Polly
12 Published Stories
Polly's Books and Stories
The Heiress My Husband Cast Away
Mafia My little brother’s heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I’d saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team.
“I’m handling an emergency,” he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead.
I found out what Dante’s “emergency” was from his mistress’s social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat’s kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats.
When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed.
This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery.
I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in." My Son's Death, His Cruel Betrayal
Modern For seven years, I gave up my life as a genius engineer to be the perfect wife for my husband, Jonathan, a U.S. Senator. But when our five-year-old son drowned, he didn't comfort me. He comforted his adopted sister, Hailey, and blamed me for our son's death.
At the wake, he stood by as his family beat me, calling me a murderer. He watched them shove my head into a freezing pond, forcing me to feel the same terror our son felt in his last moments.
His protection was always for Hailey, never for me.
Then I learned the horrifying truth. Jonathan was there when our son fell in the water. He saw him struggling, but he chose to comfort a panicking Hailey first.
He let our son die.
So I filed for divorce in secret and vanished into a classified research project. But when he tracked me down, begging for a second chance in front of his new colleagues, I played a recording for everyone to hear. It was Hailey's voice, gleefully admitting that Jonathan had chosen her over his own dying child. The Billionaire's Dare: My Secret Husband
Modern I was the "little bird" of the Carlson empire, living a comfortable but caged life under the thumb of my guardian, Francis. To the world, Christ Carlson was the cold, untouchable machine who ran the family business, a man I called "Uncle" but who treated me like a ghost in the hallway.
One drunken night in Las Vegas, desperate to finally "poke the bear" and feel alive, I leaned into his shadows and whispered a dare that would ruin me. I asked the most terrifying man I knew if he dared to marry me right then and there.
He didn't laugh. He stood up, dragged me to a tacky chapel, and forced a massive diamond onto my finger with a grip like iron. The "asexual" machine everyone feared turned into a predator the moment we reached his penthouse, claiming me with a bruising intensity that left me breathless and broken.
By morning, I was trapped in a living nightmare. Christ forced me to hide the marriage, demanding I play the part of the dutiful niece while he owned me in the shadows. He replaced my ripped clothes with thousands of dollars in designer silk, essentially buying my silence and my body in one cold transaction.
Now, I’m back at the family estate, hiding a five-carat ring on a chain under my shirt and praying Francis doesn't see the marks on my neck. I thought I was being rebellious, but I didn't realize Christ Carlson had been waiting for me to walk into his trap for years.
I am legally his, physically his, and he has no intention of ever letting me go. Every time he looks at me, I feel the cage door slamming shut, realizing I’ve traded a guardian who ignores me for a husband who wants to dismantle me piece by piece.
At breakfast, Christ pressed his shoe firmly against my inner thigh under the table, his gaze locked on mine while he discussed my future with Francis.
"I think it's time we found her a match," Christ said, his voice a lethal, calm purr.
"I was thinking of keeping her in the family." Six Years Trapped In A Broken Vow
Modern Aliyah Pollard POV:
For six years, my husband, Chase, refused to divorce me, gaslighting me while he built a new family with his mistress, Faye. After 99 failed attempts, I was ready for my 100th try.
But the man I met in the park wasn't my cold, cheating husband. It was Chase from ten years ago-eighteen, idealistic, and still madly in love with me.
He didn't understand why I looked so sad, why I flinched from his touch. He didn't know about the affair, the miscarriage Faye caused, or the child they now had together.
He saw the divorce papers and his world shattered. "I would never hurt you, Aliyah," he cried, his young eyes filled with genuine anguish. "I love you."
His pain was a stark contrast to the cruelty of the man he would become. The older Chase had sneered, "You're mine, Aliyah. Who would want you?"
But this boy, this pure version of my husband, saw my suffering and didn't hesitate.
He took the pen, his hand shaking, and signed the papers his future self had refused for years. "If this is what you need," he whispered, "I'll do it." When Gratitude Turns Bitter
Modern "I'm sure about this. I want to volunteer." Ava Williams looked the program director in the eye, her voice steady, determined to commit two years in a conflict zone. Inside, her heart was a mess, but she had to do this.
Then, a fire truck screamed past, its siren wailing, and suddenly, she was a child again, trapped in a burning home. Her parents were gone, but a young man, Liam, scooped her into his arms, whispering, "It's okay. I've got you. I'll always have you." That promise became the foundation of her world.
She grew up, and her gratitude for Liam, her legal guardian, transformed into love. On her eighteenth birthday, she confessed, "I love you. Not like a sister." He froze, his expression cold. "I am your brother. Your guardian. Don't ever say that again." After that night, a wall went up between them.
She didn't give up. Every time she came home, she would tell him again, "I still love you, Liam." And every time, without hesitation, he would shut her down. "Ava, stop. It's never going to happen." His rejection was a constant, painful beat in the rhythm of her life.
