Nert Kirschner
14 Published Stories
Nert Kirschner's Books and Stories
The Heiress Reclaims Her Empire
Mafia I transmigrated into the body of a doomed mafia princess, engaged to the ruthless Don of the Syndicate.
Right before a high-stakes gala, I caught his childhood sweetheart walking out of his private suite wearing his clothes, begging me not to misunderstand.
Then, she forged official documents to steal my family's priceless diamond donation, projecting her name next to his to present them as a unified power couple.
Instead of punishing her, the Don fiercely protected the weeping sweetheart.
He accused me of being a jealous tyrant, ordering me to drop it because she was unwell.
His mother, the Matriarch, threatened me to stay quiet and swallow the humiliation to protect the family's face.
They expected me to just stand there while she stole my wealth and my position.
The original Gianna would have thrown a hysterical fit and sealed her fate as the crazy villainess.
But looking at their blind favoritism, my love for him completely died.
Why should my family's blood and money be used as a pedestal for a manipulative thief?
I refused to play their game.
I projected the security logs to the entire ballroom, exposing her forgery to the Five Families.
Then, I pulled off my blood-oath engagement ring and demanded every single dollar I ever invested reimbursed.
"This betrothal ends tonight," I declared, walking away.
But hours later, my phone lit up with a text from the furious Don.
"I am going to tear apart whatever illusion of freedom you have built, and when I do, I am coming to collect you." Divorced And Penniless: The Billionaire's Secret Heir
Modern On their seventh wedding anniversary, Kiley's billionaire husband, Aden, slid a thick stack of papers across the restaurant table.
It was a petition for divorce.
He was leaving her for his college sweetheart. Thanks to a ruthless prenup, Kiley was being thrown out with absolutely nothing.
That very night, their young son Jules was rushed to the ER, bleeding profusely. The doctor's diagnosis was a death sentence: acute leukemia.
When Kiley frantically called Aden for help, he dismissed the emergency as a simple nosebleed.
"I'm not paying for this. Deal with it," Aden sneered, the sound of his mistress giggling in the background.
To force Kiley to sign the divorce papers, Aden froze all her credit cards and canceled their son's health insurance. He refused to pay a single cent for the chemotherapy.
Even Kiley's adoptive parents sided with the wealthy Aden, calling her a burden and telling her to stop fighting him.
Driven to the brink of despair, with a dying child and no money, Kiley didn't understand how a father could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.
Until a news article on a friend's phone caught her eye.
It featured a fallen 9/11 firefighter hero from the ultra-wealthy Whitfield family. The man in the photo looked exactly like Jules, down to the very bone structure.
Kiley's mind raced back to the fertility clinic and the anonymous sperm donor.
Could this dead billionaire hero be her son's biological father?
Looking at her sleeping, fragile boy, Kiley wiped her tears and crushed the divorce papers in her hand.
She was going to find the Whitfield family, save her son, and make Aden lose everything he held dear. Betrayed Wife: Reclaiming My Stolen Life
Billionaires On the morning of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I found a cream-colored document tucked inside my husband's suit pocket.
It was a twenty-million-dollar asset transfer for his former receptionist, Carmen. But what made my blood run cold was the contingent beneficiary: Leo, my newborn son who the hospital claimed was kidnapped twenty-three years ago.
When I confronted Devonte, he didn't even try to explain. He handed me a fake Cartier watch, canceled all my credit cards, and publicly called me delusional.
The next day, he moved Carmen into our mansion and emptied all our joint accounts into offshore trusts.
"If you don't sign these papers and walk away, I will have you committed," he threatened, his mother nodding in agreement.
They had orchestrated the kidnapping of my baby, hiding him with the mistress while I spent half my life sedated and screaming in grief. Now, to keep his secret, Devonte was going to lock me in a psychiatric ward and bury me in debt.
I didn't understand how the man I loved could be such a monster. Why did he steal my child? What else was hidden in that confidential adoption file?
