Maverick
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Maverick's Books and Stories
Saved By The Ruthless Rival Don
Mafia For nine years, I was the perfect mafia wife. I laundered Marcus Thorne’s money through my design firm, smiled at his dinners, and ignored the lipstick stains on his collars.
I believed in the Omertà of our marriage. I thought my loyalty was my armor.
I was wrong.
On the night of our anniversary gala, a car lost control and barreled straight toward us in the parking lot.
Marcus didn't look at me. Not once.
He lunged for his mistress, Izzy, tackling her to safety behind a concrete pillar.
I was left standing in the open.
The impact threw me like a ragdoll. I lay bleeding on the cold asphalt, my body broken, watching through the haze as my husband frantically checked his mistress for scratches.
"My ankle," she whimpered.
Without a backward glance, he picked her up and carried her to his limousine, leaving me to bleed out on the pavement.
He didn't leave me because he panicked. He left me because I was just a shield he used to protect what he actually loved.
As darkness crept in, a shadow fell over me. It wasn't Marcus.
It was Julian Croft, his sworn rival.
I looked at the empty spot where my husband should have been and made a choice.
"Get me to the hospital," I rasped, staring into the eyes of the enemy.
"And then help me burn his empire to the ground." The Sacrificed Luna: Reborn in the Arms of a King
Werewolf They call me the "invisible wife," the domestic servant with a title. For eighteen years, I played the role of the weak, submissive Luna to my Alpha husband, Anthony.
But the scent of overripe peaches and another wolf's musk on his custom suit shattered my illusion.
He wasn't just cheating; he was popping illegal Bond-Blockers to numb our sacred connection, hiding his betrayal while I catered to his every whim.
Desperate for the truth, I tracked him to the Moonlight Hotel. I expected to find him in bed with his mistress, Katia.
I didn't expect to hear my own teenage son, Jacob, laughing with them.
"Mom is just a human in a wolf's skin," he sneered through the door. "I'm ashamed she's my mother. Katia is what a real Luna looks like."
His words cut deeper than any blade. They mocked my lack of scent. They called me a defect.
They didn't know the jagged scar on my chest exists because I poured my entire essence into Jacob's dying lungs the night he was born.
I became "weak" solely to keep him alive.
And this is how they repay me? By plotting to replace me with the woman spending my inheritance?
They want a powerful Luna? They're about to get one.
I wiped my tears and looked in the mirror, my hazel eyes flashing a blinding, predatory silver.
The White Wolf has been dormant for sixteen years, but tonight, at the Pack Gala, she wakes up to hunt. Ashes of Betrayal, A Dying Wish
Romance "I have two requests." My voice was steadier than I expected, the phone heavy in my hand.
Liam' s impatient sigh cut through the line. "Chloe, what the hell is this? We' re not anything anymore."
I told him I was dying, a brain tumor. "I' ve chosen to end things on my own terms. Medically assisted."
His response chilled me. "You' re lying. You' re doing this to ruin things for me. You always had a flair for the dramatic."
The name Liam, once whispered in my sleep, now tasted like ash. My parents were gone, leaving me truly alone.
Then, there they were: Liam and Bethany, my ex-fiancé and my former best friend, at our old restaurant. His smile vanished when he saw me, replaced by pure disgust.
Bethany clung to him, her diamond sparkling. "We finally set the date!" she gushed. "October twenty-fifth!"
My birthday. The day I was scheduled to die.
I discovered the bitter truth in a dark cinema: Liam and Bethany' s affair began months before our breakup, a brutal betrayal hidden beneath his carefully crafted lies. He had not just left me; he had cheated, then let me blame myself.
I confronted him, wounded by his callous admission: "It was easier that way. Less messy."
He saw me as a drama queen, not a dying woman. He brought me to a hospital, still oblivious, convinced my collapse was hysterics.
His final humiliation: demanding I pick songs for their wedding, his attempt to buy my silence for a thousand dollars. He hung up before I could refuse.
He had left me no choice.
I had to witness the depths of their betrayal, the audacity of Bethany' s wedding gift-a game console inspired by my intellectual property, inscribed with their wedding date, October 25th.
It was a final, cruel twist of the knife, designed to erase me.
