtly ply him with drinks. When I tried to help him to his suite, Izzy "found" us, her perfectly timed gasp and a discreet phone flash sealing my fate.
The next morning, headlines screamed: "NYU Intern Olivia Chen Caught in Compromising Position with Marcus Thorne." Blurry, damning photos accompanied them. Marcus’s icy call followed: "Izzy found you taking advantage of me! My reputation is in shreds because of your childish stunt!" He believed her. Completely.
Whispers and hostile stares at my father’s office became unbearable. The kind man I’d adored now looked at me with absolute disgust. My dreams shattered. How could he be so blind? So cruel? This wasn't the Marcus I knew. This felt brutally unfair.
That week, the naive girl who worshipped him died. In her place, a colder awareness dawned: the world was not kind, people not what they seemed. He thought I was playing games, but I was done. This was my turning point. From Rejected Omega To The Supreme Luna
Werewolf Four years ago, I walked into liquid silver fire to drag the Alpha heir out of a burning wreck.
The silver melted the skin off my back, leaving me a topographic nightmare of scars, while my inner wolf went dormant to survive the pain.
I thought my sacrifice meant something.
But when Julian finally woke from his coma, he didn't look at me with love. He looked at my burns with pure disgust.
"Who let this broken Omega in here?" he sneered.
He pulled Estelle—the woman who had fled the scene without a scratch—into his arms.
"This," he declared, burying his face in her flawless neck, "is the scent of my savior. Not you. You smell like a chemical spill."
He treated me like a leper in my own pack. He let his sister slash my dress to expose my "ugly" back to dinner guests.
On the day he was forced to marry me for PR, he drove us to the altar with Estelle in the backseat.
When she faked a panic attack, claiming the wolfsbane I warned her about was "anxiety," Julian slammed on the brakes in the middle of a storm.
"Get out," he commanded, unlocking my door.
"Julian, we're ten minutes from the wedding."
"Estelle is dying! You selfish monster, get out!"
He kicked me out of the Rolls Royce, leaving me standing in the mud in my white silk gown.
As his taillights faded, I didn't cry. I closed my eyes and grabbed the frayed bond in my mind.
"I, Ember Tucker, reject you, Julian Copeland."
Snap.
He thought he was discarding a broken toy. He didn't realize he had just rejected the legendary White Wolf—and his only chance at survival. His Unwanted Mate: Rise Of The White Wolf
Werewolf "Just sign the damn paper, Ava."
Liam, the Alpha I had served and loved for three years, threw a confession across the table. He wanted me to admit to corporate espionage—a crime actually committed by his fragile, innocent mistress, Chloe.
When I refused, Liam didn't hesitate. He pulled up a live feed of my dying mother in the pack hospital and held his finger over the 'Terminate Life Support' button.
"She is pack property. Sign, or the machine turns off."
To save my mother, I signed away my rank, my reputation, and my freedom. I became a Rogue. But taking the fall wasn't enough for them.
Two days later, Chloe trapped me in the lab to steal my life's work. To cover her tracks, she sabotaged the servers and set the room on fire. When the flames roared to life, Liam burst in.
He saw me trapped in a glass box, choking on poisonous fumes. He saw Chloe standing safely by the door, faking a sprained ankle.
He looked at me. Then he looked at her.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed.
He scooped up the arsonist and ran, leaving me to be consumed by the inferno.
As the fire melted my skin, the pathetic love I held for him finally died. But I didn't.
Instead of turning to ash, an ancient, terrifying power exploded from my core. My eyes snapped open, glowing a blinding white.
I reached out through the mind-link to the one man Liam feared most.
"Ethan? I'm ready to burn the Blackwood Pack to the ground." Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King
Modern It was the night of the Winter Chalet Gala, the most prestigious event of the year and the night my life was officially supposed to begin. I was the perfect socialite, a Senator’s golden daughter, and the fiancée of Prince Clement.
Then my sister, Bailee, handed me a glass of champagne with a sweet, innocent smile.
"Just a sip for luck, big sister."
Within minutes, my blood turned into liquid fire. In my past life, I didn't realize that "luck" was a drug designed to strip me of my dignity. I had stumbled into a hallway where a planted stranger waited for the paparazzi to catch us. The scandal was the first nail in my coffin. My family disowned me, my fiancé abandoned me for my sister, and I eventually ended the nightmare by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge.
I died in the freezing bay, realizing too late that my sister’s love was a death sentence and my parents had already replaced me. The betrayal felt like swallowing broken glass, a pain more suffocating than the salt water that eventually claimed my lungs.
Why did the people I loved want me dismantled? Why was my suicide their only version of mercy?
Opening my eyes again, I was back on that snowy balcony three years ago. The iridescent pearl manicure was back on my fingers, and the drug was already screaming in my veins. But I won't be the carcass for the vultures this time. I kicked off my heels and climbed the stone railing, looking toward the forbidden Royal Wing.