Pushed to the absolute brink, I refused to be his victim.
When his goons came to my temporary apartment to drag me away, I turned to the rugged union electrician who had just fixed my lights.
"If you need a husband to keep you out of a psych ward, I'll marry you," he said, offering himself as my legal shield.
I took his hand. It was time to tear my husband's perfect life apart. Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: Meet Your Son
Modern I stood at the airport in a worn wool coat, shivering as I waited for the husband I hadn’t seen in seven years. My dented 2014 Camry sat idling nearby, a pathetic contrast to the sleek private jets lining the tarmac of Teterboro.
When the Gulfstream finally landed, Julian Sterling didn’t emerge alone. He stepped off the plane holding the hand of Serena Pembrooke, the flawless socialite who had been his "business partner" in Zurich for nearly a decade. He looked at me with the cold assessment of a stranger, his eyes bypassing the luxury SUVs to lock onto my fading paint and cracked phone screen.
Julian forced me to drive them, letting Serena claim the front seat while he watched me from the back like a hired chauffeur. When a minor traffic accident left me trembling in the middle of the FDR Drive, he didn't offer comfort; he took the wheel with a look of pure disappointment, treating me like an incompetent child.
"A quiet place for a mind like yours to rot," he whispered, mocking the simple life I had built in Queens.
The humiliation peaked at a high-society gala where Serena framed me for corporate espionage, accusing me of stealing code from Nebula—the very company I had built in secret. Julian stood by and watched as my reputation was shredded, his silence a deadlier weapon than Serena’s lies. He even went ring shopping for the Sterling family heirloom while I was being investigated by the police.
I couldn't understand how he could be so blind. He didn't know I was the lead architect of the AI firm he just invested in. Most importantly, he didn't know I was hiding his son—a six-year-old genius with Julian’s eyes and a lethal talent for hacking. To settle the debt for the car, I sold my mother’s last pearls and threw the check at his feet, finally ready to disappear from his world forever.
But as I walked away into the rain, Julian’s phone buzzed with a digitized threat from an anonymous source that stopped him cold.
"Stay away from my mother," the voice warned.
My son had just declared war on his father, and the secrets of the Aspen Scandal were finally about to explode, forcing Julian to realize that the wife he abandoned was the only person who could save his empire. His Cruel Love, My Broken Heart
Billionaires For three years, I was Bradley Porter's bodyguard. And his substitute. Tonight, I took a bullet for him, the wound in my shoulder still fresh.
But he didn't care. His assistant pulled me out of the hospital, my wound infected and feverish, because the woman I was a substitute for, Kylie Tyson, was back.
At the private airport, he embraced her with a love I had never seen.
Kylie looked me up and down with disdain. "Bradley, make her carry my luggage."
He saw my pale face, the bandage peeking from my collar, but his voice was sharp. "What are you waiting for? Get the luggage."
There were five large suitcases.
Just moments before, Kylie had faked a sprained wrist, and he had examined it with panicked concern. When I took a bullet for him, he just glanced at me and told his men to "clean up the mess."
That night, I went home and added another black stone to the glass jar on my dresser.
I made a promise to myself: for every time he hurt me, I would add a stone.
When the jar was full, I would leave him forever.
Tonight was stone number three hundred and sixty-eight.
The jar was almost half full. Never Again: A Wife's Resolve
Romance The first sign of trouble arrived as a notification on my phone.
It was a screenshot from my friend, Joanna, of my husband' s new executive assistant, Chloe Miller.
She was smiling brightly, her hand touching a diamond necklace sparkling against her skin.
A necklace I recognized immediately.
It was the star piece from an auction Liam had attended two nights ago, two million dollars.
He' d mentioned it was a "stunning piece of craftsmanship."
He just failed to mention who he was buying it for.
A quiet anger, cold and sharp, settled in my chest.
This wasn't about jealousy; it was about respect.