But I had one final play. I would ensure Liam, the man who destroyed my life, would be there for its end. And I would deliver my final message, not in words, but in ashes, on his wedding day. My Revenge: His Empire Crumbles
Modern I woke up in my husband's office to a chilling discovery. Stamped across my face in bold, red letters was "USDA PRIME"-a cruel joke from his intern, Karma.
But my husband, Josiah, the man whose tech empire I helped build, didn't defend me. He called it a harmless prank and shielded his mistress from my rage.
The humiliation was broadcast for the world to see. He then gave her my custom anniversary gown and took her to a charity gala.
As if that wasn't enough, she announced she was pregnant with his child.
He chose her. He chose their new "family" over our seven years of marriage, over the memory of the child we lost together. The look he gave her, full of a tenderness I hadn't seen in years, shattered the last piece of my heart.
So as he walked out the door with her, my lawyers walked in. At the next board meeting, I watched the color drain from his face as I froze every asset to his name.
"Sign the divorce papers, Josiah," I said, pushing a pen across the table. "My responsibility now is to clean house." Phoenix From The Ashes He Created
Modern My boyfriend Jax and I were San Francisco's golden couple, our futures perfectly intertwined. Then his long-lost half-sister, Cinda, arrived, and he began choosing her endless, manufactured crises over me.
The night my restaurant caught fire, he abandoned me in the smoke to comfort a whimpering Cinda.
"Can't you handle your own drama for once?" he sneered, as my life's work burned.
He left me to nearly drown, accused me of faking a concussion after Cinda pushed me down the stairs, and called my pain a pathetic game for attention.
I couldn't understand how the man I had loved since high school could become so monstrous. I thought I had lost him to her.
But then I overheard his confession. Cinda was just a pawn, a tool he was using to "teach me a lesson" and ensure I'd come crawling back. In that moment, my heartbreak turned to ice. He hadn't just betrayed me; he had proven our entire love story was a lie. His Deal, Her Heart
Romance For ten years, my world had revolved around Mark. I went to his lavish engagement party to finally cauterize the wound, to watch him promise his life to another woman and force myself to move on.
Then the music stopped. The massive crystal chandelier above us wasn't just glittering anymore; it was groaning, its supports severed, plummeting directly towards the center of the room.
It was aimed at Mark and his fiancée. In that last, heart-stopping second, Mark's survival instincts kicked in. He shoved her, his future wife, hard. She stumbled sideways, out of the path of destruction.
He didn't even look at me.
He left me standing alone, rooted to the spot, staring up at my own glittering death.
But I wasn't crushed. An arm like iron wrapped around my waist, yanking me back as the world exploded in a crash of metal and glass. My savior was a stranger, a man with eyes like a storm.
He looked down at me in the wreckage and said, "That was an attempt on my life. You were just collateral damage."
Before I could even process his words, my phone rang. It was my father, his voice choked with despair. Our family's small business, our entire livelihood, had just been financially ruined.
My savior, the man who'd just saved my life, looked at my stricken face.
"That was also me," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I control your family's debt. Marry me, and I will save them." His Deception, Her Redemption
Romance The silence in our house was heavy, broken only by the sound of my husband' s brother being lowered into the ground. A month later, the silence was replaced by something worse. My brother-in-law' s widow, Falon, was pregnant, and my husband, Cyrus, decided she was moving in with us.
"It' s for the baby, Kelsey," he said, his voice flat. He didn't look at me. He was looking at Falon, who stood by the door with her single suitcase, looking pale and fragile. "She needs support. It' s my brother' s child."
I watched as Falon slowly, subtly, began to take over my life. She' d wait outside the bathroom with a fresh towel for Cyrus, claiming it was habit. She' d knock on our bedroom door late at night, feigning nightmares, pulling Cyrus away for hours of "comfort." The breaking point came when I heard Cyrus massaging her swollen feet, just as her late husband used to.
I dropped the knife I was holding. It clattered against the counter. I wanted to hear Cyrus say no. I wanted him to tell her that was inappropriate, that I was his wife. Instead, I heard his low, soothing voice. "Of course, Falon. Just put them up here."
I had given up everything for him, becoming a "pick-me" girl, constantly seeking his approval. Now, watching him cater to her every whim, I realized I didn't even recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
That night, I called my father. "Dad," I said, my voice shaking. "I want a divorce." Reborn: A Wife's Vengeance
Modern The sterile hospital smell was the last thing I remembered. I was Ava, a successful architect, and I was dying. Through a morphine haze, I heard my husband, Liam, and his identical twin brother, Ethan. "Is she gone yet?" Ethan asked coldly. "Almost," Liam replied, his voice devoid of love.
