Priorities
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Priorities's Books and Stories
The Waitress Is Actually The Mafia Queen
Mafia I spent a year scrubbing floors in my fiancé’s club, hiding my identity as the daughter of the Capo dei Capi.
I needed to know if Connor Bishop was a King worth merging empires with, or just a puppet.
The answer came walking in wearing a neon pink dress.
Jaden Juarez, a civilian he was infatuated with, didn't just treat me like a servant; she deliberately poured scalding espresso over my hand because I refused to be her valet.
The pain was blinding, my skin blistering instantly.
I video-called Connor, showing him the burn, expecting him to enforce the code of our world.
Instead, seeing his investors watching, he panicked.
He chose to sacrifice me to save face.
"Get on your knees," he roared through the speaker. "Beg her pardon. Show her the respect she deserves."
He wanted the daughter of the most dangerous man on the East Coast to kneel to his mistress.
He thought he was showing strength.
He didn't realize he was looking at a woman who could burn his entire world to ash with a single phone call.
I didn't cry. I didn't beg.
I simply hung up the phone and locked the kitchen doors.
Then, I dialed the one number everyone in the underworld feared.
"Dad," I said, my voice cold as steel. "Code Black. Bring the papers."
"And send the wolves." Reborn Queen: The Billionaire's Dangerous Asset
Modern I died as the "Queen," an elite assassin who leveled criminal syndicates, only to wake up in a damp trailer smelling of rot and stale tobacco. My new body belonged to Arleen Brewer, a malnourished teenager with a failing heart and a life defined by systemic poverty.
A flickering blue light in my mind identified itself as a System, offering a devil's bargain: survive this life, and I could resurrect my dead brother, Dusty. To earn his return, I had to endure my alcoholic stepfather’s rage and a body so weak it struggled to even stand.
At my elite prep school, the rich kids treated me like a walking corpse, covering my desk in trash and mocking my heart condition. Even my fiancé, Shen Wenyu, publicly branded me as "unstable" and stood by while the school's golden boy tried to humiliate me.
They expected me to wither away, but they didn't realize a wolf was now wearing the sheep's skin. I shattered the bully’s nose with a metal tray and tore up my engagement contract in front of a stunned auditorium, only to be met with immediate threats of lawsuits and expulsion.
I didn't understand how the original Arleen survived this suffocating injustice without breaking, but as the Queen, I was ready to turn this school into a war zone.
Then Hale Clemons, the most dangerous man in the city, cornered me outside the principal's office. He saw through my mask, realizing his very presence was the only thing keeping my failing heart from stopping.
"I’m not buying your loyalty," he said, handing me a gold-embossed card. "I’m investing in a weapon."
I took the deal, ready to use his power to bring my brother back and bury everyone who ever looked down on Arleen Brewer. The Cost of His Clean Slate
Romance For ten years, I was Liam O' Connell' s shadow, the architect of his dark web empire. I chose him over everything, believing our bond was unbreakable, forged in the fires of the underground world.
Today, he was going legitimate, hosting a party to celebrate his new beginning. I waited, expecting to finally be introduced as the woman who stood by him through it all.
Instead, I watched as Liam announced his engagement to Ava Sterling, a woman who looked like she was born for the daylight. He framed our decade together as a dirty secret, something he was ready to discard, claiming I was "okay with the risks" and "understood the game," unlike pure Ava, who deserved "a clean slate."
He even offered me a black card as a severance package, then asked if we could still be friends. The ultimate insult.
The night before, he had casually asked, "What if... what if we broke up? What would you do?" A perfectly calculated conversational trap.
I walked away, drenched and humiliated, into a storm that mirrored the one in my heart. But it wasn't an ending. It was a declaration of war. What Liam didn' t know was I had a family, a legitimate tech dynasty waiting, and a man, Ethan Vance, who had spent a decade waiting for me to come home. The Unwanted Wife's Final Gift
Romance The crystal chandeliers of the Reed family mansion dripped light onto the polished marble floor. It was my first wedding anniversary, a grand affair designed to broadcast stability to the business world. But the guest of honor wasn't me, the legal wife. It was Chloe Evans, my husband Ethan's publicly known mistress, her hand possessively resting on her rounded belly.
