Sea Quest
10 Published Stories
Sea Quest's Books and Stories
From Mafia Doll To Montana Queen
Mafia I was the invisible daughter of the Hayes crime family, secretly painting portraits of Marcus, the Underboss. He was the man who had once protected me from the world, the man I loved from the shadows.
But he chose power over affection. To secure an alliance, he engaged Isabella.
Threatened by my existence, Isabella staged a fake miscarriage and framed me for destroying her heirloom wedding dress.
Marcus didn't ask for my side of the story. Blinded by rage over his "lost heir," he ordered his guards to drag me to the Ice Cellar—a freezing underground torture chamber used for traitors.
For days, I shivered in the absolute darkness, listening to the water drip, realizing the man I worshiped was actually my jailer. My father, protecting his own millions, let it happen.
In that cold, the girl who loved Marcus died.
When he finally released me, he expected me to be broken, obedient, and grateful for his mercy.
Instead, I burned every painting I had ever made of him. I packed a single bag and vanished into the night, escaping to a rugged ranch in Montana where no one knew my name.
Three years later, the truth about Isabella’s lies finally surfaced.
Marcus tracked me down. The King of New York fell to his knees in the dirt and cow manure of my new home, weeping, begging, and offering me the entire world to come back.
I looked down at the man who once owned my heart.
"You can't un-shatter a glass, Marcus," I said coldly. "I'm not coming home." The Betrayal That Broke Me
Romance The sterile hum of the hospital room grated on my nerves, a grim backdrop to my mother' s shallow breaths. I clung to her frail hand, praying each rise and fall of her chest wouldn't be her last.
But then my phone buzzed, pulling me into a different kind of nightmare: a photo of my wife, Sarah, draped provocatively over a junk car, sent by Jake, her "creative director."
My blood ran cold. Sarah, my Sarah, looking cheap and available, with Jake' s smug caption about "pushing boundaries."
Then came his direct message-another photo, Sarah' s eyes closed, her lipstick smeared, and Jake' s hand on her bare shoulder, possessive.
Below it, a single line that ripped through me: "Wish you were here? Don't worry, I'm taking good care of her."
Rage flooded my chest, hot and acidic. I called Sarah, my voice shaking, begging her to come, to say goodbye to my dying mother.
"I can't just leave, Alex," she snapped, her voice sharp with impatience. "This is Jake's big break. Everything is riding on this. I can't let him down."
"Your mother-in-law is dying," I whispered, disbelief choking me. "My mother is dying."
"And what do you want me to do about it?" she sneered. "Hold her hand? It's not like she ever liked me anyway. I' ll be there when it' s over. Just... handle it. I have to go."
The line went dead, her cruel words echoing in the suffocating quiet of the hospital corridor.
Moments later, the doctor delivered the news: she was gone. My world went silent.
Then, my phone buzzed again, an Instagram notification: "Sarah.Evans and Jake.Creates are now live."
I clicked it, a hollowed-out shell of a man, watching my wife celebrate with her lover while my mother's body grew cold in the room behind me.
They celebrated their "win" with champagne, Sarah screaming, "To us! To the win!" as Jake leaned in for a long, deep kiss, for the whole world to see.
Why? Why did she choose him? Why did she treat my mother with such contempt in her final hours?
The answer lay buried in years of betrayal, starting even before our wedding day. And now, I would unearth every dirty secret, even if it meant tearing my own life apart. My Son's Death, His Sympathy Vote
Romance My life as Jocelyn Scott, wife to rising political star DA Ethan Scott, was a carefully crafted facade of domestic bliss, though I, a Senator' s daughter, had traded my ambition for his.
Then came the "accident." At the hospital, my husband, bandaged for dramatic effect, publicly declared amnesia, disowning me and our five-year-old son, Leo, and embracing his "first love," Sabrina, daughter of a powerful senator whose endorsement he craved.
Overnight, I became a "household staff member" in my own home, watching Sabrina wear my clothes and sleep in my bed. Leo, ostracized and bullied at school, came home with bruises and tear-filled eyes, while his father walked past him as if he were furniture. The final, crushing blow came when Ethan, watching our son drown in a fountain, joked, "Well, that'll get the sympathy vote." Leo died that night, and Ethan saw his death as pure political gold.
How could he? How could the man I loved, the father of my child, be such a monstrous, calculating machine? My son, my beautiful boy, reduced to a tragic headline, his resting place torn down for a hot tub.