Then Chloe' s voice, sharp and satisfied: "She heard us talking about the miscarriage." My heart seized. My baby. The baby they called a tragic accident. "It was for the best," Liam said. "She was never meant to be the mother of my child. You are, Chloe." A wave of nausea and horror washed over me.
"And the hysterectomy?" Ethan asked. "Are you sure it' s done?" Dr. Anderson confirmed it, Liam said. Complications. I' d never carry a child again. My world dissolved. They' d not only betrayed me but orchestrated the death of my child and the end of my womanhood. All for Chloe.
Then, nothing. Until I opened my eyes again. I was in my wedding gown, in my wedding bed. Liam walked out of the bathroom, that devastating smile now making my stomach turn. He was an actor, and I had been his most captive audience. I remembered the whispers from my deathbed: the cold, calculated cruelty. This beautiful monster had shared me with his brother.
I had died and come back, armed with the terrible truth. The man who had pledged his life to me had been orchestrating my destruction. My baby, my womanhood, my very life-all sacrificed for a twisted game. How could this be real? Why was I back?
A new resolve settled in my soul. I wouldn't just survive this wedding night; I would be the architect of their destruction. Her Crown, His Broken Heart
Romance The pre-IPO party buzzed with champagne and a decade of my unwavering devotion to Sarah Jenkins and Nexus AI. Tomorrow, everything would change.
I saw Sarah across the room, radiant, untouchable, the woman who had promised, "Once the company goes public, Alex, we'll get married."
Then I heard her voice, casual, dismissive: "Alex? He's been with me for ten years. I'll definitely take care of him."
My world shattered when her tone softened, almost reverent, as she whispered another name: "Ethan Thorne... I want to marry him."
Ethan Thorne. Not me. Not the man who' d poured his soul into her dreams, selling his own passion projects to fund her first seed money, holding her while she cried, believing it was "us against the world."
The pain was a physical weight. She called me "tarnished," "not pure," because I'd fought by her side in the trenches. I was a "tool to be discarded" now that she was at the top.
In a desperate, broken rage, I smashed her laptop, the screen reflecting her chilling calm, her utter disinterest in my anguish.
"You're scaring Ethan," she said, her voice sharp, as if my agony was an inconvenience.
Then, a grainy video arrived on my phone: Sarah, tied to a chair, a distorted voice threatening, "Your girl for your loyalty, Alex Miller. Come to the old shipyard. Alone."
Despite the betrayal, the pain, the disgust she' d shown, my instincts screamed. I had to go. One last time, I would save her. When Love Became Revenge
Romance Five years ago, I had it all – a loving family, a bright future as an architect, and a secret husband, Ryan Stone, who promised me the world.
Our wedding day was supposed to be perfect, but it became my living nightmare when his assistant, Sarah, walked down the aisle instead, announcing she had married Ryan yesterday.
Sarah publicly branded me a mistress, even as I stood there, eight months pregnant, and then she turned on my parents, respected marriage counselors, callously calling my mother a hypocrite and me a slut.
Ryan, my supposed husband, stood in the shadows, watching, his face a mask of cold indifference, as my entire world shattered.
The truth later exposed Ryan' s cruel revenge: his family believed my lawyer mother had driven Sarah' s mother to suicide, and he meticulously planned to destroy my family as a twisted retaliation.
He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams: my mother died from a heart attack, reading hateful online comments that called her a whore; my father, finding her, fell and became a quadriplegic.
Ryan wasn' t done; he ensured my master' s degree and university diploma were revoked, labeling me a manipulative homewrecker and leaving me with nothing but my premature son, Ethan.
Now, five years later, Ryan Stone is back, claiming he wants to fix what he broke, but for me, some things can only be survived, not fixed.
To keep my father alive and Ethan' s heart condition managed, I' ve become Mr. Davis' s "sugar daddy" accessory, enduring humiliation for their survival.
Tonight, at the club, Ryan saw me, and just when I thought I could escape his gaze, an old acquaintance, Mark Henderson, cornered me, mocking my fall from grace.