"Ethan and I are so thrilled to announce that we're expecting. Our baby is a true blessing." Chloe's voice echoed, shattering the silence and my carefully constructed composure. All eyes turned to me, standing alone near the grand staircase, as the whispers of shock and pity washed over the room.
My face was a mask of calm, but inside, a storm raged. After a year of marriage that was nothing more than a business contract, a foolish part of me had still hoped. That hope died a final, quiet death as I watched Ethan shield Chloe from the flashing cameras, confirming to the world I was just an obstacle.
I took a slow sip of champagne, then walked towards them, my steps measured and confident. "Ethan," I said, ignoring Chloe. "Congratulations. I have a gift for you. For our anniversary."
He looked surprised by my composure. "What is this?" he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.
"Divorce papers," I announced, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Signed by me. And a transfer of all my shares in Miller Corp, as stipulated in our prenuptial agreement. You' re free." A collective gasp filled the room. His arrogant smirk finally faltered.
He had expected tears, a scene, a fight. He had not expected this clean, decisive severing. "You're giving it all up? Just like that?" he questioned, searching my face for a trick. A sharp pain stabbed through my abdomen-a secret I had been carrying for weeks.
Pancreatic cancer. Late stage. Inoperable. The doctor's words from that afternoon echoed. The public humiliation, the betrayal, was nothing compared to the true devastation.
I straightened, forcing down the pain. "Just like that. Because I'm tired of this game. You win." I turned to leave, but another wave of pain buckled my knees. "I'm fine," I breathed to my rushing assistant. "Just a little tired. I'm going home." But my destination wasn't home. It was the hospital.
I was dying, and the man I loved was trying to torture me in my final days. He had brought his mistress into my childhood sanctuary, smashed the physical representation of my secret, cherished memory for him, and then publicly auctioned my wedding ring for a dollar. He was confirming I was nothing more than garbage to him.
I stared at his cold, mocking eyes across the hospital room. He wanted a quick, clean divorce? No messy legal battles that could drag Reed Industries through the mud? I had a proposition.
"You will spend the next seven days with me. Every minute. You'll do everything I say, go wherever I want you to go. You'll be my husband, for one last week." My voice, surprisingly strong, dropped to a challenging whisper. I had three months to live. Three months to fix him. I couldn't die and leave him like that. The Jilted Lover's Fierce Comeback
Modern The crisp Stanford acceptance letter felt like a cruel joke in my hands, a ghost from a life that ended in betrayal.
I stared through it, past the promises, seeing Chloe and Brooke' s smiles, and the sterile white of the hospital room where my grandmother lay still.
I remembered the twisted metal, the rain on my face, and Brooke running-not to me, bleeding on the pavement, but to Zoe, who had a mere scratch.
My spirit lingered just long enough to hear their laughter, their celebration of sterilizing me, willing all my assets to Zoe. My life, my love, my trust – all a long, cruel punchline.
Reborn into this sunlit room, with the future in my hand, I felt only a cold, clear purpose.
Paper tore, then tore again, until the Stanford dream was confetti falling into the trash. Silicon Valley could wait.
My phone buzzed with their fake concern: Chloe' s "Love you! 😘" and Brooke' s "So proud of you, Alex." I deleted them without a reply. Their words were poison, and I was finally immune.
My grandmother, Susan, found me later, confused about my rejection of Stanford, Google, and Apple. I told her I wanted to stay, to protect her.
The next day, whispers of "crazy" and "waste" followed me. Then they walked in: Chloe, Brooke, and the architect of my destruction, Zoe.
She looked so plain, but her voice was pure venom, painting herself as the victim, accusing me of arrogance, of having everything handed to me.
My fists clenched. Chloe and Brooke, who knew the truth, chose the lie. They weren't my friends. They were my enemies.
I walked out. The game was on. This time, I knew the rules. And I was not going to lose. The Billionaire And His Fake Wife
Modern Ten years after leaving Harmony Creek, I returned to my quiet Midwest hometown, a Silicon Valley success story ready to settle my parents' estate and close a chapter.
But the moment I walked into the bank, preparing to handle their accounts, my carefully constructed world shattered with two words: "Outstanding loan."
A $400,000 loan, in my name, secured by my childhood home, backed by a forged signature and an even more shocking forgery: a marriage certificate to a woman I' d never seen.