Our marriage was an arrangement, a merger of his new money ambition and my old money influence.
The foundational rule was simple: public respect.
Liam had just broken it.
I scrolled through the comments, gushing over her "amazing boss."
Chloe was actively fanning the flames of speculation.
It was a deliberate, public provocation.
I put my phone down, stood up, and walked calmly to the intercom.
"Please have Liam' s car brought to the front," I said.
My husband had forgotten who I was.
My family hadn't built their empire by being passive.
He was about to be reminded. When Loyalty Turns to Greed
Billionaires The promotion came with a dream office, a Seattle skyline view, and a salary that made my eyes water.
But it also came with Mrs. Jenkins, my personal assistant of five years, and the difficult conversation I had to have with her.
When I told her I was relocating and she' d have three months' severance, her warm smile froze.
"A recommendation and severance won' t be enough, Sarah," she declared, her voice flat, demanding a lifetime pension or my multi-million dollar condo.
I laughed, thinking it was a joke, but her dead-serious expression sent a chill down my spine.
She then morphed into a full-blown manipulator, blaming me for "ruining" her life and threatening to spread rumors in our tight-knit community.
The fight escalated from extortion to outright betrayal when her daughter, Emily, aided by a supposedly incarcerated ex-cop, illegally occupied my condo with a forged lease.
The police, thanks to the corrupt officer' s connections, shockingly classified it as a civil matter.
I felt outrage and disbelief that I was being targeted and dismissed, my property snatched by a family I had once trusted.
The unsettling truth hit me when I saw the "jailed" ex-cop, Kevin, laughing with Mrs. Jenkins and Emily in front of a real estate office, overhearing their plot to forge documents and steal my condo outright.
My rage turned to icy resolve; they had underestimated me.
I immediately contacted the FBI' s Public Corruption Unit, armed with concrete proof of their conspiracy, knowing this was no longer a petty dispute but a federal crime.
My decision to fight back was made. Her Quiet Fury
Romance For a decade, I played the role of Eleanor Vance, Senator Alistair Hayes' s wife.
I endured his icy indifference and his stepdaughter Brittany' s cruelties, clinging to the hope of a stable home for my daughter, Clara.
But at the annual charity gala, the illusion violently shattered.
Brittany, with a triumph in her eyes, forced me into her deceased mother' s gown, then publicly humiliated me by crushing a cherished locket I' d made for her with my own hands.
Alistair, far from defending me, stood by, his cold gaze stripping me bare, blaming me.
He had dangled Clara' s return as bait for my compliance, and now his lie was exposed, alongside my public shame.
My world, built on fragile hopes, crumbled.
I was nothing but an outsider, always second best to a ghost.
The raw injustice, the betrayal, and the horrifying truth of their manipulation ignited a quiet, chilling rage within me.
My efforts, my sacrifices, all for nothing.
So when Alistair, eager to control the narrative, suggested I 'disappear' for a 'break' at the remote family cabin, I agreed.
He thought I'd break and crawl back.
He didn't know Eleanor Hayes was already gone. Reborn in '83: His Forgotten Wife
Fantasy I woke up in 1983, miraculously young again, clinging to the hope that Mark, my husband of thirty years and partner in our theater supply business, would also be here, ready for our second chance together.
But the moment I found him at the community center dance, my world shattered: he looked at me like a complete stranger, then walked past, straight to Brattleboro's "golden girl," Tiffany Hayes, as if our intertwined history never existed.
He wasn't just indifferent; he had spent two years cultivating a new, ambitious life, actively pursuing Tiffany, then brazenly claimed my deepest creative work-an intricate theatrical gown concept-as his own in a public design competition.
His cruelty escalated when he publicly shamed me over a piece of chocolate in our local bakery and later tried to legally trap me in our small Vermont town with a fabricated non-compete clause, his malice a chilling contrast to the man I thought I knew.
