Sofia Wade
14 Published Stories
Sofia Wade's Books and Stories
The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Mafia 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." The Captain's Cold Aspen Revenge
Modern For seven years, I funded my husband Gonzalo's PhD. I paid for everything. A week after our wedding, his young "mentee," Kloe, moved in with us, claiming a rare autoimmune disorder made her "fragile."
On our Aspen ski trip, he used my money to buy her an $8,000 handbag. Then, he demanded I give Kloe my high-performance ski jacket because her flimsy one wasn't warm enough.
When I refused, he ripped it off my body.
I slipped on the ice, hitting my head as he walked away with her, leaving me injured and freezing in the snow.
Later that night, he abandoned me again while I was sick in our hotel room, to get a separate room with Kloe. He said they needed to "discuss his academic paper."
But he forgot one crucial detail. I'm not just a wife. I'm Captain Amy Payne, U.S. Army Reserve.
I called my best friend, a manager at the hotel chain. "I need a master key," I told her. "We're about to crash a very important academic discussion." The Gold Digger's True Story
Romance My father' s Medal of Honor sat on my dresser, a stark reminder of sacrifice.
With my mother dying and medical bills crushing us, I agreed to Eleanor Thornton's offer: marry her comatose son, Ethan, for my mother's life.
Five years later, I'd raised Leo and Lily, managing the estate.
Then Ethan awoke.
His first words were a snarl: "She looks like a gold-digger."
With his mother and ex-girlfriend Ashley, he launched a campaign of humiliation, twisting my every action.
They staged a fake poisoning, making me appear malicious.
My defenses fueled their accusations, confirming my supposed greed.
Then came the ultimate threat: he'd gain sole custody, declaring me an unfit mother.
"Ashley will be the mother to my children."
That was the breaking point.
I would not lose my children.
I wrote to General Markwell, my father' s closest friend, invoking the honor he stood for.
The sudden arrival of a JAG officer at our mansion signaled the Thornton family was about to face a power far beyond their influence. Her Hidden Family, His Stolen Life
Modern For two decades, Ethan diligently built a restaurant empire alongside his wife, Sarah, fulfilling their DINK pact. He even underwent a vasectomy and publicly claimed infertility, protecting her from family judgment, believing their shared dream was unbreakable.
Then, a single legal document shattered his meticulously crafted world: a share transfer agreement for two 10-year-olds, Finn and Belle Miller. A quiet inquiry confirmed the unthinkable – they were Sarah' s secret children, born a decade ago, with her "childhood friend," Mark.
Sarah, chillingly, dismissed them as a "platonic favor," clarifying she still didn't want children "with him." Her family sided with her, portraying Ethan as unreasonable. Humiliation deepened at a public party when Sarah announced major company shares would go to Finn and Belle, cementing Ethan's public replacement. The ultimate insult: when Finn lied about Ethan, Sarah, without a blink, slapped her husband, choosing her secret son's word over their twenty years of marriage.
How could he have been so blind? He'd sacrificed his chance at fatherhood, endured silent pity and judgment, all for a woman who secretly built an entire, separate life, using his devotion as camouflage. The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound.
With cold resolve, Ethan signed the divorce papers, leaving behind a video revealing the truth of Finn' s lie and Sarah' s unquestioning cruelty. He walked out forever, ready to find a peace she' d never allowed him. His Wife's Venomous Betrayal
Romance The pregnancy test showed two pink lines, and pure joy surged through me.
I, Ethan Miller, was finally going to be a father.
But then my wife, Sophia, dropped a bomb that shattered everything.
"The child isn't yours, Ethan. It's Liam's."
The world tilted.
My perfect life, a fragile lie built on Sophia' s deceit, crumbled.
Tragedy compounded days later: Sophia was in a car accident, a miscarriage.
Liam, her lover, was behind the wheel.
Then, at a company gala, Sophia, radiant and cruel, seized a microphone.
Her eyes, cold and furious, locked onto mine.
"My husband, Ethan Miller," she announced, her voice dripping with venom, "is a monster."