In that hollowed-out instant, the last shred of my former self died. And in its place, a cold, hard resolve was born. I would fake my own death, resurrecting Jocelyn Fuller, and become the ghost that would haunt his rise, then meticulously orchestrate his devastating fall. Built From The Ashes
Modern My last memory of my first life was Ethan, standing over my grave.
He wasn't crying; he was smiling, that cruel twist of his lips I knew all too well.
"I forgive you, Chloe," he' d whispered, putting his arm around Jessica as they walked away with the son I' d raised, leaving me to rot.
They stripped me of everything: my apprenticeship, my dignity, decades of my life wasted raising their abandoned baby, "Lucky."
When I got sick, they threw me away like trash, only to reveal their truth: Lucky was their child, conceived in a twisted plan to steal my future.
I gasped, my eyes flying open, not in a coffin, but back in my 1995 body, young and alive, standing on a desolate back road.
Just feet away, a baby carrier, and the wailing infant inside.
In my past life, pity had washed over me, and I' d rushed to save him, unknowingly signing my own death warrant.
This time, as I looked at the carrier, I felt nothing but a cold, hard fury.
I turned my back and walked away, choosing a path of ice instead of kindness. When Good Backfires: A Student's Vengeance
Young Adult My college life as a pre-med student at a California state university was focused on rigorous studies, good grades, and upholding personal integrity, shared with my best friend Olivia and our free-spirited roommate, Jessica.
The facade of normalcy shattered when Jessica reappeared after a three-day disappearance, clutching my personal water bottle, her neck and arms covered in unsettling red welts, all while boasting about dodging crucial health screenings.
My attempt to responsibly report her for avoiding mandatory health checks spiraled disastrously: Jessica, fueled by rage, staged a dramatic escape and, aided by her ethically compromised academic advisor, Dr. Peterson, orchestrated a fake cyberbullying charge against me.
Suddenly, my reputation was on the line due to a formal disciplinary warning, making me the campus pariah.
How could doing the right thing backfire so spectacularly, leaving me accused and shamed, while actual recklessness went unchecked?
The injustice was a bitter pill, confirming my deepest suspicions about Jessica's manipulative nature and the disturbing, illicit alliance she clearly shared with Dr. Peterson.
But instead of breaking me, this unfair attack ignited a cold fury, transforming my disgust into a calculated resolve: I would expose their corrupt web, even if it meant playing their game, starting with a discreet "accident" in Dr. Peterson's office. Her Second Life, His Last
Romance My sister Eleanor was set to marry Marcus Thorne, a powerful man whose family held immense sway.
It was a pre-arranged union, heralded as the cornerstone of a grand alliance between the Harrisons and the Thornes.
But my world shattered when I uncovered the horrifying truth: Marcus had orchestrated Eleanor's death, masking it as a "sudden illness."
Before I could expose his monstrous secret, a killer's hands clasped my throat.
The suffocating scent of expensive oud cologne filled my lungs as my vision faded.
My first life ended right there, in my father's study-a place of power that became my tomb.
Every attempt to reveal the truth, every desperate plea, was brutally silenced.
The injustice was a burning fire within me.
How could his heinous crimes go unpunished?
The phantom ache of that chokehold, indelibly linked to the memory of that rich, woody scent, fueled an insatiable fury.
I died knowing the monster would walk free.
But then, I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my silk sheets, sunlight streaming into my room.
It was Eleanor's engagement day once more.
This wasn't a nightmare; it was a resurrection.
This was my second chance.
I knew what I had to do: I would marry Marcus Thorne myself, infiltrating his inner circle to save Eleanor and orchestrate his ultimate downfall.
This wasn't just survival; it was war. Once Broken, Now Free
Modern My 21st birthday wasn't just a day; it was the day.
The day Ava Harrison promised we' d meet at Austin's iconic Continental Club, the moment I believed she'd finally see me, the kid who poured his soul into songs just for her.
But as I arrived, guitar in hand, ready to begin our future, I heard her voice, clear and cold, telling her friend: "It' s a great way to finally shut down little Ethan. Still chasing that silly promise about The Continental Club."
Then came the public engagement, a diamond flashing as she announced, "Sweet, but a little too late." My world crumbled. Moments later, a stage light crashed. I was severely injured, but Ava, my supposed future, didn't stay. She left me, bruised and broken, for her new fiancé, Julian, sending a single, chilling text: "#EngagedLife."
