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Abandoned Heiress, Now His Mafia Bride
Mafia I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them. Reborn, I Ruined Their Perfect Life
Mafia I spent five years laundering my family's wealth and buying military-grade weapons to crown my husband, Alistair, the Don of the Chicago Mafia.
But the night before his coronation, he drove an Italian stiletto into my stomach.
He sneered that a Don needed a true Mafia Queen, and that was always meant to be his "fragile" friend, Kylie.
As I bled out on the Persian rug, he revealed the sickening truth.
The night I was found in a rival Irish boss's bed two years ago wasn't a setup by our enemies. Alistair had ordered his own mother and sister to drug and frame me.
He just needed me terrified enough to sign over my merchant trust fund to prove my loyalty.
My entire marriage, my sacrifices, and my stolen wealth were just stepping stones for him and his mistress.
I had bled for him and won him the city, only to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb so he could hand my empire to another woman.
Before the flames I started consumed us both, I swore I'd drag his entire family to hell.
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating smoke was gone, replaced by the scent of lavender and the bitter taste of chloral hydrate.
I was back on the exact night of the frame-up two years ago.
Outside the door, my sister-in-law was whispering, waiting for the Irish boss to arrive so they could ruin me.
This time, I was going to make sure she was the one in that bed. His Secret Son, Her Public Shame
Modern I was Aliana Donovan, a resident physician, finally reunited with the wealthy family I' d been lost from as a child. I had loving parents and a handsome, successful fiancé. I was safe. I was loved. It was a perfect, fragile lie.
The lie shattered on a Tuesday when I discovered my fiancé, Ivan, wasn't at a board meeting but at a sprawling mansion with Kiera Reese, the woman I was told had a mental breakdown five years ago after trying to frame me.
She wasn' t disgraced; she was radiant, holding a little boy, Leo, who giggled in Ivan' s arms.
I overheard their conversation: Leo was their son, and I was merely a "placeholder," a means to an end until Ivan no longer needed my family's connections. My parents, the Donovans, were in on it, funding Kiera' s lavish life and their secret family.
My entire reality-the loving parents, the devoted fiancé, the security I thought I' d found-was a carefully constructed stage, and I was the fool playing the lead role. The casual lie Ivan texted me, "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you. See you at home," while he stood beside his real family, was the final blow.
They thought I was pathetic. They thought I was a fool. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. His Deceit, My Vengeance
Romance I stood at the awards ceremony, basking in the success of my firm, Miller Thompson, and eagerly anticipating my fiancé David Chen' s arrival. He' d texted that he was in a last-minute investor meeting, brimming with pride for me.
Then I saw the ring. On another woman' s hand. The Möbius strip engagement ring I had designed for David, the one he claimed he' d lost six months ago in Singapore. And then I heard her on the phone, cooing to "David" about their child, Leo, and him laughing in the background.
My world shattered. David, my loving fiancé who talked about our future, was secretly a husband and father living a parallel life-a life I was unknowingly funding. All those late nights, "tech conferences," and tearful stories about "lost" rings were elaborate lies designed to extract my money and trust. My heart pounded with the sickening realization: I was his chief investor, not his partner in love.
How could I have been so blind? He was the architect of my dreams, or so he said. He was everyone' s favorite, my parents adored him. All the while, he was building another life with someone else, using my money, my network, and my love as his foundation. Every memory we shared, every promise he made, turned into a grotesque parody of the truth.
The fury that replaced my shock solidified my resolve. I dropped the phone on his name and typed two words: "Call me." This was no longer about heartbroken despair; it was about cold, calculating vengeance. He had stolen my future, my money, and my trust. Now, I would make him pay. Love Forged in Flames of Hate
Young Adult The fire consumed everything.
It wasn' t an accident. I lit it myself, watching the flames devour the apartment where I' d cried for so many nights, wiping away the misery.
Across the room, Tiffany Chen, my former roommate and so-called friend, was tied to a chair, her eyes wide with terror, her expensive clothes torn and dirty.
She was the one who lured me, a naive college kid struggling with tuition and rent, into her family' s predatory online loan scheme.
She promised quick cash, easy approval, a solution to all my problems.
Instead, the money never materialized, the interest rates ballooned to illegal levels, and the "online loan" turned into a hundred-thousand-dollar nightmare.
When I couldn't pay, she forced me into her family' s "club" -a hellhole where rich men paid to do whatever they wanted, and I was just another girl forced to endure their hands.
But that wasn't enough. She released photos and videos of me online, sending them to my university and my quiet hometown.
The shame broke my parents; my father died of a heart attack, and my mother drowned herself a week later.
With nothing left to lose, I found Tiffany, doused her apartment in gasoline, and watched her scream as the flames reached her.