Before I could even process the absurdity, I found a party in full swing at my parents' house, celebrating the new owners-the very people who had defrauded me, now publicly accusing me of abandoning my "wife" and "son."
My phone exploded with a coordinated online smear campaign, labeling me a "deadbeat," followed by a fake resignation email sent to my company, trying to strip me of my career.
Who was behind this intricate web of lies, and why were they so determined to erase me from existence, from my own life?
Stripped of my identity, my property, and my reputation, a cold clarity settled in; I wasn' t just a victim-I was being systematically dismantled, and I would use every skill at my disposal to fight back. The Fall From Perfect Love
Modern The acceptance letter to my dream university felt heavy in my hands, a tangible symbol of not just my future, but the perfect life I was building with Lucas Reed.
Then, everything shattered; drugs, a blurry night, and the horrifying realization that I had been violated, photos and videos spread like wildfire across every platform.
My scholarship vanished, university admission rescinded, and my world crumbled as the public shame led to my father's fatal heart attack and my mother's desperate jump from the library roof-all because of Lucas's twisted revenge.
How could the boy I loved, who claimed to love me, orchestrate such a monstrous plot?
Four years later, encountering Lucas on a dirty street corner while barely surviving, an insidious plan began to brew, turning my survival into a calculated weapon for absolute destruction. Her Empire, His Ruin
Romance My thumb hovered over the screen, then I tapped the little heart. It was a beautiful, honest architecture project from an old friend, the kind I used to dream of doing.
Then the comment popped up from another classmate: "Ethan Miller! Good to see you' re still keeping up with real architecture. Thought you' d be lost to the dark side by now."
The "dark side" was Vance Development, my wife Olivia' s company, where I was the head architect, designing sterile luxury condos.
I closed the app, the familiar dull ache starting in my chest, and watched Olivia prepare for the Urban Development Gala in our opulent penthouse.
She needed to project success for the mayor and investors, especially with the Greenleaf Park deal-a small beloved park in a working-class neighborhood she planned to destroy for our most luxurious development yet, The Pinnacle.
"Try to look happy tonight, Ethan," she' d said, not looking at me. "It doesn' t look good if my own husband seems miserable."
I was miserable. And people were talking about her and Leo Maxwell, her new star project manager.
Her calendar, carelessly left open on the kitchen tablet, confirmed my fears: "2 PM - 5 PM: Site Immersion w/ Leo - The Pinnacle." A secret meeting, not the kind she told everyone about.
I watched her black town car pull away. The anger and jealousy were gone, replaced by a chilling clarity. The foundation was cracked. It had to come down.
My phone buzzed. Olivia. She knew about the social media like.
"Ethan, what the hell was that?" Her voice was sharp, panicked. "Are you trying to sabotage me?"
"It was a post from a friend, Olivia. I liked it."
"A friend who builds non-profit shacks out of garbage! Leo was just saying how important a unified front is right now." Leo. Of course.
She softened her tone: "Once the Pinnacle project is greenlit, we' ll take that trip to Italy, the one we talked about. Just us."
The promise was hollow, a worn-out coin she offered whenever she needed my compliance.
"Okay, Olivia," I said, my voice flat.
"I have to go. Leo is waiting. Don' t be late for the gala." She hung up.
I walked to my study, opened the drawer, and looked at the divorce papers my lawyer had drawn up a month ago. The decision was no longer a question. It was an answer. His Unseen Queen
Romance The crystal chandeliers sparkled, reflecting the perfect white dress I wore.
My hand was tucked into Mark's arm; this was our engagement party.
Then, his voice, smooth and charming just seconds before, twisted into a lie.
"Sarah is not well," he announced to the silenced room, my mentee Chloe by his side.
My world shattered.
He branded me "unstable," a "liar," destroying my reputation, my life, right there on the ballroom floor.
For five years, I struggled, the whispers haunting me.
Five years later, at a high-profile gala, they found me.
Mark Olsen, now a celebrated visionary, and Chloe, draped in diamonds.
They dragged me, still in my plain catering uniform, back to the public eye.
He called me a "deranged stalker," ridiculed my every claim, then put his foot down – on my hand – to silence me forever.
The agony was blinding, the humiliation absolute.
How could they be so cruel?
Was this truly my fate, to be forever labeled, discarded, and broken?
Then, just as the darkness swallowed me, a voice colder than ice cut through the stunned silence.