I’m not going back to the trap. I’m going to the only man powerful enough to burn them all: King Ignatius Fisher. Caught In The Twin's Cruel Game
Modern For three years, I was married to a lie. The man I loved, the man whose name I carried, wasn't my husband. He was his identical twin brother.
The truth shattered my perfect life on our anniversary. My real husband, Elliot, had swapped places with his volatile twin, Killian, all so he could be with another woman without the mess of a divorce.
I was just a placeholder in their cruel game. Elliot stood by as his lover burned my hand, while Killian wore his face, whispering promises he never meant.
But the final blow came when I found Killian's phone. In a group chat, he called me a "prize" he'd won from his brother, promising his friends they could have me once he was bored.
That's when my heartbreak turned to ice. I filed for divorce, took everything the pre-nup promised, and fled to London. I thought I was free, but now they've followed me, determined to reclaim their favorite toy. My Fiancé's Twin, A Cruel Deception
Romance My fiancé has a twin brother. For the past year, the man I' ve shared a bed with wasn't my fiancé at all.
I discovered the man I loved was just an actor, a stand-in. My real fiancé, Brandon, was secretly married to his adopted sister, Caryl.
But their plan was far more sinister than just swapping places. They were going to let me marry the twin, then stage an "accident" to harvest my corneas for Caryl.
When I discovered their plot, Caryl framed me for attacking her. Brandon, the man who swore to protect me, had me whipped until I was bleeding on the floor.
Then she murdered his grandfather and blamed me. He didn't hesitate. He threw me into a psychiatric hospital to rot.
He never once questioned her lies. He simply discarded me, the woman he claimed to love for five years.
But they forgot one thing. I wasn't just Farah Moore, a helpless orphan. I am Aurora Valois, heiress to an empire. After being rescued from that hell, I faked my death and disappeared. Now, I'm back to start a new life, and this time, I'm living for myself. From His Pawn To Her Queen
Romance I was Kennedy Hall, the rebellious journalist of a political dynasty. My only escape was a secret, passionate affair with Elliot Solis, a powerful CEO carved from ice and logic. He called me his "beautiful disaster," a storm contained within the walls of his penthouse.
But our affair was built on a lie. I discovered he was only "taming" me as a favor to another woman, Camille-the fragile daughter of my father's chief of staff, to whom he owed an unpayable debt.
He publicly chose her over me, wiping her tears with a tenderness he never showed me. He protected her, defended her, and when I was cornered by a predator, he abandoned me to rush to her side. The ultimate betrayal came when he had me thrown in jail and beaten, hissing that I needed to "learn my lesson."
The final blow came during a car crash. Without a second's hesitation, he threw himself in front of Camille, shielding her with his body and leaving me to face the impact alone. I wasn't his love; I was a liability he was willing to sacrifice.
Lying broken in a hospital bed, I finally understood. I wasn't his beautiful disaster; I was his fool. So I did the only thing I could. I burned his perfect world to the ground, accepted a marriage proposal from a kind billionaire who promised me peace, and walked away to start a new life, leaving the ashes of our love behind. When Love Dies, Revenge Begins
Modern The day they buried my four-year-old son, Leo, killed by a hit-and-run, the driver, Karyn Morse, showed up at his grave. She smiled, dropped Leo' s favorite toy into his open casket, and called him a "clumsy little thing."
My husband, District Attorney David Blair, the city' s pillar of strength, stood by, silent. I, an investigative journalist, knew I' d find justice. I had the evidence, the witness, a Pulitzer-winning track record.
But Karyn Morse was different. The judge, beholden to her powerful father, dismissed everything. She walked free. Then, the bailiff called my name. "Eva Benton, you are under arrest." My own husband, Leo' s father, prosecuted me for criminal negligence. He twisted my grief, my frantic search for truth, into a paranoid obsession.
My best friend, Cheri, testified against me, claiming I was unstable. The jury found me guilty. Three years in a maximum-security prison. For being a grieving mother. For losing my son. I lost another child in prison, a secret I buried deep.
Why? Why did he do it? Why did he betray me?
The day I was released, I found him at Leo' s grave, with Karyn and their son. "Daddy, can we go get ice cream now?" Karyn cooed, "We have to say hi to your brother." My world shattered. He hadn' t just framed me; he had replaced me. He had replaced our son. "Worried?" he said, when Karyn asked about me. "Why would I be? She' s nothing to me now." The thread snapped. I called Cheri. "I need your help, Cheri." Fake Amnesia, Real Betrayal
LGBT+ The call came at 7:05 PM on our tenth wedding anniversary.
My husband, David, was in an accident.
At the hospital, he was awake, but a young woman, his assistant Chloe, was holding his hand, acting like his wife.
When I walked in, he looked at me, a blank stranger' s stare, then asked, "Who are you?"
He laughed when I said I was his wife, then demanded security remove me, while Chloe, smiling, pretended to cry.
It wasn't just memory loss; it was a cruel, targeted erasure.