Then, a blinding light, a jolt, and I gasped awake, not in a burning apartment, but in my old dorm room.
Tiffany Chen sat at her desk, putting on makeup, looking young, happy, and completely innocent.
"Bad dream?" she asked, with the same smile that started my nightmare.
The date on her digital clock confirmed it: I was back at the very beginning.
This time, I was ready to play a different game. The Man She Had To Hide
LGBT+ Today was my 18th birthday, the day I was supposed to inherit a fortune and officially become the man my family expected.
But all I wanted was to be the woman I truly was, especially for Chris, my best friend.
Then, at my birthday party, I suddenly heard it – Chris' s thoughts, loud and clear.
He loved me. Not as his male best friend, Alex, but with a fierce, forbidden passion that surprised even him.
He was willing to throw away his wealthy fiancée, his family' s expectations, and his entire future, all for "Alex."
It was the most incredible, terrifying revelation.
How could I possibly tell him the truth – that the "man" he loved was actually Alexandra, a woman forced to pretend for 18 years?
My carefully laid plans to confess shattered, replaced by the terrifying realization that my truth might break the man who loved me more than anything.
I knew then: I had to secure my family' s future, then, and only then, could I reveal the real me, and pray his love was as strong as his thoughts proclaimed. The Path Less Traveled
Romance The heavy champagne glass felt wrong in my hand; I was thirty-six, not sixteen, moments from my life imploding.
But here I was, back at my sweet sixteen party, the terrifying start of two decades of hell.
My step-sister, Chloe, just offered me a spiked drink, the same one that had once drugged me, leading to a staged scandal that branded me a gold-digger and forced me into a loveless marriage with Liam, my cold, manipulative fiancé.
I remembered every agonizing detail: the public humiliation, Liam' s family discarding me like trash after I' d bled myself dry saving their failing business, and my eventual lonely death in a hospital bed.
I clutched my glass, a spark igniting in the darkness of my memories-I knew the script this time, and I was going to burn it to the ground. The Twin They Tried To Erase: My Mother's Million-Dollar Lie
Modern My final ballet scholarship audition was supposed to be my destiny.
Instead, I found myself in a police interrogation room, accused of stealing from a sick girl.
My own mother sat beside me, dabbing fake tears, whispering for me to confess to a "moment of weakness" while orchestrating my ruin.
They showed me a security photo of a girl who looked exactly like me stuffing cash from a donation box.
I denied it, but the overwhelming evidence, coupled with my mother' s performance, painted me as a desperate thief, shattering my ballet dreams and reputation.
I couldn' t understand why my mother, the one person who should have supported me, was so determined to destroy my life.
For years, she had subtly sabotaged my auditions-a slippery substance on my pointe shoes causing a career-ending injury, a powerful laxative in my "power smoothie" making me miss another crucial tryout.
Now, she was pushing me to confess to a crime I didn't commit, driving me to the brink of suicide.
Lying in a hospital bed after a desperate overdose, a chilling truth clicked into place: my grandmother' s multi-million dollar trust fund, accessible at 21 or upon "significant professional success," would go to my mother if I died or was deemed incompetent.
It was never about my ballet; it was about the inheritance, and every "accident" was a calculated attempt to break me.
In that moment, I knew I had to fight back, not as a victim, but with every fiber of my being. The Silent Liberator
Modern The Hugheses' estate shimmered with white roses and sunlight, a picture-perfect setting for Caleb' s wedding.
I stood at the edge of the manicured lawn, a single dark spot in a sea of pastel suits.
He was marrying a kind schoolteacher named Nicole, a carefully chosen part of the gilded cage his adoptive parents had built around him.
I just looked past them, toward the white tent where Caleb stood, a stranger in his expensive tuxedo.
He looked like the town' s beloved veterinarian, the perfect son.
But I knew the real Caleb, the boy who hid under flimsy beds in the foster home, the one who dreamed of the ocean.
As he cut the cake, I slipped through the guests, a quiet shadow.
I leaned in close, lips beside his ear.
"It' s okay to be you."
For a terrifying second, nothing happened.
Then, his entire body went rigid.
The polite smile shattered like porcelain.
He snatched the cake knife and lunged, stabbing Nicole repeatedly.
Blood bloomed across her white dress, turning the perfect wedding into a scene of horror.
They took Caleb, catatonic, and me, silent.
Detective Stevens looked at me, weary and cynical.
"You whispered something in his ear, and he butchered his new bride. What did you say?"
I stayed silent.
They called me a witch, a puppet master, a monster.
I watched Nicole' s parents weep on TV, calling for my arrest, and felt a deep, hollow ache for them, for her.
No one understood.
Five years later, the Hugheses announced Caleb' s "recovery" and a grand welcome-home party, on the anniversary of the wedding.