"Get your foot off my wife." The CEO's Widow of Vengeance
Billionaires I was seven months pregnant, excitedly awaiting the arrival of our child.
My husband, Ethan, the brilliant CEO of VanceTech, seemed utterly devoted. Our life was perfect.
Then, a sudden fall. A blinding pain, then a hollow emptiness where my baby used to be.
But the worst was yet to come.
I woke up paralyzed, my body aching with a profound loss, only to overhear Ethan's chilling conversation.
He was discussing not just my forced hysterectomy, but discreetly arranging "permanent lower-body paralysis."
And then, the gut-wrenching truth: his "partner" Chloe, also pregnant, was his mistress.
She was there, in our home, holding a newborn named Gabriel, the very name Ethan and I had chosen for our first lost child. My world shattered.
I later found his hidden tablet, a digital archive of his monstrous betrayal.
Photos of Chloe, pregnant.
Chat logs detailing six "Project Nightingale" events – my previous miscarriages, each an "accident" orchestrated by them.
Videos of him and Chloe in our bed.
The man I loved, planned to destroy me, to keep me "easier to manage."
The ultimate insult came when Chloe, holding his child, deliberately scratched herself and screamed I had attacked her, and Ethan, without hesitation, condemned me.
My pain was unimaginable, but a cold, hard resolve began to set in.
He thought he had broken me. He was wrong.
This wasn't just betrayal.
This was war. Sarah Miller, the quiet software architect, was gone.
In her place, a woman bent on justice, armed with secrets and code, was rising from the ashes. The Unwanted Wife's Unexpected Destiny
Romance The air in the New York City Hall clerk's office was thick with stale paper and cheap coffee.
I, Aurora "Rory" Sterling, heiress to Sterling Global, stood beside my fiancé, Pres Hayes, seconds away from signing our marriage license.
This document was key to my grandfather' s will, granting my spouse controlling influence on the company board.
Then Pres' s phone vibrated, a frantic, insistent sound.
He stepped away, his face pale, muttering, "It' s Tiff. Tiffany Larson. An emergency. I have to go."
He didn't look back.
He just left, abandoning me at the counter, a fool in my cream dress.
Moments later, a text from him popped up: "Tiff needs me. Look, Rory, this Sterling Global thing… it' s still on. Tiff' s generous. She said she' s okay with you being a sister-wife, you know? Or maybe you could be a surrogate for our kids. Once I' m on the board, we can make it work. I' ll schedule time for you."
Sister-wife.
Surrogate.
Schedule time.
The audacity, the cruelty, was breathtaking; he wasn't just manipulative, he was a monster.
The naive part of me shattered, replaced by something cold and hard.
He thought I was weak, broken bait.
He was wrong.
My grandfather' s will said "spouse," not "Pres."
My fingers, surprisingly steady, scrolled through my contacts.
"Ethan," I said, my voice clear, "I need you. Marry me. Right now." Years of Devotion, A Lifetime of Betrayal
Romance "Maya, we need to talk about the Nova Fellowship."
Ethan’s voice was smooth, but his eyes held a look I knew well before he asked for something big.
The final interviews for my dream fellowship were just next week.
He sighed, running a hand through his perfect brown hair, then dropped the bombshell: Chloe, the Harrisons’ "lost" daughter, suddenly wanted to apply.
I stared, my heart pounding, realizing the application deadline had passed months ago, and Chloe knew nothing of astrophysics.
He quickly explained they were making an exception for Chloe due to "hardship," courtesy of the Harrisons’ pulled strings.
A cold feeling started in my stomach when he gently suggested I withdraw my application for "family goodwill."
He squeezed my hands, urging me to "give Chloe a fair shot" because she was "fragile."
I pulled my hands away, reminding him this fellowship was my entire future.
He insisted I’d find other opportunities, painting my sacrifice as a "gesture for family."
His words felt like cotton, trying to smother the fire of my lifelong dream.
He believed this was reasonable, that I should sacrifice everything for a girl he barely knew, who had appeared out of nowhere.
My carefully built world, with Ethan at its center, felt like it was tilting, as I realized I was just in the way.
Then, he left me stranded in a furious Nor’easter, sick and alone, rushing off to comfort Chloe’s "panic attack."