How could the man I' d loved for three decades, the one I had mourned and hoped to rebuild a life with, so utterly forget, betray, and aggressively try to destroy me, turning our sacred past into a weapon of bitter cruelty?
From that profound agony, a new, fiery determination ignited: I would reclaim my talent, prove my worth, and independently forge an extraordinary New York life, establishing my own success story far from his toxic shadow. From Boardroom Betrayal to Billions
Billionaires Sarah Miller, the uncredited engineering genius and 65% majority shareholder of NextGen Innovations, knew this meeting at a high-end Silicon Valley steakhouse was pivotal, poised to secure a game-changing deal with Synapse Corp's CEO, a company she allowed her husband, Mike, to publicly lead.
Just as the deal was nearing completion, Mike stumbled through the restaurant entrance, visibly incoherent and draped over his executive assistant, Chloe Sanders, who was clinging to him and cackling, making a spectacle for the entire power-lunch crowd.
Spotting Sarah, Mike's drunken bravado twisted into pure accusation, shouting, "Sarah! What are you doing here? Spying on me?", while Chloe chimed in with, "She just gets so insecure, you know?", turning a critical business negotiation into a humiliating public circus.
A cold knot of disbelief and fury tightened in Sarah's stomach, as she watched the deal of a lifetime, years of her relentless efforts, and her professional integrity crumble because of her husband's grotesque betrayal and his assistant's conniving insolence.
As Mr. Peterson raised an eyebrow in polite concern and Chloe audaciously lashed out at him directly, Sarah made a decision: she looked Mike dead in the eye and, her voice devoid of all emotion, declared, "We need to talk. At home. About a divorce." Stolen Destiny: The Ivy League Lie
Modern The Yale scholarship email glowed on my screen, a testament to years of grueling work and quiet ambition.
I, Emily, had finally achieved my dream, a full ride to an Ivy League.
But my triumph shattered when my older brother, Mike, stormed in, his eyes blazing with a fury I’d never seen directed at me.
He accused me of stealing my adopted sister Sophia’s destiny, blinded by her manipulative claims of having her ‘luck stolen’ and a fabricated illness.
His rage escalated, culminating in a brutal attack in a remote cabin, where he bound me, then deliberately cut my arm with a hunting knife.
Knowing full well I suffer from real hemophilia, he left me there, miles from anywhere, to bleed out, dismissing my desperate pleas as mere dramatics.
My own parents, swayed by Sophia’s charade, tragically remained unaware of my brother's monstrous act.
How could the brother who once vowed to protect me now be trying to kill me?
Every drop of my blood pooling on the cabin floor was a testament to their chilling deception and my utter helplessness.
Was I truly doomed to die for a lie he believed and a future she coveted?
Yet, from the depths of despair, an unexpected tool emerged – a Swiss Army knife Mike himself had given me, ironically, for protection.
This wasn't an end; it was the beginning of my fight back, a meticulous plan to expose their heinous truth and reclaim my life. The Day My Daughter Lied: I Knew My Marriage Was Over
Modern Dying, physically and emotionally bankrupt, I watched my wife, a celebrated Air Force Major, accept an award. Decades sacrificed for her career and our daughter, Lily, had cost me everything.
Katherine praised her unit’s psychologist, Dr. Vance, as her “confidant,” utterly ignoring me. Then Lily’s chilling bedside whisper: “Mom and Dr. Vance are so good together. Maybe let go. So Mom can finally be happy with him.” My heart gave out. Darkness.
I jolted awake, young and healthy, reborn 20 years earlier in 1993. A second chance! Yet the betrayal replayed. Katherine planned her Greenland deployment with Vance. Soon, Lily, barely six, clung to Vance, asking, “Can Dr. Vance be my new dad?” My world crumbled.
The betrayals escalated. At school, Lily publicly introduced Vance as her “Dad.” The ultimate blow: after Lily fell (due to Vance’s neglect), she lied. “It was Dad’s fault! Dr. Vance saved me!” Katherine raged, “You did this on purpose! You’re a failure!” This was a cold, calculated erasure.
