Sibeal Sallese
11 Published Stories
Sibeal Sallese's Books and Stories
Rising From Ashes: The Architect's Comeback
Mafia I woke up in a sterile hospital room with no memory of the lethal-looking man pacing outside the glass. My friend told me he was Dante Moretti, the Underboss of Chicago, and the fiancé I had supposedly worshipped for seven years.
But the truth shattered me faster than the crash did.
When our convoy was ambushed and the car caught fire, Dante didn't pull me out. He chose to save Valeria—the widow of a soldier he felt guilty about—leaving me to burn in the backseat. He called it a "tactical decision." I called it a death sentence.
I thought losing my memory was a curse, but it was a gift. It stripped away the delusion of love.
I saw a man who treated me like a useful piece of furniture. I saw a rival in Valeria who smirked while taking my job and my place. When she set a room on fire to frame me, Dante saved her again, leaving me to choke on the smoke. He even branded me a thief in front of the entire Commission to protect her lies.
He thought I would always be there, the obedient statue waiting for his scraps.
He was wrong.
I fled to New York and walked straight into the arms of his sworn enemy, Enzo Falcone. A man who didn't just promise to protect me, but walked through fire to do it.
Months later, when Dante finally realized the truth and crawled back to me in the rain, begging for a second chance, I looked him dead in the eye.
"Forgetting you was the only peace I ever knew."
I took Enzo’s hand, letting Dante see exactly what he had lost.
"Remembering you just confirmed that you are a mistake I will never make again." My Mother's Cruel, Blind Heart
Modern I sacrificed five years of my life for my comatose mother.
When she finally woke up, she looked right through me. She embraced my estranged stepfather and a strange girl, calling her daughter.
I was cast aside like trash, forced into the servant's quarters and left to eat from the garbage. My new "sister" even set her dog on me.
As the dog tore at my arm, I locked eyes with my mother. She watched for a moment, then slowly pulled the curtains shut.
In that moment, my hope shattered. I was nothing to her. A problem to be ignored.
But as a social worker led me away to foster care, a black car screeched to a halt. My grandfather stumbled out, clutching a DNA report, his face ghost-white.
His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto mine.
"My God," he gasped. "Aisha... you're my son's real daughter. My granddaughter." From Ashes To Altar: Her Vengeance
Modern My mother was killed in a hit-and-run. My husband, Haywood, told me to drop the investigation.
Then my father died because Haywood froze my assets, refusing to pay for his life-saving surgery.
"My mother was murdered!" I screamed at him. "You want me to just... forget that?"
He told me he knew who the driver was and threatened to ruin me if I didn't stop. He used his power to destroy my career, publicly shame me, and even had me thrown into a cellar full of venomous spiders, leaving me for dead.
The final blow came when he forced me to lie on a live stream at my mother's grave, confessing to crimes I didn't commit. As I collapsed, he had his men scatter her ashes into the mud.
I lost everything. My family, my dignity, my truth.
They thought they had broken me. They were wrong.
As I boarded a flight out of New York, I hit 'Go Live' on a global stream. "My name is Celina Alvarado," I began, my voice steady. "And I'm here to tell you everything." The Betrayed Genius's Fiery Reckoning
Romance For five years, I believed I had a perfect life. I was the chief scientist of a clean energy company I co-founded with my husband, the CEO. My only regret was the lab fire that killed my mentor, a death I felt responsible for.
That perfect world shattered at a farmers' market. I saw my husband with a secret family-a woman and a little boy who called him "Daddy."
Then the scene became a nightmare. My mentor, Abel, the man I'd mourned for five years, was standing there with them, alive and well.
That night, I uncovered the full, five-year conspiracy. They faked his death to steal my next-generation technology. But their plan was even more monstrous.
I found a recording of them plotting to have me declared mentally incompetent, using my "grief" as proof. A conservatorship would give them legal control of my mind and all my intellectual property.
They weren't just stealing my work. They were planning to bury me alive.
The next morning, I walked into the office of the city's most ruthless lawyer and laid the evidence on her desk. She asked me what I wanted.
