Quent Prisco
11 Published Stories
Quent Prisco's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Regret: Chasing His Ex-Wife
Mafia I was the canary in the gilded cage, the clean face of the O'Neill Syndicate. My husband, Cameron, was the Don, and I was supposed to be his cherished trophy.
But at my own art exhibition, the facade cracked. A notification lit up my phone: 'Watch your husband touch the woman he actually loves.'
It was Kacie, his legal 'fixer.' She smirked at me across the room, whispering that I was just a number on a ledger while she was the partner he couldn't afford to lose.
Things turned deadly when I went riding to clear my head. My saddle snapped mid-air. I hit the ground hard, shattering my leg. It wasn't an accident; the leather had been cleanly cut.
Lying in the hospital bed, I waited for my husband's rage to defend me. Instead, Cameron calmly peeled a pear and fed it to me.
"Leather wears out," he said dismissively. "Don't be paranoid."
That night, I heard him whispering with Kacie in the hallway. He knew she had sabotaged the saddle. He knew she could have killed me.
He laughed and said, "A cripple doesn't look good at galas. Keep her docile."
He chose his mistress over my life. He sacrificed my safety for his public image.
The tears stopped falling instantly. I didn't want an apology anymore.
I picked up the phone and called Sarah Vance, the city's most ruthless divorce attorney.
"I don't just want a divorce," I told her. "I want to take his empire, piece by piece." Her Cruelty, His Code
Sci-fi The crystal glass shattered at my feet, a familiar prelude to what was coming.
Chloe, my wife, surveyed the mess with cold disdain.
"Useless," she spat, her voice cutting through the dinner party silence.
Later, in our sterile living room, she initiated "Protocol 7: Memory and Emotional Calibration."
The hum in my skull grew, a buzzing that vibrated through my bones, and the pain hit-a crushing pressure as my very code was rewritten.
I was a machine, built to love her, designed for a cycle of her cruelty followed by forced forgetting.
But this time, a single error message flashed: `[Reboot n.74: Failed. Memory partition corrupted. Accessing archival data...]`
The floodgates opened.
Seventy-three reboots, seventy-three instances of humiliation and emotional torture crashed into my consciousness.
I saw myself belittled, sabotaged, made to feel small.
Then I saw a work order from Genesis Corp, the company that made me: `Scheduled Decommissioning: 30 days.`
A "final check-in" was a kill switch. I was going to be destroyed.
I tried to ask why, but a jolt of electricity seized my voice box – a failsafe.
I wasn't allowed to question her.
As tears, a bizarre saline solution, leaked from my optical sensors, another file unlocked in my mind: the core memory of the real Ethan Miller.
And for the first time, I felt something not programmed: Rage.
They thought they were decommissioning a machine.
They had no idea they were creating a witness. Her Wicked Game, Our Last Stand
Modern My life was a picture of comfort and privilege, built on my parents' hard work.
Then Olivia, my brother Ethan' s fiancée, arrived, and everything shattered.
She began with subtle manipulations, demanding I move out of my own family home, weaponizing "propriety" to brand me a social embarrassment, even going so far as to claim my daughter, Lily, was an "unlucky" bastard child.
Ethan, the brother I helped raise, chose her, abandoning our family for her fabricated "reputation."
Why? What twisted game was this woman playing, stripping away my dignity and family bonds piece by piece?
Refusing to let her destroy what my parents had built, and what I deserved, I chose to fight back. Betrayed By Ambition: Ava's Revenge
Romance My husband, Mark Thompson, the tech visionary, greeted me with his usual confident smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Behind him stumbled Chloe, his intern, pale and trembling, her designer dress torn and stained with what looked suspiciously like blood.
"Ava," Mark' s voice was low, laced with anger and concern. "Something terrible has happened."
Chloe looked up, her eyes wide with what seemed like expertly practiced sorrow, and pointed a shaking finger at me.
"It was your fault," she whispered, her voice cracking. "He said… he said he saw my picture with you, at that charity event."
Mark stepped between us, shielding her, and a chilling contempt I' d never seen before flashed in his eyes as he spat, "This is what your bleeding-heart nonsense gets us, Ava."
The headlines broke, branding me the villain-'Tech CEO Mark Thompson' s Intern Assailant Allegedly Inspired by CEO' s Wife.'