Then he brought Sophia Miller home. "She's my fiancée," he announced. The word hit Ava with the force of a physical impact. She watched them together, saw the open affection he had never given her. That night, she listened to sounds of intimacy from his bedroom, a thousand tiny cuts on her soul.
Why was the man who saved her, who promised to always have her, now rejecting her, denying her love, and choosing someone else? How could the gratitude and dependence she carried for him turn into such a bitter and painful burden?
An eerie calm settled over her. The hope she had clung to for so long was finally, completely dead. She had to leave. D.C. Descent: A Family's Fight
Sci-fi For five years, deep space was my home, and the silent, humming dark was my constant companion as Captain of the U.S. Space Force vessel Odyssey. But the silence from Earth was a different kind of burden.
My mother, Senator Annabel Clark, was a force of nature, her weekly messages a lifeline of D.C. gossip and advice, often spiced with my sister Stella' s chaotic teenage energy. Then, they just stopped. My father's sterile updates mumbled about "chronic illness" and "privacy," but it felt horribly wrong.
So, I used my Captain's clearance – a privilege rarely abused – to redirect a surveillance satellite toward our family estate in Washington D.C., looking not for signs of illness, but for signs of life.
The feed came through, crisp and clear, showing sprawling lawns lit up, tents erected, an orchestra playing. It was a huge party. My blood ran cold.
I zoomed in. There, on the main veranda, stood my father, Matthew Roberts, beaming. Beside him, my breath hitched: Sabrina Johns, his high school flame. And between them, a girl in a lavish white gown. Molly, Sabrina' s daughter. They were holding a debutante ball.
This was a flagrant, public declaration. A coup. They were celebrating in my mother's house while she and Stella were silent. A burning thought ignited, consuming every ounce of anticipation the trip home should have held: They were in my mother' s house. I stormed to the comms station, unleashing a command that would send a silver needle back to the heart of the world I'd left behind. My family couldn't wait. Reborn To Ruin Her: The Billionaire's Accidental Heiress
Romance The last time I saw my sister, Tiffany, she shoved me in front of a semi-truck. Now, I' m back, reborn, watching her try to drug the ruthless Vegas magnate, Damian Blackwood. This time, I didn't stop her. I even helped, booking the penthouse, just so I could finally watch her crash and burn.
But when Damian' s men seized me, not Tiffany, my meticulously crafted revenge plot shattered. He thought I was her, Mistook my unique birthmark for hers, and exacted a terrifying "punishment" that left me pregnant. I was desperate to escape Tiffany's disaster, only to realize I was now trapped in my own.
As Tiffany' s delusional claims of marriage and a fake pregnancy spiraled into a lawsuit from Blackwood, I discovered my own terrifying secret. Moments after realizing I was truly pregnant and my life was ruined, Damian' s chief of staff approached me not as an accomplice, but with a question. Then, a revelation: my birthmark was the key to my true identity. I wasn't Chloe, the family failure, but Chloe Van Astor-the long-lost heiress of a rival dynasty, betrothed to Damian from birth.
My tormenting "parents" and Tiffany were arrested for kidnapping and fraud, their cruel charade exposed. Damian, the man who nearly destroyed me, emerged as my destined partner. Now, he' s sealed off the Las Vegas Strip, making a public spectacle of his proposal, ready to claim me and our unborn child. My past is over. My real life, as Mrs. Blackwood, begins now. A Billionaire's Calculated Revenge
Billionaires I was back, standing at my own opulent wedding reception in the Hamptons, surrounded by the clinking of champagne glasses and whispers of the wealthy.
Just moments before, I' d been bleeding out on wet asphalt, the last sound I heard my wife Chloe and her lover Carter laughing, discussing my ten-million-dollar life insurance policy.
They' d mocked me as "a broke kid from Queens, a scholarship project," after I'd given them my talent, my loyalty, my very life.
Now, reborn at this fateful moment, Chloe stood before me, her hand still stinging my cheek from a vicious, public slap, her face a mask of fury.
The humiliation continued as my groundbreaking M&A project was publicly handed to Carter, his smug grin twisting my past all over again.
Then, Chloe offered me a "health" smoothie, a seemingly kind gesture I now knew was a slow, mind-numbing poison designed to make me believe I was losing my sanity.
The sheer depravity of their long-term scheme, making me doubt my own competence and worth, solidified into a frigid rage.
How could I have been so blind, so trusting, to the depths of their calculated cruelty and endless betrayal?
But this time, my heart wasn't beating with love or fear; it thrummed with a cold, steady drumbeat of resolve.
They gave me a coffin in my first life.