"I don't want their money," I told her. "I want to burn their empire to the ground." Discarded Husband, Unseen Genius
Modern The Grand Hyatt ballroom glittered with the success of SmithTech's IPO, a company I, Alex Chase, had secretly poured three years of my life into, building its unbreachable cybersecurity. As my wife, Sarah Smith, the celebrated CEO, took the stage, her eyes met mine, chillingly. Then, the hammer fell.
"It' s also a night for new beginnings. For cutting away dead weight," she announced, her gaze fixed on me, the "live-in husband." Sarah's assistant, Mark Johnson, smugly presented my termination letter. My "courtesy position" in IT was revoked, my performance "lacking." The cameras, once focused on her triumph, now devoured my public humiliation.
Sarah then ordered the destruction of my simple black laptop, calling it "junk," an "eyesore." I watched in silent horror as Mark gleefully smashed it to pieces, scattering the "true core of SmithTech' s security"-my life's work-across the marble floor. They didn't see the truth. They only saw a pathetic husband, discarded.
How could they be so blind? This wasn't just a laptop; it was the master key, the quantum core that authenticated their entire system. Without it, SmithTech isn't just vulnerable; it's doomed. Their billions mean nothing. The system I built, the fortress they so carelessly destroyed, will now turn against them.
As I walked out into the cool night, leaving behind the laughter and the wreckage, I smiled. My name online wasn't Alex Chase; it was Hades. And their public debut? It just became their public execution. The clock was ticking. Her Cold Revenge, His Regret
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold night air and the unbearable pain as my body hit the pavement.
My husband, Mark, and his boss, Ms. Jenkins, had pushed me from the thirty-second-floor office window.
"She's just a trophy wife," Mark had sneered.
Ms. Jenkins had laughed, her arm wrapped around his waist.
I had walked in on them, entwined on his office desk, the contract he so desperately needed forgotten on the floor.
My heart shattered, my screams turned to accusations, and they, to protect their careers and their despicable affair, silenced me forever.
My last thought was regret for loving him, for trusting him, for giving him my entire world.
Then, a sudden jolt.
My eyes flew open. I was standing in the quiet, carpeted hallway outside Mark' s office, the thermos of soup still warm in my hands.
My phone read 9:00 PM. An hour earlier.
I was back.
Driven by a force I didn't understand, I crept closer to the door, peering through the narrow gap.
And there they were, just as before, Mark and Ms. Jenkins, mouths locked in a passionate kiss.
This time, there was no scream, just a cold, hard stone of rage in my chest.
This was a second chance.
I wouldn't waste it on tears. My Fiance, My Sister, My Revenge
Modern The lights of the Tech Innovators\' Gala blinded me as my adoptive father, Mr. Davis, prepared to announce the next big thing for Davis Tech-my innovation.
Suddenly, a hidden truth struck me: it wasn't our shared future, but my fiancé Liam\'s and my stepsister Bethany\'s.
They didn\'t know that every "brilliant" idea Bethany claimed as her own was stolen directly from my mind.
But deep down, a terrifying realization festered. It wasn' t just intellectual theft. After witnessing Bethany effortlessly "replicate" my most private thoughts and memories, I understood the insidious nature of the "mind-sync" tech she used to violate my very consciousness.
Having been publicly humiliated, stripped of my dignity, and confined to a mental institution in a past life that ended in fire. But I didn\'t wake up in hell; I woke up here, with a second chance, and a burning desire for revenge. The Unseen Witness: A Murder Revealed
Horror My name is Elara Vance, and I've been dead for five years.
I'm a ghost, trapped in the dilapidated lakeside cabin where I was murdered.
For half a decade, I' ve been forced to witness the world remember me as 'the psycho foster kid' who died of an overdose, 'the monster,' 'the ungrateful charity case.'
This is the false narrative my adoptive family, the Vances, spun to cover their tracks.
Tonight, a famous YouTuber, Chad Logan, aka 'The Exterminator,' announces his next spectacle: a live exorcism-right here, in my cabin.
He' s coming to 'confront the evil spirit of Elara Vance.'
On his livestream, a river of hate scrolls by: 'Get that demon!' 'She was a monster!'