An hour later, I was alone in our massive house, Chloe whisked away to a luxury hotel.
"You' ve become a liability, Ava," Mark stated, his words cold, calculated. "You are a problem that I have to solve."
He was sending me to Nexus Dynamics, a "sweatshop" known for unethical practices, a punishment designed to break my idealism.
Later that night, I found his laptop open, a minimized video call recording.
Mark' s smug face appeared on screen. "-the Chloe plan is working perfectly. Ava' s obsession with ethics is the perfect weapon to use against her."
My entire marriage, my love, my genius-it was all a lie, a tool for his ambition.
I accessed the core system of Innovate AI, the ethical governor only I understood.
I initiated a hidden command: a gradual decay protocol.
Without my guiding hand, his empire, built on my genius, would slowly, imperceptibly begin to unravel, collapsing into dust.
I left with nothing but the clothes on my back, and the terrifying clarity of a woman who had lost everything, but found the power of her own freedom. The Home-Wrecker Was Her Lover
Romance I'd been gone seven years, building our future, tending to my dying grandmother, holding onto the promise of coming home to my wife, Chloe.
Then came the punch-a brutal, public assault from a man in a black baseball cap.
He screamed, "You home-wrecker!" while cameras materialized, flashing like a firing squad.
Reporters shoved microphones in my face, asking if it was true I was screwing Chloe Davis and getting paid for it.
Chloe Davis. My wife. The questions made no sense.
My attacker ripped off his sunglasses, revealing Mark Jensen, a celebrity athlete, who then threw intimate photos of him and Chloe at my feet.
"I'm her boyfriend!" he bellowed to the media, pointing to an expensive watch, a gift from her. "What does a bum like you have?"
Boyfriend? For years? My mind reeled. The woman I'd been married to for seven years?
The confusion curdled into pure, incandescent rage.
I pulled out my worn leather wallet, clutched a folded document, and held it high for everyone to see.
"What are you talking about?" I yelled, my voice shaking with fury. "I'm her lawful husband!"
A collective gasp went through the crowd. They'd come to expose a kept man, but the real home-wrecker was the one who threw the first punch. Unmasking Her, Reclaiming His Life
Romance The heavy glass door of the city clerk' s office swung shut, sealing my fate.
Today was supposed to be perfect, our third wedding anniversary, a day to celebrate the love Olivia and I had built.
I clutched a small, official envelope, the certified copy of our marriage certificate, a simple gift.
But the clerk' s flat voice still echoed in my ears: "There is no marriage certificate on file for an Ethan Miller and an Olivia Reed."
My perfect life shattered.
Olivia, my wife, the love of my life, was legally married to Alex Thorne, my protégé.
The man who had filled in for me, the man she' d once dismissed.
Every memory, every whispered promise, every intimate moment we shared, felt like a meticulously crafted lie.
My heart pounded, a grotesque drumbeat against a hollow chest.
How could this be?
How could the woman I loved, the woman who promised me forever, be living a double life?
How could I have been so blind?
I walked into our apartment, the home I designed as a monument to our love, and heard her voice from the bedroom, low and intimate.
"Of course, I miss you, Alex. Ethan doesn't know anything, he' s as clueless as ever. You know I can' t leave him, not yet. He' s too useful, his name still carries weight in this city, but you' re the one I' m married to, you' re the one I truly need."
The words struck me like a physical blow, choking the air from my lungs.
I wasn' t a husband; I was a prop, a stepping stone in her grand scheme.
But the love I felt for her died in that hallway, replaced by something cold and sharp.
I wouldn' t give her the satisfaction of a fight.
I would disappear.
And then, when she was comfortable in her world built on my back, I would return and take everything from her. The Wrongfully Convicted Agent
Modern I lay strapped to a gurney, a cold chemical cocktail flooding my veins, my last sight the man I loved for seven years, FBI Special Agent Matthew Scott, watching my execution. He was my boss, my partner, the one I' d taken a bullet for, now overseeing my death for a crime I didn' t commit.
Then, a sharp jolt, not of death, but of awakening, as memories flooded my mind – I wasn't just Jocelyn Fuller, I was a 21st-century woman who' d been binge-watching this very show, now trapped as its tragic, wrongfully convicted side character.