In this one, I would build them a trap so perfect, they wouldn't see it until the doors locked behind them. The Fortune of Betrayal
Billionaires The annual "Vintage Harvest Charity Ball" was meant to be a crowning jewel for the Miller family, a night of proud philanthropy and confirmed alliances.
Instead, it became the stage for my public execution.
My fiancée, Victoria Lexington, snatched the microphone, her smile frozen, her eyes devoid of warmth.
In front of a stunned ballroom of California' s elite, she declared she' d found "authentic love" with a bronzed fitness influencer, Chase Ryder, publicly dumping me and shattering decades of Miller family honor.
My blood ran cold as whispers turned to a roaring judgment, humiliation searing into every fiber of my being.
Headlines screamed "LEXINGTON HEIRESS DUMPS MILLER SCION AT FAMILY GALA!" and the weight of public spectacle, coupled with the profound sting of personal betrayal, was suffocating.
Then, in a truly grotesque twist, Tori's father, desperate to salvage his crumbling business ties, offered me his other daughters-like spare parts for a broken deal, adding insult to profound injury.
How could someone so casually burn everything down, yet brazenly provoke us further, twisting reality to paint themselves as the wronged party?
Their continued taunts, their unapologetic audacity, only fueled the fire, transforming my heartbreak into a simmering, ice-cold rage.
The public seemed to side with their "authentic love" narrative, leaving me alone in the fallout.
But my grandfather, Arthur Miller, spoke of "pruning diseased branches" and protecting the vineyard, transforming a public humiliation into a cold, dangerous promise.
This wasn't just about a broken engagement.
It was a calculated declaration of war against the Millers, and I was about to unleash the quiet, ruthless power of my family' s way.
Now, it was my turn to redefine the terms of engagement and cultivate a future on my own terms. Their Downfall, My Design
Young Adult I was heading into senior year, my ROTC scholarship practically a guarantee, my future stretching out bright and limitless.
Then, my childhood friend and first love, Mike, fueled by jealousy and his new girlfriend Jessica' s petty spite, drugged my drink.
It was right before my crucial ROTC physical, and I failed, watching my dreams and entire future evaporate.
My life spiraled into dead-end jobs, a miserable existence far from what I' d planned.
Years later, at a party, Jessica, still simmering with a twisted hatred, set her friends on me.
I remembered the rough hands, the tearing, the cold, hard floor against my cheek as their cruel laughter filled the air.
They stripped away everything, then they killed me.
The searing pain, the utter betrayal, the image of their faces twisting with delight as I lay dying - it was an agonizing, incomprehensible end.
Why? How could they commit such an unspeakable act, then simply walk away?
But then, I woke up, gasping, in my own bed, three years in the past, my body miraculously whole and untouched.
Reborn.
A terrifying realization struck me with the force of a physical blow: what if they were back too?
At the first school assembly, Mike' s arrogant smirk and Jessica' s cold, knowing eyes confirmed my worst fears.
They remembered.
But this time, I wouldn't just survive; I would ensure they paid for every last bit of what they did.
The game was on, and this time, I was ready to win. The Neglected Wife's Maine Escape
Romance My world shattered when the call came: my beloved father was gone.
But even as grief consumed me, my husband, Mark, dealt a cruel blow.
He skipped the funeral, prioritizing his "friend" Tiffany-a woman whose endless dramas always seemed to come first.
Returning home from Maine, heartbroken and exhausted, he casually asked me to cook chicken soup for Tiffany because she was "not feeling well."
That was the moment I realized I wasn't just a wife or a grieving daughter; I was merely his live-in chef for another woman.
Then, Tiffany began to appear everywhere.
She took over my desk at my old job, openly supported by Mark, who claimed I wasn't "using it much anyway."
She even clung to him at my own farewell party, while Mark made endless excuses for her sensitive needs.
The casual contempt in Mark's eyes, his constant choice of her over my profound pain, was the final, cold confirmation: I was utterly discarded, an inconvenience in my own life.
How could he be so blind?
So utterly consumed by someone else's petty crises while my entire world fell apart?
Why did he never see the depth of my despair, or the silent resolve hardening within me?
But their casual cruelty became my catalyst.
That night, instead of mourning what was lost, I meticulously planned my escape.
I printed divorce papers, discreetly tucking them beneath some mundane volunteer forms.
The very next day, I had Mark sign them, unknowingly sealing his own fate as he rushed off to Tiffany's latest "emergency."
I left without a word, driving towards Maine, towards my father's dream, and a new life he could no longer ruin. 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.
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. Betrayed, I Married the Feared Cripple
Hu Minxue Three days after my fiancé publicly dumped me for my stepsister, the Supreme Don issued a command that silenced the entire estate.
I wasn't being cast aside. I was being sold to Damien Russo.
The "Broken Don." A crippled, scarred monster rumored to have murdered his last two wives.