My adoptive parents, who orchestrated my demise, watch with cold disgust.
My 'perfect' sister, Seraphina, likely fakes a single tear for her followers, while my adoptive brother, Ethan-my one-time protector-is probably consumed by guilt, having believed their meticulously crafted lies and abandoned me in my darkest hour.
The injustice burns, a powerless knot of nothing within me.
They painted me as a delinquent, a charity case gone wrong, suppressing the horrifying truth of what they did.
But buried beneath the floorboards of this rotten cabin lies my only hope: a journal and an SD card.
They hold the undeniable truth.
Tomorrow, the very man intent on solidifying my monstrous legacy might be the unwilling key to my salvation.
I just need to find the strength to make him see. Reborn to Rewrite Their Downfall
Young Adult I had one dream, one path: the U.S. Naval Academy. Every study session, every athletic drill, built towards Annapolis. It was my future, bright and clear.
Then, my childhood friend, Ethan, handed me a drink, "Just something to help you relax, Maya." It was drugged. I failed the medical exam, my dream crumbling to dust.
While he soared to Ivy League success, I ended up packing boxes in a dead-end job, my spirit as empty as the containers I filled. Years later, at our high school reunion, Ethan's girlfriend, Jessica Hayes, saw him glance at me. That night, she smiled triumphantly, "You don't fit into the script," before pushing me off a balcony to my death.
As I fell, a chilling truth struck me: Jessica knew. She was reborn too. This wasn't merely fate; it was a sinister, orchestrated setup, spanning two lifetimes. The scale of their malice left me utterly enraged.
I gasped awake, seventeen again, in my old bedroom. Three months before the SATs, before the Annapolis medical evaluations. A cold fire ignited within me. Rebirth. Another chance. Not just to reclaim my dream, but for revenge. This time, I knew their script, and I was going to rewrite it into their downfall. The Scapegoat's Return
Xuanhuan Halloween night in the mortal world. The Rift, our fleeting portal between the Shadowlands and their realm, was closing fast. Spirits around me scrambled, desperate to return. But not Chloe. She stood at its edge, Ectoplasmic Flames – her rare, ghostly green power – roaring from her palms, forcing it open. She was buying time. For him. Liam.
My gut twisted. Not with worry, but with a chilling sense of déjà vu. This was precisely how it all unfurled in my previous life, my destiny intertwined with her misguided devotion to him. A devotion that led directly to my destruction.
I remembered every horrifying detail. Chloe, then my girlfriend, screaming accusations, blaming me for Liam's end, as she led the Enforcers straight to me. Right when I was on the brink of ascending to Arch-Spirit. The Enforcers didn't care for truth; they simply tore me apart.
To be annihilated, merely a scapegoat for her idolized fool. The betrayal, the agony, burned as fresh as ever. Why did she always choose him? Why did I have to suffer for their toxic dance, not once, but twice?
But now, I was back. Reborn to this exact crossroads, this critical choice. To everyone else, I was just a low-ranking Patroller. Good. Let them underestimate me. Because I understood one thing perfectly: I had a new plan. A painful, meticulous plan. This time, they would both pay. You might like
After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash
Sea Jet Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world.
In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief."
But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius.
Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be. He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him
SHANA GRAY The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her.
Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead.
A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living.
Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body.
Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back. His Twisted Game, My Dangerous Love
Elroy Notman Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun.
Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos.
As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage.
The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice.
Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her. HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)
Viviene Trigger/Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised.
It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language.
This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire.
*****
"Take off your dress, Meadow."
"Why?"
"Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost."
••••*••••*••••*
Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance.
One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring.
Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel.
He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch.
Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed.
She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge.
But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming.
Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything.
Alaric doesn't share what's his.
Not his company.
Not his wife.
And definitely not his vengeance.
My Husband's Blindness, My Sweet Revenge
Winnie Suchoff The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand.
Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn.
She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back. Burned By Him, Reborn A Star
Rabbit The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack."
Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard.
The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn.
"Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress. I Signed the Divorce, He Lost Everything
Rabbit My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune.
For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me."
He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster.
He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous.
The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built.