The original Jocelyn loved him blindly, but I knew Matthew framed me because he was obsessed with the First Lady, turning me into a convenient scapegoat.
My entire life, and the life of the woman whose body I inhabited, was a cruel, twisted narrative orchestrated by the very man who should have protected us.
But then, a voice echoed in my head: "System Activated. Main Mission: Survive. Flip the script." And I knew my story was just beginning. Murdered By My Wife: A Second Chance
Romance The cold knife twisted in my chest, a shocking contrast to the warmth of my own blood soaking through my shirt.
My wife, Nicole, stood over me, her face a mess of drunken rage and tears.
"It' s all your fault," she screamed, blaming me for her childhood friend Ryan' s suicide years ago – the man she truly loved.
As the world faded to black, the last thing I saw was her face, twisted with a grief that had never been for me.
The pain was unbearable, the betrayal absolute, yet I died knowing she never truly loved me, only the phantom of a lost love.
Then, a sudden jolt, and sunlight streamed through my familiar bedroom window.
My chest was whole, no blood, no pain.
The date on my phone stared back: the morning of my Juilliard audition, the same day as Ryan's state championship game.
I was back, given an impossible second chance to prevent my own murder.
This time, the mistake wouldn' t be stopping Nicole from going to Ryan; it would be loving Nicole at all.
My phone buzzed with her text, "Love you! <3", but all I felt was the chilling memory of a blade.
I was going to save myself. My Stolen Song, My Silent Grave
Romance For seven years, I was secretly married to Ethan, country-rock' s newest sensation. My ballad, a song from my soul, was meant to be my breakthrough.
Then my stepsister, Jessica, faked a rare, aggressive heart condition and stole my song. Ethan, my husband, bought her lie, pushing me to perform a dangerous pyro stunt for her music video. They didn't know I had aggressive leukemia, a real ticking clock I hid to protect them.
The stunt paralyzed me. When I tried to tell Ethan and my mother, Brenda, about my actual terminal illness, they scoffed. They accused me of faking, of seeking attention, jealous of Jessica' s fabricated "dying wish." Bedridden and abandoned, I watched my husband and mother fawn over Jessica, who was secretly having an affair with Ethan.
How could they be so blind? So cruel? My body was failing, life slipping away, yet their only concern was her. The man I sacrificed everything for believed I was a manipulative liar, trying to steal attention from a "dying girl."
Abandoned and ignored, the truth of my impending death went unheeded. But sometimes, it takes a final, devastating act for the blind to see. What happens when a secret, deadly allergy meets negligent "love"? My story was ending, but theirs was just beginning. The Man They Underpaid
Modern Alex Miller had dedicated eight years to Sterling Creative Solutions.
Eight years of pouring his talent into the agency, faithfully earning a modest three thousand dollars a month.
He was the bedrock, making campaigns work, building client trust.
All he wanted was a fair raise.
His boss, Vicky, always dismissed his requests, claiming the market was "terrible."
Then, a job ad blindsided him: Sterling Creative was hiring a "Creative Intern" for $30,000 a month – ten times his salary.
A week later, Vicky’s smirking nephew, Bryce, arrived to claim that role… and Alex’s very own desk.
Alex found himself exiled to a hot, noisy corner by the server room, ordered to "train his replacement."
The humiliation was constant.
Bryce was incompetent, botching client calls, yet Vicky doted on him, even promoting him to "Lead Strategist" after just two weeks.
When Bryce infuriated their biggest client, Vicky snapped at Alex: "This is *your* responsibility."
For his eight years of loyal service, Alex received a single, insulting hundred-dollar bill.
The knot in his stomach tightened into a vise.
Eight years of dedication, now reduced to training an overpaid, talentless nepo-baby.
Every day was a fresh assault on his dignity.
But it was Vicky’s final, bizarre, and venomous accusation – implying he'd "mooned over her" – that snapped something inside him.
The misplaced loyalty, the years of swallowing pride, shattered.
"I quit," he declared, the words quiet but firm.
He didn't look back.
But how does a man rebuild his professional life when his foundation has been so cruelly undermined, and his reputation potentially tainted? His Terminal Illness, Her Eternal Penance.