They were putting him back in his cage, this time with reinforced bars.
I knew it was time.
I pulled out the navy dress. A Year To Find Forever
Romance My husband, Ethan, had been by my side for ten years, treating me with unwavering devotion, a quiet chef supporting my empire.
I was Jocelyn Anderson, COO of a hospitality giant, a Wharton graduate, and frankly, too busy to notice. I saw him as steady, uncomplicated-a strategic move to keep my family off my back, nothing more.
Then, he served me divorce papers. Not with a shout, but with a flat, hollow voice that cut deeper than any anger. He'd found an old email, a careless confession I'd sent before our wedding: I' d called him "safe," a "placeholder."
He was gone.
His things vanished from our silent condo, his number blocked. My family sneered, relieved the "gold-digger" was gone. But for the first time, seeing his absence, hearing their cruel words, I felt a panic I couldn't explain. I saw the empty space he left, the quiet support I'd taken for granted.
A friend' s blunt truth hit me: "You'll wear him out."
And I had. He wasn't just a husband; he was the anchor I never knew I needed. Now, he was free, pursuing his dreams without me. The thought alone was a punch to the gut.
I chased him across the country, from Wyoming to Seattle, desperate to apologize, to explain, to salvage what I finally realized was precious. But he was cold, detached, a stranger.
"You're just not used to me being gone," he said. "This isn' t love, it' s habit."
Then came his ultimate challenge: "Hike the Skyline Trail to Panorama Point in six hours.
If you make it, we' ll talk." I stood at the mountain's base, in designer loafers and a business suit, facing the impossible. I accepted. Wife Undisclosed: The Ultimate Power Play
Romance My manager Brenda was hounding me for content to revive my flat music career. To get her off my back, I casually posted a mirror selfie wearing my husband, NFL superstar Liam O' Connell' s, custom varsity jacket.
Within an hour, my phone exploded. The internet went wild, declaring I was faking it for clout, trying to ride the coattails of a man I supposedly didn' t know. Then pop star Ashley Vance, who' d been aggressively pushing a fake "power couple" narrative with Liam, jumped in. She posted a picture of herself in a cheap knockoff, publicly accusing me of being "fake talent with fake everything."
Her millions of fans, the "Vance Vipers," swarmed my social media, tearing me apart. They called me a clout-chasing wannabe, comparing me to Ashley and saying she wore it better. It was a vicious online assault, fueled by lies and jealousy.
The absurdity of it all burned me. How could something so innocent twist into this public circus, all while the truth – that Liam was my husband – remained a secret? Was I supposed to just take it?
My answer came in the form of a reality TV show offer. "Paradise Match" wanted me. And Ashley Vance was already on the cast list. I accepted. Game on. Reborn to Reject: The Heiress's Final Choice
Modern Ava Vanderbilt, heiress to an old-money fortune, was born into a gilded cage.
Twice before, she'd lived this life, destined to marry one of the "Golden Trio" – Ethan, Liam, or Noah.
But in every lifetime, their hearts, and all their sacrifices, belonged to Isabella "Izzy" Rossi, the conniving estate manager's daughter.
Izzy, a master manipulator, always played the innocent victim, while Ava endured public humiliation, neglect, and the painful ruin of her husbands.
Now, reborn a third time, Ava faced the same suffocating expectations.
She refused to repeat the past, rejecting the trio and choosing Julian Mercer, a sharp-minded tech mogul, for a marriage of strategic stability.
But Izzy wouldn't release her hold.
At Ava's engagement party, Izzy unleashed a public spectacle, portraying herself as a tragic martyr and manipulating the trio into abandoning Ava yet again.
They stormed off, pledging their devotion to Izzy, leaving Ava to face a ballroom full of shocked onlookers.
How could these powerful men be so utterly blind, so completely enthralled by such transparent deceit?
The bitter taste of repeated betrayal, and the sheer audacity of Izzy's endless drama, ignited a cold fury within Ava.
This time, Ava Vanderbilt would not just escape her fate; she would dismantle the masquerade entirely.
With Julian's unexpected and unwavering support, she vowed to expose Izzy, free herself from her past tormentors, and forge a life undeniably her own. Beyond the Stuntman
Modern Jack Riley, a top Hollywood stunt coordinator and a discreet civilian specialist for the Department of Defense, was heading to a classified flight.
After six critical months away on a secret vehicle testing project, he' d left his multi-million dollar company, Riley's Precision Stunts, and his personal finances in the seemingly capable hands of his longtime fiancée, Brenda.
He thought he could trust her with everything.
However, his composure shattered on the freeway when a bright orange McLaren recklessly swerved, brake-checked him, and caused a violent collision.
The driver, Kyle "King Kyle" Peterson, a preening social media pest, immediately started boasting about his "sugar mama" buying his six-figure supercar.