She publicly accused me of sabotaging her, of causing her miscarriage out of jealousy.
The accusation was so monstrous, so far from the truth, I could only stand paralyzed.
Her final blow: "I'm making him get a vasectomy. He will pay for what he did to my baby."
They forced me into it, stripping me of my rights, my future, my very manhood.
I returned home, a ghost in my own house, only to find Liam brazenly occupying my study.
He flaunted his victory, mocking my pain, even using my Pritzker Prize as a coaster.
Then, he shattered my most prized possession: my mother' s music box.
"Oh, that old thing," Sophia said, unconcerned. "It was gathering dust. I gave it to Liam."
Something inside me broke.
My hand bleeding, heart shattered, I watched Sophia fuss over a supposedly ill Liam.
She shrieked, "What did you do to him? What did you put in his drink? You want to take everything from me!"
The doctor' s diagnosis: Liam just had a bad hangover.
My pain was real, her accusation a baseless lie.
Sophia offered a fleeting, empty apology, but the chasm between us was too deep.
I decided then: no more.
I had to fight back for my sanity, for my future, for myself. Worthless No More: A Mother's Triumph
Romance The stale coffee and expensive cologne was a mix I knew all too well-my boyfriend, Mark, was in a good mood, which always meant he wanted something from me. I was deep in the code of my indie game, my passion project, a world that was entirely mine.
Then he dropped the bombshell: a "strategic networking event" with his "business visionary" childhood friend, Brittany, whom he clearly admired far more than me.
My heart sank as he waved away my concerns about overdue rent and bills-money I' d given him to pay. Not for the first time, he dismissed my "pixels and stories" as not "real business," just as he had dismissed every cent I' d poured into his failing startup.
The true blow landed when he sneered, "It's no wonder you can't even do the one thing a woman is supposed to do right. You can't even get pregnant. What good are you?" After a year of desperate hopes and private pain, his words cut me to my core.
He was right there, dismissing my worth in the most cruel way imaginable, while spending my earnings to impress someone else.
In that moment, everything shifted. I watched him walk out, slamming the door, demanding I leave my apartment-the one I paid for. I was broken, homeless, and worthless, just as he said. But as I looked across the courtyard at my quiet neighbor, Liam' s, light, a flicker of defiance sparked. I had nowhere else to go, but I knew I couldn't stay. That night, I knocked on a stranger's door, ready to reclaim my life, piece by painful piece. The Wife Who Fought Back
Romance I was seven months pregnant, living a fairytale life as the wife of a powerful Congressman. Julian stroked my belly, whispering dreams of our son' s future, and I truly believed I had it all.
Then, a cold dread seized me. I' d just overheard Julian on the phone, his voice urgent, planning to use me as bait for a predatory federal prosecutor. Not for us, but to save his high school sweetheart, the woman he truly loved.
My perfect world didn't just crack; it exploded into a million sharp pieces. Every intimate moment, every precious gift, was a cruel, recycled memory from his past with her. In his eyes, I was a mere tool, a sacrifice.
My heart pounded a sick rhythm as I stared at the man I thought I loved, now revealed as a calculating monster. The betrayal was an Arctic wind, chilling me to the bone, but beneath it, a burning rage began to smolder.
He thought I was a naive girl from the wrong side of the tracks, easily manipulated. He was gravely mistaken. I wasn't his victim; I was about to become his reckoning. My Blood, My Destiny Rewritten
Xuanhuan My blood is a secret, a rare healing gift, but in my first life, it sealed my painful destiny.
Because I healed Ethan Davenport Jr., an ancient family pact forced me into a miserable marriage with him, a man who despised me and loved the cunning Veronica Sterling.
Veronica, in a vicious plot, faked a terrible accident and convinced Ethan that only my special blood could save her.
Blinded by his infatuation, Ethan ruthlessly demanded my life essence, forcing me to bleed for her, again and again.
I died from exsanguination, my extraordinary power grotesquely twisted into the instrument of my demise.
The revelation of Veronica's calculated deception and my husband's complicity was a shattering, unbearable injustice that followed me into the void.