My past agony solidified my resolve. “Fine,” I stated, emotionless, “Let Dr. Vance be her father then.” I walked straight to the courthouse and filed for divorce. The doormat they knew was gone. The man who dreamed of piloting jets was finally flying. This time, I'd reclaim *my* life. Falling Into Love's Trap
Billionaires I'm an easily fooled little fool.
Today, I received a scam text message.
The sender wanted me to seduce Isonstinthe richest man and then dump him, promising to give me one hundred million after I succeeded.
Heh, I'm a little fool, but I'm not really an idiot.
I randomly replied to him, "I've experienced it; the other party's stamina isn't great."
The next moment, I received a bank transfer notification for fifty million, with a note saying it was a deposit.
Well, that's not too bad.
Later, there were indescribable activities below the neck that lasted until late at night. Connor gently wiped away the tears from the corner of my eye.
"Melina, am I good enough now?" 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 Underboss's Wife, Now His Queen
Hydro Therapy 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. Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don
Ebony Pete "You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly.
Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!"
"You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now."
"Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him.
Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly.
"I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly.
She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud.
"Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!"
"You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine."
"I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!"
Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked.
Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.
Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..."
"I can't," he whispered.
And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
***************
Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark.
But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den.
The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows.
Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive.
Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down? Too Late, Vitiello: The Bride Strikes Back
Jia Zhong I was about to walk down the grand staircase to marry Dante Vitiello, a feared mafia Don, sealing a powerful blood oath between our Families.
But at the bottom of the marble steps, I found his former mistress wearing an exact replica of my three-million-dollar bridal gown, bleeding from a minor scrape and screaming that I pushed her.
Dante immediately stormed into the foyer, his dark eyes furious, and crushed my wrist in a violent grip.
"Bow your head and apologize to her," he demanded in front of the entire underworld elite.
His mother stepped forward and spat at me, calling me a vicious, jealous girl who brought shame to their empire.
The surrounding made men and high-society guests whispered in condemnation, entirely taking his side.
But the deepest betrayal wasn't his mistress crashing the wedding.
I soon discovered Dante had ordered his legal team to draft a predatory annulment contract the night before.
It was titled "Major Fault of the Bride," a meticulously planned trap designed to frame me and strip my family's port territories as reparations for this staged disaster.
I looked at the man I was supposed to marry, realizing he thought I was just a naive pawn he could humiliate, rob, and discard.
He truly believed I would break down in tears and submit to his power.
Instead, I pulled out my encrypted phone and summoned the Mafia Commission's Arbitrator.
"Cancel the marriage ceremony," I commanded coldly, preparing to shed my heavy bridal gown. "Tonight, there is no wedding." You Called Me Barren, Mr. Sterile Don
Gong Zi On my birthday, my husband Dante asked for a divorce over a plate of cold lasagna.
He held my hand, tears in his eyes, and told me his mistress was pregnant.
"It’s a miracle, Elena," he wept. "God has finally given me a son."
He looked at me with pity, calling me "broken" because I hadn't given him an heir in eight years.
He moved his pregnant mistress into the penthouse I paid for, and his mother mocked me as a "dry vine" while cooking tonic soups for the new woman.
They didn't know the truth I had buried three years ago.
I remembered the day the doctor slid the file across the desk: *Azoospermia. Zero sperm count.*
Dante was the sterile one.
I had burned the results to protect his fragile ego as a Mafia Don. I took the blame. I drank his mother's vile herbal poisons every morning until I vomited, just to keep his secret.
Now, he was discarding me for a "miracle" that was biologically impossible.
I signed the divorce papers without a tear.
Then I bought the debt of his company, put on a blood-red dress, and walked into his heir's Christening.
I didn't come to object.
I came to plug a USB drive into the projector and show the entire underworld exactly whose "miracle" that baby really was. 
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