The cold truth hit Jack: it was the exact McLaren Brenda had cooed about wanting for an anniversary gift – a gift he' d wisely refused.
Then came the deeper blow: Kyle called Brenda, and her sickeningly sweet voice confirmed she was his "baby," mocking Jack and his truck, declaring it "worthless."
She then shockingly attempted to have him "fired" from his own company, even bringing her imposing "assistants" to underscore her authority.
Outsiders watched, openly judging Jack, thinking he was just some old, pathetic man.
The sheer audacity of her betrayal churned in Jack' s gut.
How could the woman he' d loved, the woman he' d empowered and trusted with his entire life' s work and fortune, not only be cheating but actively plundering his company and brazenly siding with a narcissistic opportunist against him, all while he' d been serving his country?
The injustice was a suffocating weight.
But Jack Riley was no ordinary man.
A master of strategic thinking and quiet resilience, he decided then and there, amidst the chaos.
He would play their twisted game, allowing them to dig their own graves.
He' d meticulously expose every layer of deceit, beginning his calculated, devastating counter-attack that would reclaim everything they thought they' d stolen from him. Reborn to Heal: A Doctor's Revenge
Modern I was Dr. Evelyn Hayes, a surgeon at the top of my game, fresh off a miracle save – Jake Riley, his body shattered from an industrial accident.
My innovative techniques, honed under Colonel Miller, had snatched him from the brink of death.
But then, the whispers started.
Whispers from my ambitious junior, Dr. Chad Becker, and my beloved fiancé, Leo Maxwell.
They fed doubts to Jake's parents, leading them to disregard my strict post-op plan.
Predictably, tragically, Jake developed a fatal complication.
Mrs. Riley, consumed by grief, screamed I had killed her son, accused me of experimenting.
Leo, the man who promised me forever, stood by Chad, leaking falsified records to the press.
Headlines screamed, "Surgeon's ambition kills patient!"
Jake's father, a broken man, found me near the parking garage.
His grief-fueled rage left me bleeding, the world turning to darkness.
Chad stood over me, his voice chillingly smooth: "This department needs a leader who doesn't take wild risks. Leo helped show everyone the 'truth.'"
The vicious smear campaign, the monstrous online hate – it all killed my elderly parents, one after the other.
My life, my reputation, my family – all destroyed by betrayal and lies.
How could the man I loved conspire with my rival to ruin everything?
The searing pain, the immense injustice, the burning question of why consumed my last breath.
Then, blinding light.
I gasped, feeling for bruises that were eerily absent.
The ER monitor displayed the date: the very day Jake Riley was first admitted.
I was back.
This time, armed with foresight, things would be terrifyingly, powerfully different. 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.
From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." 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. 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. His Healing Grace
Keena BLURB:
River never intended to be pulled into the dangerous world of the Mafia, but a single moment of bravery changes everything. In an attempt to save the man who fuels her wildest fantasies, she unwittingly steps into the path of Rico Swavey, the ruthless Mafia Lord with a dark, hidden past.
Rico has built his empire on control and secrecy, keeping his heart locked away. But when River, the doe-eyed woman who sparks something dangerous within him, stumbles into his life, his defenses begin to crumble. Haunted by a crime from his childhood, Rico struggles to accept love, especially from someone like River.
What happens when she becomes a stripper in his club?
Can River break through the walls around Rico's heart? And can Rico forgive himself for the sins of his past to embrace a future with her?
Dive into their world of passion, danger, and redemption in HIS HEALING GRACE.
The Comatose Wife's Billionaire Family Comeback
William Jafferson I was trapped in a locked-in state for six months, fully conscious but unable to move a single muscle.
My step-family, Delma and Jazmyne, marched into my hospital room, forged a Do Not Resuscitate order, and yanked out my oxygen tube just to stop paying my medical bills.
When my three-year-old daughter, Amari, leaped out from under the bed to protect me, they beat her mercilessly.
They kicked my tiny girl in the stomach, smashed a heavy metal IV pole into her fragile shoulder, and dragged her out by her ankles.
They even tied her to a tree in their backyard and let a massive Rottweiler tear into her flesh, laughing as they recorded her agonizing screams.
I lay in that hospital bed, hearing every blow and every desperate cry.
I didn't understand why they had to torture an innocent toddler just because they thought I was a worthless piece of trash with amnesia.
A tidal wave of absolute fury crashed against the invisible walls of my paralyzed body, burning away the despair.
Gritting my teeth until my jaw popped, I forced my dead weight off the mattress and dragged my atrophied legs across the freezing floor to a landline.
With trembling, bloody fingers, I punched in a twelve-digit military-grade encrypted code.
It was time for my real family—the most powerful men in the country—to make these monsters pay. 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." 
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