How could the girl I worshipped, the one I wrote a decade of music for, be so utterly cruel? So dismissive of my love, my pain? The betrayal burned deeper than any physical wound.
I smashed my guitar. Blocked her. And packed my bags for Nashville. This wasn't just over; it was a detonation. I swore I' d turn that agonizing betrayal into music so powerful, it would become her inescapable shadow. This wasn't the end of me; it was the birth of something far more formidable. The Ninety-Nine Betrayals
Romance The world went gray after the crash that took my parents, leaving their green tech company on the brink. Then my dazzling wife, Izzy, appeared like a savior, her old Texas oil money propping us up. She was my rock, my biggest cheerleader through ninety-eight failed prototypes, always assuring me the ninety-ninth, UrbanFlow, would be "the one." I loved and trusted her completely.
Until I overheard her chilling confession. She wasn't my supporter; she was a saboteur. She'd orchestrated every single one of my "failures," systematically leaking my core algorithms and business plans to her old flame, Caleb. My IP was the foundation of his booming tech empire. Our marriage? A cold, calculated "strategic" move to keep me coding, dependent, and utterly blind.
The woman I adored, my "Izzy," was a venomous lie. Every affectionate word, every comforting touch, twisted into a cruel mockery of love. My life was a meticulously constructed deception, my genius hijacked, my parents' legacy exploited. Nausea churned in my gut, quickly replaced by a simmering, icy rage. She believed I was a naive fool, that I had nothing without her.
She was about to discover just how wrong she was. My heart ached with betrayal, but my mind sharpened with unwavering resolve. I would not just reclaim my work; I would unleash a reckoning so precise, so public, that they would pay for every single lie. This was no longer about a company—it was about justice. 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. Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
Burned by Poison, Saved by the Devil
Gale Kaaya My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement.
To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia.
It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping.
But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished.
She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug.
She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago.
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash.
Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name.
She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant.
I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead.
I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye.
"Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you."
Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth.
"Prove it," he growled.
I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip. 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. To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival
Rabbit Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts.
The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage.
I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter.
But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous.
Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared.
He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground.
With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes.
"Take me with you." His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. The Don's Pawn, A Queen's Revenge
Rabbit My family sent me to marry into the enemy, a ruthless Don in Chicago. From the moment I arrived, I was treated like a common whore, a pawn to be humiliated and discarded. But they made one fatal mistake: they thought I was a lamb, when I was really a wolf in disguise.
Sent to Chicago for an arranged marriage with Don Vincenzo Moretti, Isabella Falcone arrived at his hostile estate, instantly an unwelcome outsider.
Hostility turned personal. Publicly shamed and trapped in Vincenzo's bed by his cousin, the Don accused me of whoring for family favor.
I faced constant humiliation. Family insulted me, staff trapped me. Vincenzo was cold. A rival framed me with a planted diamond, and the Consigliere declared me a thief, ordering soldiers to drag me away.
Branded a criminal by a rigged game, injustice fueled a cold, clear rage. I was a pawn, but I would show them a queen.
My fear hardened into lethal resolve. Alida Savage thought she'd destroyed me, but only declared war on the wrong woman. I would tear down all who dared to underestimate me.
Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit
Elisha Plasket I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra.
But the man beside me—Jax Viles, the most feared Don in New York—had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right.
She wasn't his fiancée. I was.
The humiliation didn't stop at dinner. Jax moved her into my home, turned my dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, he stepped over my broken body to comfort her because she was "shaken up."
He started a bloody gang war just to defend her honor, yet ignored my desperate calls warning him of an ambush.
To him, I wasn't a partner. I was furniture—a fixture that was expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world to ash for her, but for me, he wouldn't even skip a meeting.
So, while he was out celebrating his victory for her, I didn't wait for him to come home.
I left the engagement ring in the trash can next to the toilet.
On his desk, I left a single note: "I release you from the oath. I hope she's worth the war."
By the time he realized his mistake and came looking for his shadow, I was already gone, ready to become the Queen of my own life. Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister
Tabbie Platt I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.
For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.
On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.
Donovan didn't hesitate.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.
Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.
He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.
He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.
He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.
When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.
He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.
Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.
He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.
I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her." 
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