Weeks later, the Harrisons, with Ethan’s complicity, publicly branded me a plagiarist, expelled me from Blackwood, and stole my groundbreaking dark matter algorithm.
I saw Chloe presenting my life’s work as her own, celebrated as a "rising star."
My reputation was in ruins, my academic dreams destroyed, my love for Ethan shattered into a million pieces.
How could Ethan, the man I loved, betray me for an imposter, and why did the family treat me as expendable after years of devotion?
Publicly shamed, injured in an angry crowd, I truly hit rock bottom, lying feverish and abandoned in a hospital bed.
Just as despair threatened to consume me, I remembered the private investigator’s card, tucked away in my wallet, leading to the biological family I thought were dead.
That night, lying shattered and alone, I reached for my phone, found the investigator’s number, and made the call to choose myself and reclaim my life. The Maid's Revenge
Fantasy I am a maid in the minister's residence and was sent to the study because of my lack of education. Just because the minister was in a good mood one day and talked to me more, and even gave me a sachet as a reward, the jealous Theresa, who is also a minister, thought that I had an affair with him. She pretended to arrange for me to marry into a good family, but actually sold me to a whorehouse. I suffered torture and contracted a serious illness, died with resentment and pain, but found myself reborn on the day I was assigned to be a maid again. Since heaven has given me a chance to live again, I will not be polite and will definitely make Theresa, the minister, taste the feeling of being trampled by thousands of people! You might like
My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. 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. 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." 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.* 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. From Trash To Treasure: Masked Heiress
Yuan Xiluo I was the invisible failure of the Goff family, hiding my medical genius behind a report card full of Fs and a slumped posture. One rainy night, I found a man bleeding out in a dark alley behind the school gymnasium, a knife protruding from his gut.
To keep the police from digging into my secrets, I dragged the dying stranger to my bedroom and stitched him up using a hidden surgical kit. I thought I was being careful, but my cousin Cleora caught a glimpse of the blood and immediately alerted my fiancé's wealthy family.
By morning, my world collapsed as my future in-laws stormed the manor, throwing an annulment agreement at my feet. They called me a "loose woman" and "million-dollar trash," while my own housekeeper gleefully testified against me. At school, the word "SLUT" was spray-painted across my locker in jagged red letters, and the boy I was supposed to marry looked at me with nothing but cold revulsion.
I didn't understand why they were so eager to destroy me before even asking for the truth. I was the one who had spent years protecting this family's reputation, yet they were throwing me to the wolves over a single misunderstanding. I felt a surge of cold fury as I realized my loyalty had been met with nothing but betrayal.
Everything changed when the "dying" stranger finally walked down the stairs, shirtless and bandaged, revealing himself as Braylon Lancaster, the most powerful man in the city. He didn't just defend me; he froze my fiancé's entire family fortune with a single phone call.
As my in-laws fled in terror, a courier arrived with a five-carat pink diamond from the head of the city's most dangerous crime syndicate. The note read: "The debt is acknowledged." Suddenly, I wasn't just a failure anymore-I was the most sought-after woman in the underworld. You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello
JENNIFER JARVIS My father sold me to the Vitiello Crime Family to settle a three-million-dollar gambling debt.
For three years, I was Dante Vitiello’s property. I warmed his bed, tended his wounds, and let him own every part of me.
I thought I was earning my freedom. I thought I mattered.
Then his "true queen," the Mafia Princess Sofia, returned to the city.
Dante pushed me off his lap the moment she walked into the room. He ordered me to leave because, in the presence of his equal, I was nothing more than "the help."
The humiliation didn't stop there.
He evicted me from the penthouse to renovate it for her.
At a gala, he outbid me for my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet—my family's last scrap of dignity—just to gift it to Sofia in front of the entire city.
But the final blow came when he came to my bed drunk one last time.
He kissed me with a desperate hunger, whispering that he was only "practicing" his technique on me so he would be perfect for her.
I realized then that I wasn't a person to him. I was a training dummy. A debt with a pulse.
He told me to wait for him while he took her to Paris. He thought I would stay in the kennel like a good pet.
He was wrong.
While he was gone, I accepted a surgical fellowship in Switzerland.
I snapped my SIM card in half, left his millions on the floor, and boarded a one-way flight.
By the time the Wolf comes home to find his cage empty, I will be gone. 
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