Ryan intervened, asking, "Is this the life you chose, Chloe?", then watched as Mr. Davis, asserting his ownership, forced me to drink an entire glass of whiskey as a public display of submission.
Then, at the hospital, when Ethan' s condition worsened and my funds ran out, Ryan offered hope, money for Ethan' s life-saving treatment, but at a price: I had to leave Davis and marry him.
He confessed his twisted revenge, but my heart remained cold, especially after his actions led directly to my father' s death, triggering Ethan' s heart transplant.
After Ethan' s successful surgery, the monster Ryan had become, now also my protector, prepared a second wedding, a new beginning for us, but it was on this day that Ethan' s body catastrophically rejected the new heart.
He died in my arms, and my world ended, not with a bang, but a chilling silence, leaving me with a hatred so profound, it promised a new, solitary freedom. His Heartless Plan, Her Bitter End
Romance For three years, I painted by day and worked dead-end jobs by night, all to fund my brilliant musician husband, David, battling a rare illness.
My latest sacrifice was night shifts at the Sterling Art Gallery-dangerous, but it paid for his experimental treatments.
Then, a laugh drifted from a private room, strong and vibrant, just like David's, but not the weak one I knew.
"You should have seen her face, Em," he chuckled, "She actually believes I need that new 'serum' from Switzerland. Another fifty grand, just like that."
My world shattered as Emily, his childhood friend, replied, "Three years of this, and she still thinks you're a poor, dying musician."
He gloated about this "brilliant plan" to exploit me, calling marrying me his "biggest mistake," all while planning to use our unborn child as his "ticket out."
Before I could process the monstrous truth, the gallery was raided; my mother, bringing me soup, was brutally thrown, her head striking a pedestal.
David and Emily, seeing everything from their sleek black car, simply drove away, leaving me and my dying mother.
He arrived at the hospital later, weaving a masterful performance of a worried husband.
As he reached for my hand, the nurse delivered the fatal blow: my mother was gone.
Then Emily waltzed in, lilies in hand, cooing fake sympathy before flaunting a photo of her and David, with a caption solidifying their "true love."
A rich male friend tossed hundreds onto my blanket, "For your trouble. Should be enough to cover a funeral for whatever working-class family you came from."
My grief calcified into icy rage.
"Assault, robbery, and accessory to murder," I stated calmly, "And you know, it's amazing what a security camera in a high-end gallery can pick up. Even the sound. I'm sure the police will be very interested in the recording of my husband and his mistress discussing three years of felony fraud just before the 'robbery' happened."
Silence fell. He had underestimated me.
I lost everything-my mother, my husband, my baby that would never be.
But in losing everything, I had nothing left to fear.
"You want me to sell my grandmother's apartment? Fine. But not for us. For me. You will transfer five hundred thousand dollars into my personal bank account. Today."
I hung up, laying a trap. Rebirth: A Second Chance
Modern The sterile beep of the heart monitor was the last sound Olivia heard as her 20-year-old son, Michael, stood by her hospital bed, relaying her husband Daniel' s chilling message: it was time to let her go.
Then, with a barely perceptible tremor, Michael' s hand reached for the life support plug, while Daniel and his mistress, Sophia, were already celebrating her impending demise.
She watched, a disembodied consciousness, as Daniel entered her hospital room, not with grief, but with a flicker of relief, before he called Sophia, his voice warm and affectionate, planning to "celebrate" Olivia' s death.
The betrayal was an icy vise around what remained of her spectral heart; her husband and son had conspired to murder her, turning her entire life into a hollow lie, and an intense, primal rage left her silently screaming for another chance, for justice.
Suddenly, Olivia' s eyes snapped open to the sunlight of her own apartment, 25 years younger, her mother' s cheerful voice on the phone reminding her of Daniel and their wedding, now just one month away. His Billion-Dollar Lie
Billionaires Pregnant again, my belly fluttering with tiny hope, I poured every spare penny into Mark’s dream – a cozy bookstore. This wasn't just a business; it was our stable future, a safe haven for our child.
My world shattered at a charity auction, tucked away behind velvet curtains. "She's so naive," Jessica Albright's sharp laugh cut through the air, revealing Mark's twisted "poverty test."
The "Ashton millions" meant his struggling entrepreneur act was a meticulously crafted lie, and I was merely a pawn in his cruel charade. My fervent sacrifice, my grueling extra shifts, my deepest hopes – all a calculated game.