But then, I woke up, back on the precise day my tragedy began, granted an impossible second chance.
This time, I will not be a victim; I will rewrite my fate, wielding my gift to build a life of my own choosing, far from their shadows. The Man She Thought She Owned
Romance Tonight, under the spotlight at AuraConnect's 10th-anniversary gala, I was ready to make Jessica, my high school sweetheart and business partner, my wife.
We had built a multi-billion-dollar empire from nothing.
But as I knelt, ring in hand, her eyes weren't on me; they were glued to her phone, a private smile playing on her lips.
Then came her dismissive laugh, echoing through the silent ballroom.
"Oh, Liam," she scoffed, in front of everyone, "That's... sweet. But really? Now?"
She dismissed our proposal as "awkward," then coolly walked away, texting, towards a handsome model.
Later, I overheard her calling me "stifling" and heard her say, "Younger men are just so much more... appreciative."
Watching her kiss him, the absolute betrayal ripped through me.
How could the woman I dedicated my life to, built everything with, treat me with such casual, public cruelty?
My decade of devotion, my love, meant utterly nothing.
She truly believed I' d come crawling back, declaring I couldn' t live without her.
But she was wrong.
I shredded the wedding tuxedo, boxed up all her gifts, and left a note: "Goodbye."
Then, I booked a one-way ticket to Boston, determined to build a new life, far from her toxic shadow, and never look back. The House-Husband Who Was Rex
Romance I gave it all up. My reputation as "Rex," the undefeated legal titan of LA, my multi-billion dollar cases, the power, the respect.
For three years, I was just Ethan Miller, Olivia Hayes's devoted husband, the "house-husband" who cooked, cleaned, and managed her life, hoping she'd finally truly see me.
But her world revolved around Julian Vance, her celebrity ex-boyfriend. Every conversation, every decision, every raw emotion was for him. I thought I'd hit rock bottom when she casually bought me a new suit, only for me to realize it was a gift for Julian.
Then, at Julian's lavish birthday party, he publicly confessed his "undying love" for Olivia. She cried, heartbroken, while I stood by, dismissed as her "support" and the punchline of a cruel joke. Not once did she defend me.
I'd quietly driven myself to the ER after she fussed over Julian's tiny scratch instead of my bleeding, deeply cut hand.
I'd listened to her colleagues pity me, calling me a "saint" for tolerating her obsession. But that night, seeing her openly weep for a man who wasn't her husband, after all I' d sacrificed… a freezing clarity washed over me.
Why had I wasted three years? Why had I become invisible? How could I have been so blind? My foolish support had only enabled her toxic obsession.
When I walked out of that party, I wasn't just leaving Olivia; I was burying Ethan Miller. Rex was coming back, and he was bringing hell with him. Olivia Hayes was about to learn the true cost of underestimating patience, and the man she so carelessly discarded. Reborn on the Quarry's Edge
Modern The ground rumbled beneath my worn boots as I washed mason jars, a seemingly ordinary afternoon in my quiet kitchen.
Then, Martha' s scream, thin and sharp with fear, shattered the peace: my mother-in-law was frozen, having stepped on something deadly in the old quarry land.
I called my husband Jack, an ex-Army EOD tech, but his dismissive voice echoed a past life I' d already endured, confirming he was with his mistress Brenda.
He laughed, calling me "hysterical," just as he had when his neglect contributed to Martha' s death once before, refusing to believe his own mother was in danger.
A cold wave of memories washed over me: his past betrayal, Martha' s agonizing death, and his self-serving contempt, all replaying this horrific scene.
Could I really trust him, the man who owed his life to my parents' sacrifice, to save his own mother now when he' d failed so callously?
But this rebirth wasn't just a curse; it was a warning.
I wouldn't let Martha die again.
Drawing on fractured memories of Jack' s EOD training, I stepped onto the live explosive, taking Martha' s place.
A sickening click affirmed my choice, marking the moment I chose defiance and survival – this time, things would be different. The Monster They Made: Now He's Free
Sci-fi My name is Ethan Miller, and my very life was a countdown.