I tried proof, the marriage certificate, but he pushed it away as "just a piece of paper."
Then Chloe waltzed in with his favorite soup, and he defended her when I confronted her.
"She' s the only one who' s been here for me!" he screamed.
He snarled that I was "exhausted, haggard," compared to Chloe, who was "kind and gentle."
My wedding ring, a symbol of our forever, flew from my hand as he slapped it away, clinking under the bed.
"Don' t come back," he said, turning his back on me to comfort Chloe.
Later, I learned why: he had been having an affair with Chloe, his mother's 65th birthday ruined by his absence and her answering his phone.
My world shattered when Mark Johnson, David's estranged best friend, told me what David said: "The fake amnesia was a stroke of genius, right? A clean break."
My husband had faked a brain injury to throw me away.
A car hit me, sending me to the hospital, and I knew what I had to do.
When Mark came in, I looked at him, my face blank, then asked, "Are you… my husband?" My Wife, The Butcher
Romance I knelt on one knee, velvet box in hand, ready to propose to the woman I loved, a rising star in the theater world.
But instead of a yes, her cold voice cut through the silence: "I'm in love with someone else."
Instantly, her aunt, Nicole Johns, stepped from the wings, claiming she'd harbored a crush on me for years, and married me within a month.
Five years later, severely burned in a pyrotechnics "accident," I overheard Nicole, my wife, discussing my fate with the doctor.
She ordered my healthy skin be given to her lover, the very man my ex-fiancée left me for, Matthew Blakely, for a cosmetic procedure.
"For Ethan," she hissed, "use the experimental synthetic skin. It's cheaper."
Then, unbelievably, she tried to have me sterilized while I was unconscious, revealing she'd aborted our children because they were an "inconvenient" distraction from her affair with Matthew.
The "accident" and their fabricated story of my jealousy were all a setup.
I later learned the deepest horror: she had staged Matthew's "attack" to steal my kidney, which he openly gloated about right after receiving it.
They had a secret, sinister plan for my body.
My world shattered beyond repair.
I finally called my family' s ranch in Texas, ready to fight for my life. You might like
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. 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. 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.
Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. 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. My Contracted Husband, The Heartless CEO has Amnesia?
Audrey C Leilani Celeste was married to a Mafia Don, by the name Xenois Kingston on a contract marriage, that would last 6 years.
The deal was that Celeste would give him children during that period and after the end of the 6 year contract, he would offer her $100,000,000,000, divorce her and keep the children as his.
Celeste, an orphan, abandoned by the orphanage she grew up in at the age of 18 had nothing to lose and agreed to the deal.
6 years later, Celeste is now 24 years and mother to triplets boys; Lake, Troy and Soren. The contract is coming to an end this month and rumors has it that Xenois true love Claudia Hale is returning back to the city after 6 years of absence.
Xenois handed her the divorce papers that morning only for him to get into a car accident on the way to the hospital and suffers from amnesia.
To Xenois, he's in love with his wife and kids and a very attentive father and husband and is surprised to find out that Celeste planned on divorcing him. He is determined to make his wife fall for him and be a better father to their children. Things seem like a fairytale for Celeste who is desperate to hold on to this illusion after she had fallen for her husband in their third year of their marriage and stayed with an unrequited love. She knows what she's doing is cruel but she wants to enjoy it while it lasts.
But Claudia Hale won't rest until she gets rid of the obstacle named Celeste and marries her heartthrob Xenois.
Will Xenois recover his memory and better yet, once he does, does Celeste still stand a chance at winning the heart of her husband or would she be accused of having a hand in his amnesia. 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. Hidden Pregnancy: The Billionaire CEO's Secret Heir
Rabbit I woke up in a bed of Egyptian cotton with a jackhammer headache and the naked CEO of my company sleeping beside me. I was a low-level analyst who had accidentally texted the world's most ruthless billionaire instead of my crush. Now, Sebastian Sterling wasn't just my boss-he was the man who owned my debt, my marriage, and a secret that was currently burning us both alive.
He forced me into a cold-blooded marriage contract, trading my mother's life-saving medical bills for a year of my life as his trophy wife. I thought I was just a pawn in his corporate war against his ex-fiancée, but the tattoo over his heart-0825-held the date of the fire that destroyed my childhood and killed my peace.
He hadn't just found me; he had been watching me from the shadows since I was twelve. He built a fortress of money and lies around me, manipulating my every move while his family tried to have me erased. When they finally targeted my mother and my son, I realized I couldn't just be a victim anymore.
I fled to the industrial slums of Newark, erasing my identity to hunt down the ledgers that could put his family behind bars. But Sebastian didn't let me go; he stripped off his suits and checked out of his penthouse to follow me into the grime.
Now, he's posing as a low-life driver named Ben, watching over me from a beat-up SUV while I infiltrate a criminal syndicate. He thinks he's my guardian angel, but I'm the one holding the match that will either save his empire or burn it to the ground. 
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