He watched me give him my last dollar, then casually lied about a new expensive jacket. He demanded I cook for Jessica, even when morning sickness wracked my body, completely disregarding my pain.
She deliberately stained my cherished, hand-knitted baby sweater, calling it "cheap" with a contemptuous smirk. He prioritized his "friend" over my well-being, barely glancing up when I ran to vomit.
The final, suffocating proof came when I saw him switch from a sleek luxury car to his old "beater" just before picking me up. Every single part of my life with him was a lie.
I was a clown, a devoted fool in his elaborate, poisonous deception. How could I have been so blind? My precious baby, my body, ensnared in this vile web of deceit.
My heart felt like a stone, the warmth I once held for him replaced by chilling emptiness, a gnawing sense of betrayal. This child couldn't be born into such toxicity.
Lying in a hospital bed after collapsing from the sheer stress, I overheard him confessing to Jessica that he only felt "a bit bad" about what he’d done. That pathetic admission was enough.
The last thread holding my shattered world together snapped with icy finality. I looked at his feigned concern, my eyes empty, and spoke: "I want a divorce, Mark." Her Sacrifice, Their Scorn
Billionaires Sarah Jenkins, a baker with cinnamon-scented hands, was deeply in love with Ethan Montgomery, the heir to an opulent empire.
He filled her world with promises, passion, and the unwavering belief they would build their own life, far from his family's suffocating expectations.
But the Montgomery family had an unbreakable rule: their heir must marry for power and wealth, not love.
Suddenly, Ethan was forced into an engagement with the sophisticated Victoria Davenport, leaving Sarah with only one plea: "Wait for me."
That word became a relentless torment as Victoria, Ethan's vengeful fiancée, systematically sought to destroy Sarah.
She staged cruel public humiliations, shattered Sarah’s most cherished heirloom, and skillfully framed her with false accusations.
Ethan, trapped in an escalating web of family pressure and Victoria's schemes, repeatedly chose complacency, allowing his family to mock and even imprison Sarah.
He stood by, a silent, complicit witness, even pushing Sarah himself when Victoria feigned a dramatic "accident."
How could the man who promised to move mountains betray her so completely, reducing her to a hidden secret, constantly asked to just "wait"?
Each forced "wait" chipped away at Sarah's soul, leaving her heartbroken and utterly alone in their gilded cage.
But Sarah wasn't waiting anymore; shattered yet resolute, she quietly vanished, reclaiming her life and building a new one far from his toxic world.
Years later, a broken Ethan, his family in ruins and Victoria’s deceptions exposed, finally came searching, begging for forgiveness and a second chance.
He even nearly died saving her during a devastating flood.
Yet, Sarah, now a strong woman forged by pain, firmly looked him in the eye.
She refused his desperate plea, choosing an authentic, peaceful future over the never-ending charade of his world.
She left Ethan to drown in the consequences of his own choices, forever haunted by the love he destroyed. The Monster I Once Loved
Romance I was just a struggling artist in Brooklyn, and he was the amnesiac I found beaten in an alley – just "Alex."
We fell deeply in love, building a life on whispered dreams and cheap coffee, a bond that felt truly unbreakable.
But then his memory returned, and my gentle Alex vanished, replaced by Alexander Sterling III, a cold, ruthless heir.
He discarded me like trash, his mother paid me off to disappear, and his cruel world, with his chillingly silent consent, shattered my artist's hand.
I watched the man I loved stand by as they destroyed me, wondering how a heart could turn so utterly indifferent.
Broken but not defeated, I used the 'hush money' to rebuild myself in Paris, emerging five years later as a renowned sculptor, alongside a man who truly cherished me.
My renewed happiness, however, ignited a terrifying obsession in Alex, unleashing a horrifying wave of vengeance on everyone he perceived to have wronged me-or so he twistedly claimed.
He thought this brutal "justice" would finally win me back, but all it revealed was the true, monstrous stranger the man I loved had become. You might like
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. 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. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." 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. 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. Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband
Bei Ke On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family.
I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown.
But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic.
He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event.
"She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity.
"You will give her whatever she needs."
I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm.
As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing.
"Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted.
Dominick didn't even turn around.
He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table.
I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic.
He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins.
He was wrong.
I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match.
I let the room burn.
By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London.
I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty.
He wanted a war? I would give him one. 
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