Since childhood, a chilling experiment called "Project Chimera" tied my vitality to the genuine love and acceptance of my adoptive family, the Harrisons, and my fiancée, Olivia.
My existence hinged on their affection – a high "Resonance Score" meant I lived, a plummet meant I died.
For years, I had believed I had it all: a loving home, a woman I cherished, a perfect life.
But then Julian, their biological son, returned, spinning tales of suffering, effortlessly manipulating everyone.
My Resonance Score dipped, then plummeted, as Eleanor and Richard embraced their prodigal son, and Olivia's loyalty shattered.
They turned on me, accusing me of jealousy, ignoring my desperate pleas to expose Julian' s lies, labeling me cruel for questioning their "fragile" Julian.
The physical decline was brutal, a constant reminder of their withdrawing love, culminating in Julian's fabricated "life-threatening condition" needing my liver.
Olivia, my fiancée, the woman I loved, delivered the cruel ultimatum: save him, or our wedding was off.
As I lay on that gurney, about to be carved open for a lie, the overwhelming feeling was not just physical pain, but the crushing realization of their utter betrayal.
I was dying, not from disease, but from a profound lack of the love that sustained me, a love they had twisted into a weapon against me.
But just as the darkness claimed me on the operating table, a cold, clear voice pierced the void: "Host Ethan Miller: Deceased. New mission protocol initiating. Stand by for host reintegration."
Ethan Miller was gone. But something new, something dangerously different, was about to begin. The Farm Girl\'s Billionaire Secret
Modern My dad, Marcus Sterling, banished me to a remote Montana ranch after my ill-advised crypto-smoothie investment turned into an SEC headache.
I, Ava Sterling, prodigal daughter of a tech mogul, was serving time for a very expensive lapse in judgment.
All I wanted was a cell signal, a working phone, and to beg my dad for the G650 jet back home.
The ranch, with its endless shoveling and broken fences, felt like a temporary purgatory.
Then, on the eleventh morning, a sleek black Escalade crunched up the gravel driveway.
A woman stepped out, an older, tired reflection of me, introducing herself as Eleanor Vance, my birth mother.
The mother who, according to vague family stories, had vanished when I was a baby.
It was an utterly shocking reunion, one I never anticipated.
Eleanor quickly swept me into her opulent, yet startlingly cold, life in the city.
Her grand house was a blur of shimmering dresses and tailored suits, a world away from my farm attire.
My introduction to her husband, Richard Harrison, and her mean-girl daughter, Chloe, was anything but welcoming.
"What is *that*?" Chloe drawled, her voice dripping with disdain at my mud-caked boots and ripped jeans.
Richard's gaze was ice-cold as he demanded, "Get this… person out of my house."
Despite Eleanor's tearful proclamations that I was "the one we lost," I was met with contempt and immediate rejection.
The DNA test confirmed my identity, yet their attitude toward me only hardened; I was just an inconvenient truth.
Why did this newfound family, after supposedly searching for me for two decades, treat me like an embarrassing relic?
Their shock, their anger, their open scorn for me, the daughter they supposedly yearned for, left me bewildered and quietly seething.
I, Ava Sterling, who was used to being celebrated, was now their dirty secret, a farm girl to be hidden away.
But I wasn't some pitiable charity case; I was a genius accustomed to winning.
As I picked up a plate of roast beef, ignoring their stares, a thought solidified: if they wanted a "farm girl" who was easily underestimated, they would certainly get one.
This was a game, and I was just getting warmed up. Baby Genius: Dad, Where Are You
Romance If it hadn’t been for what transpired on that momentous night, Eva wouldn’t have given birth to her son, Jason. The identity of the father, however, was unknown not only to Jason but also to his mother who didn’t for sure who the father of her son was. Five years later, Eva returned to her hometown and landed a job as a designer at one of the biggest companies in the country, the Dolly Group. Her new fresh new job led her to meet Santosh, CEO of the Dolly Group, an iron-faced devil whose life was shrouded in mystery. On most occasions, he would find himself uninterested by women, but there was something different about Eva that caught his eye. You might like
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. 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." Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. 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. Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. 
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