My adoptive mother, Elena, didn't cry for me. She smirked.
To her, I was finally being disposed of.
She was so confident I was walking to my death that she decided to loot my corpse before I even left.
She forged documents to steal my entire inheritance—my biological mother’s trust fund—to pay for my stepsister’s lavish wedding to my ex.
"She won't need money where she's going," my stepsister laughed, wearing a dress bought with my stolen funds.
They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter.
They thought I was too weak, too stupid, and too afraid of the monster to fight back.
But they made a fatal mistake.
With my aunt’s help, I didn't just find the proof of their embezzlement; I found a weapon.
I’m not running from the monster. I’m going to marry him.
And when I hand him the evidence that the Herrera family stole from his bride, he won't be my executioner.
He will be my vengeance. His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
Hei Baidong I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair.
They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves.
Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment.
But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger.
In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all. Too Late, Mr. Capo: Your Wife Is Gone
Mo Yufei "Happy Anniversary," my husband said, sliding the separation agreement across the mahogany desk.
It was the eighteenth time in five years I had signed these papers.
Matteo De Luca, the most ruthless Capo in New York, checked his Rolex with cold impatience.
"Sign it, Sera. Bianca is on the ledge again. She needs to see we're over, or she jumps."
Bianca. The ward. The broken bird. The woman whose fragile psyche dictated every moment of my marriage.
I signed my name, and he left me alone on our anniversary to save her. Again.
But saving her wasn't enough.
When Bianca pushed me down a flight of marble stairs in a fit of jealous rage, shattering my spine and leaving me paralyzed, I thought Matteo would finally choose me.
I was wrong.
I woke up in the hospital to find him holding her hand, not mine.
"The security footage has been wiped," he told me, his voice void of emotion. "We cannot have a scandal. You fell, Sera. That is the story."
He erased the truth. He erased my pain.
He protected the woman who crippled me over his own wife.
Two months later, he wheeled me into a gala, playing the doting husband while I sat in the chair that was my prison.
He didn't know I had a burner phone hidden in my velvet dress.
He didn't know that tonight, the obedient wife was going to die on the pavement, and a ghost would rise in her place.
I looked at him one last time and dropped the phone in his lap.
"I hope she's worth it." The Discarded Wife Is A Mafia Queen
Shore Tour I am the wife of Dante Moretti, a powerful Mafia Underboss. But in secret, I am "Spettro," the phantom architect who built his entire encrypted bootlegging empire.
On my birthday, I came home to find him gifting our five-year-old daughter the exact plush toy he had violently slapped out of my hands months ago. Only this time, he was giving it to his mistress, Adriana, to present as her own.
"Auntie Adriana is a million times better than Mommy."
My daughter's innocent words pierced my heart, while Dante coldly dismissed my presence, treating me like an unwelcome stranger interrupting their perfect family. He mocked my mothering, allowed his mistress to sever my desperate phone calls with my child, and weaponized his power to break our daughter's spirit just to spite me. He sneered that my only purpose was to stay quiet, absolutely certain I would crawl back the second my allowance ran dry.
He thought I was just a weak, submissive wife who had lost everything. He didn't realize that the empire he arrogantly ruled was entirely built on my stolen brilliance.
I left my diamond ring on the table, violently slashed our ancient blood oath in half, and walked out of his gilded cage forever.
Sitting in a cold warehouse, I placed my hands on my telegraph machine and initiated the Ghost Protocol to permanently paralyze his entire criminal network.
The era of playing the dutiful wife was over. I am Donna Falcone, and the vendetta has just begun. Married To The Comatose Mafia King
Benjamen Ernst I stood before the altar of the grand gothic cathedral, about to marry Julian Moretti, the grieving adopted son stepping up for the comatose Don.
To the hundreds of mafia men behind us, it was a dutiful wedding. But I knew the horrifying truth.
Julian and his pregnant mistress, Clara, had orchestrated a brutal plot to steal my dowry and secure his place as the next Don.
In my past life, I was completely blind to their betrayal. Julian trapped me in our apartment and set it ablaze.
I could still feel the blistering heat of the fire. I could still hear my mother’s agonizing screams and my little brother Antonio’s desperate coughing as the smoke filled our lungs.
My entire family was burned alive just so Julian could swap the brides and put his whore in my place.
I died in pure agony, filled with hatred and despair, wondering why I had trusted a monster.
God hadn't saved me from those flames. The Devil had.
And he sent me back to this exact moment at the altar.
"Do you, Isabella Rossi, take Julian Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asked.
Julian reached for my hand with a sickeningly gentle smile.
I didn't give it to him. I tore back my lace veil and turned to face the crowd.
"You are mistaken, Father," I said, my voice like ice. "The man I am bound to marry is your Don. Damien Moretti." 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. 
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