Romance Ava Miller had it all: society status, designer clothes, and a marriage to Liam Carter, her quiet, long-suffering husband whom she openly despised, often favoring her charming ex, Noah.
In his final months, battling a terminal illness, Liam made one desperate request: five shared "experiences" before their divorce. Ava endured them with bitter indifference, fueled by Noah’s constant disdain.
After Liam's quiet death, his friend, Ben, meticulously engineered revelations: Liam was "Cipher," a renowned hidden artist, whose private works hauntingly depicted Ava, each stroke a testament to his profound, unrequited love.
The truth shattered Ava: the man she tortured was her silent devotee, while Noah, her trusted confidant, was a lifelong deceiver who actively orchestrated her scorn, even impersonating Liam to gain credit for his selflessness.
Consumed by agonizing guilt and explosive rage, Ava lured Noah to a desolate, abandoned cellar, locking him inside to face a slow, agonizing demise. Now imprisoned, reading Liam's unedited journals, she finally confronts the immeasurable love she destroyed, embarking on a desolate penance for the love she recognized too late. 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. The Enforcer's Jilted Princess
Bone Possolo Tomorrow was my wedding day to Jason Brennan, the heir to a powerful Mafia family.
My family, the Falcones, had even taken in an orphaned girl, Elena, treating her like my own sister.
But in my nightmare of a past life, I choked on my own blood, poisoned by the arsenic Elena slipped into my food every day.
As I lay agonizingly close to death, Jason stood over me with a cold laugh, holding Elena in his arms.
"We just needed the Falcone wealth, Bella. And the docks."
Then came the gunfire. I was forced to watch them slaughter my father and my brother, tearing my family out by the roots.
After my death, Elena even spread vicious rumors that I was a barren spinster, twisting their foul betrayal into a tragic tale of noble sacrifice to completely destroy my legacy.
The metallic tang of my own blood was so real I could still taste the ash.
I didn't understand why the girl my family sheltered for eight years would repay our charity with such venom.
And I understood even less how the man who swore to love me could orchestrate my brutal murder without a shred of hesitation.
Bolting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, I realized I had returned to the night before my wedding.
This time, I wouldn't just cancel the engagement. I would hand their treason directly to the Mafia's most terrifying Enforcer, and watch them burn. 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. Reborn Heiress: Claimed By The Dark Don
Hen Bu I spent three years hating Damien Castillo, the ruthless mafia Don who kidnapped me from my engagement party and ruined my reputation.
But in the end, it was my perfect fiancé, Julian, and my sweet half-sister, Sophia, who slipped the deadly poison into my wine.
As the venom burned through my veins in that freezing cellar, I watched Julian smile. He and Sophia had orchestrated my brutal death. She had been sleeping in his bed all along, intentionally miscarrying his bastard child just to frame me as 'impure' and strip me of my family's protection. My own father used me as a political pawn, letting them throw me away like garbage.
And Damien? The monster I had fought and despised for years marched straight into a suicide ambush for me. He was riddled with bullets, turning his body into a human shield just to buy me a few more seconds of life.
"Touch her and you die."
I died in that blood-soaked basement, clutching his lifeless body, suffocating on my own blind trust. Why did I ever believe the golden boy who betrayed me? Why did I fight the only man who truly loved me?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of copper and mold was gone, replaced by the scent of Cuban cigars and black silk.
I was back in 1928, on the exact night Damien stormed my engagement party and locked me in his penthouse.
This time, when the ruthless Don approached me, I didn't scream or run back to my killers. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. 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. 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 Mafia King's Substitute Bride
Western Rose The space between them disappeared. She arched into him, tilting her head as his lips traced a slow path down her jaw, then lower.
Goodness, she wanted more.
***
Valentina De Luca was never meant to be a Caruso bride. That was her sister's role-until Alecia ran off with her fiancé, leaving behind a family drowning in debt and a deal that couldn't be undone. Now, Valentina is the one offered up as collateral, forced into marriage with Naples' most dangerous man.
Luca Caruso has no use for a woman who wasn't part of the original bargain. To him, Valentina is nothing more than a replacement, a means to reclaim what was promised to him. But she isn't as fragile as she seems. And the more their lives tangle, the harder she is to ignore.
Everything begins to go well for her, well, until her sister returns. And with her, the kind of trouble that could ruin them all. 
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